only one who knew he’d been having trouble. Except, clearly, she was not the only one. Someone else knew, or had at least guessed.
She wanted Renzo to trust her, to believe that she wouldn’t tell anyone his secrets.
And yet he was silent.
She waited for him to say something, to ask her to explain, until she couldn’t wait anymore. Until they climbed from the car and stood in the darkened street with the cool Tuscan air making her shiver and pull her wrap tighter.
“I didn’t tell him, Renzo.”
He looked at her over the roof of the sports car. “I did not say you did.”
But he sounded cold.
Her heart burned and she felt hot, in spite of the chill. “No, you didn’t say anything.”
His gaze pinned her, and she knew that he was fighting with himself, that he did in fact think she might have betrayed him.
It hurt more than she’d ever realized it could. How could he possibly think such a thing of her?
They climbed the stairs to his apartment and went inside. Faith removed her wrap and draped it over a chair. Then she kicked her heels off and waited.
“Niccolo Gavretti is not to be trusted, Faith,” he finally said. “He will do anything to win, including cheat. He will tell any lie, use any grain of information. You should not talk to him. Ever.”
Her stomach twisted. There was certainly more to the story than he’d ever told her before. And if he was going to accuse her of betraying him, then she felt she deserved to know. “What happened between you?”
She wasn’t sure he would speak. She watched a hint of sadness chase across his features. But then it was gone, and in its place was the usual fury she saw whenever he spoke of Niccolo.
“We were friends once. Long ago. He knew what my dreams were, what I was planning to do with my designs. Instead of backing me as he promised, he started his own business—with designs remarkably similar to mine.”
“He stole from you.” It made her sick, and angry. She wanted to punch Niccolo Gavretti’s handsome face herself.
“He would love nothing better than to destroy me. I think it would soothe his guilty conscience to know he’d won in the end. Which is why you should not talk to him.”
She touched his arm. “I didn’t tell him anything, Renzo. Anyone who saw you that first day on the track could have surmised what was happening. You fell to your knees. A lot of people saw it.”
His expression grew hard. “You accuse one of my people of spying on me?”
Pain squeezed her belly tight. “Why not? Or am I the only suspect?”
He shoved a hand through his hair and swore. Then he ripped off his bow tie and shrugged out of the bespoke tuxedo jacket. “I know you wouldn’t say anything deliberately, Faith. Nico is quite good at extracting what he wants to know.”
If he’d stabbed her in the heart with a rusty knife, he couldn’t have hurt her more. “I’m not an idiot, Renzo! I didn’t say anything to anyone. Ever. Not even accidentally!”
“You could have implied—”
“I implied nothing,” she shouted. Fury held her in its cold grip. How could he think she would betray him, even unintentionally? She wouldn’t, not ever. Her body shook with the adrenaline pulsing through it.
Renzo stared at her for a long moment. She didn’t know what he would do, what he would say—but then he came over and gathered her to him. She stood stiffly in his embrace and refused to soften even while she swallowed angry tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his lips against her hair. “I’m sorry. I know you would not have said anything.”
She put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. She loved him so much it hurt. And she feared for him.
“I didn’t tell him—but maybe you should consider that he’s right. You don’t know what’s going to happen when you get out there.”
“It’s always been that way on the track, Faith. You never know what will happen. It’s part of the challenge.”
She clutched his shirt. She was afraid for him, especially now that she knew how much Niccolo Gavretti hated him. “But it’s too dangerous now. Maybe you should retire from the circuit. Let someone else do this.”
She felt him stiffen and knew she’d said the wrong thing. He pushed her back, holding her at arm’s length, and glared at her.
“I’m not retiring, cara. Not until I’ve won.”
Her vision was growing blurry, but she no longer cared if she cried or not. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? It’s your life we’re talking about. How many times do you need to win before you’ll be satisfied? How many times do you need to prove yourself?”
He turned and went over to the liquor cabinet, poured brandy into a glass. Then he set it down without drinking it, put both his hands on the cabinet, and stood with his back to her for a long moment.
Faith wrapped her arms around herself. She’d gone so far now, way over the line maybe, but for the first time since she’d started to fall for him, she felt as if she’d done the right thing. As if she’d been herself instead of who she thought he wanted her to be. It felt good—and frightening at the same time.
“One more time, Faith,” he said. He turned and faced her, his eyes glittering hot. “I need to win one more time.”
She sniffled. “Is that one more race or one more championship?”
“You know what it is.”
She did. He meant he wanted to win another championship. Eighteen grueling races against a field of competitors who might be just as determined as he was. And who were certainly healthier.
“I’m not sure I can take it,” she said softly, truthfully. How could she sit in those stands and watch him each time, her heart in her throat while she waited for something to go wrong?
“I’ve crashed before. I’ll probably crash again. It’s part of the sport, cara.” He picked up the brandy and took a sip. “The goal is not to crash badly. To get up and walk away.”
She bit her trembling lip. “And just how are you supposed to do that when you can’t even walk without pain most of the time?”
His head snapped up, his nostrils flaring. “I’m fine, Faith. My leg only hurts when the muscles knot. Which is not most of the time.”
Faith swore. “That’s a lie, Renzo, and you know it. I massage it nightly for you. You practically live with an ice pack in the evenings. You’re hurting and you’re too stubborn to admit you have a problem. You might lie to everyone else, but don’t lie to me.”
“You go too far,” he bit out.
“Do I? I sometimes
