Counterpoints Book 3 Read online

  “Tell me you are mine” he groaned, moving deeper into her.

  From the moment I saw you, Isabella realized for the first time, as she arched her back.

  It had been instant- their connection -their passion uncontrollable and consuming, to the point it had been impossible to stay away from one another.

  Maybe I will end up burned. Maybe this relationship will leave me empty and stranded, but I’ve never felt so good. I’ve never been so high.

  “I am yours” she whispered against his ear and rolled on top, Christopher’s eyes shining with desire.

  Chapter 6

  “You have one hell of a wall of fame” Isabella brushed her fingers against Christopher’s forehead and kept her eyes on the wall, on the trophies ahead.

  They were back in the room where their conversation had started, next to the sack, Christopher’s gloves and gear spread across the floor.

  They were sitting on an armchair, Isabella at ease on his lap, her legs dangling to the side, looking good in Christopher’s white t-shirt.

  His head was resting on the seatback, a hint of a smile on his face.

  He looked like Christopher again- relaxed, not the least bit tormented like he was before.

  Before we did it on kitchen floor…

  “A what?” he asked, looking straight at her- Isabella could see his lips twitch in a half smile.

  “A wall of fame. You know, the place where we all keep our successes and happy memories” Isabella turned to look at him.

  “Do you have a wall of fame?” Christopher’s eyebrows went up.

  “Of course” she gave him one of those ‘obviously I do, who doesn’t?’ look. “Only mine involves nursery handcrafts and pictures of birthday parties and first communion”

  Pictures of me and my siblings, sticking our faces into huge ice cream cones.

  Isabella kept her face serious, until she met Christopher’s eyes and then she couldn’t resist any longer. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The light coming from the garden patio was strong now. Sun was up.

  “Your wall of fame is about different things. Mine is only about racing and car related accessories” Christopher said and then chuckled, Isabella’s face so funny just then.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she raised a brow and then kissed him on the nose quickly. “Your wall here just kissed my sweet, little wall of fame’s ass”

  “You do have one sweet ass” his hands slid down to the lower part of her body, to stress the point and took a quick peep.

  Isabella giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck even tighter, snuggling up beside him.

  “You are really something, do you know that signorina” the grip on her behind tightened, as Christopher moved in to kiss her hard.

  “Thank you” she said, after biting his lower lip. “You are not so bad either” she grinned and watched Christopher smile back.

  “I’ve been told I was bad, several times actually” he said as a matter of fact and it didn’t surprise Isabella one bit.

  Flirt, ladies’ man.

  “You know, I don’t have trouble believing that”

  He chuckled and laid his head back on the armchair again. He stared ahead, his attention back to the wall where all his successes and his memories hung before him, and the smile on his lips slowly began to fade.

  “I had a dream about the crash” he said of his own will.

  Isabella held his stare.

  That was what the nightmare was about.

  “What happened in the dream?” she asked.

  “It was about Berlin, about the crash. It was me driving but it wasn’t how I crashed”

  “What do you mean?” Isabella pressed on, holding in her breath for a moment.

  “It was me driving, but I dreamt exactly what happened to my father. I think you remember how it happened” he looked down at her and Isabella simply nodded.

  Of course, she did.

  Everyone remembers when a legend like James Taylor dies.

  “It was raining hard and I was at the far back of the race. I was making my way to the front, ignoring the rain, not bothered about anything but overtaking every single car in front of me. I felt great, I felt like I could win. The car was running smoothly, despite the wet tarmac. When I was about to pass the second car, I saw it was my father driving it. I turned to look at him, and I went off track, straight onto the barriers. Then I woke up. But I remember exactly how it goes from there. My father almost flew out of the car- despite the safety belts- for how strong the impact was. His body moved sideways like it wasn’t real, like he was a dummy. I will never forget that. Every time I close my eyes, after crashing in Berlin, I see that. I see his head moving, like it has been snapped off his neck”

  “Chris…” Isabella covered her mouth, but didn’t say anything more.

  She waited for him to carry on with his thoughts, as he looked down at her again.

  “It’s a recurrent dream of mine. It comes and goes. It has been with me since he died and it will be with me forever. I know I can’t change that, some things are impossible to forget. And when I try to forget, to set them aside, circumstances push the memories back in my head. I don’t need this, all of this in my head. I need to stay focused. What’s done is done, I cannot change it and It cannot affect me”

  “I can’t imagine what that is like” her voice shook a little, Isabella’s feelings all over the place, as she wondered how tormenting it was for Christopher, to be haunted by the same, reoccurring nightmare “Thank you for telling me, for telling me what the dream was about” they locked eyes and Isabella kissed him gently, her stare stayed on him as Christopher spoke again.

  “It’s ironic, if you think about it. Since I started racing I’ve been acting like I am nothing like my father and what do I do? I crash, on the same track where my father died over twenty years before. Absolutely, fucking ironic” he snorted.

