Monza (Formula Men #1)(3)
He seemed thoughtful a moment before finally giving me an understanding look. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.” He paused before grinning at me. “But must we end this rivalry tonight? This year? Probably not.” He tapped my shoulder then breezed away towards the bar where the party was thriving.
Tonight was the opening night of my cousin Antonio’s bar, so naturally my best friends were here, all except for the other two rogues, Dimitris and Callum. We all went to the same boarding school and had remained in contact since. Our bond, though we all lived in different countries, had surprisingly only gotten stronger since Switzerland.
Andrès, Jacques, and myself had chosen the path of car racing, but it was only this year that we finally had been able to join Formula One. It was one of my prized moments. This year was supposed to be the year I was going to have the best year yet. For some reason, though, I felt empty.
I wasn’t sure what prompted my thoughts towards such depressing notions, yet it was what it was, and I couldn’t deny it. Normally, when I was at a party, those disheartening thoughts were suppressed. Tonight, it was different. In fact, the need to leave and be left alone was crucial.
Scouting the bar, I couldn’t find Jacques or Andrès anywhere, nor could I find my cousin Antonio. I wasn’t one to leave without saying goodbye, but being surrounded by all these happy, drunk people was just too much for tonight. Decidedly, I took a moment before finally making my way to the exit, dashing towards it with a striking purpose, as if any second wasted surrounded by these nameless people would make me detonate.
I couldn’t name what truly was troubling me. All I knew was that I simply had to take myself out of there, away from the smoke-laden air, irritating high-pitched laughs, and prying eyes of strangers. I was sick of it all.
The second I breathed in the fresh air, I knew I had made the right decision. Pensive, I made good use of my legs, hoping a long, brisk walk in one of the cities I loved so much would enlighten my obviously troubled mind.
Maybe it was the stress from the closely won race tonight or simply the nagging sound that was my mother, who lovingly choked me with her horrid matchmaking skills. As if acquiring a wife would make everything in my life blindingly perfect.
Felicia Constantia di Medici, my dearest mother who chose to live her life through me, parading me as if I was her trophy child, her only accomplishment in life and nothing else. Sometimes, I wondered if it was love she felt for me. There were times whilst growing up that made me wonder if she channeled all of her energies to me because of her unrequited love with my father, masking her hurt and rejection by focusing on something that she could be a part of, something that she could control. Me. Her only child. The heir to the Medici billions.
It was as much a curse as it was a blessing, never leaving me a choice, never a moment to doubt or question my position, because it was drilled into my head at an early age that this was to be my life.
I knew it. In fact, I acknowledged it, but as the years passed, the shackle inevitably tightened, grappling me in a chokehold manner, never easing its pressure on me.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” A woman’s highly pitched voice made me withdraw from my thoughts, scouting the yellow-lit streets close to Piazza Navona. A frustrated growl came next. “Just my luck, another typical moment in Kim’s world.”
A hidden smile played on my lips when I spotted a brunette muttering into the air, clearly unhappy that one of her heels had broken.
Due
Watching the lady from afar, I wondered what she would do next. My guess was for her to carry on her hissy fit, but when I caught sight of her defeated shoulders sagging, biting her lip as if to stop herself from crying, every inkling in my body told me to go to her. I didn’t even think twice, just followed my instincts, willingly wanting to reach out to this sullen stranger.
“Mi scusi, is everything okay?” I softly asked from a respectable distance, hoping not to frighten her.
“Uh…” She hesitated before cocking her head to the side to properly see me. Then she momentarily froze, staring wide-eyed at me. “Holy. f*uk.”
Her response threw me off a little, making me furrow my brows. “Sorry. Did I offend you for some reason? I thought you needed help, so—”
“Sorry. No. It’s just… I cuss a lot, you know.” She blushed before laughing nervously at herself. “And I honest to God didn’t expect a stranger to look like you, but hell, I’m in Rome. Everyone’s practically born with pizzazz and sculpted faces and bodies closely resembling the statue of David, right?” She was nervous, rambling on.
“That’s very kind of you, but trust me, not everyone in Italy is born that way. Some would like to think so, but I’m not one of them.”
“That’s just crazy! You’re like hotter than Channing Tatum, and let me tell you, Channing is like the ultimate dream man. Have you see Magic Mike?”
I couldn’t help it; I bellowed a deep-bellied laugh. This woman—a stranger—was truly refreshing.
“Magic Mike? What in God’s name is that?”
She started to chortle before letting it loose. “It’s a movie … about buns of steel…” she started to inform me before choking on her own laughter.
Amused, I wasn’t sure what I had gotten myself into. I was contemplating if I should stand there, seeming puzzled as she laughed her heart out, or if I should excuse myself and leave. I supposed my confusion showed on my face because she began to collect herself, gently wiping the tears on the sides of her eyes.