Now
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Evangeline
“We’ll likely move out by the time we have kids,” Jackson says, before turning to me. “Right, princess?”
“Uh … yes.”
I’m a little distracted, dazzled by this house and how big it is. We’re both still jet-lagged, having only arrived a few days ago.
We sold most of our things back in Indiana, but a few boxes of our belongings will arrive in Belgium in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, we have four huge suitcases full of stuff with us, which should be enough until then.
“Do you like it?” Jax asks, taking a couple of steps toward me.
I can’t quite contain the doubt in my voice as I answer, “Yes, it’s—it’s beautiful.”
Sensing my reluctance, he turns to the realtor and asks, “Would you mind giving us a moment?”
“Of course. I’ll be downstairs when you need me.”
As soon as we’re alone, he grabs my shoulders, forcing me to stop looking around and face him instead.
“What is it, princess? Talk to me.”
“Nothing, I—I really like it.”
“But …?”
“It’s huge, Jax. Are you sure we can afford the rent?”
He chuckles, amused by my concerns. This place could easily fit a family of six. Renting it just for the two of us seems not only pointless but also financially irresponsible.
“I’m in Formula 2 now, princess,” Jax gently reminds me with an indulgent smile. “Of course we can afford it. We’ll go slow with furnishing it, but the rent really won’t be a problem.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. You’ve seen the contracts. Sponsor money will pour in as soon as the season starts. And the prize money is far better in Formula 2, so if it all goes well, I’ll be earning a lot there.”
Still hesitant, I glance around. “Maybe we should downsize at first, and once we’re absolutely certain we’ll be fine, look for a bigger place.”
“Don’t you like this one?”
“I do. It’s gorgeous. But it’s too much, isn’t it?”
After a couple of seconds, he takes my hand and says, “Let’s go see the main bedroom again.”
We walk down the upstairs hallway, back to the incredible bedroom we’d have if we pick this house. There’s also a furnished dressing room and a massive en suite bathroom.
Stepping behind me, he wraps me in his arms as we both observe the empty space. “Can you imagine the lazy weekends in here?”
“The ones you’re not racing.”
“Clearly.”
“It would be nice,” I concede. “Very nice.”
“And that living room downstairs? We can get one of those massive TVs and have cozy evenings together, slouched on a ridiculously comfortable couch.”
“That sounds great, too.”
“And did you see that built-in bench in the walk-in shower? So many possibilities,” he whispers in my ear before nipping at its lobe.
I practically purr, melting further into his arms. “You should switch careers and become a real estate agent. You’re incredible at it.”
“I’m doing my best. We could try getting a few plants to bring some life into this place.
Maybe some will survive this time.” I give him a pouty side look for the teasing.
He kisses my temple before returning his gaze forward.
“It’s only for a couple of years, princess.
As soon as I’m in Formula One, I’ll get you that house I promised you in Tuscan. ”
“Tuscany.”
“Right.”
“I mean, I’d love that, of course. But if we’re happy here, we can also stay a little longer. It’s close to your team’s headquarters, so I imagine it’s convenient.”
“You’d be okay with staying here a few extra years?”
“If the weather isn’t always this gloomy, yeah. It’s a beautiful house.”
Slowly, he spins me around, keeping me close. “If you prefer one of the other houses, we can, of course, go that route. But when I saw this one on the website, I don’t know, it felt … right.”
“It’s my favorite as well.”
Knowing he’s won, he doesn’t even try to hold back a broad grin. “Should we head downstairs and tell her we’ll take it, then?”
I ponder for a few beats, my gaze repeatedly going from his brown to his blue eye. Eventually, I give in with, “I guess so, yes.”
Excited, he dives in for a long, joyful kiss. When he pulls away, I’m feeling warm all over, especially my cheeks, and all my doubts about this house have faded.
Hand in hand, we walk to the stairs to share our decision with the realtor.
This won’t be our forever home, but something tells me we’ll be very happy here, and the great times we’ll have here will make for some fond memories.
Our next house, though … that’ll be where we spend the rest of our lives and grow old together.
My return to reality is rough. I genuinely love the life I built in Colorado, my job, and my friends. But I miss Jax. Terribly. And it hasn’t even been a week since we said goodbye in London.
