Chapter 2: New traveler

Dalon

Three days of peace and quiet in a little town where no one knows me and most people here are happily married or really old. They don’t get much visitors and so far, it has been perfect. Aside from my physical trainer that had to travel with me as some of my training does involve having a helping hand, I haven’t had many people to talk to. Not that I can understand much of what anyone is saying, as I am in the middle of nowhere, Italy. Not even sure that people really know about this little town. 

“Are you ready to face the market area? I assume you would want to stock up on food and it would do you good to actually come out of here a bit.” Mario, my trusted trainer and best friend says as he comes walking into my room as if he owns it. 

“That sounds like an exercise of my mental health. You know how the first walk about the town went. Not sure I want to face that again.” I tell him, pulling on a shirt as I get ready for my morning run. 

“You choose this town, remember.” He reminds me yet again as if I don’t already regret that choice. 

“Yes well, I thought they would be slightly better at speaking English here. I mean, English is still the universal language, right?” I hate that I choose a town where they hardly speak any English, but I needed to get away and I felt like Italy was the place too go. It is not too far from my home in Monaco, not that I speak French or understand much of it, but I love my home, and it is close to Michael and Caled, two of my closest friends and biggest rivals on the track. 

“Yes, but not in small towns like these. Here, they speak their home language and know little other languages. Besides, it is not like they really get any visitors. The fact that there is only one guest house in the entire town should’ve given you that clue. Now get ready, you will be taking your run through the town and not around it today as we really need to get food, or we might not make it the rest of the week.” He says, throwing my shoes at me before walking out. There is no point in arguing with him and honestly, if I had a choice, I would’ve left him to go spend time with his family or be anywhere but here, irritating me, but we are still at the start of our season, and I need to keep up my training. For that, I need him. 

I sigh, but put my shoes on, brush my teeth and wash my face before I make my way out the door. The sound of a heavy suitcase hitting the stairs makes me stop in my tracks, closing my door again slightly as I stare out of the little space left open. A woman with a very large, blood red suitcase makes it up the stairs, her hair covering most of her face, making it hard to see how she looks. She seems to struggle a bit with the wheels of the suitcase hooked on the last step, and my heart starts to hammer in my chest when she turns her back towards me, placing both hands on her suitcase, trying to lift it. Women and their need to pack three hundred pairs of clothes. I am guessing that it is mostly shoes in that bag, because she wasn’t sure what type of heel she would need and decided to put every pair in the bag. Regardless of how impractical she is with her heavy luggage, I can’t help but take in her figure. She has a very nice round ass that is using up every bit of stretch that pair of jeans has to give, but her middle is slightly smaller, showing off an hourglass figure. She looks toned, at least from the little bit I can see through the door, and I hit my head against the door, reminding myself that I am not here to fuck women and the fact that she is a tourist, means she might very well recognize me and that is the last thing I want or need. I will need to tell Mario that we can no longer stay here. 

“Hello?” Fuck, she had to have a voice that sounds like sex. Why is the universe trying to torture me? I realize a bit late that she is calling out because she heard me knocking my head against the door and I have the urge to do it again. I keep quite, hoping that she will just ignore it and move along. I don’t risk looking through my door again, afraid that she might see me and then the headlines on the next story being published in every digital news outlet will be; ‘Dalon Sorrin, the creep.’ I can’t catch a break, can I? 

Finally, the sound of the suitcase hitting the floor and not scraping against the stairs, hits my ears and not long after, a door closes, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Time to tell Mario we need to pack up and get back home. My little bit of freedom is now ruined. 

“I am telling you, I want to go home.” I tell Mario, but he doesn’t seem to listen, still running at a steady pace and ignoring my please to go back to the guest house and backing our bags. 

“And I am telling you, we have only been here for two days. I am not going home until you have you mojo back. We came here for a reason, and we are staying here for that same reason. Besides, you have no idea if she even watches Formula 1 or any form of racing. She might not even care about who you are.” He says, but he doesn’t understand how it feels to have someone constantly recognize you, and the fact that the media has no idea where I am, will give her the opportunity to make a lot of money by selling me out. “Besides, you said she just arrived and that means she is spending her first day probably getting her things packed out and if she is from far away, she might even be falling asleep as soon as she is done packing out her bags. We can still take our time to get food, get to see at least some of the inside of the town and just be normal people for a while. That is what you wanted, right? To just be a nobody for a little while?” He has me there and if it wasn’t for the fact that I am afraid she might be pressing the call button or taking photos to sell, I would’ve probably enjoyed this walk around town a lot more. 

“If she recognizes me, we are out.” I tell him but try to calm down and appreciate the colors of the buildings around us and the sound of laughter and conversation flowing. 

We spent the next two hours walking through the market. Mario is trying to explain to a woman working at a stand where they sell cheese, what kind of cheese he needs, when a voice captures my attention, making my heart rate speed up again. “Salve, un caffè, con latte, per favore.” She says, sitting at a café that is two stalls down from where we are. My fight or flight starts to kick in and I have the urge to go with the latter, even though my legs still feels like jelly from running and not sitting down for the past two hours. “No, con latte.” She says, answering back what ever the woman asked. I might not understand Italian much, but I do understand what a latte is and suddenly I am craving a really good cup of coffee. “Sì, un cornetto, grazie.” Her Italian isn’t really good, but she sure as hell speaks it better than I can. What the hell is a cornetto? Maybe I should also get myself one. What am I even thinking? I don’t want to get anywhere near her. If anything, a second ago, I was considering running in the opposite direction. 

The woman turns her head to look around and I suck in a breath. She is absolutely stunning. Not like the super models I have been dating the past few years, but the kind of beauty that is underrated. She has no makeup on, but is wearing a rather large pair of glasses. Not that it is taking away from her beauty at all. She has fair skin that looks like it hardly sees any sunlight, and her lips looks like it is made to be kissed. Their rosy color has me taking a step closer to her, drawing her attention to me. I freeze for a moment, but then her blue eyes pull me in deeper. Before I know what I am doing, I am in front of her, holding out my hand as if I plan on shaking her hand. “Hi, my name is Jack Dawson.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can think of it twice. When she looks at me strangely, I worry that she might actually know me and I just made a bigger fool out of myself than I would have if she had caught me staring at her earlier at the guest house. But then she smiles, holds out her had and shakes it.

“I really wish I could reply and say my name is Rose, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what her surname is.” She says and I want to hit myself. I just named myself after a man that drowned because he didn’t know how to tell a woman to move up and make space for him as well on that door. The earth can swallow me whole at any moment now. “You mother must have really been a bit Titanic fan.” She says, and I have no other choice but to keep going with my lie. 

“Yeah, she was just lucky enough that he had already married a man with the surname Dawson by the time the film came out.” I really should’ve just stayed away. “I do believe thought that it is custom to give me your name after you now know mine?” Did I suddenly turn into prince fucking charming? 

“Jane Carter, at your service.” She says with a laugh, and I know there and then that I will not be going anywhere until I absolutely have to. She has me hook line and sinker.