Full Throttle (The Revved Series) (17 page)

“I’ll take that,” he smiles, bringing his lips to mine. I
wonder if he can taste all the words of love I’ve swallowed.

The elevator slides open, and I hop inside. Flushed, I shoot
him one last glance before the doors close between us. His gaze is locked on
me, ardent as ever. I wish that we didn’t have to part ways, that we could
arrive at the course together hand-in-hand. But even though Harrison’s a dream
come true, that particular fantasy may just be too far-fetched, even for us. I
lean back against the elevator wall with a sigh, and try like hell to think of
an excuse that my family will actually buy.

Chapter Fifteen

Red Handed

When I finally arrive back at my own hotel, the entirety of
Team Ferrelli has already departed for the course. Enzo has preliminaries to
run, and they certainly don’t have time to wait around for their truant PR
manager. Or at least, all but one of them don’t.

I spot Charlie the moment I step into the hotel lobby. He’s
sitting hunched over a morning newspaper, cup of coffee clenched tightly in his
hands. His eyes flick up toward me as I hurry across the foyer. To put it
lightly, he doesn’t look thrilled to see me.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I say, drawing to a stop
in front of him, “I could have found the course on my own.”

“As if your dad would let you go traipsing through Budapest
on your own...if he could help it,” Charlie says archly.

“Well,” I sigh, “I’m back now. I’ll just run upstairs—”

“I’ll come with you,” he says, standing.

“That’s really OK,” I tell him, “I’ll just get changed,
and—”

“Don’t bother trying to shake me, Siena,” Charlie says, his
voice a quiet growl I’ve never heard from him before, “I’m already in hot water
with your family for letting you sneak off last night. I’m not about to let you
slip away again.”

“I think you’re taking this whole watch dog thing a bit far,
Spano,” I say coolly, crossing my arms, “I’m not yours to guard, you know.”

“Of course you are,” he shoots back, “I’ve been looking out
for you our entire lives. Why would I stop now?”

“Because we’re grown up, Charlie,” I say.

“Grown up? You?” he scoffs. “Getting wasted in night clubs,
staying out all night with god knows who, flirting with whoever you like,
regardless of what it might mean for the team? Yeah. Sounds real grown up to
me, Siena.”

“And trailing me around like some lovesick puppy is so much
more mature?” I shoot back, “You need to stop this, Charlie. It’s starting to
border on pathetic.”

“Lovesick?” he asks, “You think that’s why I keep such a
close eye on you?”

“Come on, Charlie,” I sigh, “It’s obvious. It’s been obvious
since we were kids. I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“What conversation?” he asks, a bit too loudly for the quiet
lobby.

“The whole ‘I love you like a brother, nothing more’
conversation,” I say, lowering my voice. “I honestly can’t believe I have to
spell it out for you.”

“Christ, Siena,” he says, shaking his head, “You don’t get
it, do you? This whole running around, acting like some wild party girl...
thing
is just a
phase. Someday, you’ll see that I’ve always had your best interests at heart.”

“It’s not for you to decide what’s in my best interests,
Charlie Spano,” I spit, “You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not my brother. And
even if you were, it still wouldn’t give you the right to preach at me like you
do. I’m the only one who gets a say in what’s best for me. And it’s time that
all of you Ferrelli men realized that.”

“Why don’t we just go upstairs so you can get dressed,”
Charlie says, ignoring me completely, “We’re late enough as it is.”

“You know what, Charlie?” I say, “You go ahead to the
course. On your own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go on your own.”

“I’m not going at all,” I tell him, “I’m staying here.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh, can’t I?” I ask, “Just watch me. Suddenly, the idea of
watching you all salivate over toy cars going around in circles all day just
doesn’t appeal to me. You can tell my father I said as much, too.”

“What the hell has gotten into you lately, Siena?” Charlie
asks, “Ever since this tournament began, you’ve been acting like a completely
different person.”

“Call it perspective,” I say, as Harrison’s bright blue eyes
flash through my memory.

