Marry. Ride. Love.

The story of Bella Rossi

*Isabella*

I had been with Pecco for a long time. The crash in the sprint had taken a lot out of him and me too. I had never imagined it, but it had been at least as bad as Max's crash at Silverstone.

Back then I had also been sitting in the medical center crying and didn't want to let go of my best friend. I felt the same way about Pecco. The only difference was that he didn't want to have a check-up and wanted to get back on the bike tomorrow to win.

I hated this thought, but could do absolutely nothing against it. I had talked to him, tried to make him understand that maybe it wasn't the right decision, but he didn't want to hear it. He would drive and I, of course, would stand in his box and just hope for the best while my ass was most definitely on the line.

I fell onto my bed in my hotel room and knew already that this was going to be a pretty sleepless night. I was really worried. Really and seriously, because he was important to me.

Pecco was as important to me as he could be. As important as Max was to me. And Max I had known for a lot longer.

I would have suffered the same way with the other guys for sure. I would have felt just as bad when they got back on the bike, but the fact that it had just hit Pecco made it even harder, because he let me get much closer to him than the others.

Bez and Maro always tended to hang around Vale, so they avoided me more or less equally to my husband. Maybe not as intentionally as he did, but the result was the same. I knew little of them.

Franky did not avoid me. He acted like a big brother, even though I was actually two days older than him, and had been known to drop in on me from time to time. He knew a lot about me and I knew a lot about him. We trusted each other.

But with nobody it was as intense as with Pecco. I had let him get close to me and he had let me get close to him. And that made the fall today much worse.

I couldn't bear the thought of what if something really happened to him. I just couldn't and didn't want to have to bear it.

And so I lay on my bed and scrolled through Instagram, only to read that Valentino must have had a great lap today, securing pole position for his team for tomorrow's race. It was written about that he had seemed almost winged. As if he had flown.

I didn't know why, but I felt the need to congratulate him. Even though I was angry. I still had to think of him.

Me: Congratulations on the pole! Good luck tomorrow and please drive carefully.

And while I had been writing the message, the thought had been running through my head of how it would feel if something happened to him.

And just the thought, just the idea had caused my heart to contract so convulsively that I had been unable to breathe for a moment. I pressed my cell phone to my chest and had an incredible need to call him and just hear his voice for a moment. I didn't even know why. He was giving me nothing. No love, no attention. And yet, I missed him.

I wanted to hear him, wanted him to be okay, but didn't dare call him. I didn't want to be disappointed again.

I closed my eyes and felt myself start to cry again.

It hurt so incredibly that he didn't care about anything and would rather spend his time with other women than with me.

I pushed myself up out of my bed and opened the minibar. I felt so fucking lonely. So fucking lonely and for the first time since I had come to Tavullia, I felt the great need to drown all the feelings of today in alcohol.