“Hmm. It smells like heaven,” I murmur as I walk up and press a kiss to his cheek. He holds out a spoon for me to taste his homemade marinara sauce—as if I had any doubt it was going to be incredible.

  “See?” He lifts his eyebrows. “You should visit more often. Then I could cook for you all the time.”

  “Does the same stand if I’m more than just visiting? Like say . . . if I’m moving here to take a marketing position with this little, unknown racing team?”

  I’ll remember the smile that crawls over my dad’s lips for as long as I live. His eyes light up. His dimples deepen. His whole body relaxes as he sets his knife down and looks at me with tears in his eyes before he blinks them away. “Really?” he asks.

  I nod. “Really. I just need a week or two to head home and button stuff up. Then I’ll be back.”

  He reaches his hand out. “A season.”

  I shake it. “A season.” And then I pull him in for a hug and hold on tight.

  If my dad can face his demons, then I can too.

  We can both confront them together.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Camilla

  “So you’re really here to stay?” Gia asks as she runs a hand through her silky black hair and roams her eyes over the patrons at the bar before bringing them back to me.

  I shrug and lift my glass of wine to my lips, savoring the rich Italian red on my tongue. It tastes like home with its rolling hills and sunny skies. I know I’m going back in two days to start packing everything up to return here as an employee of Moretti Motorsports, but it feels way too long since I’ve been there, even though it’s just been weeks.

  I guess I better get used to it though since it’s official that I’m moving here. Wellingshire. A place I’ve called a second home over the years, but never a first. My parents moved here when my dad took the helm from my nonno, and I moved along with them, but I was a teenager. I was under their wings still. This will be the first time living here as an independent adult and so much has changed since back then,

  “I am.” I nod and then shake my head, almost as if I’m still trying to make myself believe what I’ve agreed to. “I’m heading home—back, whatever you want to call it—for a week or two to organize and pack and I don’t know . . .” I chuckle in disbelief.

  “You’re struggling with this, aren’t you?” Gia asks.

  I nod. “I am, but . . . new beginnings and all that,” I say as if trying to convince myself of it. And I have gotten slightly more excited about the change, but that doesn’t mean it’s not scary as hell too. “I’m dreading the packing and the sorting—if that makes sense. It’s a lot to wrap my head around in a short amount of time.”

  “Of course it is, but I have an idea,” Isabella says, the only woman I know who can make a pixie cut look downright sexy. Could be that it’s complemented by her six-foot height, her razor-sharp cheekbones, and the perfectly pouty lips she displays every time she takes the catwalk in a show, but who’s counting? “Why don’t you leave all your clothes at your place in Rome? That way I have an excuse to take you on a fabulous tour of every designer shop in London? We can shop until we drop and come out the other side with a total makeover for you.”

  I purse my lips as I stare at her. Shopping is dreadful. Yes, I’m not normal. “Thanks, but I’d rather watch paint dry than do that. Besides, I have plenty of clothes. I just need to get them here.”

  Gia and Isabella exchange a look that I don’t exactly understand and am not sure that I want to.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Isabella says, but I know her better than that.

  But just as I’m about to talk, Gia redirects. “Just think of the excitement you’re throwing yourself into. Lots of traveling. Famous people trying to woo you so they can get into the garage during race weekend. Glamorous parties with sponsors. I’m dying for the fashion alone.”

  I lift a lone eyebrow as if to imply she’s missing the reality of it all. “A crap ton of work. Lots of headaches. Never being home.”

  Gia just waves her hand at me to show she’s ignoring me. “Sounds like lots of excuses for me to come join you in all those crazy places. Lots of hot men to be met.” She wiggles her shoulders and looks at Isabella. “Right?”

  “Definitely. I’m all for it,” Isabella murmurs, preoccupied with something on the other side of the bar.

  “All for what?” Gia asks, calling her on it.

