"What if we're better as a team?" Lando asked, his gaze softening.
"We're better as rivals," Rose replied, her heart pulling her in two directions.
In this world of speed ambition friendship and love, every race could change everything-on and off th...
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Rose stood on the balcony, the December air stinging her cheeks as she watched the sea stretch out beneath a slate-gray sky. A soft mist draped the distant hills, and the terracotta rooftops below seemed almost dusted with frost. Once-vibrant flowers on the balcony now clung stubbornly to life, their colors faded. Festive decorations on nearby villas tried to add warmth to the cold, but they only deepened the chill in her heart.
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She leaned against the railing, letting the cold bite into her skin, as her thoughts drifted back to the moments she'd shared with Franco. In this very villa, they had laughed, held hands, and made love under the moonlight. It had been blissful, almost perfect. Almost. The memories rushed back in a bittersweet flood, leaving her breathless. She had thought she had moved on, that the past was behind her. But the truth was, she had only turned the page, not closed the book. The chapter with Lando remained, waiting, lingering.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Rose wiped away a stray tear, took a deep breath, and opened it. There stood Franco, holding a small bag with a familiar, comforting scent—Bouillabaisse from their favorite restaurant in Villefranche-sur-Mer. It was the dish they had discovered together on their last visit, savoring it on a quiet evening by the sea. The rich aroma, infused with the essence of the Mediterranean, stirred bittersweet memories. His eyes were gentle, yet held an unspoken question he seemed afraid to voice.
"Can I come in?" Franco's voice was soft, almost tentative.
Rose nodded, stepping aside to let him in. "I wasn't expecting you this early," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Franco placed the food on the small table by the window, his eyes never leaving hers. "I thought you might be hungry," he said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. But the tension between them was almost suffocating.
They ate in relative silence, the only sound being the occasional clinking of utensils. It was a comfortable silence, yet so heavy with the words left unsaid. Finally, Rose put down her fork, staring at the remnants of their meal. She felt Franco's gaze on her, warm and steady He had always been good to her—kind, attentive, loving in ways Lando never quite managed. With Franco, there was no need to hold her breath, no second-guessing every word or look. He was safe—safe in a way that should have made her heart settle.
