I snatch up my messenger bag, double-checking to make sure I still have the emergency debit card Derek gave me, and run down the stairs at a breakneck pace. Faith is standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. “About time. There’s a cab waiting outside.”

“Where in Italy is the race?”

“Monza.” When I look at her blankly, she shakes her head. “Just get to Milan, then follow the crowd. They’ll take you to him.”

“Thanks,” I yell, already halfway out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Holy shit. Faith wasn’t kidding. I get off the packed flight in Milan, and I can barely move through the airport. Racing fans are traveling in droves, some talking excitedly about the upcoming race in accented English. Others speaking in languages I don’t understand. Jogging through the terminal, I do a double take when I see Shane’s face on a television screen in the waiting area, above Italian words I can’t read. It gives me serious pause. This event is much larger, more important than I imagined. It makes me twice as determined to reach him before the race starts. It’s imperative that he goes into it with his head in the right place.

I pace impatiently as I wait in line for a taxi, bombarded by memories of the last three weeks, of me and Shane. Our first meeting at the airport, the rainy night in the alleyway, the morning in my bed. The way he’d gone still as death last night when I lied to him, about my feelings. I’m drowning in these memories, in the need to reach him. He can’t race without hearing me say the words that threaten to topple me. For the first time in my life, I’m not running away. I’m running toward. Am I scared? Hell yeah. But I’m twice as scared of never again feeling the way Shane makes me feel. Knowing I make him feel the same way only increases the feeling of desperation to find him. I won’t screw this up because he won’t let me. I’ve never been more confident of anything in my life.

The ride to the track takes a millennium, mostly because the town is overflowing with people, cars, vendors, and television news crews. People carrying flags from their native countries. Groups of people chanting and cheering. For a girl who spends most of her life hiding in a dark room or avoiding crowds, frankly it’s a little overwhelming. I’m in a strange country, I don’t speak the language, and I’m running after someone who has the ability to smash my irreparable heart to pieces if he so chooses. I’m running on faith, here, that he won’t. That I didn’t ruin my chance with him last night. That he still wants me. Please, please, let him still want me. I can’t go my whole life knowing I screwed this up. I need a chance to make this right.

With that thought ringing in my head, I toss a handful of Euro at the driver, throw open the door of the taxi, and start running. I can see the grandstands, hear the roar of the crowd, but when I reach the entrance, I realize I’ve come all this way without a ticket. Surely with this amount of people attending, this much fanfare, the race has been sold out for months. I stumble back from the crowded entrance, seriously contemplating taking a page from Patrick’s book by sneakily divesting some unsuspecting race fan of their ticket, but I can’t do it.

Frustrated, on the verge of screaming until my lungs give out, I search around wildly for another option. Can I sneak in? Probably not. Definitely not, I remedy, when I see the security guards holding assault rifles, blocking the gates. Then I remember the afternoon Derek took me and Ginger to a Cubs game. As we walked inside to get our seats, there had been men whispering to passersby. Need a ticket? Tickets? Scalpers. Do they have those in Italy?

I scan the teeming mass of people, looking for someone willing to sell me a ticket. When I see a man standing at the edge of the crowd in a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, I start walking toward him. He’s not moving with the excited race fans. He’s alone, but his mouth is moving as people pass. If he’s a scalper, he’s my only shot to get inside.

Closing my eyes and saying a quick prayer, I walk past him slowly.

“Il biglietto?”

I stop. “What?”

He sighs. “Ticket?”

I’m so overcome with relief that all I can do is nod. Then he tells me the price. “Are you a fucking crazy person?”

“People pay twice that. You don’t want it, someone else will.”

“Jesus.” I run a hand through my hair, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to us. I’m painfully aware that if I use Derek’s emergency debit card to purchase an illegal ticket, he will never let me hear the end of it. Screw it. Desperate times. “Can you wait while I run to an ATM?”

He shrugs. “Go.”

“I’ll be five minutes. Please, please, don’t sell it to anyone else.”

“Why so desperate, bambolina?”

“My boyfriend is racing.” I’m already backing away, searching for the closest ATM. “I have to get inside before it starts.”

“Oh, your boyfriend. Sure.”

I race around the corner, relived to find an ATM near the bathrooms. Two people are in line in front of me and my head starts to pound waiting for them. The cheers on the other side of the grandstands are getting louder and it’s all I can do not to scream at them to go faster. When I reach the front, I actually wince over the amount of money it dispenses at my request, but I resolve to deal with it later. I sprint back to the scalper, who is still asking people if they want the ticket. His eyebrows shoot up when I appear in front of him.

“Let’s see the ticket.”

He slides it out of his pocket, and I quickly scan it for the date, time, and location. It’s in Italian, so I’m relying mostly on assumptions. God, please don’t let it be fake. A loud roar kicks up behind me, forcing me to shove the wad of bills into his hand. “If I don’t get it in, I will hunt you down like a dog. Do you understand me?”

“You remind me much of my ex-wife.”

Finally, he hands me the ticket, and I’m off running again. The line at the entrance has died down, I’m assuming because the race is getting ready to start. An usher looks at my ticket and directs me to an area far from the starting line, so I ignore him and push through the packed bodies toward the front. I’ve come this far, and Shane is going to know I’m here, dammit. I don’t care if every person I’m elbowing past is cursing at me, they’ll get over it.