“This one, or that one?” Adrian is holding up a white dress shirt and a dark blue one. He’s shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and his arms are shaking as he holds up the clothes.
“You’ll look good in either,” I assure him absentmindedly. I’m looking through my clothes to find an outfit to wear to dinner, but Adrian pulls me out of my closet and sits me down on the bed. He holds the two shirts up again, and I laugh. “The blue one,” I say, and he frowns at the shirt.
“I’m not sure,” he mumbles, and I throw my head back onto the bed.
“Good God, just wear something. As long as you don’t show up naked, you will be fine.” My hands are in the air as I wait for him to pull me back up. When he does, he does it way too aggressively, and I fall forward onto the floor.
“Oops, sorry,” he teases and runs out of my room.
Laughing, I get up and walk back into my closet. I flinch when I see the dress I wore the night I went to Gabriel’s hotel room but simply push past it and find something else. I decide on a yellow dress, which reaches just above my knee. It’s tight around my breasts, just like every other dress, and falls loosely from thereon. My curly hair is tied into a ponytail, but a few strands hang around the sides of my face. After putting on some makeup, I go downstairs to pack the dessert. The tiramisu looks mouthwatering as I cover the top with some cling wrap.
“Hey, Val, are you expecting a package?” Adrian asks, and my heart drops into my stomach. “It says it’s from Gabriel.” Then it sinks into my shoes. I didn’t even open the package he gave me last time, and it has been almost a week. Adrian walks into the kitchen, wearing a completely different shirt, and hands me the box.
“Thank you,” I mumble and bring the box upstairs before standing in front of an impatient Adrian. “Are you sure you want to wear that?” His eyes go wide, and he starts to fumble with the hem of his black dress shirt. “I’m kidding. You look handsome,” I inform him, and Adrian lets go of his shirt.
“Thank you, you look beautiful as always,” he replies, and I smack his arm when he stares at me, tears flooding his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just difficult for me to believe that you’re all grown up sometimes. You don’t need me as much anymore, and it scares me a little.” Adrian is a very emotional person, and he’s never been ashamed of showing his feelings. I admire that about him a lot.
“I’m always going to need you more than I need anyone else. You’re my family, Adrian, and you will always be the most important person in my life. Now, stop crying because if you cry, you’re only going to get your shirt wet, and then you’ll have to change it for the thirtieth time,” I scold teasingly, and he laughs.
We make our way to my favorite car, the baby blue Mustang, and Adrian holds onto the tiramisu while I drive to Evangelin and Carlos’ house. When we arrive, my jaw drops, and I can’t believe my eyes. Their house is much smaller than I would have ever expected. It’s a two-story house, with a single garage door and a small yard. Adrian fixes his appearance three times, looking in the small mirror on his side of the car, and then gives me a small smile before opening the door. I shake my head and chuckle. I can’t even begin to imagine how nervous Adrian must be.
We walk the small stone path toward the wooden door, and I ring the bell once. I can hear Adrian swear nervously next to me and squeeze his arm to comfort him. As soon as Evangelin opens the door, everyone starts to greet each other.
“I apologize, Carlos is preparing dinner, but he will join us shortly,” she assures us and leads us inside the house, which is just as simple as the outside. There are no fancy furniture pieces, no chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, only simple white furniture, and a few paintings. “The tiramisu looks delicious, Valentina,” Evangelin says.
“I hope it tastes as good as it looks. We better put it in the fridge.” She nods. Evangelin hurries into the kitchen and returns a minute later with Carlos Klein. The famous man isn’t much taller than his wife, very slim, has thin white hair, and an inviting smile, which he uses to greet us.
“Valentina,” he says and reaches out his hand so he can shake mine. “My wife has told me many great things about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear,” he informs me in the most perfect French I’ve ever heard anyone speak. It’s hard for me to believe his mother tongue is Spanish. “And Adrian, yes? I’ve heard you are a fan of mine.” He’s not cocky or arrogant; he’s merely stating a fact. He faces my brother with the sweetest smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, too.” They shake hands, and Adrian is speechless. He looks at Carlos with the utmost admiration, and if I didn’t know better, I would think he is about to cry.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Adrian stutters, but Carlos isn’t freaked out or annoyed by him. He simply starts talking to Adrian about Formula One and that he has been watching him for years. The way my brother’s eyes light up makes my heart ache. I have always wanted him to be this full of joy.
Evangelin and I fall into a conversation, and Carlos serves dinner. I notice my brother following his every step closely, like a lost puppy that just met its new pack leader. I have to suppress a chuckle.
“So, Valentina, what is your goal for the future?” Carlos asks while we eat the delicious gnocchi with seafood he cooked.
“Oh, I’m taking a gap year to try and figure that out,” I lie because I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.
“Actually, Valentina has been training her whole life to become a Formula One driver, but no one has given her a proper chance so far,” Adrian chimes in, and I drop my spoon into my plate. Carlos and Evangelin both look at me, but I simply blush and look away. “She was the best in every race as a kid. When she turned fourteen, she got a chance to drive in Formula Three, but a year later, they dropped her. Nobody wanted to sponsor her anymore. Valentina fights harder than I ever did, but no one wants to help her reach her potential for some unknown reason.” I don’t know why my brother is sharing this sad, terrible story with them, but I also can’t tell him to stop. His big mouth seems to have gotten the better of him in the presence of the great Carlos Klein.
“I’m sorry, Valentina,” Evangelina replies, and I force a smile. “That must have been horrible. I’m so sorry, my dear.” Her hand reaches forward on the table, and she squeezes mine tightly.
“That’s terrible, Valentina,” Carlos says with a frown. “There haven’t been many women who were allowed or ‘fast enough’ to race in a Grand Prix, and sadly, it’s not always because they weren’t talented. I’m not surprised to hear you’re a gifted driver. You seem like a remarkable young woman.” The forced smile on my face turns into a real one.
The rest of the evening goes smoothly, and I realize Evangelin and Carlos are genuine and down to earth. They talk about their marriage and share stories from their life together, and Adrian and I listen attentively. We also share a little bit more about our past.
We leave their house around midnight, and I let him drive to give myself some time to think. I should be mad at Adrian for telling my personal story, but I know what he would say if I complained. “In order to move on, you have to speak about certain things. The more you address them, the easier it will get every single time. Why do you think it’s so much easier to talk about Mom?” This is precisely what Adrian would say to me, and he would be right. That is why I’m not giving up yet. I’m still training, and as hopeless as it seems, I’ll keep trying. This is my dream, and I’m not done fighting for it.
We arrive at home minutes later, and my feet bring me upstairs to my room. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and see two new messages from Eduardo. He’s letting me know he is arriving at ten tomorrow. We’ve been talking on the phone almost every day since we left Australia, and a couple of days ago, we agreed on him coming here. This way, I’ll be able to talk to him and clear some things up.
