Page 15 of Not So Fast
“Jasmine and I took that trip to Mexico two years ago. So, yes, I’m good.”
“I want you to make a copy of your passport and give it to me in case you get into any trouble over there. And give me your complete itinerary so I can find you. I wonder who the US ambassador to Italy is. I should probably look it up and have their contact information just in case.”
Mia choked back a grumble. “I seriously doubt any of that is necessary. You’re worrying for no reason.”
“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” Her mom’s phone rang. “Oh. I’m sorry. I need to take this. It’s my editor.” She tapped the screen on her phone. “Hello?” she answered far too loudly, then jammed a finger in her free ear, got up from the table and walked outside.
Mia took this quick respite to dig her phone out from her bag and get back to answering questions and comments on social. It was certainly easier than sitting in silence and mulling over the countless uncomfortable questions from her mom.
Mia found she had a zillion notifications—mostly comments about the new episode.
How cool is it that you went to Miami? Soooo jealous!
Loved the episode! Love hearing about everything behind the scenes!
Can’t believe you met Xander. I would die! What is he like in person?
Mia smiled at her phone. Whether her mom liked it or not, Mia was sure she was on the right path. Her work was resonating with her listeners and that was something important. Of course, these were comments about her coverage of Miami. Mia had no idea what was going to happen in Italy and how she would speak about the man who was now more than her favorite driver and her meal ticket—he was about to be her host.
* * *
Xander flew all night to get back to England, lead-footed it to his home in the Cotswolds, then did something he never did—climbed into bed and slept away half the day. It was a fitful attempt at first, punching the pillow, partly to get comfortable and partly because it was enjoyable to imagine it was Dirk’s face. When he finally drifted off, the dream came. He was in his Mega Racing car, all alone on a track he did not recognize. There was no one there—no other drivers, no fans, no team. Just him, the circuit and his car. Oddly, the front half of the chassis was somehow missing, leaving only his seat belt and the eventual G-forces to keep him from being launched from the vehicle. Still, he jammed the throttle and rocketed ahead at full speed. The rumble of the car bloomed in his belly while physics pinned him to his seat. Curves and corners came faster than anything he’d ever experienced before. One after another after another. He swooped through the circuit, building speed. He was traveling so fast that everything around him became blurry. Something in him couldn’t stop. Then he went through a chicane and straight ahead, right in the middle of the track, was a brick wall. There was no getting around it. He was headed straight for it. And his leg was frozen. He couldn’t bring himself to brake…
He bolted up straight in bed, in a cold sweat.
“Bloody hell,” he managed, even though it was hard to swallow. His heart galloped in his chest, vision fuzzy and head in a fog. He found himself searching for meaning, but as soon as his pulse slowed and his logical brain took over, it took no effort to figure it out—his professional future was out of control and the clock was ticking.
Mega Racing would only be patient for so long before they brought in another driver to take his place. The stakes were too high—billions of dollars on the line, professional reputations of people who’d spent their entire careers in F1, the livelihoods of the hundreds of people who worked for the team and back at the factory. The sponsors who expected results in exchange for the investment they poured into the team. Xander was the only person who could stop himself from self-destructing. Or at least that seemed like a reasonable explanation for his dream.
Mia, with her spiel about psychology, wormed her way into his head, and it was hard to get rid of the vision. She was nothing like what he’d expected, vibrant and lively and—if he was being completely honest with himself—gorgeous. And now, because he’d let his ego get in the way, she was coming to Monza. She could make his life more difficult with a single clever turn of phrase on her podcast, and then he would be guilty of having made his own situation worse.
He picked up his phone. It was nearly five and he was due at his parents’ for dinner at six. This was the usual routine after a race, when his schedule allowed him to come home—his mum, dad and two younger siblings delayed Sunday roast until Monday, so they could all spend time as a family. But first, he needed to text Isabel.
Mia Neal is coming to Monza. She’ll need paddock passes.
Either you traded phones with Dirk or you’ve lost your mind.
Long story.
I get it. You’re trying to make friends with the enemy.
Just do this for me, please. I’ll book her travel.
You need an assistant.
I’m more than capable of doing it myself. I just need you to send her everything when it’s done.
Whatever you need. I hope you know what you’re doing.
He almost laughed. What he needed was to think about racing and nothing else. The problem was that Mia Neal kept getting in the way.
Thank you.
He hopped into the shower, got cleaned up, and put on a mostly wrinkle-free shirt and a pair of jeans. Downstairs in the mudroom, he dipped his feet into a pair of hunter green wellies and went out to his garage where he kept his vehicles. A black McLaren, a titanium silver Aston Martin, a gentian blue Porsche and a slightly rusty 1952 Hampshire green Jeep that had been on this property since Xander could remember. Lots of drivers had more cars than he did, but many of those drivers came from affluence. Xander still had working-class hardwiring that told him money in the bank was better than belongings. Plus, he had responsibilities many of the other drivers did not have to worry about. For Xander, it was supporting his family, a role he filled happily. It was the least he could do.
He hopped into the Jeep and headed out across the bumpy dirt road that bisected the rolling lush green farmland that had been in the Bishop family for generations. His parents had been custodians of this property before Xander started making big money. Then, he bought the land from them so both his mum and dad could retire early. Xander built himself a house on one end of the parcel and his family occupied the original farmhouse on the opposite end. That was where Xander had grown up, along with his brother Oscar, who was nineteen and had Down syndrome, and his sister Freya, who was sixteen going on thirty. As it so happened, the early retirement came right on time for his parents—his mum had been diagnosed with MS a year ago. She was still doing and feeling well most days, bothered mostly with leg pain at night. The entire family was doing their best to be supportive and loving and not live in fear, but the worry was always there.Perhaps that was the price to be paid when a loved one was facing a lifelong health battle.
Making this ten-minute trek back home, Xander was often reminded of the path he’d taken. His parents had made countless sacrifices for him to be in F1—funneling money into karting, equipment and coaching; then giving up all their free time once he started doing well and was on a promising trajectory. In light of the current state of his career, he hated that he’d gone fromhe’s come so fartohe’s going off the rails. And then there was the lingering question of whether he really had what it took to have a long career in Formula One. That one ate at him like nothing else.