  Isa rolls her eyes. She even makes that look sexy. “Jet-setting. Hot, sweaty men in race suits whose egos are probably bigger than mine.” We all snort at that because no one has a bigger ego than Isabella. “I mean, that is if I can fit it in my schedule.”

  Gia looks at me and we both burst out laughing. “Oh, our apologies, your royal highness. We don’t mean to interrupt your globe-trotting and self-importance tour.”

  “Whatever.” Isabella waves a dismissive hand our way, completely unaffected by our comments. “You guys know what I mean.”

  “Yes, dahling.” Gia draws the word out. Teasing Isabella is just something we do. We’re not even close to being ignorant of how ridiculous we sound. To the rest of the world, we lead a more than privileged life. When it comes to comparing the three of us, there are no qualms that Isabella is most definitely the diva. Even better, she owns it.

  “So . . .” Isabella says, turning her attention toward me and getting a look in her eye that worries me.

  “I don’t like when you start sentences with ‘so’ and you look at me that way,” I say, turning to follow the direction she keeps looking over my shoulder.

  There’s a group of five men at the far end of the bar—all extremely attractive—and when I look, two of them are looking our way. The way one nudges the others when we both look, says they know they’re being checked out. I look back at Isa and lift an eyebrow. “The answer to whatever it is you’re scheming in your head is a resounding no. Full stop. Not going to happen.”

  I know what it looks like when I’m about to be railroaded by my two closest friends.

  This is what it looks like.

  “So opinionated when you don’t even know what I’m going to say.” Isabella laughs as she does with everything. She looks back at the men, then at Gia, then to me, her smile widening. “All I was thinking is that if you’re going to make this big change in your life, maybe we should help you.”

  “Help me? I already don’t like the sound of this.”

  Wine. I need more wine. Desperately.

  I look toward the bar for our server and mistakenly meet the eyes of one of the guys standing there. He’s tall with dark hair and light eyes. That’s all I grasp because in the best of times, my eye aversion game is strong. Right now is no different.

  “What do you have in mind?” Gia asks Isabella as if I’m not sitting with them.

  Isabella studies me, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “Like I hinted at before. Hair updates. Clothes and style overhauled—”

  “There is nothing wrong with my hair or clothes,” I assert.

  “If you want to remain single and sexless, there’s not.” Isabella scrunches up her nose. My fashion sense has been a bone of contention of hers since we first started hanging out five years ago. It’s been a running joke that she’s determined to rectify my wardrobe at some point. “Baggy jeans. Button-up shirts. Air-Jordans. The Camilla Moretti uniform is fine if you’re . . . not you. Why are you hiding your gorgeousness?”

  “Gee. Thanks a lot.” I laugh, not offended in the least. My clothes are a choice I consciously made years ago that have become a habit. I look down at them, then back up at her and grin. “They’re designer at least.”

  “It wouldn’t be a thing,” Gia says, “if we hadn’t seen old pictures of you without the Camilla Moretti uniform of today.”

  “You’ve got a body, girl. Show. It. Off,” Isabella says and takes a long suck on her straw.

  “Says the woman who has no problem traipsing around naked.” I shake my head. “It’s a no-go on the clothes.”

  “Cami,” Gia draws out.

  “Look . . . I’ll compromise. You can revamp the hair—not a pixie—but the clothes stay. This is what I’m comfortable in. I’ll even let you up my shoe game if that makes you happy.”

  Isabella eyes me, lips turning up into a smile and brows raising. “Can they be something without a thick rubber sole? Like something strappy with heels?”

  I sigh knowing I can give on this. It’s a compromise at least. “Yes. Sure.”

  “I’ll take every little victory I can get. So, hair. Shoes. For now. But we are going to revisit this again.”

  “We’ll take what we can get,” Gia says, eyeing Isabella again.

  “God,” I groan. “What else are you guys scheming?”

  “Not scheming. Just . . . helping.” Isabella offers a placating smile.

  “More like offering assistance that you don’t even know you needed,” Gia adds.

  Yep. Definitely being railroaded.

