La Rosa Gialla

Chapter 42

August 2024

"I have a great idea," Charles announced this morning as he finally changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and brushed his teeth. He was wearing, for who knows why, non-prescription glasses, and I've been wondering why he looks so damn good in everything. If I hadn't just had my hands up to my elbows in a bowl of ravioli dough, I'd probably already have them tangled in his hair or tucked under his shirt. "Say it," I sighed. Every time Charles has a great idea, it means complication at best. "What if we didn't fly to see your dad, but drove there?" he said, stepping up beside me to the kitchen counter. I stopped in mid-motion and stared at my dough-covered fingers. Then I slowly raised my head and looked at his happy face. "Are you serious?" I asked, he grinned and nodded his head happily. "It's very far," I grumbled, still looking in his eyes for at least a hint that he was joking. "It's only 451 km via Genoa along the coast. It will be a beautiful journey. Only five and a half hours..." Oh, so he is serious. "Will you drive?" I wanted to know. "We'll take turns," he grinned and I rolled my eyes.

"Do we have everything?" I also quickly checked the contents of the bags when we headed to the garage to the car the next morning. "Sure," Charles agreed, unsure of anything. "A gift for Luca and Elio? That's the most important thing," I didn't let myself be discouraged.

"The tickets for Bologna against AC Milan and the hotel voucher are in your purse, and I put the toy digger for Elio in the trunk yesterday."

"I underestimated you," I admitted with a smile, placing a kiss on his cheek and automatically heading towards the red and white striped Pista. I took the handle, but the door didn't open. "As much as it breaks my heart, we have to drive a Range Rover. That stupid toy didn't fit in Pista."

"What is your favorite place in the world?" I asked Charles just outside Sanremo after about half an hour's drive. "Monaco," he replied in a split second, looking like I had just asked him the stupidest question in the world. I shook my head, "And besides?" He thought for a moment and then said, "Amalfi."

"Amalfi? Why Amalfi?"

"I don't know. As children, we used to go there on vacation with our parents. I know it always reminded me of a smaller, less luxurious Monte Carlo. Although there are also an awful lot of people there. I thought that one day I would like to buy a small house with a view of the surrounding hills and the sea and spend every summer there."

I was surprised. Of all the places he visited and which he could consider his most favorite, he chose a seaside town in Campania overrun with tourists, which has barely 5,000 permanent residents.

"Did I say something wrong?" Charles smirked as I remained silent for a long time.

"No, not at all. I was just expecting something more epic," I laughed.

"Should I have said Vegas?"

"No, Amalfi is an absolutely perfect choice."

"Well, thank you very much," he smirked again, placing his palm on my thigh. I leaned over to him and gave him a quick kiss so as not to distract him too much from driving.

"What about your favorite place?" Charlie asked.

"Carasco kart circuit," I said jokingly, laughing and I could literally see the cogs in Charlie's brain turning.

"You've gone off course," I warned him as the navigation voice tried for about the fourth time to force us to turn around and get back on the main road. "On purpose," he snorted. "You don't know where we are?" he asked as if I was a total moron. "Somewhere beyond Genoa. And it looks like we'll be walking straight into someone's living room soon," I blurted out as we weaved our way through the narrow streets of some small village. "I had more faith in you," he mumbled despondently and pulled into the parking lot. "You said it was your favorite place."

I widened my eyes at him and jumped out of the car with lightning speed so I could lean on the metal railing and look down at the go-kart circuit below me. Nothing has changed here. There was still a small yellow house that served the track manager and tiny podium was taken out under the mast with the Italian flag. I could almost see tiny Charles with a mop of dark hair, crushingly defeating my brother and all his other competitors. Only more modern, white, blue and red barriers have been added to the old tire barriers. "I'm going to ask if they'll let us ride," declared Charles, who appeared out of nowhere beside me. I shrugged and followed him down to said yellow house.

The manager didn't hesitate for a second and in no time brought us two overalls and helmets and then prepared us two go-karts. He was looking at Charles in such awe that I had no doubt that he was a big fan of his. After all, like most Italians following motorsport. "You want to see me beat you?" I teased Charles, making not only him laugh, but also the warden. I frowned a little and got into my kart. I haven't sat in it for at least 10 years, but there are things you don't forget, right? Ride a bike, drive a go-kart?

The manager waved us off and started the stopwatch. Charles had already passed me by a few meters in the first corner and I suspected that this would not be an even fight. He didn't give me the slightest chance. He could at least cut back a little and let his girlfriend at least within range, but no. When it comes to racing, he knows no brother. We circled a few laps and when it looked like Charles would overtake me by a lap, I stopped at the finish line. There were two times on the board. The first was 33.7s and the second 58.6s. How is this even possible?