Four months later...

Italy

The red convertible was the giveaway.

If it was up to her, Isla thought, she would have chosen a less conspicuous car, but it had been Matthew's decision, and he didn't see the point in purchasing anything that wasn't expensive, luxurious and liable to blind you. So red it was. All four occupants in the car wore dark baseball caps and sunglasses despite the blistering heat.

Isla tipped her head back. Wind tickled her face, carrying the scent of Italian lemons and olive groves. Matthew took a sharp turn, and Cedro yelped.

"Cazzo, Matt!"

"Sorry," Matthew said, not looking particularly sorry at all. "I'm only going a hundred."

Cedro frowned. "The speed limit here is eighty."

"Exactly."

"Oh, buck-up, Ced," Noah said cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder. "You drive race cars professionally." He kicked his legs up on the dashboard. "Live a little."

"Actually," Cedro said, exasperated, "I plan to live for more than a little. And I will if Carr slows the hell down."

Matthew met Isla's gaze in the rear-view mirror. His eyebrow arched, as if to say, can you believe the abuse I'm taking? She hid a smile behind her hand.

"We must be almost there," Isla said.

Cedro's face changed. "Almost."

Isla patted his hand. His face was tense, but Cedro offered her a tight smile. His knuckles were white on the doorhandle, although it was difficult to say if it was because of their destination, or because Matthew had just taken a hairpin turn.

Noah let out a whoop. "She really is a beauty, isn't she?" He patted the side of the car fondly. "For a Ferrari, that is."

Matthew cut him a look. "Try that again. I dare you."

"What?" Noah asked innocently.

"You know what."

"I can't help it." Noah shrugged. "My loyalties lie with Mercedes. The superior brand."

"Oh, shove it, Wood." Matthew took another scream-inducing turn. "You should be so lucky as to drive a Ferrari."

"I might have to, one day."

"Really?" Cedro leaned forward. "Are you thinking of leaving Mercedes?"

"In a sense," Noah said lightly. "Or rather, the team is thinking of leaving me." He cushioned his arms behind his head. "Turns out I have to win next season, or my contract won't be renewed. Hamish told me last week."

Silence.

Isla's heart raced in time with the car, and she was suddenly aware of every small sound. The purr of the engine. The gravel kicking up from the road. And the absence of sound, too; Cedro hadn't chewed his gum in a full thirty seconds.

Matthew swore. "Are you serious?"

"Well," Noah said, "it wouldn't be a very funny joke, would it?"

"That's ridiculous." Cedro's voice was hoarse. "You're a good driver, fratello. They'll change their minds."

"Not this time," Noah said. "I've really shit the bed." His smile was bright. "Anyway, it's my own fault. Too much drinking and not enough driving."

"You can win," Matthew said firmly. "I know you can."

"I hope so," Noah said. "I have no other choice."

Isla's heart clenched. "Noah..."

"Enough of this." Noah waved a hand airily. "Today's a celebration. Not a funeral." He materialized an aux cord — seemingly from thin air — and plugged it in. "How do we feel about Keith Urban?"

Matthew groaned. "Please, god, no."

"Kenny Chesney?"

"It's official," Cedro muttered. "I'm jumping out of this car."

Matthew lunged for the phone, but Noah was faster, making a tutting noise as he held it out of reach. The delicate strains of Blake Shelton filled the car. Cedro groaned, shouting something — presumably very rude — in Italian, and Matthew chuckled. All three boys were grinning like idiots.

Noah looked happy.

But then again, Isla realized, Noah always looked happy. He was the first person on stage at a karaoke bar. He was the biggest drinker, the fastest talker, and he had the loudest laugh in any room. When Matthew was in hospital, Noah had visited every day, doing horrendous recreations of TikTok dances to keep him entertained.

People adored Noah.

Isla just wondered if Noah knew who he was without those adoring people around.

The car slowed. Cedro swore rapidly in Italian, and it took Isla a moment to realize why: they were approaching a terracotta house.

"We're here," Cedro said grimly.

Matthew parked the car. All four passengers got out, and Isla shielded her eyes, squinting up at the house. It was more cheerful than she expected: green vines tumbled down candy-floss walls, and someone had hand painted a mailbox with little flowers. It looked like the sort of home that belonged to woodland faeries, Isla reflected; not someone's evil ex-girlfriend.

