Entry #1
Hello, little curious nosy brats, Scandalous WAG here. Your one and only source into the notorious, scandalous, and sometimes disgraceful lives, secrets, and lies of the motorsport elite.
Alright, enough of that Gossip Girl bs. That is so...
"Isn't it cute?" She smiled. "I thought it was appropriate for the occasion. Very American."
Lance couldn't help but laugh. His sister had a way of making his dad go crazy, but she still got away with everything every time. "Were you at the pool?" He asked.
"There's an indoor pool that's just for the people staying at the suites," she bragged. She loved the special treatment she got just for being Lance Kingsley's sister. "I forgot my towel, though." "Hey, hey," their father stopped her before she could walk into the bathroom. "We were supposed to be at the Bernals' half an hour ago. We have to go now."
Lance felt something fluttering in his stomach. Were those... butterflies? Just the thought of seeing Camila again made him nervous. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and looked at his sister who was clearly aware of the whole situation, but she didn't say a thing.
"Oh, I'm sorry, is that today?"
"Yes, of course, it's today. Please, go change." Mr. Kingsley hated being late to anything, but this occasion in particular had him all eager to be early. It was his best friend's birthday party, and he had promised he'd be there in time to surprise him. They hadn't seen each other in years.
You see, Jaime Bernal and Phillip Kingsley had met in the 90s at a real estate network event at the Safe Harbor Lauderdale Marine Center, back when Mr. Bernal had been looking for new investors for his architecture firm. He was already big in Guadalajara, Mexico, but he wanted to expand. He wanted the American dream. Phillip Kingsley was a renowned real estate developer, known for building luxury hotels and opulent mansions in the most exclusive parts of Florida. They went on to become partners, and then friends. Phillip was Jaime's best man when he got married and Camila's godfather at her baptism.
Little Lance was only one year older than baby Cami, and their mothers would joke about them growing up and falling in love at their Sunday barbecues. Their families used to vacation together, spend Thanksgiving and Noche Buena together, and the trip to the Riviera Maya for New Year became a tradition. But that all came to an end when Lance's talent for racing became so big, that it was almost criminal to keep him in Florida. By the time he was fifteen, he was already living part-time in London, where he could not only get sponsors easily because of his grandfather's connections but he could also sign with a team to drive in the F4 British Championship. The only thing that kept him from staying in the UK full-time was Camila. He might've been too young but he knew exactly what he wanted most: to be at the pinnacle of the motorsport and to be with her. He could want both things equally, right?
Well, he could... but that didn't mean he wouldn't have to choose one later down the road.
"Are you ready to see her again?" Rebekah whispered to her brother in the back seat of the car.
"Why wouldn't I be?" He half-shrugged. "We're two old friends catching up."
"Yeah, right," Rebekah laughed. She knew her brother too well; he might've tried to hide his pain with parties and podiums, and maybe one or two models, but he hated the idea of breaking Camila's heart, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that she was better off without him.
Lance looked out the window. The last time he had been in Miami, the Bernals lived in the gated community of Coral Gables, near to where he and his family used to live. He still remembered that last evening he spent with Cami. They had managed to sneak out of the house and had somehow gotten to Table 14 Bar at The Mutiny Hotel where they drank moscow mules next to the poolside waterfall. Then, they drove down to Matheson Hammock Beach, where Lance kissed her like he knew he'd never kiss her again. Maybe deep down he did know.
The Bernals had upgraded since; Mr. Bernal's business had grown exponentially for the past few years, and he had been able to close a deal on a beautiful seven-thousand-square-foot house in the Indian Creek Island —it overviewed the waters of Biscayne Bay where he kept his thirty-meter superyacht, and it was within walking distance from the country club, which was essential for him. Not only were they surrounded by high-profile athletes and tycoons that they had as neighbors, but the only way to access the island was a single bridge monitored by armed guards; they had their own police force and marine patrol.
Now, that was the American dream Jaime Bernal had always wanted. Mrs. Bernal, or Adamari as everyone called her, received the Kinsley's at the front door, and then led them through the kitchen, where her mother was listening to Celia Cruz while making her famous arroz con leche; there was nothing a Puerto Rican grandmother loved more than to show off her cooking skills even when the party her daughter was hosting included a private chef, waiters, and a bartender.
"Mamá, vamos, que ya es hora del Mariachi," Adamari told her mother who happily responded by raising her margarita and moving her hips to the rhythm of La vida es un carnaval that was still blasting on the kitchen's ceiling speakers.
The first thing Lance saw as he stepped out into the pool area, was her. It was like every dream he had had about her; the sun shining on her tanned skin, that gorgeous smile on her face, and indifferent brown eyes. It pained him the way she didn't even look at him, even though he was sure she was aware of his presence. He had earned that apathy, of course, but it still hurt.
The Mariachi sang Las Mañanitas, the traditional Mexican birthday song, while everyone around clapped. Mr. Bernal was beyond ecstatic; he was so moved that his eyes were starting to water with happy tears. He loved everything that reminded him of his home, Mexico. But when he spotted his best friend, he lost it. Because of Philip's dedication to Lance's career in Formula One, they hadn't seen each other in years. And while Lance was happy to see his father the happiest he had ever seen him to be back in Miami, his little reunion with who he once thought was the love of his life wasn't as pleasant.
"Cami, how have you been?" He asked as he planted himself in front of her.
"I've been better," she said nonchalantly. Lance was pretty sure the butterflies should've died right there and then, but they only... fluttered harder, which made him kind of nauseous. He had seen different shades of brown eyes all around the world, but not those brown eyes, at least not in a while. And God had he missed them.
"I heard you're graduating soon," he tried again, but she only shrugged. She knew how to push his buttons. He hated it when people ignored him. Well, okay, what he actually hated was when people acted as if he wasn't a big deal. Camila was an expert on that too.
But she had every right to be that way. He had broken her heart into a million little pieces and left her to pick them up all alone. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and read the text from Josh.
Going to Platinum Pulse tonight, wanna come?
Lance looked around; the only reason he'd stay at this "party" was Cami, but given that she insisted on pushing him away, maybe he'd go find a real party elsewhere, right?
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