Daughter of a fallen former Formula 1 driver, Camila has had only one mission since her early childhood : to disappear from the public eye and the journalists who eagerly await to tear apart the last ties holding her family together. Torn between he...
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December 2005.
"Where's mom?" I ask as I enter the kitchen, where Andrea, wearing a Santa hat, is struggling with the dough of a focaccia that he can't seem to make rise.
"In dad's office, I suppose. As usual," my brother replies without taking his attention away from the dough.
I backtrack, letting my fingers run along the walls of the long corridor dotted with doors. Through one of them, partially open, I catch a glimpse of Bianca painting her toenails, seated on the floor of her room. In front of the door leading to the office, relentlessly closed, I hesitate for a moment. Deep down, I already know what awaits me behind it. For weeks, my mother has been holed up here, claiming to sort through important papers. But we can hear her crying. When we're in the kitchen, making our own food. Or in the dining room, eating. Alone.
"Mom," I call, my knuckles tapping gently against the heavy wooden door. "Andrea's almost done with the food. Bianca and I are going to set the table. Do you want to help us decorate? We found some pretty stuff from last year..."
"Eat without me," my mother's voice comes, hoarse, tired. So close. I wonder if she's leaning against the door, on the other side. "I still have things to finish here."
"But... It's Christmas Eve?"
"There's a Yule log in the freezer," she says. The door stays closed.
•
September 2019.
Talia swiftly slipped away into the kitchen, claiming she was going to set up the starters. Antonio nearly stumbled as he rose to help her, seemingly impatient to distance himself from the family table. The room now bathes in a cold, deathly silence, one of those so quiet that you can sense the approaching storm. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as if lightning was about to strike. Her voice comes cold. Unforgiving.
"What did you do?"
Andrea's voice, calm yet firm, takes me by surprise. "Mom," he begins. "Don't start."
"Were you two aware?" she continues, pointing her finger at my brother and sister. "Did you know what was going on behind my back?"
"Nothing happened behind your back," I respond, feeling the anger rise. "You weren't there."
"I'm sure Camila didn't mean any harm," Bianca interrupts, barely daring to meet our mother's furious gaze.
"You promised me," my mother resumes, her face contorted with anger. "You all promised."
"As if we had a choice," I retort. "You did everything in your power to erase that part of our lives. As if we didn't grow up between two planes, between two circuits. Did you think you could raise us in motorhomes and pretend that nothing happened afterward?"