I turn on my heel and march away from Charlie. He calls out
my name, pleading for me to come with him to the track. But for the first time,
I don’t listen. I don’t care that he’s acting on orders from my dad and
brother, I don’t care how far back we go. They don’t get the final say anymore,
where my life is concerned. And it’s high time they figured that out.

The minutes crawl by as I wait for the preliminary events to
wrap up. I can’t convince myself to sit at my laptop to look up news and work
on PR research for Ferrelli. I’m too livid with Charlie and my dad to even
think about diving back into my work for them and Enzo. After a quick shower
and a change of clothes, I slip back out of my room. I know that the team will
be arriving back at the hotel any moment, and I don’t want to be here when they
do. Without a plan or even the most general knowledge of Budapest, I set off
into the city once more.

My feet carry me through the bustling streets, crowded with
F1 aficionados for the big Grand Prix weekend. The unfamiliar sounds of foreign
languages weave and surge together, forming a sea of white noise that engulfs
me. I make my way past gorgeous museums and breathtaking feats of architecture,
past bridges that arch their backs across rivers and castles that stand tall
and proud against the rest of the city.

Finally, I find myself walking alongside a vast, green park.
The first slice of green I’ve seen since touching down. Though I’ve been raised
in cities my whole life, I still feel a wash of calm come over me whenever I
wander along a stretch of grass and trees. I slip off my well-worn flats and
walk across the park, feeling the cool grass between my toes.

A moment of peace and quiet, at long last.

I settle down beneath an old, leafy tree, resting my back
against the smooth bark. Forcing deep breaths down into my lungs, I finally
find a moment to step back and look at the frenzied mess I’ve stumbled into.
And from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look good.

It would be one thing if I’d simply had a fling with
Harrison that first night in Barcelona. I didn’t even know who he was at the
time, none of us did. It was only by insane and tragic circumstance that he
ended up at McClain’s star driver this year. I can’t help but dwell on a
thousand “what if’s”. What if Naughton hadn’t crashed that day on the track?
What if Harrison had remained shrouded by anonymity? What if he was just a
little less talented, and Enzo didn’t feel threatened by him at all? How many
“what if’s” would have to shift in our favor to give us the smallest fighting
chance as a pair?

Somewhere along the way, Harrison and I crossed a point of
no return. There’s no longer any way to stop this ride without someone getting
hurt. We care too much about each other to call it quits, but if anyone finds
out about us, all hell will break loose. My family will see our affair as a
betrayal of the first order, Ferrelli and McClain fans will be outraged,
Harrison will fall out of favor with his team for bringing a gossipy scandal
down on them during his first ever tournament. Harrison and I being together is
a disaster waiting to happen, that’s for sure. But I know, despite all logic
and reason, that the real tragedy would be to run away from this thing just
because I’m scared of the consequences. I’ve let this sport, this team, rule
over me for my entire life. Something, someday, has got to give. And if I’m
going to go down swinging for anyone, it’s Harrison Davies. 

With a clear mind, I make my way out of the expansive park,
through the bustling city, and back to Team Ferrelli’s hotel once more.

I make a beeline across the lobby and head up to my room.
The mood in the halls and open doorways is jovial—everyone in the hotel is
chattering about this weekend’s Grand Prix. Despite all my misgivings, I can’t
help but feel their excitement infecting me. However messed up my current
situation happens to be, these Grand Prix weekends are what I’ve always lived
for. There’s so much excitement, so much potential for joy and despair riding
on each and every race, it’s impossible to be indifferent.

When I draw up to my room, I find that the door is already
cracked open. I take a deep breath, knowing full well that there’s going to be
some kind of tribunal waiting for me on the other side.
Just be strong
, I urge myself,
You can do this
.

I push open the door, bracing myself for a torrent of
outrage to come crashing down on my head. But as I step inside, there are no
screaming voices, no angry red faces charging toward me. I feel deflated, the
spike in my adrenaline squandered. I peer across the room and see that instead
of an army, a lone solider has stopped by to visit. Enzo is sitting by the
room’s big bay window, looking out over Budapest, toward the course that he
tore around just hours ago. He doesn’t look up as I pad into the room, closing
the door behind me.

