Alright, this is the filler story I wanted to do. :D Please be aware that this is not really required for reading; just something I wanted to do. 8D And besides, I fell in love with this character other than Francesco himself. xD

Oh, and I'd like to refer to MissCarrera's exciting story on Lightning and Sally's first baby girl; I didn't want to do it because she started it already. xD And btw, I love the name: Vivian Jane Carrera-McQueen. ;3


To Chance Upon a Spanish Pearl

Chapter One

(Margo's POV)

I stride past the large wooden doors of the Bernoulli home as I return from work. It's a pretty Wednesday, and I'm really looking forward to soaking in a hot bath. After a day in the garage, it's a pleasure.

I work in S.p.A. Ferrari, up in Maranello, Italy, as a mechanical engineer-supervisor. Initially, I am a supervisor, but I have declined the offer to stay, watch and troubleshoot alone; instead I help in the manufacturing of its road and race cars, doing manual labor as you could say, but I handle the mechanics, which means the engine, hydraulics, brakes and all that. I've had eighteen months of experience and I'm proud to say I know my way around Ferrari. Once, I have been granted the opportunity to try my skills on the 2013 F1 season, and it was, by far, my greatest achievement, even if it was just primary engine touch-ups and design.

This year, as part of my promotion, someone insisted I receive a beautiful new 458 Italia of my choice of color and plate number. Instantly I chose silver, in memory of my old Audi A7 that had, unfortunately, crashed because of some idiot driving drunk. I sued the man for repairs, but when the damage had been too bad to repair, I sued him for what that car was worth. I chose the number MK 252 SMC, although I never really understood why I chose 'MC' at the end, but the three letters stood for 'Margarita Kallide-Stevenson', the numbers in the date of my birthday, February 25th. The original plate number my A7 used is 252 MKS, standing for the same thing. And so, I received my new, beautiful 458 Italia back in June, when I reached my year mark in the service of Ferrari. Even my uncle, a prestigious F1 driver, was amazed by its close-to-Formula-One handling and characteristics. I love that car, and it loves me back.

Sometimes I like to think my 458 as a better alternative than a boyfriend. That car, which I consider a male rather than a female by its looks and superior strength and interior, can't possibly cheat on me, or try something stupid like bungee jumping, or break my heart. But still, there's nothing better than to press your lips against skin rather than metalline, or having that warm feeling in your heart and that fuzzy feeling in your head when someone holds you close.

Have I mentioned that I don't believe in wishes anymore? I keep on wishing for love to come true, but I just can't seem to find it. Wishing for years has made me give up, and I just can't make myself wish anymore. Well, wishes don't really come true in any case, but trying to find an opportunity has, by far, better odds than wishing.

It's six in an autumn/October evening, and my uncle should have had dinner prepared by now. But I don't see him cooking, or smell the gently wafting scents of yummy food coming from the kitchen. In fact, when I ask Giacomo where they are, they're in their room, talking.

At least, that's what Giacomo thinks they're doing. Even before I near the door by three feet I hear the squeaking of bedsprings and gasps emanating from the large master bedroom. I nearly shriek in my horror and/or faint, but I just back away to where the old butler waits by the staircase.

"Well," I start, "they most certainly are busy." My shoulders slump. "Why do they do this everyday?"

His wise words startle me. "It's love, signorina." He shrugs like it's nothing. "But I didn't want to scare you like that."

I nod unconsciously as I take off my red custom Ferrari jacket. "Thanks, Giacomo," I mumble as I head for the baby room.

I peek in to see little baby Gianfranco playing with his cars. The little one-year-old looks at me curiously, then reaches for his auntie, smiling happily. I smile back, entering to hug him.

"How're you, baby?" I croon, and he only laughs as I press my nose to his. I laugh with him, problems forgotten. "Now, you go back to playing, alright? Mama will be by when she wakes," I add as I glance at the clock. He has to be fed or Marlene and Francesco will never hear the end of it.

I set the baby boy down back into his crib, and he waves bye-bye as I go. I then retreat to my room after dismissing Giacomo,telling him I'll be soaking. I throw my jacket onto the bed—I can still use that tomorrow—and open my drawers in search of clothing before I head into the bathroom.