  “You just did what your instinct told you was right. You took your chances, that’s what you do in that car every race”

  “I fucked it up, Isabella. I let my guard down. I lost my concentration, just like my father did.”

  And for what? Christopher thought. For a lunatic that hoped I would die during the race – and I nearly served him my death on a silver plate? For a book about me and my father, written by a leech, desperate for money and fame?

  “Hey, look at me” Isabella cupped his face. “The track was slippery, you did what you thought was right. You know your strategy could have been a real success. And it nearly was. You were right about changing the tires at the end, you were just unlucky in that turn.”

  Isabella’s fingers brushed gently against his bruised cheek and Christopher stopped moving, his body tensed under her touch.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, her hands frozen in place.

  “No, not my cheek, nor my legs, my arms. I am okay, Isabella” he shook his head slowly “But my mind… my mind is scarred. I can’t stop thinking about the crash, about my father”

  “Does it…” Isabella searched for the right words and realized there were none. It wasn’t easy to say, what she wanted to say out loud. “Does it scare you, to get back in the car after the accident?”

  Isabella bit her lip and kept her eyes on Christopher.

  She watched him shake his head, his face unreadable.

  “No. I am not scared. I’m not scared of racing. I fall and I get back up, that’s what I do” he turned her way. “Not being able to race is what scares me”

  “You are fine. You said it yourself”

  He nodded absent mindedly, his eyes focused on something far away, at the back of the room.

  “You’ll get your chance Christopher, you came this close. Next time it’s a sure hit”

  “Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t get what I am striving for. Maybe I will end up just like him, searching for something and losing my life, my everything while I try”

  Isabella sh
uddered as she heard him speak- his voice so dark and crude just then, it shook her to the core- but her face didn’t break. She kept it together and spoke up.

  “Listen to me. You are not James Taylor. You are Christopher Taylor. You achieved so much, you already won more than your father has. You’ll get your chance in Berlin. You will take that trophy home, you will show everyone what a fantastic, brave, strong and absolutely crazy race driver you are”

  His eyes burnt into hers then and his hands went up her neck, in her hair and Christopher kissed her hard, but slowly, like he was claiming every little inch of her lips.

  “Thank you” he said, looking into her eyes.

  Isabella smiled and placed her hand over his, behind her head.

  “I mean every word”

  “I know you do” he nodded to Isabella’s words but his eyes were back on the wall a moment later, back to the pictures and the trophies.

  Gently, Christopher helped her up and they both stood, only to move towards the wall, towards the shelves filled with trophies.

  He stopped right in front of an old picture hanging on the wall.

  It was one of him holding up a cup together with his dad. He still remembered that day perfectly. His dad had been so proud of him, for winning the hardest race in the junior championship- after months and months of training.

  Christopher must have been eight or nine years old.

  But it wasn’t always like that. There weren’t only happy moments in his memories.

  He remembered every victory, every achievement and every disappointment. Christopher had only started driving go-karts when his father had died, but he could recall every single word his father had shouted in his face on more than one occasion.

  “You lost your focus” he had said often enough after a race or a training session. “Where is your head? Feel the engine, you weren’t feeling the car. It was telling you to change gear, You didn’t and it slowed you down. Focus, focus!”

  It was only years later that he had understood, the force that was consuming his father, that had lead him to make that mistake during the race, the day he died. James was after perfection, he was after the impossible.

  I am my worst enemy, he kept the thought to himself.

  All those years in auto racing, Christopher never had rivals. Only one. His father James.

  It wasn’t the comparison with other drivers that hit him, it was the constant invisible battle with his father, with a legend of the past. A ghost.

  How can I win against someone that’s not here anymore? How do you win against a legend?

  “They are writing a lot of crap about me” he said, breaking the silence.

  “What have you read?” Isabella asked.

  “I don’t need to read anything. I know they are” she felt him smile, a tired smile.

  “Not more than what we expected” Isabella told him and cleared her throat, secretly wishing she didn’t have to admit that.

  She wished she could have said no.

  No, they aren’t writing about you and your father, how you both crashed on the same track. No, they are not saying that you brought it upon yourself with that risky strategy of staying out with dry tires, when the tarmac was soaked with water.

  Out of nowhere, a memory came back to Isabella.

  “It’s going to be worth millions if you die like your father” those words, cold and piercing like ice, made Isabella shiver. She recalled that lunatic, the crazy man on the stands – his eyes gleaming at Christopher’s autograph- and the words he had said to Christopher just a few hours before the race.

  “What if I told you that there will be more?” Christopher said.

  “More of what?” Isabella moved forward and stood right behind him.

  She gently reached for him, for his skin, his broad shoulders and Christopher turned his head to the side but kept his back to her.

  He let Isabella wrap her arms around his waist and he placed his strong arms over hers, making sure she stayed right where she was.

  Tell her, tell her, just tell her.

  “Of everything. This won’t be the last time I fail, this won’t be the last time I crash trying to achieve something. You know that, right?” he paused. “There’s a book coming out. About me, about my father…People will say things, bad things about me, about my family. Can you stand all that?”

