Running From The Flames

Verdicts

The road trip was passing by too quickly for my liking and I knew all too soon I would have to share Pierre with his team once again.

Last night we stayed in Marseille, deciding to break the trip to Barcelona into two stops. Without the draw of Formula One around Pierre was only approached a few times by his fans. It meant we got to go sightseeing in peace and explore what the beautiful seaside city had to offer without being swarmed - and not a single reporter appeared.

We had arrived in Nabonne just after sunset and after all the walking she had done Addie was too tired to leave the hotel for dinner so Pierre had left to shop for some groceries and we were going to make our own meal. After more than four days of fancy dinners and room service we were both ready for something homemade.

While he was out I bathed Addie in our ensuite and dressed her in her pyjamas before doing the same myself, slipping into a pair of cotton shorts and a camisole that would keep me cool in this humid weather. They were purchased with comfort in mind but as I looked at myself in the mirror I felt self conscious and debated changing into leggings to hide the scars that ran down one of my thighs.

The surgeons had needed to put metal pins into my hip and the top of my femur after Erik had shattered it pushing me down the stairs of our townhouse, that was the last thing I could remember, everything else was black after the first tumble. Though it meant I was able to walk, it left me with two large scars and a limp whenever the weather turned cold.

"Where's mama?"

My face off with the mirror ended with Pierre's question and I forced myself to leave the bedroom when Addie answered.

"What'd you get?" I asked as I rounded the doorway and saw him carrying two laden-looking paper bags. I rushed forward to take one before the bottom fell out of it and found more ingredients that we would ever need for just one dinner meal. "Are we expecting guests?"

"I, uh, wasn't sure what you liked," he said as he started to unpack his bag on the kitchen bench, "so I got a bit of everything."

"I'll eat anything, it's her you'll need to convince," I said with a nod to Addie who was completely engrossed in an episode of Miraculous Ladybug or something. "Think you are up for the challenge?"

Pierre looked offended that I even asked before opening all the cupboards in search of the pots and pans. "You can go relax, I've got this handled."

"Yes, chef." I saluted but instead of going to the living room I went to the minibar and held up two bottles of wine. "Which pairing? Red or white?"

He pointed to the chardonnay and I grabbed two wine glasses before taking a seat at the island to watch him cook.

"Those quick reflexes are handy," I noted as I sipped my wine while he chopped the onions and mushrooms with speed and precision. It was mesmerising to watch the muscles work along his forearm and I stared for far too long before I looked away with burning cheeks. "Who taught you how to cook?"

"Oh I don't know how to cook, I'm just making this up as I go," he said before grinning. "No, my mother taught me whenever I came home from the driver's academy. She was worried I wouldn't be able to fend for myself."

"Was she right?"

He laughed and tossed the chopped vegetables into the hot pan before taking a sip of his wine. "Absolutely. What about you?"

"Rebecca taught me a little bit when we were on the road and my abuela made sure I could make tortillas from scratch, but I took some cooking lessons when I left the circuit and moved to London."

"What about your mum?"

I shrugged and took a bigger sip of the wine, savouring the buttery notes that lingered on my tongue. "She's a lawyer, so travelling with us wasn't really on the cards with her schedule and I couldn't stay in Manchester with her; her hours weren't exactly child friendly. When we got to spend time together it was usually shopping or going on holiday somewhere, not cooking."