Read Online The Moretti Heir by Katherine Garbera - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Garbera
Ads: Link
made?
He walked to the wet bar and poured himself a Di Saronno. He tossed the drink back and walked around the darkened living room. The lights of Barcelona competed with the stars in the sky. He’d like to blame his restlessness on Virginia and the questions he still hadn’t asked her, but he knew it was more than that.
He leaned against the French doors, staring out at the night sky over Barcelona. It was quiet now, and he had the feeling that he was alone in the world. His thoughts swirled and he realized that winning the Grand Prix World Championship this year wasn’t going to be enough for him. Because once he had another championship under his belt, there would be nothing left for him in the world of Formula One racing.
He felt sometimes as if he didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t behind the wheel of a race car. Being the face of Moretti Motors was fine, but that wasn’t much of a career. And to be honest with himself, he’d known he’d always been a little bit embarrassed by the way women flocked to him and photographers sought him out.
He walked back to the bar and refilled his glass again.
“Marco?”
He turned to see Virginia standing in the shadows of the hallway.
“ Sì? ”
“What are you doing?”
“I could not sleep. Did I disturb you?”
She walked toward him and he saw that she wore his shirt. He liked the way she looked in his clothes. When she was close enough, he reached out and pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin and simply holding her.
“What are you thinking about? The race earlier?”
He was tempted to say yes. It would be easy to say that he was rerunning the race and trying to figure out when he’d lost, but his mind wasn’t on Formula One or even Moretti Motors. It was on this woman.
“No. I’m not dwelling on the race.”
“What then?” she asked, pulling back to look up at him.
“I was thinking that I don’t know your last name or what you do for a living. Yet, you know what my mother’s career is and a million other details of my life.”
She flushed. “Is that important to you?”
“Yes,” he said. “It is.”
She hesitated. Then, “I’m Virginia Festa. I was born in Italy, but moved to America when I was a year old. My mother, Carmen Festa, was a school-teacher.”
“What about your father?”
“I never knew him. He died before I was born.”
The name Festa sounded familiar to him. “Where in Italy were you born?”
“In Chivasso.”
He stiffened. That was where Cassia had been from. The woman who’d cursed his grandfather and by default all of the Moretti men. He had no idea what the old witch’s surname was, because his grandfather always just referred to her as that witch. But there was something about hearing the tale of Virginia’s life that put him in mind of his own family’s curse. He hadn’t believed in the curse until Dom’s doomed love affair. That had been the incident that had made both him and Antonio consider what their nonno had believed.
Lorenzeo had told the tale of a girl from his village whom he’d promised to love, a girl whose heart he’d broken. In return, that girl had cursed him.
“So it was just you and your mother?”
“No. My grandmother lived with us, as well.”
“Just three women?”
“Yes. My grandmother had done something rash when she was a young girl, and I think her actions doomed us all.”
Virginia didn’t know if it was because they were standing in the dark or because of the comfort she drew from standing in Marco’s arms, but she suddenly wanted to talk about her past. Talk about the path that had led her to his bed so that maybe, at some point in time, he’d understand what she’d done.
“What does this have to do with the secrecy you’ve kept?” he asked. He drew her over to the leather couch and sat down. She sat next to him, drawing strength from him.
Virginia realized that she was saying too much. That she should just retreat back to the bedroom or use
He walked to the wet bar and poured himself a Di Saronno. He tossed the drink back and walked around the darkened living room. The lights of Barcelona competed with the stars in the sky. He’d like to blame his restlessness on Virginia and the questions he still hadn’t asked her, but he knew it was more than that.
He leaned against the French doors, staring out at the night sky over Barcelona. It was quiet now, and he had the feeling that he was alone in the world. His thoughts swirled and he realized that winning the Grand Prix World Championship this year wasn’t going to be enough for him. Because once he had another championship under his belt, there would be nothing left for him in the world of Formula One racing.
He felt sometimes as if he didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t behind the wheel of a race car. Being the face of Moretti Motors was fine, but that wasn’t much of a career. And to be honest with himself, he’d known he’d always been a little bit embarrassed by the way women flocked to him and photographers sought him out.
He walked back to the bar and refilled his glass again.
“Marco?”
He turned to see Virginia standing in the shadows of the hallway.
“ Sì? ”
“What are you doing?”
“I could not sleep. Did I disturb you?”
She walked toward him and he saw that she wore his shirt. He liked the way she looked in his clothes. When she was close enough, he reached out and pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin and simply holding her.
“What are you thinking about? The race earlier?”
He was tempted to say yes. It would be easy to say that he was rerunning the race and trying to figure out when he’d lost, but his mind wasn’t on Formula One or even Moretti Motors. It was on this woman.
“No. I’m not dwelling on the race.”
“What then?” she asked, pulling back to look up at him.
“I was thinking that I don’t know your last name or what you do for a living. Yet, you know what my mother’s career is and a million other details of my life.”
She flushed. “Is that important to you?”
“Yes,” he said. “It is.”
She hesitated. Then, “I’m Virginia Festa. I was born in Italy, but moved to America when I was a year old. My mother, Carmen Festa, was a school-teacher.”
“What about your father?”
“I never knew him. He died before I was born.”
The name Festa sounded familiar to him. “Where in Italy were you born?”
“In Chivasso.”
He stiffened. That was where Cassia had been from. The woman who’d cursed his grandfather and by default all of the Moretti men. He had no idea what the old witch’s surname was, because his grandfather always just referred to her as that witch. But there was something about hearing the tale of Virginia’s life that put him in mind of his own family’s curse. He hadn’t believed in the curse until Dom’s doomed love affair. That had been the incident that had made both him and Antonio consider what their nonno had believed.
Lorenzeo had told the tale of a girl from his village whom he’d promised to love, a girl whose heart he’d broken. In return, that girl had cursed him.
“So it was just you and your mother?”
“No. My grandmother lived with us, as well.”
“Just three women?”
“Yes. My grandmother had done something rash when she was a young girl, and I think her actions doomed us all.”
Virginia didn’t know if it was because they were standing in the dark or because of the comfort she drew from standing in Marco’s arms, but she suddenly wanted to talk about her past. Talk about the path that had led her to his bed so that maybe, at some point in time, he’d understand what she’d done.
“What does this have to do with the secrecy you’ve kept?” he asked. He drew her over to the leather couch and sat down. She sat next to him, drawing strength from him.
Virginia realized that she was saying too much. That she should just retreat back to the bedroom or use
Similar Books
