Counterpoints Book 3 Read online

  “Okay” he said as he stopped the car on the starting line. “This is it Bresciani. I go when you say go”

  Isabella nodded and held on tight to the side door.

  “On your marks” she screamed over the sound of the car, rumbling under her seat.

  Christopher pressed on the gas again and the engine roared louder, his crooked grin making a triumphant appearance.

  “I am not going to slow down” he shouted over the sound.

  “Get set” Isabella yelled and Christopher pressed on the gas again, making Isabella gasp.

  “It’s going to be full on, Isabella”

  She nodded and took in a breath.

  “I trust you” she shouted. “GO!” she screamed then and the car skidded forward, as Isabella was pushed back hard on the seat.

  The tires spun and the car lunged forward, leaving a trail of smoke.

  Second, third, fourth gear, Christopher changed gears quickly on the big straight road ahead, as he prepared himself for the first curb.

  Turns were the fun thing about racing. Not straights. Anything could happen in a curb. Only when driving in a curb, you could tell if the driver was valid, if he had talent. It was all about how he approached it, how he prepared the car to make the best of it, take as much speed as possible using the right trajectory.

  “Chris, Chris the curb” Isabella screamed, seeing he wasn’t breaking at all.

  He smiled and pressed hard on the brake, only a few instants before turning. The car was picking up speed again, it made Isabella’s head jerk sideways.

  They were out of the first curb and onto the next.

  “It’s almost a loop” Christopher shouted and took hold of the hand brake. He pulled it up a little and the car skidded sideways, into the curb and straight out of it within seconds.

  “Chris!!!!” Isabella screamed and then laughed hard, with all the voice she could find inside her.

  “Did you like that?” Christopher asked, eyeing her to the side and turned left, then right quickly as a set of fast turns followed ahead.

  “Say it” Christopher shouted. “Say it, Isabella”

  “I love it” she shouted back and he switched gears again, this time putting his foot down hard, all the way down on the straight road ahead. “I love you”

  “What did you say?” he shouted, a beautiful, sexy smile on his thin lips.

  “I love you” Isabella screamed to the top of her lungs, as her head moved sideways again approaching another turn.

  Christopher smiled wide then, just as he eyed the finish line ahead.

  “Boxes, Isabella” he shouted and turned the car, making loops on the ground.

  The car skidded, it went round and round until Christopher turned the wheel again and pressed hard on the brake.

  He laughed.

  “How was that?” Christopher asked, his breathing heavy.

  “Absolutely amazing” she panted out and covered her face.

  Isabella’s fingers were shaking. She laughed in her hands and then looked at Christopher.

  “It’s your turn now” he told her. “I want to teach you how to leave your marks on the tarmac. Let’s run wild”

  Timing was everything.

  And I seem to be always a second too early or too late.

  Somehow Isabella had never been truly a master at timing.

  She knew there weren’t any excuses left to keep putting off the conversation about Mr. Jenkins and their encounter in that café in London.

  And with September around the corner, she knew it was about time to have a serious talk with Christopher about the book release.

  Even though the situation was personal and Isabella knew it would have a strong impact on her life too, she couldn’t refrain from thinking about the issue as a press agent.

  They needed to prepare a strategy, statements and decide how to handle the situation. Ignore and give the ‘no comment’ reply or face it with press conferences and a plausible counter story.

  But every time she had tried to bring up the conversation, something or another had interrupted them. The timing, in fact, was never right.

  Why do I have to mess up the time we are spending together? Isabella kept telling herself.

  She had been on the verge of telling him on their way to her house the day after the night on the beach, but on the short ride to the town, Christopher had done nothing but tease Isabella and then he had been on the phone for a while, rescheduling his appointments.

  Isabella saw a window before going to her grandmother’s house for lunch but then her brother Marco had cut in their conversation and Isabella had just given up the idea. It would have to wait again.

  Just as her mind kept thinking of the perfect moment to talk to Christopher, a strand of hair went down, over her forehead and Isabella blew at it, trying to push it out of the way. Her hands were deep into the dough, she couldn’t possibly move it herself.

  Christopher walked behind her and placed his hands on her hips.

  “Are you okay here, Bresciani? Is that a new move you are doing there, to make better gnocchi?” he smiled to the side and then checked out what she was doing.

  The wooden table was covered in flour and small little balls of heaven called gnocchi.

  They were all lined up at the center of the surface, where Isabella’s grandmother was busy giving them their unique, round shape.

  “It’s my secret move” Isabella grinned. “Is everything okay? Are the boys giving you a hard time in there?” Isabella nudged towards the living room, where her father, her brother, her uncle Franco and all her cousins were.

  Isabella had heard them talk to Christopher, ask him the usual questions about his life, about racing, and what always surprised her was how Christopher was so nice and available to everyone.

  It wasn’t a problem for him, to answer the same questions. He enjoyed seeing people so interested in his life and liked to share as much as possible.

  That’s all going to change once the press gets hands on that book. Isabella cringed a little at the thought.

