“True. Speaking of pulling off...” She leaned closer, her perfume sharp enough to cut glass. “I heard some interesting news today. My cousin’s sister’s boyfriend works for that Italian racing team—Ferrari’s technical division? She mentioned they’ve offered your Mario quite the position.”
My stomach dropped like a stone into cold water. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Her eyes glittered with false concern. “Technical director position. Very prestigious. Finn says they’ve been courting him for weeks.” She paused, letting that sink in. “I assumed he’d mentioned it, given how... serious everyone thinks you two are.”
The punch in my hand suddenly felt heavy as lead. “I—we don’t discuss every aspect of his career?—”
“Of course not!” Patricia’s laugh tinkled like breaking glass. “Men can be so secretive about these things. Though Finn did say the offer came with quite the deadline. Something about needing an answer by the end of the week?” She glanced around the room. “That’s... when is that? Friday?”
Three days. Three days from now.
“Well,” she continued, checking her manicured nails, “I’m sure whatever he decides will be what’s best for everyone involved. After all, opportunities like that don’t come around twice.” Her smile turned razor sharp. “Give my best to little Olivia. I do hope all this... uncertainty... Won’t be too hard on her.”
She glided away, leaving me standing by the punch bowl feeling like I’d been hit by a freight train disguised as small talk.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and did what I’d sworn I wouldn’t do—I googled Mario’s name. The third result made my blood turn to ice water.
“Former F1 Star Marrone in Talks for Technical Director Position - Sources suggest a strong interest in return to European racing scene.”
The article was dated four days ago.
Four days. He’d known for four days and hadn’t said a word.
I scrolled further, finding more articles speculating about his “inevitable return to Italy” and his “impressive recovery from last year’s career-ending crash.” One even had a quote from someone claiming to be close to the negotiations.“Mario’s always been destined for bigger things than small-town life. This position would put him back where he belongs.”
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.
“Lily?” Mario appeared at my elbow, holding our coats. “Ready to—” He stopped, seeing my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The lie scraped my throat raw. “Just checking on Olivia.”
But Mario had always been observant—it was probably what made him good at racing, reading the smallest changes in conditions. His dark eyes cataloged everything, from the way I clutched my phone to the rigid set of my shoulders, and how I couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Before I could answer, the microphone at the front of the room squealed with feedback. Mayor Gable stood on the small stage, beaming with the particular joy of someone about to make a crowd very happy.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced, his voice booming through the speakers. “Before we get to our pumpkin judging contest, I think we all know what we’re really here to see tonight!”
My heart dropped into my shoes.
“Our very own Romeo and Juliet—if Romeo was Italian and drove very fast cars, and Juliet owned the prettiest flower shop in three counties!” The crowd chuckled appreciatively. “Mario and Lily, why don’t you come on up here!”
I could feel two hundred pairs of eyes swiveling toward us like searchlights. The collective intake of breath was audible—the entire room leaning forward in anticipation.
“We should leave,” I whispered urgently. “Right now.”
“If we bolt now, it’ll be worse,” Mario said through gritted teeth. “They’ll think we’re hiding something.”
We are hiding something,I wanted to scream.We’re hiding that you’re leaving, and I’m an idiot who forgot this was all pretend.
But he was right. In a town this size, disappearing during the mayor’s speech would only fuel more gossip. We made our way through the crowd, their faces bright with anticipation, phone cameras already emerging like flowers turning toward the sun.
Mayor Gable’s grin widened as we approached the stage. “There they are! Our favorite love story in the making!”
I felt Mario tense beside me as we climbed the two small steps onto the platform. Under the bright lights, I could see everything—my mother’s hopeful face in the crowd, Ben trying to look supportive while clearly panicking, June with her phone held high and her Facebook Live already rolling.
“Now, Mario,” the Mayor said, his voice carrying that special tone adults use when they think they’re helping, “I believe you have something you’d like to say to this lovely lady?”
