Chapter Eight #2
He nodded for me to continue, and I cleared my throat.
“Besides racing, what is your favorite thing to do?” I had to stifle my groan—how morose—as I kept myself composed.
We needed to know these things if we were going to sell this stunt.
Luca let out a dismissive laugh, and I shot him a sharp look, making my disapproval clear.
“I golf,” he mumbled finally. Raising my finger, I motioned for Luca to continue, but I knew the battle was lost when the waiter arrived with the wine, pouring us each a glass.
I begrudgingly moved mine to the side, staring at it like it was a ticking time bomb about to explode at any minute.
Truthfully, I wanted nothing more than to gulp down the delicious merlot.
Just one sip wouldn’t hurt, right? Luca watched me like a hawk circling its prey, his lips curling into a smug grin.
“Goody Two-shoes,” he teased under his breath, and it took all of my will not to chuck the wine in his face.
“So… golf?” I prodded. Luca raised a single eyebrow, taking a sip from his wine glass. “You… do it often?”
Good one, Georgia. You don’t sound like an idiot at all.
“Yes.”
It felt like an eternity as Luca and I stared at each other, his arm still casually resting on my shoulders before he shifted his eyes to a nearby table full of diners not-so-subtly photographing us.
I thought back to my brother’s earlier comment, and I scratched my brain, trying to remember just one fact about golf. Something about birds, eagles maybe?
Nothing.
Well, I tried. Sort of.
Luca leaned in. “You know, if this one is too hard for you to answer, we can skip it.” He winked.
Prick.
“I like to paint. Your turn.” Shoving my phone at him, I nodded for him to read a question.
“You paint? Really?” Luca sneered with disbelief.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Probably wasn’t the best time to tell him all of my paintings were of race cars.
“Didn’t know you knew how to do anything other than race. Or, you know, run people off the track.”
Of course, he managed to get that dig in.
“That’s rich coming from someone whose dad is a three-time World Champion.
How amazing it must have been to be able to race with him whenever you wanted, get all that priceless advice from his experience.
Loving racing isn’t a crime, Luca.” His face tightened, just for a second. One breath. But I caught it.
Then came the grin, a smooth recovery.
“Well,” he paused, his eyes darting to the tables around us, ensuring our conversation wasn’t being secretly filmed, “since we’re dispensing free advice, here’s something to consider. Perhaps when the journalists ask what else you’re doing on your days off, you say painting?”
“Why on earth would the journalists care that I paint? They barely care that I race.”
“Because, believe it or not, fans actually like a well-rounded person. Why do you think our silly social media videos of us cooking, playing golf or doing literally anything other than racing go viral? It gives the fans a way to connect with us.” I stared at Luca, very much wishing that we weren’t so close to each other, as I nervously bit my lip, contemplating his advice.
Painting had always been a stress relief for me.
Even as a racer in F2, I’d kept up my private art lessons, not wanting to let that creative part of me go.
But for some reason, sharing that with everyone else felt impossible.
Not only was it the one private part of my life I had left to myself, sharing it with the world felt like I’d give them one more reason to judge me.
One more reason to say I wasn’t focused on the championship.
Sensing the awkward silence between us, Luca grabbed my phone, opting to read another question. “Oh, come on,” I heard him mutter before clearing his throat. “Your favorite color?”
“Gold.”
“To symbolize all your winning?” he sneered.
“Jealous?”
Luca didn’t even bat an eye at my response. “Mine’s purple.” He raked his eyes over my dress. “And I have to say, I like it even more after tonight.” Winking, he gave my dress a pointed look.
I was going to murder Nora after this dinner.
“Your favorite color… is the color of your team car?” I asked incredulously, doing my best to ignore his cocky grin.
“Like yours isn’t actually Valkyrie blue.”
The air quotes he’d put around “Valkyrie blue” irked me to no end, but I kept my face neutral.
Quite frankly, I suspected I’d sound stupid admitting that my favorite color was the color of my team car and after hearing Luca say purple, it turned out I was right.
Before I could continue to pat myself on my back for my pettiness, Luca slid the phone back to me.
Searching for one that wouldn’t give me heartburn, I finally whispered, “Favorite movie?”
“Who wrote these stupid questions?” Luca groaned. “No one is going to ask us about our favorite movies or favorite pasta or favorite song. We aren’t children.”
“My favorite movie is Pride & Prejudice,” I said nonchalantly.
“Never seen it.” Not surprising. Luca didn’t strike me as someone who watched romantic movies about two enemies whose love was an uphill battle. He struck me as a Terminator, Transformers, Godzilla sort of guy. Lots of action, pretty girls, little plot.
Luca grabbed the phone, frantically scrolling through the questions before shoving it back into my hands.
“Forget the list. Here’s something I do want to know.
” His tone shifted just enough to make me wary.
“Every time Henri talks about you, he goes on and on about how funny and ‘darling’ you are.” I did my best, once again, to ignore the air quotes.
“Why can’t you be like that in front of the media? ”
All at once, I had a million things cross my mind, a million things that I wanted to say.
I should have said that when I went into press conferences, it felt like the wind was being kicked out of me.
Or, when I approached the media pen, my palms got so sweaty that I struggled to focus on anything but the drops of sweat dripping down my face.
How my quick remarks weren’t meant to be snippy, all I wanted was for the interview to be over so I could retreat to the ease of my garage.
How I had suffered from anxiety since I was a child, but because my brother was so outgoing, my incredibly loving parents didn’t know how to deal with my emotions. How it took me turning twenty before I was able to seek professional help. But I couldn’t let Luca know any of that.
Show the enemy no weakness.
“The same way you can’t stop yourself from partying or stealing yachts,” I said cooly. “It’s in my nature.”
Georgia: 1. Luca: 1.