  “Yeah, we are having fun, talking about men’s stuff” he nodded.

  “Cars” Isabella mumbled.

  “Basically” Christopher scratched his head a little.

  “And they are trying to get as much as possible out of you, aren’t they?” Isabella’s eyebrow went up.

  She knew her family, quite well. If anything, they wanted Christopher to tell them everything about his life and his relationship with Isabella.

  “Pretty much” he smiled to the side.

  “Don’t give in. Keep your mouth shut” she brought a finger to her mouth, as to advise him to be quiet and then laughed.

  “Stop worrying” Christopher protested “They are being nice”

  “And loud and nosy and petulant” she mumbled and moved her head from side to side, in that mocking tone of hers.

  Christopher laughed “You are so bad. These however look so good” he pointed to the gnocchi and smiled at Isabella. “What is your secret?” he mocked.

  “The secret is… to do everything my grandmother’s orders me to do” Isabella looked up at her nan, who had been staring at them in silence.

  Isabella watched a soft smile spread on her wrinkled, old face. It was the smile of a person who knew something, who had had some sort of revelation. The smile came with a few nods, like she was giving herself credit for something.

  “He’s a real stud” Isabella gaped at her grandmother and instantly thanked humanity for the existence of different languages.

  Stud, my grandmother said stud.

  Christopher looked puzzled and waited for Isabella to explain. After all, Isabella’s grandmother had just spoken looking straight at him. It must have been about him.

  “Nonna” Isabella’s eyes went wide and her grandmother chuckled.

  “Well, it’s the truth and you know it” she said.

  From the height of her almost ninety years of age, Isabella’s grandmother ma
de her point “He is really handsome and charming. There was no chance you could have resisted this one”

  “What did she say?” Christopher asked Isabella, entertained by their vivid conversation.

  To him Italian sounded like a relaxed version of Spanish. It was slower, the sound was so smooth and totally incomprehensible. Especially when Isabella’s grandmother spoke.

  It must be slang, he realized.

  “Nothing” Isabella cut it short, giving no importance to her grandmother’s words. “She’s senile. She is saying you are nice and funny in Italian”

  “Oh” Christopher said “Likewise, she’s very sweet”

  She just called you a stud, not exactly sweet, is she? Isabella stiffened a laugh, as her eyes met her grandmother’s.

  “You know” Christopher started saying, but he moved to the side – on the right-hand side, where nobody was standing and nobody could hear him- and began to whisper, “You look so sexy, with your hair up like that, the short dress, the apron… makes me want to try you out on this slate of wood, you are using for the gnocchi” his voice was low.

  “Is that so?” she said through gritted teeth.

  Isabella’s cheeks went bright red, just as her mother walked from the stove to the table.

  “What did he say, honey?” her mother asked and stopped whisking the tomato sauce for the gnocchi. She pointed to the sauce and then to the bread, welcoming Christopher to have a little nibble, if he was hungry.

  “Nothing, nothing. He’s foreign, doesn’t translate” Isabella waved it off, like a real Oscar winning actress. She figured how to lie through her teeth.

  Don’t look at people in the eye.

  “Christopher” her uncle Franco and her brother Marco waved in his direction and Christopher told them he was coming. His presence was needed back in the living room.

  “Coming” he said. “I’ll see you in a while” his hand touched her hip again and he disappeared through the door.

  Stud, Isabella shook her head and gently threw a kitchen towel at her grandmother.

  The kitchen filled with laughter.

  Chapter 16

  Isabella grinned at her reflection in the mirror.

  Drops of water ran down her cheeks and forehead. She wiped them off quickly and then checked her reflection again.

  I might as well wear a red, clown’s nose or walk around with something in my teeth, she giggled at the thought and reckoned it would be the same, the same as walking next to Christopher.

  Two days home with Christopher at her family house and everywhere they went they attracted attention. Most of the people in the town just stared. Only the brave ones – and the nosiest ones- would try to approach them and ask questions – at the café during breakfast, on the beach, in shops.

  Walking beside Christopher is like walking around naked, Isabella acknowledged.

  He was impossible to miss, tall, broad shoulders and killer smile, so handsome despite his attempts to cover his face with sunglasses and hats.

  And then there was another thing: everyone in her hometown knew Isabella of course and the word had spread that she was there with a famous auto race driver.

  Isabella slipped on a pink, ankle length summer dress and dried her hair, letting her curls dangle down gently. She loved what the sea air did to her hair in the summer- the curls were softer and perfectly shaped.

  She touched her warm cheeks and noticed just how tanned two days of proper sunlight, she had become. A lazy day on the beach with Christopher had given a different light to her eyes.

  “Christopher?” she walked down the stairs, into the living room and saw it was empty.

  Isabella went to the kitchen and asked her mother if she had seen him, if she knew if he was done washing up.

  “He waited for you for a good twenty minutes, then he headed outside. He’s in the garden with your father” she pointed at the big window next to the sink.

  With a heavy weight on her chest, Isabella looked outside and saw him, picking fresh figs off a tree and nodding.