  “Gia and I want to set you up with one of our friends here since, one, you don’t make any time to do anything for yourself other than work and, two, you’re in a new place so it’s a good idea to meet new people—”

  “One,” I say, mimicking Isabella, “maybe I don’t want to date anyone. Men are more trouble than they’re worth. And two, I meet plenty of people—when I want to.”

  “Which is never.” Gia laughs.

  “I’m more than fine with hanging with just you two,” I say, ignoring her comment. “Besides, I’ll be way too busy for dating or commitment or having to worry about someone’s feelings.”

  “Oh my God, Cami. When did you become so boring?” Gia teases in a whine as she playfully shoves my shoulder.

  “I am not boring. I have you guys. I have a job that will be all new to me, so I’ll have to throw myself into it. In the coming weeks when I relocate here, I’ll have a new place to explore in a non-touristy way—grocery stores, coffee shops, that kind of thing.”

  “The excitement of it has me on the edge of my seat,” Isabella says drolly.

  I hold my finger up to shush her. “And when I want sex—or need a bit of release that can’t be found in eating chocolate and drinking copious amounts of wine—I’ll find a nice guy and have sex without worrying about strings to get tangled up in.” I state the lie with a nonchalant shrug. “See? Your concern over my love life is unfounded.”

  “And when exactly did that happen last, huh? And I’m talking about the good sex part?” Gia asks, arms crossing over her chest and eyebrows lifting. “I mean . . . it’s been a cold minute.”

  “That’s kind of what happens when you swear off men,” I assert to their blatant snickers.

  “See? That’s where you made the mistake. You were supposed to swear off assholes like Daniel and Blake and . . . whoever was before them who jaded you but you won’t talk about. Not men in general,” Gia says. “You’ve simply had bad luck with men. The plus side? Bad luck can be broken.”

  Or maybe it’s me who’s broken.

  What happened is dead and gone. So what if it’s made me indifferent to sex? That it’s made me push people away?

  “Which is why we’re already planning on who to set you up with. The excuse that you live in Rome isn’t going to fly anymore when you’re living right here in the same town with us.” Gia’s eyes light up like a kid in a candy store. That look right there says I’m screwed. That steps have already been taken. That plans are already being made.

  Lord help me.

  “As I’ve said numerous times, in the many other times we’ve had this conversation, I can handle my own love life, thank you very much.”

  Isabella’s smile is a slow crawl across her lips. “Love life is different than sex life. One you purport to have—we know differently. The other is nonexistent.”

  “Which is just how I want it,” I lie, willing to die on this hill.

  “Great.” Gia flashes a grin. “We can help with that. You won’t put yourself out there for either option so that’s what you have us for.”

  Why do I feel like I just fell into their trap I didn’t see coming?

  “I told you. I’ll be too busy for sex,” I say.

  “Nice try, but you’re not getting out of this one that easily,” Gia says. “Besides, you promised us you were going to put yourself back out there. That was three or four months ago, and I’ve yet to see you even put your pinky toe in the dating pool . . . so your friends are coming to the rescue.”

  “I have my reasons.” A truckload of them, actually.

  “We all have reasons, but I distinctly remember a specific night in Paris,” Gia says. “A few bottles of wine. A big heart-to-heart. And you taking a fortifying breath and saying you needed a change. With work. With scenery. With your love life. With being braver in how you face the world.”

  “It’s almost as if the universe listened, Cami, and is giving you the chance for all of that right now,” Isabella says, joining the pep talk.

  And they’re right. We did have that talk. I left that outdoor café a little buzzed and a lot more determined to quit jumping at shadows.

  But I’m still jumping, aren’t I?

  “So grab it by the balls—or whatever man you find”—Gia winks—“and take it for a ride.”

  “In all respects.” Isabella laughs.

  “Ugh.” I close my eyes and scrunch up my nose knowing they’re absolutely right. “Fine. Okay. Yes to hair and shoes. To putting myself out there. But can I get settled a bit before we throw me to the dating wolves?” Maybe that will buy me some time. Then I’ll be so busy traveling with the team that it won’t be a possibility.

