Recipe for Love

Chapter 22

Anna

It was a strange feeling to suddenly be alone in such a big house. I was glad that they gave me more shifts at the restaurant at my request and my free time was thus reduced to the bare minimum. But something compelled me to take off my eight hours of sleep and set my Sunday alarm for 4:55 to watch the race in Melbourne. I've never seen a single grand prix before, but when you live with one driver and hang out with another one, it's hard not to pay attention. Moreover, I suspected that this would be the only thing that would be discussed in the restaurant the following week, and I didn't want to be completely out of line.

I already sent voice messages to both of them the previous day in which I wished them good luck. I received a long-winded analysis from Lewis in response, from which it was implied that the result would be worthless. Charles limited himself to a simple thank you instead.

Even though the commentary was fortunately in English, I still had no idea what was going on for most of the race. I just watched the standings on the left side of the screen as my father fell down the order until he was forced to withdraw from the race. Due to engine failure, the commentator said. Charles finished sixth, which didn't seem so terrible to me until the camera caught the Ferrari boss's face looking like his toys had fallen down the drain.

When I arrived at work at 11, everyone was silent, which was quite unusual for a bunch of Italians, and it freaked me out quite a bit. "Is something wrong?" I asked Gabriele. "You didn't watch the race? È un disastro!" he wailed. He was just cutting an onion, so luckily it was impossible to tell if he was crying because of it or because of the result of the race. "This year was supposed to be our year. With Hamilton and Leclerc in the team, we should have been almost unbeatable and then this happens. My life is over!"
"It's just a sport," I grumbled and shrugged. Gabriele pierced me with his eyes and for a moment pointed the knife at me as if he wanted to stab me with it too, but in the end, he just waved his hands wildly and disappeared into the warehouse, where he probably continued to cry hysterically.

"Everyone here has gone crazy. All that's missing is for them to hang black flags and national mourning," I complained on FaceTime to Daisy in the evening about the all-day depression that prevailed at work. "You are in Italy and for them Ferrari is a religion. You have to adapt, or you'll be ostracized," she pouted.
"God, you're dramatic," I sighed. "I got up at 5 in the morning for this and what do I get out of it? Nothing. Dark circles under the eyes."
"But when you tell Charles, he'll be proud of you."
"Given how it turned out, I think he'd be happier if I didn't see it," I remarked.
"Do you actually have any news regarding your budding relationship? Did he say goodbye with some flamboyant gesture before leaving?"
"What do you think? If he gave me a bouquet of red roses and a photo of himself so I wouldn't forget what he looked like? I don't want to disappoint you, but no."
"Sorry, I know he's your boyfriend, but you can't forget the way he looks. Sometimes I even see him in my dreams."
"Daisy! For God's sake!" I screamed. "First of all, he's not my boyfriend and second of all, ugh. Keep your erotic fantasies to yourself."

"It was really terrible," Charles complained on the phone the next afternoon. I stood at the back entrance of the restaurant trying to speak as quietly as possible so I wouldn't be found out and sent back to work because my break was long over. "I know. I was watching. Not that I really knew what was going on, but I was watching," I agreed.
"Wow, Anna. You're full of surprises," laughed Charles.

We talked for almost an hour about everything and nothing. During the conversations with him, time passed completely differently, and it was almost unbelievable that no one missed me in the restaurant. The work ethic here was seriously very relaxed. His tone of voice and accent were incredibly soothing to me, and if he narrated an audiobook, I'd probably play it every night before bed. Well, not probably, but definitely. I was only brought out of my pleasant mood by a remark about when he would return to Europe.

"That's almost a month from now," I whispered.
"I know. But we have a lot of sponsorship activities between China and Japan, and it's not worth flying that far for such a short time."

I couldn't fall asleep for a long time. For a very long time. In the darkness and solitude of my room, it occurred to me that F1 had not only taken away my dad, but now it was taking away my chance at my first normal relationship with a normal guy.