My Formula 1 System

After a minute of driving, Luca scoffed in amusement, chuckling to himself for ever doubting his ability.

Driving this car felt almost too simple. The dashboard controls were clearly marked, designed, and calibrated in a way that even a kindergartener could understand.

Maybe he should sign up for driving school right away. Surely, he'd pass with ease. Just look at how smoothly he was handling his first time behind a traditional round wheel!

Luca bit his lip. Or was it just because he was barely moving?

The speedometer read 35 km/h—was this even considered driving? Even in driving school, they'd make him go faster than this.

He was going so slow that he barely felt the turns. The track was wide, and he was positioned right in the center, making it impossible to even misjudge a curve. It reminded him of his earlier thought about how the controls were simple enough for a child. And now, driving like this, he felt like a child.

"Should I speed up?" he asked, mostly to gauge Isabella's thoughts. It wasn't like he actually planned on accelerating through this pitch-black track with barely any street or floodlights.

"Sure," Isabella said, catching him off guard. "There's no one on the road, nothing. You're driving so slow, I feel like we're in the safety car, escorting a parade lap."

Luca shook his head. "I'm not speeding up, Isabella. It's way too dangerous," he said, glancing around. "The main building has the most lights on, so I'll keep driving until we reach it. Then we can find a place to park, like you wanted."

She sighed, muttering, "Fine."

Occasionally, Luca would steal a glance at her, trying to refresh her image in his mind. This time, she caught him.

"Do you have a nickname?" he asked in defense. In truth, he was curious. A childhood nickname often revealed something about a person's past, and he wanted to know what kind of child she had been. Besides, even Mr. Schafer had never called her anything sweeter than the usual 'dear.'

"Nope. Everyone just calls me Isabella," she answered.

"That's impossible... actually, it's just wrong," Luca countered.

"How so?"

"The name Isabella has countless nickname variations," Luca pointed out. "Issy, Isa, Belle, Bella, Abigail, Ella, Abby... and so on."

"Hmm," Isabella hummed thoughtfully. "That's true. But no one's ever given me a nickname. Everyone calls me Isabella. You should too—don't call me any of those."

Luca slowed the car even more. "Nicknames don't have to come from your actual name," he said. "I could give you one based on how I see you."

Isabella laughed heartily, her voice filling the car. "Oh, so you want to name me? Alright. How do you see me?" she asked, glancing at Luca. "What do I look like to you? What do I remind you of?"

Luca shrugged, keeping one hand on the wheel now. "A flower, a muffin... a cupcake?"

Isabella burst into laughter, each suggestion amusing her more than the last.

"Brownie... pie?"

She finally calmed down, wiping away a few tears. "Pie???"

"Yeah."

"What kind of pie?"

Luca shrugged again. "The good kind, I guess. The one with a fine brown crust."

"But I'm not brown. You're browner than I am," she pointed out.

Luca glanced at her skin, reconsidering.

In reality, Isabella wasn't brown-skinned. She was light-skinned, with a soft peach undertone. But under the car's dim yellow lights, she looked brown.

And brain-fogged Luca had been noticing her under this lighting all along.

"You... you look brown right now," he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward her thighs before quickly refocusing on the road.

A long, awkward silence settled in the car.

Luca decided to just suck it up.

After driving for a while, Isabella spoke again, and her words did nothing to ease the tension.

"I'll be sleeping with you tonight," she stated—though it sounded like a question, too.

"What?" Luca's head snapped in her direction.

"My father told me to take one of the bed sofas in the lounge, but I definitely won't," Isabella explained. "So… I'll be sleeping with you, right?"
Continue your journey with My Virtual Library Empire

Luca wasn't upset at the idea itself—she'd already taken a short nap in his room earlier—but rather, he was upset at the fact that Mr. Schafer would even suggest his own daughter sleep in an open lounge with no privacy.

Since she'd already taken a short siesta in his room, she could of course also take the night there.

"Yeah," Luca answered, his voice distant as his eyes suddenly locked onto a figure standing directly in the car's path. He slowed the vehicle to a complete stop just before the hood could touch the person's knees.

The figure turned out to be one of the security functionaries. He lifted a flashlight, shining it into the car. "What're you two doing driving around this late? It's almost eleven."

"We were just looking for a place to park the car," Luca replied. From where they were, he finally spotted the main building. It was a short distance away.

Not wanting to waste more time, Luca handed over the car keys. "Can you park it for us?"

The security guard gave a nod. Luca reached into the backseat, grabbed the coat, and wrapped it around Isabella before helping her out of the car.

Together, they walked across the wide, empty track toward the building's entrance where their night had officially begun, the cold wind whipping around them.

For a moment, they stood there, watching the security guard get into the car and drive it around the next corner. A few seconds later, he reappeared. Luca jogged over, retrieved the keys, and thanked him before returning them to the car's owner.

With one last glance at the darkened track, they turned and stepped inside.

They made it up to Luca's room to settle in for the night.

Luca couldn't ignore the fact that Isabella had positioned herself on one side of the bed, clearly leaving space for someone else on the other side. Surely, she didn't expect them to share the bed?

His body was growing uncomfortably warm tonight, and he knew it was best to put some distance between them. In the UK, just like how 17-year-olds could legally obtain a driver's license, plenty of other things were permitted at that age. But they weren't in the UK—they were in Italy.

Not that it mattered. Even if they were in London, Luca wasn't about to take any chances.

Without a word, he grabbed some sheets and a blanket and made his way to the lounge to sleep instead.