Did you now, pizzachic? xD That's awesome then; I appreciate that. ^-^ || Well, technically, nobody is perfect; if you went back to Italian Love, you'll find Francesco with almost the same thing. I can't stereotype a career, but it's an effect from what I predict, you know? I mean, I've seen a lot of famous artists having a wild side; this is Rodrigo's.
Traditionally, I'd wait for Pancake, but then again, I'd like to upload this for Mere. :/
Sorry for the long details, Mere; I really love writing those. n_nU And yes, that was a LOL part/line for me. xD
Chapter Seven
He chuckled. He was beside himself in shock and amazement.
He returned to the crowd and the party, siding by his friend Raoul and Rip once more.
"Where have you been?" Raoul asked the Spaniard. "We've been wondering where you'd gone!"
Rip only blinked. "Miguel, you look…you look weird," he told his friend. "What happened?"
"Eh?" His friends' concerns mildly broke through his thoughts. "I'm fine," he told them.
His friends eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.
Soon enough, it was time everyone went home as the party came to a close. Everyone had enjoyed the food, drinks, fames and talk, and left quite happy. The entire family was exhausted, and requested those who would stay for two weeks for help, which was just as well for Miguel. As Marlene settled Franco in his room, Francesco, Margo and the rest of the family and friends fixed up the Bernoulli grand ballroom.
"Why you ever had a grand ballroom made I'll never know," the A7 grumbled.
"That's how things are, Margo," her cousin-in-law replied. She sighed, and a few only laughed and smiled.
"Is it always like this?" Rip asked her.
"Well, with me, it is," she replied, and others laughed as Francesco rolled his eyes.
Soon enough, Miguel caught Margo alone, and took this chance to strike up conversation. But what to talk about?
"You seem affectionate with the Bernoullis," he told her.
She smiled. "After living nearly three years with them, it's easy to be so," she replied.
"About Francesco," he started, "is he still as…well, stupid…as he used to be?" She shot him a glare, and he elaborated hastily. "I mean, does he still do crazy things?"
"Sometimes, but you can say Marlene tame him," she replied, her glare disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, she's the only one who can, that's for sure," she grumbled.
She chuckled as he did, glancing at him with smiling brown eyes. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.
"Can I help?" he offered.
"No, I can handle it."
He knew better than to insist; he barely knew her, after all. But it felt rude he wasn't able to do anything for her as he stood there, watching. He sort of admired her dedication to her work, even if she must be exhausted. And knowing this, he knew he had to help.
"Let me help," he insisted. "You're exhausted."
She stared at him, and he could see weariness dotting her indecision. She then nodded, and together, they pushed the tables away. He felt pretty much happy to help; it left a happy, fluttering impression in his heart. Suddenly though, there was a loud pop, and she squeaked, pressing close to Miguel's side, glancing about wildly in her surprise.
He, too, felt surprise at the pop, but it was mixed with a sort-of wave of affection and security—one to make sure she was fine. It seemed as natural as breathing, the way the latter emotion flowed. He could feel her tremble as she stared around. He glanced at her, his tire moving to touch hers comfortingly.
"Sorry," Jeff Gorvette called out. "Lewis and I found an extra popper."
Many grumbled, slightly angry. Beside him, Margo sighed in relief.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded. "I'll be fine." There was a beat. "I just hate getting startled out of my skin." He chuckled, and she moved away slightly. "Sorry."
"No need," he murmured in reply.
As they finished cleaning up, some had gone as a result of nothing more to do. Miguel wasn't one of them, and this surprised him slightly.
"So, I will be able to see you again, won't I?" he asked her. He frowned at his expectant tone.
She only chuckled. "Of course you will," she told him smilingly. "Why?"
"Nothing, I just…I just wanted to make sure," he stammered.
She smiled at him, and he cursed silently. He wasn't usually like this; why would such a girl make him act this way? But then, as he recalled the night's events, maybe there was a reason. She was someone he cold share his secrets to. She was open to anything he had to say, not judging, not determining what kind of car he was. And in the last few years of his life, he had been judged as a famed car, one who didn't need friendship from an ordinary car. He didn't want to be judged for what he was, for what the media portrayed him; he wanted the people to judge him based on what he said, based on how he portrayed himself. And this girl trusted him, not the Internet.
"You'll be back tomorrow," she reassured him, moving to nudge her corner bumper gently with her own.
He hadn't realized how aghast he must have looked, and only nodded. He would see her again tomorrow. He brightened at that, and smiled.
She seemed to look happier as she spoke. "You had better go; it's late, and we'll be early tomorrow."
He only nodded again, still in quite a daze.
"Miguel, let's go," Rip called. "Good night, Margo."
She dipped her front slightly. "Good night, Margo."
The Rearendian nudged his friend. "Come on, Miguel," he repeated, and with one last moment, the Spaniard tore his gaze away, following his friend out.
"What were you doing with her?" Rip asked as they drove back to their hotel. "You know she's untouchable."
Miguel blinked. "Untouchable?"
"No, you can sleep with her all you want," he replied sarcastically. "The last time Raoul tried flirting in public was the day Francesco freaked out in front of all of us." The younger racer shuddered. "I do not want to go back in time to that for you."
Mildly Miguel was startled the Frenchman would try such a thing. "What day was that?"
"You know, the day Luigi, Guido and Marlene fell in shock at his words," Rip reminded him. "You don't remember that?" Miguel blinked, struggling to remember, but nothing popped up. "Everyone fell silent and his voice was raised above everyone else's?"
"Ohh, yeah." Francesco had disrupted Miguel's comment that night to another girl he was trying to hook away from the sea of cars, and Miguel could barely understand what the Italian was saying. The Spaniard frowned at the memory. "That night."
"So I trust you won't get on Francesco's nerves?" Rip asked.
"Sure," Miguel replied. "I won't."
He would be more careful than his French friend, that was sure.
