An hour later, Dominic delivered a red Ferrari.
I took it out for a spin.
Wind in my hair, sunglasses on, death grip on the wheel.
I couldn't even remember the last time I'd driven, and I barely hit twenty miles an hour, gliding down the street like a pensioner on sleeping pills.
Geoffrey rode shotgun, grinning like a proud driving instructor, tossing out compliments as if I was doing laps at Silverstone.
But after a few blocks, muscle memory kicked in.
I loosened my grip, leaned back, and let the engine purr.
When I pulled back into the drive, there was an actual smile on my face.
***
That evening, just as I was about to retreat upstairs after dinner, Ashton said, "My grandfather's birthday's coming up. We'll need to attend together."
"Yeah, I remember." I