To think that I actually believed I could join him in Monaco and then come home unaffected is laughable. Of course, he effortlessly swayed my mind. All he needed for that was a few days, and I gave him two entire weeks.
But even now, as I find myself randomly smiling like a lovesick teenager, I try to reason with myself. He is on probation. Or, I suppose, we are.
I would never consider our seven years together as wasted time.
They shaped the woman I became, and no matter how bad things got, I experienced the happiest moments of my life by his side.
But getting lost in this, in him, for another seven years before I find the courage to walk away would be a waste.
Especially since I’d take years to move on, like last time.
That’s why I gave him until the end of the season to convince me.
If we can somehow make it work until then, maybe there’s hope, indeed.
With twenty-four race weekends all around the world every season, Formula One is one of the most demanding jobs on the planet.
And if that wasn’t enough, it comes with weeks and weeks of contractual obligations that range from press tours to sponsor events.
That leaves very little time for a relationship, and I’ve learned I’m too greedy in my need for him to accept that.
Back then, I’m not sure either of us realized just how overwhelmingly intense the job really was.
We knew it would demand a lot of work to get there, but we always saw it as a silver lining.
The day he’d finally make it, everything would suddenly be alright.
Having matured now, I see how silly our reasoning was.
But maybe, just maybe, he’ll show me there is a way to make it work after all. Some of the other drivers have relationships. Families, even. We just need to find our own balance.
The couple of weeks we spent together in Europe now feel like a fever dream.
I can’t believe I impulsively dropped everything to join him a “third of the way” around the world.
But despite my doubts and fears, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
That’s what he does to me. Reason and logic have no room where he’s concerned.
And while I know that coming home was necessary, I can’t help but wonder what we’d be doing right now if I hadn’t left. The Austrian Grand Prix is this weekend, in Spielberg, and given the fact that tomorrow is media day, it’s likely we’d already be on our way there.
We’ve been talking, either calling or texting. But between everything I had to catch up on and his busy schedule, we have had little time for it. It definitely hasn’t been enough. I’m experiencing withdrawal after only five days away from him. I’m so pathetic.
I check my phone, hoping to find a notification despite knowing I haven’t received any in the past ten minutes.
No, I can’t let myself be distracted like this.
I have to finish reworking the floor plans for the Carters.
This is my biggest project to date, with a budget that exceeds what I’ve been working with since Cynthia took me in.
But Mrs. Carter has been testing my patience, changing her mind every couple of weeks, demanding new designs and features over and over.
It comes with the job, though, and I realize this is her dream house, not mine. Too bad she has terrible taste.
I’m almost done with the edits on the ground floor when the doorbell chimes. Already knowing who it is, I save my work and head to the front door.
Anxious about the encounter, I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. Then I force my hand to lower the handle and tug.
Nathan stands on the other side, wearing a white shirt and light gray slacks, holding a cardboard box in front of him. He looks at me like a sad puppy, and I can’t help the twinge of remorse that pinches my heart.
I should feel bad about the end of our relationship, but I don’t.
I do have remorse for hurting him, but not for breaking off our engagement.
I was fond of Nate, and I did see myself spending the rest of my life with him.
But meeting Jackson again reminded me of just how raw, intense, and extraordinary the real thing can be.
The love I thought I had for Nate was only a pale imitation of it.
My ex-fiancé offers me a small, sheepish smile, which I return.
Aside from the occasional glimpse—an unavoidable consequence of working in the same building—I’ve only seen him once since our separation.
We were both getting our morning coffee at the same place, right by one another in line.
It was awkward and tense, but we got to arrange this exchange of boxes today.
“Hey,” I greet him.
“Hi.”
“Come in, your box is in the living room.”
He steps in, his body language stiff. “Do you want a coffee or something?” I ask once the door is closed.
“I’d love a coffee, if you don’t mind.”
I walk over to the kitchen as he sets my box down and turn the espresso machine on.
“You look great, Evie,” he says, having followed me. “You’ve tanned. Cynthia told me you were visiting relatives?”
I wince, regretting the lie. The truth will have to come out eventually, and Nathan should be the first one to hear it. I owe him at least that.
“I was in Europe, actually. Monaco first, then Spain.”
Surprise lifts his eyebrows. “That’s unexpected.”