: ̗̀➛ part three of the
one for the road series
SNOWFALL / CL16
in which two childhood friends reunite. a formula one driver wants to learn how to snowboard and it just so happens that the daughter of his mum's be...
The cruelest joke of all was that I had been right. Three Ferraris were lined up on the parking lot in front of the Beaumont Resort: a red, yellow and blue 296 GTB model, the exact one that rested on Charles' dresser. Bundled up in my woolly coat, my breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air, I shuffled my feet awkwardly as dread formed in my stomach.
After my conversations with Lorenzo and Alfie a couple of days ago, I had decided I would give this a shot, even if it meant a gruelling, heart-tearing hour in Charles' presence without the others.
The worst of it all was how aware I was of my racing heart and sweaty palms, yet something deep inside of me longed for this. The past couple of days had caused my mind to convince itself that this was going to be it. I was going to confront Charles, get him to tell me why he had broken up with me. And most of all: why he was back here, ripping my heart from its seams.
A warm weight suddenly fell on my shoulder, and my head snapped up to see Lorenzo standing beside me. Charles was nowhere to be found, Lorelai and Alfie conversing to the side, soft smiles exchanged between them. I took a deep breath, pursing my lips.
"We can switch, if you want," Lorenzo offered, nodding towards Arthur, who was typing away on his phone while leaning against his assigned yellow Ferrari. "I don't want you to do it if you don't want to."
"That's quite a different tune compared to the other night," I countered, raising an eyebrow.
Lorenzo shrugged, his honey brown eyes melting as if under the sweltering heat of the shimmering Sicilian sun. "You know I didn't mean to be harsh."
I nodded. "I do know that. And I appreciate what you said, I hope you know that."
"It was hard to admit," Lorenzo said with a half-smile that knocked the oxygen out of me. It was not like Charles' and Arthur's in their steadfast binary of mischief or flirtation. Lorenzo's was different: softer, more vulnerable than I had ever seen him or either of his brothers be. Lorenzo's hand slid down to my upper arm, his grip gentle yet firm, warm yet comforting. "You know I've always held you in high regard."
Something unspoken lingered in his gaze, in the soft tone of his gravelly voice, in the pressure of his gentle fingers on my arm, less than an inch above one of my tattoos, covered by layers of warm fabric. My gaze unconsciously flickered to Lorenzo's mouth, the soft pink of his lips, the drag of his teeth against the bottom pillow as he awaited my reaction.