  A book, Isabella took in a breath, as her mind raced.

  “Chris” she began, her head shaking a little “I don’t know what’s going on, but I want you to know something. Whatever it is they are threatening you with, It won’t change the way I feel about you” Isabella said, her voice determined. “Tabloids can write all the crap they want, Christopher. You know what I cannot stand?” Her eyebrows went up and Christopher shook his head, waiting for Isabella to carry on.

  “You on a stretcher with your arms limp, not responding to the paramedics. I nearly died, I couldn’t breathe or think straight. But you know what I knew, what I never doubted for a second?”

  Christopher shook his head again and listened carefully.

  “I knew where I had to be. Right by your side. Like now. I am right here and I don’t want to be anywhere else”

  The glimpse of a smile appeared on Christopher’s face, as he looked down at Isabella, his eyes on her blushed cheeks.

  “Is that what it takes, signorina? I have to injure myself to have you here with me?”

  “It’s not funny, Chris” she shook her head. “I nearly lost it. I pushed around a dozen journalists to get in to see you” Isabella frowned.

  Christopher smiled wide then. He chuckled and the sound of his laughter overcame the heaviness that surrounded them.

  His body relaxed, as he stared at her and grinned, like Isabella had just told him the best news ever. Journalists being shoved around, journalists being molested – getting a little reality check, a little taste of their own medicine.

  “You are welcome” Isabella smiled back, picking up on his thoughts.

  Yes, he is back, flirty, easygoing Christopher is back. Isabella breathed out, relieved.

  He turned around and took hold of her chin, smiling wickedly and going for her lips.

  Isabella pulled back a little, escaping from his hold, only to giggle one second later, as Christopher’s arms wrapped around her again and pulled her against his chest.

  “Are you hungry? I bought you breakfast, when I was out” he smiled to the side and studied her face.

  Isabella’s eyes went wide with joy.

  “You know how to win a woman’s heart” she said and they started to walk out of the room and into the long corridor, half naked – Isabella wearing his shirt and Christopher in his pants- their fingers intertwined.

  Something happened back there, Isabella had that distinct feeling, as they made their way to the kitchen in silence.

  Maybe there were still many unspoken words between them- things kept safely inside, too afraid to reveal, too afraid to be let down- but Isabella had never felt so close to someone before like she did with Christopher.

  Walking away from the private moment they had shared, Isabella had realized she and Christopher were more similar than she had thought.

  It took them both time to open up and trust someone, but once they did it was all or nothing. They chose they wanted it all.

  She eyed him to the side and smiled.

  I did the right thing, coming to stay with him a few days, she thought once they had reached the kitchen.

  On the dark wooden counter, there were two bags of puff pastries, cookies, granola and even – Isabella took a glimpse- pancakes and waffles.

  “Fantastic, what are you having?” she glanced cheekily his way, the small freckles on her cheeks giving her an extra naughty look.

  “You, Bresciani” Christopher said, moving to stand behind her to nibble her neck. “I am having you”

  Chapter 7

  Wednesday morning Isabella opened her eyes and doubted she had woken up in London.
<
br />   Wait a minute, she had looked around the big, empty wooden bed and it had all come back to her. Yes, she was in fact in London – in Christopher’s bed.

  And I’m confused!

  There was a good explanation to why she had felt so disorientated.

  The sun coming from the windows was strangely hot and incredibly shiny. But the best news was that the sky was clear blue and there were no clouds in sight.

  No clouds in sight, she played with the words in her head for a while, as she set her breakfast to the side and started working on her laptop.

  Isabella busied herself – she had a few things to post but it would only take her about half an hour, just the amount of time for Christopher to shower and get dressed. They were going out, making use of the beautiful day to spend some time outside.

  Third and last day in the house of Taylor’s, Isabella looked around the room and smiled to herself.

  No women’s stuff detected, no skeletons in the closet. She giggled to herself and took another spoonful of yoghurt.

  Three days had gone by in the blink of an eye and everything seemed back to normal.

  Despite the first rocky night, Christopher’s mood had brightened up from then on. No more nightmares, no more sadness or spaced out moments.

  Just like that Wednesday’s morning blue sky, there were no clouds in sight and Christopher was back to being himself.

  She leaned backwards in her stool and reached for the cream-colored curtains, to get a better glimpse outside.

  “Ding”, her laptop made the first sound of the day and on the screen Isabella saw Mr. Jenkins’ first email- first email after Christopher’s accident, first email after their relationship going public.

  Ding, ding, ding, the sound echoed in her ears, as his name popped on the screen.

  You have three new emails from Alfred Jenkins, her email account kept reminding her.

  Here come the clouds, Isabella frowned but kept writing her blog post about Christopher’s Drivers Academy and attaching pictures, she had personally taken the other day on the spot. In the end, she had given in. Isabella had agreed to help him promote his project, despite her initial doubts- her initial doubts being pissing off Mr. Jenkins with her intrusion in the project.