Page 59 of Green Flag (StormSprint #2)

Everly

Five years later

Valencia was one of Luca’s favourite places in the world.

Along our travels, we always came back. Whether it was for a few days between races, on our way back from a long-haul flight, or between visiting our families.

We’d gone through cities on every continent, looking for home. It was always here.

It had nothing to do with the heat or the track being half an hour away. It was a city of light and freedom, and the memory of the first time we truly became us .

Last night we’d dragged the mattress out onto the balcony off our bedroom, piled it with a hundred blankets, and lay there with wine and nothing else but the twinkling stars.

And it was all ours .

He had bought his house close to his Nonna’s years ago, but it was all in his name. This place we found together.

And after only getting the keys two days ago, I was sad to leave it.

The cliffside villa had three bedrooms and a view that made my heart ache. It was everything we’d whispered about at hotels and pit stops. I had a music room stuffed with instruments. Luca’s gaming den was all he’d ever wanted — and I’d grab a guitar and join him on a comfy swivel chair.

But the best bit? A bar.

We could shoot tequila, pinky fingers interlocked forever.

Well, when we weren’t at StormSprint.

Another thing we had, though… boxes. Mountains of boxes.

Luca found me in the walk-in wardrobe amongst a tsunami of clothes, trying to sort them into piles that kept on crashing into each other.

I slumped against the drawer island with a sigh.

I was running out of time. He leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms and grinned. “You’ve made a bit of a mess.”

“I’ve made a gigantic mess.” I groaned and gestured to the covered floor. “I don’t even know how I own so many clothes.”

He grimaced. “Well, you have more time to unpack now. Our plane is going to be delayed by three hours.”

I hurled a bra at a box. “Shit. We’re going to be so late.”

He shrugged and pulled out his phone. “Good thing we’re besties with the head of PR who has arranged the whole shoot.”

“She’s four months pregnant,” I said, shaking my head as I hauled myself up. “She doesn’t need any more work. Her feet have started to swell.”

Luca’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to the side. “Wait—she’s sending you feet pics now?”

I lost it—full witch cackle, doubled over against the drawers. Livie? Sending feet pics?

“No,” I managed to get out when I could breathe. “I saw her feet in the background of a picture she sent of Avia.”

Their toddler daughter had her arm bands on by the pool, grinning in pigtails.

“I’m sure Livie will manage to push back my time by an hour or two.”

In five hours, Luca was meant to be smiling for cameras and answering interview questions in Portugal. I’d woken especially early to finish unpacking after I’d fallen asleep on the mattress last night, cuddled into Luca.

“But I wanted to be there for Fia,” I whispered, picking at my nails.

I’d only had one psoriasis flare-up in the past year and a half, but now I’d found something new to fixate on—my nails. I’d started picking them again. My nail tech had switched to industrial glue just to slow me down.

“She’s hard as nails,” Luca reminded me, wrapping me up in a hug. “She’s been up against worse. One racer she has to translate for? Easy. If anything, she’ll probably bring the chaos. She’s your sister after all.”

It had been her dream to work at StormSprint since she was a pre-teen. He was right. I shouldn’t have to worry.

But I still did.

“She won’t take any of his messing.”

“Of course not,” he said and laughed softly.

But I should’ve been there. She didn’t need help navigating anything—she already knew the game. What she needed was someone in her corner. Like she had always been for me.

“Care to help pull the mattress in?”

Luca did it. I grabbed the blankets before making the bed. Making our bed. That we owned.

“Did you know…” Luca said, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “You do this adorable little shoulder wiggle when you’re excited?”

I shook my head. Lies and slander.

“It’s your biggest giveaway,” he laughed in my ear. “When you try and pretend you don’t want a takeaway, your shoulders get all happy and I know you’re already on board.”

“I do not!” I cried, turning in his arms.

“It’s not always about food,” he said, bending so his nose nearly bumped into mine. “But most of the time it is. Burgers are your biggest weakness.”

My mouth dropped open to disagree, but yes, he might have been right there. Burgers were my ultimate favourite.

“And strawberry bonbons,” he added, but his voice lowered and he punctuated the sentence with a kiss.

It was soft and slow, his hand running up my back before sinking into my hair. “I want to mess up the bed.”

I nodded, biting my lip, trying to concentrate really hard on not wiggling my shoulders.

“ Our bed,” I corrected him.

And then he laughed, kissed me stupid, and pulled me down onto the mattress like we had nowhere better to be.