Did I mention I'm still living with my cousin? They decided it would be nice for me to stay—it's just them, Giacomo and baby Gianfranco, really—with the four of them in the large house. At least it's more of a house than a palace; you should see the original home of Grandmama Bernoulli, it's huge!

I fill the ceramic tub with water, pour a little scented bath soap in and strip my clothing before I lie in the warm water. I close my eyes, permitting skin up to under my ears and nose to soak below the surface. I grant myself at least ten minutes of soaking before I get out, because I can feel my skin wrinkling again. I wash the soap out of my pores and shampoo my hair after draining the tub; I'm not used to a bath so I don't really know how. I get out, blotting my hair dry with a towel, in jeans and a sports shirt. I toss the towel onto the rack in the bath, and comb my hair, tying it up again with the black band I keep using for five years straight. I head downstairs to see my uncle cooking again.

"Hiya Uncle," I greet as I kiss his cheek. "Where's my cousin?" I ask as I go get some water.

"She's upstairs with Gianfranco," he replies in his usual Italian accent, flipping some sauté he's doing, jerking his arm. I find it sexy, but how can I think that about my cousin's hubby?

I nod slowly, even if he doesn't see me. "Anything I can do?" I blurt. I don't really like feeling useless around the home; I usually like doing odd jobs around the home.

"Si," he says. "Go chop up those vegetables for me."

I leave the glass on the counter by the sink and start chopping the cabbage. "What's for dinner?" I ask, trying to make small talk.

"Sautéed vegetables," he says, and my head jerks upward.

"As in…?"

"Yup."

My face lights up in anticipation. My mama used to make sautéed vegetables back home, and it's one of my favorites to eat. Eagerly I continue with the broccoli and the green beans, and he asks me to skin the shrimp. When that's done I do the rice—rice has been one of our staple side dishes—and I go pick a leaf off the pandan plant we have outside. My mother taught me something about the leaf being able to soften and make the rice taste better. Poking a hole through the thicker end I slip the thinner side though it, and place it in the pot, even if still was with water. Happily, I wander away to my cousin when Francesco says he's almost done cooking, and I find her with Gianfranco. I decide not to bug them as I see her breastfeeding the little boy, and wander back to my room before I'm called to dinner.

We say grace—yes, we're all Roman Catholic—and eat and talk of work and news ensues.

"I almost forgot," Marlene starts. "We're invited to another Radiator Springs Grand Prix in two weeks."

My eyes widen in interest and I stop eating for a second. "Who's invited?"

"Everyone from the World Grand Prix," Marlene says. "It's a private race, and only intimate friends and family are allowed to go. No press, no trophy, I guess." She takes another spoonful. "Again, honey, your rice is impeccable," she comments, turning to Francesco.

"Actually, Margo did that," he corrects casually, and Marlene stares at me.

"I…do that back home," I say sheepishly.

She only nods as she takes another bite. "It's soft and it's good."

I grin proudly. "So, are we going?"

It's Francesco's turn to smile. "I wouldn't miss it," he says.

"What will you tell Giuseppe?" Marlene tells him.

"I'll tell him we're invited. I mean, he wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to meet old friends, right?"

She nodded. "Seems legit," she murmured.

"Can I come?" I blurt out.

"Why should we leave you?" Francesco says. "We're bringing Gianfranco along, too, aren't we?"

"Of course," Marlene retorts. "I wouldn't leave my only son alone."

"What about the house?"

"Giacomo will handle it nicely."

"And are we bringing our cars?"

"Well, we're bringing your 458, that's for sure," Francesco says. "That 2012 F1 of mine is illegal to drive around the roads, you know."

I brighten. That's what I've been looking for. I've wanted to show it off to Tia and Mia. Oh, how jealous would they be when I tell them I earned my 458 myself?

I think about who's going. I've had a few friends from Marlene's birthday and wedding and Francesco's other parties, and I can't wait to see Rip Clutchgoneski again or Jeff Gorvette and Lewis Hamilton. All three drivers drive me through the roof in laughter, and excitement courses through me as I remember Gianfranco's godparents Lightning McQueen and his wife, Sally, along with their bouncing baby girl Vivian Jane, barely two months younger than Gianfranco.