“Go ahead,” I say, keeping my distance.

“Go ahead with what?” he asks, his voice even.

“You’re here to give me hell about missing the preliminary,
right?” I ask, leaning back against the door, “Just get it over with.”

“It’s going to be a good race,” he says, “Good, challenging
course. Probably the most interesting one of the tournament so far.”

“Where’s Dad?” I ask, “I thought for sure he’d be lying in
wait for me.”

“He’s too angry to see you just yet,” Enzo says.

“So he sent you instead?” I ask.

“No one sent me,” my brother says, finally turning to face
me.

I feel my heart clench painfully as I take in the look on
his face. His dark brown eyes are filled with confusion and hurt, his mouth
pulled into a straight, stern line. I haven’t seen that look for years. It’s
the same one he gave me when, at age seven, I took his go cart out for a spin
without permission and crunched its nose against a tree. Then again, when I got
carried away at a high school house party and had to call him to drive me home
because I was too drunk. It’s the look he gives me when he can’t understand my
actions, when we can’t see eye-to-eye no matter how hard we try.

“What’s been going on with you lately, Siena?” he asks,
truly at a loss.

“I...I don’t know what to tell you Enzo,” I say.

“You’ve always been at my side,” he goes on, “Every race,
every qualifier, every single preliminary. You’re my good luck charm, you know
that. We’ve always been a team. Our family has always stuck together. What’s
changed in you, all of a sudden? Tell me. Please.”

Part of me wishes that I could just come clean with him. Not
because I think he’d understand or forgive me, but because the burden of
secrecy is just too heavy to keep on hauling around. If only there was some way
to make Enzo think of Harrison as just a man, rather than his rival. But that’s
not the way my brother thinks. For Enzo, there is no world outside of F1. It’s
the only context his world has ever had. And no amount of pleading and
reasoning on my part is going to change that any time soon.

“Enzo,” I begin, walking slowly toward him, “Listen to what
you just said, would you? I’ve always been
your
good luck charm. By
your
side. On
your
team. I know you don’t see it this way, but my whole life has been defined by
the fact that I’m your sister. Maybe I’m just feeling like...Like I want to
live my life for me, for a change.”

“There’s no reason for you to be jealous, Siena,” Enzo says,
taking hold of my hand and pulling me down to sit beside him.

“I’m not jealous, Enzo,” I sigh, “I’m so so damn tired. You
work so hard for your success, and it pays off. You get glory, and attention,
and pride. But the work I do? It just evaporates. It doesn’t amount to anything
at all. Imagine putting your heart and soul into something every single day
that never culminates in anything.”

“But the work you do helps me win,” Enzo insists, “Doesn’t
that make you happy?”

“It makes me happy for you,” I tell him, “But aren’t I
allowed to track down my own happiness too, Enzo?”

“I wish you’d spoken up sooner,” he says quietly, pulling me
into a hug, “Have you always felt like this?”

“Oh...only my whole life,” I laugh, feeling a thick knot
tighten in my throat.

I was expecting ire and outrage after missing the
preliminary today, but instead Enzo’s here, being kind as hell. I don’t really
know what to do with it, to be honest. We’ve never been a share-your-feelings
kind of family, yet here we are—curled up the window seat together like the two
little kids we were so many years ago. For the first time in quite a while, I
feel like Enzo’s little sister, rather than his employee.

“Don’t cry, Siena,” he says, smoothing down my hair, “We’ll
figure this all out, OK? We’re family, after all. There’s nothing you could
ever do that would make me stay mad at you.”

I swallow a sob and bury my face in Enzo’s shoulder. Guilt
is twisting at my heart, making it hard to breathe. As much as we may argue and
disagree, Enzo’s my flesh and blood. I’ve known full well this whole time that
my being with Harrison would absolutely kill him, and yet I continue on. I
can’t break things off with Harrison, I can’t tell my family what’s going on,
and I can’t bear to rip open my brother’s heart.