Cedro circled to the boot of the car. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Noah grinned. "I can't believe we didn't do it sooner."

"What if she's home?" Cedro asked.

"Then we run." Matthew leaned against the car door. "Quickly."

"No use." Cedro took out a large box. "Sofia took track in school. She'd catch us within minutes."

"I meant in the car," Matthew said slowly. "But if you want to frolic through the wilds of Italy, be my guest."

Cedro flushed. Or maybe that was just the natural state of his cheeks; it was difficult to say. Isla drifted closer, and Cedro jumped when she touched his arm.

"Can I inspect the goods?" Isla asked.

Cedro opened the box. A pair of Louboutin heels lay inside, nestled together like children sharing a bed. They were black patent leather on the outside with a cherry-red sole. They were gorgeous. And they were also, Isla knew, the exact infamous pair of shoes that Sofia had broken up with Cedro over.

That was the point.

"Well?" Cedro demanded.

Isla smiled at him. "Perfect."

"I should leave a note," Cedro announced. "With the shoes."

Matthew stared. "A note?"

Cedro frowned. "Don't give me that look. I'm not going to sign it. She'll know they're from me. I just want to..." He closed the box, his frown deepening. "I don't know. I just think there should be a note."

"Here." Isla fished around in her purse, producing a pen and a receipt for a Costa coffee. She passed both to him apologetically. "It's all I have, I'm afraid."

"It'll do." Cedro's pen hovered. "What should I say?"

"Screw you?" Matthew suggested.

Isla added, "Turns out I'm a rockstar and you're really missing out?"

"You've been a complete heel?" Noah suggested, and then shrugged when everyone turned to stare at him. "What? I like puns."

Cedro thought for a moment. Then he bent close to the box, scribbling on the back of the receipt. Isla leaned in, reading the words over his shoulder. These have always been more important to you than I was; I hope they were worth it.

"Wow." Matthew whistled. "Cuts deep. I like it."

Cedro frowned. "Too much?"

"Just right," Isla said, squeezing his shoulder.

Cedro capped the pen. He tucked the box, and all three of them watched as Cedro marched towards the door, his shoulders squared. He dropped the package on the mat. Then — as if on reflex — Cedro rang the doorbell.

Matthew froze. "Did he just...?"

"He did," Isla confirmed.

"Bloody hell." Noah blew out a breath. "Maybe we should have gone over the plan one more time."

Cedro seemed to realize his mistake.

He spun around, panic in his eyes. Italian voices drifted through the window, and a chair scraped back. Matthew produced his car keys.

"Let's run," he suggested.

Noah hopped into the passenger seat. "Great idea."

Isla lunged for the backseat, cursing as her heeled sandal sunk into a muddy patch. Stupid Italian vineyards. Stupid, sink-y soil. Matthew chuckled, casually pulling her out and tossing her into the back of the convertible.

"I love it when you swear," he murmured. "It's like a kitten trying to growl."

Isla glowered. "You can sod right off."

"You see?" Matthew winked. "Adorable."

Matthew swung into the driver's seat. A moment later, Cedro vaulted into the back, his dark curls springing up in every direction. "Go!" Cedro slapped the back of the headrest. "Go, go, go! Fast!"

Matthew started the engine. "The speed limit—"

"I don't care!"

"My, my," Matthew said mildly. "How the tables have turned."

Still, Matthew slammed on the gas, and then they were shooting down a winding dirt road. Isla pulled off her baseball cap, closing her eyes as the breeze ruffled her ponytail. When she opened them again, Matthew was watching her in the rear-view mirror.

"Eyes on the road," she warned.

Matthew smiled, his eyes flicking away. Cedro pulled out his phone, punching in the passcode, and Noah groaned.

"Please tell me you're not calling Sofia," he said.

"I'm not," Cedro said.

"Then who?"

Cedro glanced at Isla. "Nobody."

His voice was defensive, and realization struck her. Isla whipped around so fast that she kinked her neck. "It's Tiff, isn't it?"

Cedro coloured. "No!"

"It is," Matthew said smugly. "Look at his face."

"Oh, for god's sake," Cedro sighed. "Does nothing stay secret in this group? Fine. Yes, I'm calling Tiff. I—" He broke off, his face changing as he looked at the screen. "Santo cielo. Has anyone else checked their phone?"

"No," Matthew said slowly. "Why?"

Noah fished out his phone and then froze. "Bloody hell."

