‘You started withdrawing from me the moment I told you Rafael was about to wake up. Well, I’m glad to have been of service. But if you have any designs on my brother, kill them now. He won’t like soiled goods.’
She flinched and bit back her gasp. For a moment he appeared to regret his words, then his expression hardened again.
‘Wow. Okay, I guess your mind’s made up.’
‘I mean it, Sasha. Come anywhere near Rafael and I’ll crush you like a bug.’
Pain congealed into a crushing weight in her chest. ‘I suspected this, and I see I was right. Rafael will always come first with you—no matter how much you protest about putting yourself first. I just hope you don’t have to give up something you really want one day.’
He frowned. ‘There’s nothing I want more than my family safe.’
‘Well, that says it all, doesn’t it?’
Whirling, she hurried from the room, cursing the stupid tears that welled up in her eyes.
In her room, she grabbed her suitcase and stuffed her belongings into it. She was snapping it shut when her door flew open.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Leaving. Obviously.’
‘Your flight is not for another four hours.’
She picked her case off the bed. ‘Oh? And what? You want one last shag for old times’ sake?’
His eyes darkened in a familiar way even as his jaw clenched.
A stunned laugh escaped her. ‘Let me get this straight. You want more sex with me even though I’m “soiled goods” you wouldn’t let your own brother touch?’
Dull colour swam into his cheeks. ‘Don’t put it like that.’
‘You know when I said you weren’t an ass? I was stupendously wrong! You’re the biggest ass in the universe.’ She stalked towards the door.
‘Sasha—’
‘And to think I fooled myself into thinking I was in love with you. You don’t deserve love. And you certainly don’t deserve mine!’
Had she looked back as she sped through the door, pleased with herself for not breaking down in front of him, she would have seen his stunned face, his ashen pallor.
Sasha flew home to Kent after the Indian Grand Prix, one step closer to cementing the Constructors’ Championship.
Returning home for the first time in months felt bittersweet. Glancing round the familiar surroundings of the home she’d grown up in, she wanted to burst into tears. Pictures of her father graced the mantel. A wooden cabinet in the dining room held their trophies. They weren’t as numerous as Marco’s, but she was proud of every single one of them. Unlike Marco, who’d chosen to hide his away the way he’d chosen to close off his heart …
But had he? He’d shown her that he would fight to the death to protect his family. Didn’t that prove it was her who wasn’t worth fighting for? The thought hurt more than she could bear.
With an angry hand she dashed away the tears. She refused to dwell on him. Her only goal now was finishing the season. She couldn’t summon the appropriate enthusiasm for next year.
Wearily, she trudged to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Mrs Miller, her next door neighbour, had texted to let her know the fridge was fully stocked.
Sasha opened the fridge, caught a whiff of cheese and felt her stomach lu
rch violently. She barely made it to the bathroom seconds before emptying the contents of her stomach. Rinsing her mouth, she decided to forgo the tea in favour of sleep. Dragging herself to the shower, she washed off the grime of her transatlantic flight and fell into bed.
The stomach bug she suspected she’d caught in India, along with half of the team, didn’t go away immediately, but by the time she arrived in Brazil three and a half weeks later she was in full health.
And three points away from securing the championship.
São Paolo was vibrant and exhilarating. The pit was abuzz with the excitement of the season’s final race, and Team Espiritu even more so with a potential championship win only a few short hours away.