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After being dumped, Isla Morris makes a pact with her ex's biggest competition, F1 driver Matthew Carr, to get inside Lucas's head.
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Isla Morris is dating the world's best F1 racer - at least, she w...
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Matthew had thought about it like chocolate cake.
He loved chocolate cake. One of Matthew's earliest memories was snatching a cake during one of his mother's garden parties, balancing it precariously in one hand as he scrambled up a tree to eat it in secret. He'd gorged himself on it, stuffing handfuls of the cake into his mouth until Matthew's stomach rebelled and he was sick all over the rhododendrons. He hadn't eaten chocolate cake for two years after that.
Sleeping with Isla had been the same idea.
Satisfy a craving. Stave off madness.
Only Matthew hadn't stopped to consider that when you had a bite of chocolate cake, it only made you want more of it. You became addicted. Starving.
He also hadn't considered that women and chocolate cake were very different. For example, Matthew had never wanted to shove a Black Forest Gateau against the wall and have his way with it; the same couldn't be said for Isla.
No.
Sleeping with her had been a terrible idea.
But Matthew didn't regret it. Couldn't regret it. Not even now, as he half-heartedly listened to Benedict's vows, which sounded more like a eulogy. Especially given that it was shitting rain outside.
"Melissa grew up in Whitby," his brother said, waving magnanimously, "the home of whaling and greasy fish and chips. Mercifully, she had the good sense to leave and attend Durham University..."
Matthew sighed, took another sip of tea, and turned back to the piano.
The music room at Thorngrove Estate was his favourite. He'd tried his hand at many instruments over the years — violin, drums, guitar, — but none had ever impressed Matthew as much as the piano. Playing a Steinway reminded him of driving a car: all raw power and untapped potential, released with the press of a pedal.
"We met in a pub at first year," Benedict carried on. "Melissa was wearing a Ted Baker dress and sipping a gin and tonic. She told me that she wanted to join the polo team, and I knew she was the one."
Matthew played a few more notes. Paused. Checked his phone. Two missed calls from his PR manager, Claire. A text from Noah asking if he wanted to grab a drink before the race in Silverstone this weekend. No word from Isla.
He put it away.
"I love Melissa's style," Benedict droned. "I love her elegance. I love her eloquence..."
Matthew frowned. For God's sake. How hard was it to send one text? Isla had been busy at work this week — he knew that — but it had been six days since they slept together. Surely she could manage a reply to his call?
He checked his phone.
Put it away again.
Good lord, Matthew thought in horror. What have I become?