  Her father was telling him something and showing him the fruit on the branches.

  He’s telling him to pick the ones higher up, they are the sweetest, Isabella recalled her father’s words.

  That was exactly what he had taught her and her siblings many years before, what felt like another life.

  Christopher reached up and took hold of another fruit. His fingers started peeling it but her father stopped him immediately.

  They are much better with the skin on, Isabella interpreted their conversation and realized she was playing Christopher’s game, the same one they had played in the airport vip waiting room once, making up conversations between people. And he had been right that time, just like she had been right in that moment.

  Christopher stopped peeling the fruit and took a bite. She watched his jaw move up and down, side to side and then he closed his eyes for an instant, nodding as he did. Isabella’s father was right, it tasted two times sweeter.

  “Dinner is ready, why don’t you go tell them to come back inside?” her mother asked and just as Isabella nodded, her father saw her at the window and informed Christopher.

  He turned towards her with an incredible smile on his face –his dimples showing, his bruised cheek just a memory of the past- and he waved.

  Isabella waved back and moved to the front door. Christopher was right behind it when she pulled it open.

  “Hey, you” he said and quickly scanned the corridor for people.

  Empty. He leaned down and kissed her.

  “Hey, you” she said back and pulled him closer, gripping around the sides of his shirt. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been outside with your dad. He showed me all the trees you have. Unbelievable the size of the olive trees in the backyard” Christopher’s eyes were wide.

  “They are really old. My great, great grandfather planted those ones and they survived throughout the war and the depredation of this area” Isabella smiled at his amused face.

  “I know, your father was telling me all about it. Amazing” Christopher said.

  “Anyway, dinner is ready so wash your hands and get ready for yet another great experience at the house of Bresciani. Big, loud family moments” Isabella rolled her eyes and heard Christopher laugh at her.

  “It’s perfect, you have a great family”

  A great family and a great, dirty secret, Isabella gasped a little for air, feeling oppressed all of a sudden.

  “It’s not perfect Christopher” she mumbled under her breath and shook her head.

  “It’s a family, a real family that’s what’s important” he smiled at her.

  Isabella looked at him for a moment and weighted out his words. Her heart was trying to explain to someone like Christopher- someone who hadn’t had a normal upbringing, someone who hadn’t had a proper family life since he was ten- that her family wasn’t what it seemed.

  She hadn’t spoken to her father for so long, the disappointment of realizing he had cheated on her mother for most of his life too painful, too ugly to face.

  How could she have explained that to someone like Christopher, who would have given anything to have his family back?

  “I’m going to go call my dad” she told him, clearing her throat and turned for the door.

  “I don’t know why you don’t talk to him” Christopher said, a hand resting on Isabella’s bare shoulder. “And I don’t want you to tell me, if you don’t feel like it, but he misses you”

  Isabella tilted her head and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Did he tell you that? That we are not talking?”

  That he misses me? Her heart didn’t dare ask.

  That was just the problem with disappointment. She hated the idea of her father walking up to speak to her, but at the same time Isabella was hurt that he hadn’t.

  He had never tried, not even once. Whatever it was that she wanted from her father, it hurt deep inside, his inability to reach
out for her, even in a delicate situation like this one.

  “He didn’t have to. You are all he talks about, but you never talk about him. Never talk to him” Christopher smiled a little and leaned closer, his lips brushing against hers.

  He looked up into her eyes, as shivers ran down Isabella’s back, and let go of her shoulder.

  “I’ll be inside” and Christopher walked away, leaving Isabella shaken and lost in thought.

  She walked into the garden, her chest heavy, her throat suddenly dry.

  The sun had started to set and already Isabella could see a few stars light up the blue sky. She moved through the grass, her feet naked, knowing by heart every little inch of that garden. It had been the battle field of many adventures with her friends, with her brother and sister. It didn’t scare her, that place, that grass. She was on safe ground.

  She looked up and saw that her father was picking some more figs and placing them in a basket, so they could serve as desert later on.

  It’s not perfect but It’s real, that’s what’s important, she told herself, making Christopher’s words about her family, her own personal little treasure.

  “Dad” Isabella said and watched the surprise on her father’s face, as he turned to look at her. The wrinkles around his mouth seemed deeper, as his lips parted to speak but no sound came out.

  Yes, I just called out for you. Isabella cleared her throat.

  “Dinner is ready” she looked at him again, like she hadn’t seen him for so long, for years. Had his hair turned grayer? Had he lost weight? How much time had they lost?

  “Isabella” he was quick to speak, afraid to miss out a chance, his chance to speak to his daughter after so long. “Thank you. I’ll be right there”

  Isabella nodded and turned to walk away. She clasped her hands together and walked quickly to the door, her chest heavy.

  She had wanted to say more, maybe tell him exactly what she was feeling. Maybe it was thanks to Christopher, for how happy she was lately, maybe it was thanks to him that she had had the guts to walk up to her father, after so long and for the first time without anger. Somehow being with someone like Christopher- feeling his never-ending loss for his father- had set everything into proportion.