(I'd suggest reading 31 and 32 again, as I haven't uploaded in a while)
The gentle rays of the Lombard sun caressing her naked skin draw her from sleep. Emily buries her face into the pillow, sinking further into the mattress, yearning for a few more moments of rest. Outside her hotel room, the birds are already chirping, so she reaches over to snatch her phone from the nightstand and silences the alarm before it can go off.
Besides her, Charles is snoring softly, his ruffled hair a reminder of last night's party in one of Milan's exclusive clubs. Charles had sprayed champagne all over her and their friends as they celebrated his second win in Monza. The memory makes her smile, the sound of their laughter still echoing in her skull. Her calves hurt from all the dancing she did with Cate and Isa, and there's a nasty looking bruise on her thigh, from when Charles had tripped over the living room table in his failed attempt to carry her over the threshold of their room. They'd made it to bed long after midnight, and while she'd love to curl up against her boyfriend and fall back asleep to the rising and falling of his chest, it's time to get back to their daily routine.
Charles doesn't so much as stir as she gets out of bed, not even when she plants a light kiss on his cheek. His black hoodie lies discarded on the floor, and she slips it up onto her body as she tiptoes out of the room.
Walking over to the small kitchen of their hotel suite, she turns the kettle onーshe has a busy day to get through, and she will never make it out alive without a cup of Earl Grey. She starts a pot of coffee for Charles as her tea gently cools down, and since her boyfriend is expected on the Monza circuit for some Pirelli testing, she grabs a cup out for Andrea, as he'll probably end up joining them for breakfast.
Picking up her phone, Emily catches up on her friends' stories from last night. There's a video of Charles and her in the club, where he's singing along to a Latino song but clearly failing to come up with the right lyrics, and she's throwing her head back in laughter. She reposts it on her Instagram, and adds a cheeky caption to it, "What damage do you have? Talent." Charles might kill her for it, but she's sure her group of friends will find it hilarious.
Once she's done scrolling through her social media feeds, she logs into her work email account. The mere number of unread messages has her groaning into her mug. Business has been picking up lately, and she's been busy sending her final comments on a few manuscripts, on top of bringing in new authors she can see herself working with for years to come. Her network is slowly expanding, and she's beginning to get the hang of this whole "freelance" thing. On the downside, it also means she's drowning in back-to-back Zoom meetings and never-ending phone calls at all hours of the day. Dealing with the emails first thing in the morning gives her a clear view of what her day will look like and on what she'll be focusing on this week.
Tomorrow, she'll make the drive to Lugano, Switzerland, to meet with Mark Johnson, the new writer she's adding to her roster. On Saturday, she's invited to a release party in Milan, for a highly talented writer she worked with during her time at the publishing house. After that, Emily will pack their suitcases for the Asian leg of the F1 calendar. She's already dreading dealing with both the jet lag and time zone changes.
Buried under a shit ton of emails that she needs to go through, one particular message stands out. The sender's address isn't one she recognizes, but the subject line makes her sit up straighter in her chair.
Subject: Thought you'd like this one...
Her eyebrows draw together, her fingers hovering over the screen as she reads the preview text.
Congrats, you've made the front-page news!
A small, nagging voice in her head begs her not to click on it. She's always warning Charles against spam emails, yet she's now considering opening an email that practically screams suspicious.
