Page 94 of Sparks Fly
And by they, I mean Anaïs. Nora was quite happy to jump on the jet but of course, Little Miss Bratty had to stamp her foot and pout.
She infuriates me, but in the best way.
Once we land in Italy early Tuesday morning, we head straight for the hotel. I have a meeting with the investor I need to jump on and then I have another meeting with Zeus. I could do without it, but I’m not needed for anything else. Nora had made sure Royce was on track with his commitments and that Anaïs was busy with her stuff. Glenn and Pascal head up the team meeting, and I was only needed for briefing tomorrow, which suits me perfectly because I am not in the mood.
I just want to get my head down and focus on the race this weekend. We need it to be a good one. Royce did amazing last weekend, and I want a repeat of that. I told them not to touch the car in anyway; I didn’t want to risk us fucking anything up. The car was epically good; there was no way in hell I was having anything tweaked.
Dressed, I sit at the small desk in the hotel and sign into my meeting. It’s long winded and not really needed, but alas, these things have to be done. They put a huge amount of money behind Saint Onyx; I don’t want to rock the boat. I don’t agree with certain things, but they have a thirty percent share in my business. I need their money to help tick over, especially when we don’t have a major sponsor.
We cross the t’s and dot the i’s, and I’m grateful when it’s over. My phone buzzes and it’s Royce asking if I can meet him for lunch. I take a glance at the time; I have three hours before my meeting with Zeus.
Tapping back, I tell him I will meet him at Il Morro and to book a table for one.
I shower and change into something a little more casual, then style my blonde hair and grab my phone. Doing my twentieth check of the day of her socials, nothing new was uploaded. Not yet, anyway. It seemed to be the only way to get my fix of her. Sad really.
I have no idea if her and Nora were even here yet. I mean, I shouldn’t give two shits, but I do.Annoyingly.
Closing the door behind me, I duck outside and am greeted with paparazzi. I give them a wave and smile. Once again, the questions about Cowan fly at me like arrows, but I manage to dodge every single one.
Stepping into the waiting car, I inhale heavily.
I was hoping to get Cowan’s deal announced this weekend but one of the things we spoke about on the meeting was holding off another week or so.
I’ve no idea why, but I don’t like it. It’s making me angsty and I hate not saying anything to Kai. If it was up to me, I would have told him and let him down gently… but the way this seems to be going, it’s going to hit him like a damn wrecking ball.
The drive is short, and I probably could have walked, but driving seemed the better option. Pulling kerbside, the driver gets my door, and I thank him, passing him a small tip before walking into the restaurant. Scoping the room, I spot Royce straight away as he stands from the table and holds his hand up, waving me over.
I nod to the maître de and walk towards my son.
“Hey.” I smile, as I embrace him, giving him a soft pat on the back.
We have already caught the attention of a few drivers. Well, Royce more so than me. He is in the spotlight, but I am morebackstage, making sure everything is running as smoothly as possible.
“Hey. Dad.” He gestures for me to sit down and I do, taking my seat opposite him.
Swiping the menu from the table, my eyes bat down and I peruse. “All looks good.” I hum, and my stomach rumbles.
“Yeah, it’s good here. I’ve been here a couple of times.” Royce’s voice lifts my gaze to him.
“What would you recommend?” I ask, closing the menu and placing it down on the table.
“The Monza style risotto is good.” He nods and I smile.
The waiter returns with two glasses of water then hovers for our order. I hold my hand out for Royce to take the lead, and he gives me a proud smile.
“Two of the risotto please.” He reaches for the menus and hands them to the waiter. He gives a nod then disappears to put our order in.
Silence echoes around the room and he looks nervous. His fingers tap on the table, his eyes bouncing around the restaurant.
“What’s wrong, Royce?” I ask quietly, trying to be mindful of listening ears.
“Nothing,” he answers too quickly.
I study his expression.
“I know you too well, boy. Something is wrong.” I give him a lopsided smile, fingers locked together as my hands rest on the table.
He sighs heavily. “I think I want to get back with Anaïs.”
