The Affair: Week 6 Read Free Page A

prevail in the race. It’s American-style cars, but it’s on a traditional European road-racing circuit, so both sides have something to prove. I shudder to think about all the money changing hands this week in the casinos.”
    “Are there clear favorites to win?” Emma asked, interested.
    “On the American front, Tito Burton, Joe Hill, and Santo Howles are top runners, the three of them have over a dozen NASCAR championships between them. On the Formula One side of things, the betting favorites are Mario Acarde, a flashy Italian driver with fifteen grand prix wins under his belt, and Niki, who has six world titles. Niki drives Montand cars, but always Formula One racers in the past. He won the pole position this morning in the time trials, so Vanni’s got to be pleased about that.”
    “Wow, I didn’t realize Niki was so good.”
    “The best. You’ve met him?” Marco asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Niki and Vanni go way back . . . family connections,” Marco said.
    They began to climb the rugged mountainside in the sedan. Marco took a tight turn that looked down on the stunning coastline. Emma felt like she’d left her stomach two hundred feet behind them. She trusted Marco, but she suddenly wished it were Vanni behind the wheel taking the hairpin turns with his usual effortless handling.
    “It seems like all of you have to be part racecar driver just to go to the grocery store around here,” she said a moment later, glancing down nervously at the steep drop-off on the side of the road.
    “The French Riviera is no place for the faint of heart, that’s for sure. It’s a strange paradox of people living fast and furious and at the same time, being experts on relaxation. They call it a playground, and it is, but it’s a fierce one. Playing on the Côte d’Azur can become an intoxicating . . . and dangerous business,” Marco said amusedly.
    “I’ll bet.”
    “How beautiful,” she said in awe a while later as they passed the ancient village of Saint-Jeannet set high in the mountains. It sat on a ledge between two looming cliffs overlooking the sea far below. Winding streets passed medieval-looking buildings and stunning vista terraces. “Oh, look,” Emma pointed out, smiling at the red, white, blue, and black flags hanging from lampposts along the street proclaiming the Montand Franco-Américain Grand Prix.
    Marco grinned. “The locals are buzzing about the race almost as much as the people pouring in to all the top-notch hotels to watch it. Vanni is considered a local boy, and not just because his father started his car company in Antibes nearby. The Montand family has deep roots in the Côte d’Azur
,
” Marco explained.
    He made his way out of the village, eventually driving onto a thickly wooded road that was so twisting, Emma quickly couldn’t say which direction she was facing anymore. She kept catching a glimpse of the Mediterranean in the far distance and a burnt red slate roof nestled among lush green treetops. Finally, Marco pulled into a secluded drive and there was the villa before them, a white limestone structure with a red roof, sprawling and enormous, yet nestled quite comfortably in the forest and cliffside, almost as if it had been there so long, it had become part of the natural landscape.
    “La Mer,” she breathed out, staring wide-eyed at the ancient home. “Vanni loves it here.”
    Marco gave her a swift, speculative glance, and she wondered what he’d heard in her voice. He brought the car to a halt. “That he does,” he said. “He’s a little happier, when he’s here. I don’t understand why he doesn’t live here all the time, but . . . that’s not for me to decide.”
    Emma glanced at him. She had an uncomfortable suspicion of why Vanni refused to give up the Breakers—the site of so much tragedy.
    A minute later, a dark-haired, aproned, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Denis led them into a circular, sunlit entryway that featured a white