  You’re running again, Cami, and it’s only been seconds since you said you were going to stop doing just that. Kind of pathetic.

  Gia gives me a dubious look as if she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. She knows me well. And then says, “So updated hair, still working on the clothes, a few blind dates, what else are we missing, Isa?”

  “A place to live,” Isabella says. “We know a few areas that would be perfect for you.”

  “I already have that sorted,” I say. “I have appointments to look at a few places tomorrow. Pretty sure by the pictures and the proximity to work that I already know which place I want to rent.”

  “Wow. Impressive. You move fast,” Isabella says. “In that respect at least.” She winks and I roll my eyes, ignoring the comment.

  “Yeah, well, it was either that or listen to my parents tell me over and over how I could live with them. I love them and all, but . . . um, no.”

  “And living with parents is never good for the booty call scenario,” Gia says.

  “True,” Isabella says. “But I still think you should look at a few I’ve found in my area.”

  “I will if I need to,” I say simply to appease her, but I don’t exactly want to be in the city center where it seems like no one ever sleeps and where horns and voices echo through the neighborhood at all times of night.

  “So when will you be back so we can start making plans?” Gia asks, one hundred percent on the Camilla Moretti Glow-Up plan.

  “We need to schedule Genovese from The Salon for her,” Isabella says. She’s in the know on all fashion, all everything, here. “Then Valentina for skin.”

  “And I’m thinking the first meet-up will be with Hunter, don’t you? He has the same vibe as Cami. Laid-back but uptight,” Gia says and laughs, talking like I’m not even here.

  “Hunter. Then Archie. Possibly Paddy after. She needs choices. Strong, independent women like choices.”

  “Where is the wine?” I mutter, glancing again over my shoulder to see where our server is. Our glasses are more empty than full, and I think I’m going to need several rounds to get through tonight.

  When I look back, they’re both grinning goofily at me. “Why don’t you go find out the status of our drinks while Gia and I plan your life overhaul?”

  “I feel a headache coming on,” I grumble.

  “Wine helps with that,” Gia says and winks. “This is going to be so much fun.”

  They high-five me as I rise and head toward the bar.

  This was a planned ambush.

  No one is going to make me believe any differently.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Camilla

  “It’ll be just a minute, love,” our server says to me when I reach the bar. Her hair is pink, a ring is in the side of her lower lip, her clothes are funky, and her accent is cockney. I love everything about her. “We’re slammed tonight. I apologize for being slow.”

  “Not a problem. We’re not in any hurry,” I say.

  “Yeah, but I’m sure you didn’t come here to drink water.” She laughs and lifts a tray teeming with drinks that looks like it weighs more than she does.

  I laugh with her and when I turn to head back to the table, I come close to running into the guy who I locked eyes with earlier. What the distance left to the imagination, doesn’t disappoint up close and personal.

  He’s striking.

  Dark hair with a wave to it. Light gray eyes framed by thick lashes. Sharp features. A smile that he clearly uses on the regular by the way he flashes it at me and expects me to react.

  I hate to admit that I do.

  My return smile is automatic as I take a step back. “Sorry.” My laugh sounds edged with nerves as I hold my hands up. “I apologize. That’s what I get for not watching where I was going.”

  He narrows his eyes at me but his smile still plays at the corners of his mouth. “I’m questioning the sincerity of that apology,” he teases, angling his head to the side and studying me. “In fact, I think you make it more than a habit of running into devilishly handsome guys—such as myself, of course—”

  “Naturally.”

  “Because I’m getting the feeling that you’re too shy to walk right up to them”—he raises one hand—“me . . . and tell them what you want.”

  I shift on my feet and hold his stare. Normally, this isn’t my thing—being approached in a bar. But when the option is talking to him or going back to Operation Glow-Up with Gia and Isabella, I welcome the distraction.