"What?"

"I have three hundred notifications." He shook his head incredulously. "And that's not even including social media. Twitter is blowing up."

"Why?" Matthew demanded. "What's going on?"

Isla let out a whoop. "Amelia Cartwell's just been signed by Alpine." She held up her phone — open to a photo of a pretty brunette on Instagram — and grinned. "You hear that, boys? Dismantling the patriarchy one step at a time."

Noah rounded on Cedro. "Did you know?"

It was a fair question. Amelia would, Isla realized, be Cedro's teammate next year; it only made sense that he would have been told. Sure enough, Cedro turned the colour of summer beetroot and Noah groaned.

"I can't believe you kept it from us!"

Cedro held up his hands defensively. "I signed an NDA!"

"Ah," Noah said. "So some things do stay secret in this group." He laced his hands behind his head. "That's good to know."

Cedro scowled. "Don't even think about it, Wood."

"What?"

"You can't sleep with Amelia."

Noah's eyes widened. "I never said I wanted to!"

"You didn't have to," Cedro said shortly. "She's my teammate, Noah. My teammate." When Noah remained silent, Cedro sighed, nudging the back of his chair. "Look, your career's already on the line; you can't afford to get distracted. Anyway, I'm sure the FIA will put rules in place about canoodling with other drivers."

Noah smirked. "Did you just say canoodling? Unironically?"

"Noah!"

"Fine!" Noah held up his hands. "I won't sleep with her. I won't even look at her. Happy?"

"For now," Cedro said reluctantly.

Matthew took a tight turn. Isla winced as what had once been her lunch — bread, cheese, and a pear salad — sloshed sideways in her stomach. Cedro must have felt similarly, because he moaned, hunching over slightly.

"Seriously, Matt," he said, "I'm getting carsick. Can we switch for a while?"

"Absolutely not," said Matthew.

Cedro cradled his stomach. "I'll buy you a month's worth of peppermint tea. And I'll personally wash your car. All three of your cars, in fact."

Matthew tapped his chin. Considered.

"Done," he said.

He pulled the car over. Cedro catapulted into the front, clearly terrified that Matthew would change his mind. Isla smiled as Matthew climbed into the back next to her, dropping a kiss on top of her head.

"Hi," he said.

She snuggled into his chest. "Hi."

Cedro started the engine. Matthew glanced at the boys before leaning in closer, his mouth brushing her ear.

"I had a dream last night," he murmured.

Her smile grew. "Really?"

"Yes. I was a piece of gum on the bottom of a bench. Only nobody ever used the bench, because it was next to a rather disgusting sewer drain, so I never overheard anything interesting."

"Sounds thrilling," Isla said solemnly. "Shame you woke up."

Matthew poked her in the side. "Alright, then. What did you dream about?"

Isla shifted, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "I dreamt that I was in Italy with my favourite person in the world. We took a long walk along the Tiber, and then we sat on a bridge and watched the sun dip below the water. It was unbelievably beautiful."

Matthew's blue eyes sparked. "Were there churros?"

"Definitely," Isla said.

"And inappropriate nightgowns?"

"Oh, certainly."

Matthew leaned in. Kissed her once. Twice. Isla was aware of Noah groaning, saying something about being put off his dinner, but she hardly noticed. Everything had faded to Matthew's peppermint scent and his lopsided smile.

"Red?" he asked.

"Yes?"

Matthew leaned close. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

"I'm in love with you," he murmured.

Isla gave him a dubious look. "That wasn't a very good secret."

"I know," Matthew said. "But it's my favourite one."

A strange rush of warmth filled her. It was strange, Isla reflected, how it felt to be this happy; it was like a balloon expanding in her chest, pressing against her ribs until she thought she might burst. She'd felt this way with other things before. Sadness. Anxiety. Fear.

She hadn't realized happiness could be overwhelming, too.

Isla shifted against Matthew's chest. His heartbeat was a steady drum in her ears, his hand tangled in her hair. Country music drifted from the stereo. Italian vineyards whipped by, a blaze of spring green and butter yellow, and she half-closed her eyes.

This, she thought. This is what I've been waiting for.

Where would they be in a year from now? Snorkeling in Australia? Cycling in France? Or maybe just curled up on a couch somewhere, Isla thought, watching re-runs on the telly with a bottle of red wine.

It didn't matter.

A million different dreams were waiting for them.