Everyone in the box began to stand as the cars tore into the main arena, zooming toward the starting line. Vanni said something in Dean’s ear and Dean nodded. The cars began their first lap to a deafening cheer, and Vanni was jogging down the flight of steps. Emma watched him go, a dazed, happy feeling swelling inside her.
“Potent stuff, isn’t it?” Estelle asked quietly from beside her, taking a large swallow of her drink. The beautiful French woman nodded in the direction where Vanni had just disappeared. Emma gave her an arch look.
“Maybe you should go easy on it, then,” Emma said, nodding significantly at the potent raceday punch in her hand. Estelle was on her second glass.
Estelle laughed. “So . . . there is a little more to you than the girl next door?” she said as they sat again. “I figured there must be, to keep Vanni interested for more than an hour. He’s notoriously dissatisfied with women, you know.”
“Did it take him all of an hour with you?”
Estelle snorted into her drink. This time when she smiled, Emma thought it was genuine. A cheer went up in the distance. She turned on her monitor, too excited about the outcome of the race to be overly concerned by Estelle taking a bat at her with her claws.
The drivers were on their third lap. Several cars flew past the picturesque harbor. Niki appeared to be in second place with a green and gold car she recognized as Mario Acarde’s just inches ahead of him. It seemed the Formula One drivers were having a blazing start. Her heart seized slightly when they took a harrowing turn, seemingly not slowing down at all. The car in third place tried to use the turn to gain position on Niki, but scraped against the inside wall, bumping Niki. Emma gasped and placed her hand on her heart as if to contain it in her chest as she watched Niki regain control masterfully.
“Miguel Franco,” Estelle said. She’d leaned over and was watching Emma’s monitor with her. “You’d never guess he was so ruthless having met him, would you?” she asked drolly. Emma shook her head, recalling the polite, quiet-spoken Brazilian driver she’d met yesterday on Niki’s yacht. Then again, Miguel Franco would have to have some fire in him to deal with his gorgeous, flirtatious wife Vitoria on a daily basis. Niki hadn’t only recovered from Marco’s aggressive move, he’d managed to inch up on Mario. By the time they roared into the main arena, he and Mario were neck and neck.
Emma watched the next several laps with Estelle in quiet awe, getting a feel for the tricky course and gaining a huge respect for the subtle skills and monumental courage of the drivers. Her heart was beating very fast, just watching on the monitor. She’d thought Niki had been teasing her when he was so cavalier about the dangerousness of the sport, but she now realized he’d been downplaying just how harrowing this road race really was.
“Do they crash a lot on these type of races?” Emma asked Estelle shakily.
“All the time,” Estelle said, taking a drink.
“But they’re not usually . . . deadly?”
“Not usually, no,” Estelle said offhandedly.
Emma didn’t find that very reassuring.
“You don’t have to worry about me, you know. In regard to Vanni, I mean.” Emma blinked in surprise, realizing Estelle was casually returning to their earlier topic. The twentieth lap had just finished. People in the box were starting to stand up and get food, and Simon had joined them at the back of the box. “Vanni would never look twice at me. He’s very particular that way.”
“What way?” Emma asked blankly.
“He doesn’t . . . associate with married women. I have a cousin who knows him well. Apparently he’s fastidious about avoiding married women because his father was a philanderer. He’s dead set against interfering in marital bliss,” Estelle said, her mouth curling derisively. “No matter how unblissful the marriage. Very moral.”
“Very inconvenient. For you,” Emma added with a rueful smile.
Estelle looked a little startled at her honesty, but then met her stare. “Definitely not the girl next door,” she murmured speculatively. “Still, I’d watch myself. Vanni isn’t the type to settle down any more than he’s the kind to get involved with a married woman. I know that for a fact from my cousin as well.” She glanced distractedly toward the arena as the cars rounded the main track again. “Oh . . . here she is now,” Estelle said suddenly, smiling and waving. Emma looked at what had caught her attention, her mouth dropping open in disbelieving recognition.
“Astrid,” Estelle called excitedly. Men and women alike in the stands did a double take at the stunning woman with the long, flowing black hair as she ascended the steps. In the four-inch platform sandals she wore, she must have been close to six feet tall. She definitely could have stopped traffic wearing a short blue-and-white-striped dress that optimally showed off tanned, smooth legs and full breasts strain
ing against tight cotton. Against her will, Emma had to admit that the statuesque beauty and Vanni must have looked amazing together.
She’d seen them together, Emma realized, feeling a little nauseated. She’d seen them together at a very private moment. And they had looked amazing.
That only increased the roiling sensation in her belly. Vanni had said their relationship would be exclusive during their five weeks together, and she’d believed him. She hadn’t thought about what that implied—if anything—to Astrid.
Astrid entered the box, her gaze skimming over Emma and clearly finding her insignificant. She stepped right past her to embrace Estelle. Emma stood, all too glad to move over into Vanni’s seat next to Michelle Shaw and give Astrid the one next to her cousin. Michelle greeted Emma warmly and moved her monitor so they could share. Emma was growing accustomed to Estelle’s frequently vicious tongue, but she didn’t have to always be on her guard with Michelle.
She was uncomfortably aware of the two women chattering away in rapid French next to her, especially when she specifically recognized Vanni’s name mentioned by Astrid. Estelle replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Astrid whip her head around and glare pointedly in Emma’s direction.
“Just ignore her,” Michelle said quietly. Their heads were close together as they leaned in to watch the same screen. Emma looked up with just her eyes and saw the older woman was regarding her with a small, knowing smile. “I noticed how you tensed up when you saw her just now. She’s about as important to him as what’s on the dinner menu. And at least until recently, Vanni had a take-it-or-leave-it attitude about food.”
Emma gave her a grateful smile. She appreciated the show of support. But it wasn’t that she was worried about Vanni being overly interested in Astrid. She’d heard him tell the fiery beauty firsthand, after all, that sex was all he could give her. The reason she was troubled by Astrid’s appearance was that she was reminded in a jarring fashion that she—Emma—was in the same boat as Astrid. She’d agreed, just as Astrid had, to a sexual affair. The only difference in her case was that she’d put the time limit on it. Otherwise, she and Astrid had more in common than it was comfortable for her to think about.
She hadn’t forgotten the practical reason for her and Vanni’s entering into the agreement. It was just that under the influence of the romance and excitement of the French Riviera and Vanni’s masterful lovemaking—and her own foolishness—it was easy to mask the truth. It was convenient to escape it.
Something she was infamous for doing, Emma realized with a sinking feeling.
Now she’d allowed things to progress to the point where she’d told Vanni she was falling in love with him. His response to her confession had been fierce and sweet and had swept her off her feet completely.