After they’d made love that first time so explosively, Vanni had made love to her again, the second time still heated, but soulful and poignant. Afterward, they’d talked quietly, touching each other, the afterglow so sweet that she’d forgotten where they were.

When reality had finally struck, anxiety came with it.

“Is that really the time?” she’d asked, her gaze landing on a bedside clock. “Oh my God, Vanni, we’ve been down here for hours. Niki must think we’re so rude. The others must wonder what we’re doing,” She’d started to scramble up from the bed, but Vanni had halted her with a hand around her wrist.

“They know what we were doing. We’re all adults. Besides, the yacht has been anchored for the past twenty minutes. Most of the guests have probably already gone back to shore.”

She’d blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” he’d said dryly. “Besides, I told you it doesn’t matter what any of them think, Niki aside. And he’ll be happy.”

She’d fallen back on the bed, bracing herself with her elbows.

“Because you are?” she’d asked hopefully.

He’d pulled her to him again.

“Because I am.”

She glanced at Vanni’s profile now, drinking in his newfound peace as Mrs. Denis served them Raceday Bellinis, coffee, tea, fruit, toast, and freshly made pastries with cute little racing-flag toothpicks.

“Who will I sit with at the race?” Emma wondered after Mrs. Denis had bustled back inside.

“Me, I expect.”

She smiled and popped a grape in her mouth. “I thought you’d be away doing important racing things.”

“Anything that isn’t done before the race begins isn’t going to get done period.”

“And what should I wear?”

“I’m wearing what you see,” he said, spreading marmalade on some thick wheat toast.

“So it’s casual? I thought maybe we were supposed to wear our Sunday best and big hats or something.”

“This is the Montand grand prix, not the Kentucky Derby,” he said dryly.

“Right. A prince’s version of casual,” she said, glancing down over him with a smile.

She imagined Cristina was guiding her as she fingered through the clothing she’d inherited. Of all people, Cristina would have known she needed help. Feeling the festive mood of raceday, she settled on a flirty, fresh red halter sundress that fell just above her knees, along with a pair of black sandals. She looked through some of the accessories Dean Shaw’s wife had sent but couldn’t find anything in blue to accessorize in the Montand colors. She settled for a chic black-and-white watch. If she was to judge by Vanni’s warm, appreciative stare on her when he returned to pick her up later that day, she thought she’d hit the mark just right. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her.

“I dressed in the Montand car colors,” she told him with a grin.

His eyes had sparkled before he swooped down and kissed her surprisingly hard, taking away her breath. “You look like luck walking,” he’d said. She blinked when she felt him slide a velvet box into her hand. He just raised his brows expectantly when she gave him a surprised look.

“Oh my God, they’re gorgeous. And perfect! It’s the Montand colors,” she exclaimed when she opened the box and saw the sapphire, diamond, onyx, and ruby bracelet lying there along with a vintage-looking, flower-shaped sapphire ring. Vanni picked up the bracelet and looped it around her wrist.

“You dressed as if you knew you were getting them,” he said, fastening the clasp.

“I knew no such thing. Oh, it’s so pretty,” she said, twirling her wrist in the sunlight. He reached, immobilizing her hand, and slid the ring onto her finger. Her heart came to a dead stop.

“Thank you,” she whispered feelingly. He smiled. She put her arms around his neck. He pulled and she came off the stairs, fully into his arms. Their kiss left her breathless.

“I thought they would bring me luck,” Vanni said near her lips a moment later.

“For the race?”

He shook his head, his gaze warm on her face. “I bought them the day before you agreed to come to France. It worked. You came.”

Everything from that day struck her as a colorful, exciting, bright blur. Mrs. Denis rode with them to the main grandstand for the race, located on the outskirts of Villefranche-sur-Mer. As they drew closer to the circuit, the crowds of people walking, riding their bikes, and attempting to drive grew thick. Vendors with carts sold everything from sorbet to water to race flags. The atmosphere was electrical, and Emma couldn’t help but be caught up in the excitement. As an event organizer, Vanni had a pass to drive on the road to the huge grandstand that was erected at the starting and finish lines. Most of the people would watch the race at various sites along the route, roadside locations that had been designed with spectator safety in mind.

Mrs. Denis kissed Vanni and Emma, excitedly bidding Vanni good luck when they walked up the steps to the grandstand a while later; she would watch the race with some friends and family members elsewhere.

Vanni led them to a prime box located in the grandstands, one that was canopied and directly in front of the white finish line of the main arena racetrack. Apparently, the box was designated for the racing board and their friends and family. Estelle and Simon Fournier were already there, seated not in the metallic benches featured elsewhere in the grandstand, but in comfortable-looking deep chairs. Next to each chair was a table with an attached video screen. Determined to follow Vanni’s easy manner and not betray her embarrassment over what had happened on the yacht yesterday, Emma returned the couple’s greeting warmly. Vanni introduced her to the mustachioed man she’d seen at the dinner along with a regal-looking woman in her fifties, both of whom greeted her cordially. Emma almost immediately forgot their names, she was so distracted and excited by the energy in the air. A bar was set up in the back of the box, and caterers were busy laying out what appeared to be a lavish, gorgeously displayed lunch.

“Sit here,” Estelle Fournier insisted while Vanni went to get them drinks. Feeling she had no other choice, Emma sat in the chair Estelle indicated next to her. Estelle looked extremely beautiful in a sophisticated yet simple ivory sundress that set off the tan she’d gotten yesterday on the yacht. “The South of France agrees with you,” Estelle said, her gaze dropping over Emma’s figure shrewdly.

“Or something does,” Simon agreed with a warm, knowing smile and a glance back at Vanni.

“Do be quiet, Simon,” Estelle snapped coolly. “You’re embarrassing the girl.”

Emma was more embarrassed for Estelle’s sharp tongue than she was for anything Simon had said. She was glad when three or four others joined the group in the box, distracting her from the Fourniers’ marital discord. Vanni appeared a moment later with their drinks—a punch they had prepared at the bar—and took a seat next to her.

“Feeling lucky, Van?” Simon asked briskly.

“Very,” Vanni replied, his gaze on the track, his hand closing briefly on Emma’s thigh.

“I don’t think I ever heard how you two met,” Estelle said, sipping her drink.

“Emma is a nurse. She cared for Cristina,” Vanni said, his clipped tone and the manner that he continued staring out at the arena track not inviting further inquiry. Emma looked out to the track, too, when she heard some applause and the roar of engines. The drivers were taking their marks. Vanni pointed and she saw the red, blue, black, and white Montand car.

“You want to be down there, don’t you?” Estelle asked, studying Vanni’s profile as an announcer began to speak in French on the arena sound system and the noise level increased from the crowd.

“Down there?” Emma asked, confused.

“Leading Niki’s team. In the pits,” Estelle said.

She turned to Vanni. “You’re usually down in the pits?” she asked him.