French Grand Prix #2
The car stutters when Julien starts it, but that’s just because she’s nervous about all the attention. Once they get going, she runs well enough, and soon they’re even up to the speed limit.
After several minutes of crackling radio-assisted silence, Julien says, “I can feel you judging me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“It’s a good car,” Julien insists. “And it works.”
“Does it have air conditioning?”
No. “It has a perfectly reasonable electric window. You don’t even need to crank it by hand—it goes down all by itself.”
Rafael presses the button and the window drops all the way open. He jolts with surprise and urges it back up, clicking the up button over and over until it reaches the top.
At least this time it closed.
“I live in a walkable city.” Julien checks his mirrors several times before merging onto the interstate. “I’m always at my place in Italy so this thing stays parked for most of the year anyway.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Julien isn’t usually so defensive over his shitty car, but there’s something terrible about allowing Rafael to see a part of himself that isn’t up to par. About opening up and admitting that this is the quality of life Julien lives in.
That this is all he has to offer.
Rafael collects rare super cars as a hobby. His flat in Monaco has a car elevator so he can park his favorite toy in his living room twenty stories up.
Julien can’t even afford a living room.
The comparison stings a little.
Rafael clears his throat. “That sound is a loose timing belt.”
“Okay.” There's nothing Julien can do about that information right now.
Rafael holds out for another couple of minutes before he laughs. “What the fuck, man? Why do you drive this thing?”
“It’s paid off.”
“It’s screaming at us!” Rafael points to a spot on the hood with so much certainty he might actually know how to fix it. “It wants to die. I think you should let it.”
“Not all of us are full-time drivers with fancy expensive car collections.”
“You don’t need a fancy expensive car collection, but you deserve something made this decade. This century, even.”
“It’s fine. We’re almost there.” They aren’t, but it buys Julien a solid ten minutes of silence.
“Is there anything I should know about your family before we get there?”
Julien shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. We’re a pretty normal family.”
“Two of you are Formation 1 drivers.”
Well, when you put it like that… “Remind me, how many people in your family raced with Formation 1?”
“Okay, fair enough.” Rafael picks at the fabric peeling off the side paneling. “Your brother cooks?”
“Just the chef one.”
“And your parents?”
“Retired.”
“Do they know you’re gay?”
“Yeah.” Still, Julien sighs. “I think they’re fine with us individually, but Maman hates that all three of us like men. Matthieu says he’s bi, so if he could hurry up and make some cute babies, I think Thomas and I would be better off.”
“Is he dating anyone? Engaged or something?”
“I guess we’ll find out tonight.”
Rafael stops picking and leans further back against the seat. “It’s weird, I feel so nervous. I’m usually pretty good at stuff like this.”
“Meet a lot of families, huh?”
That kinda stings for some reason.
“I mean, I guess? But I haven’t been exclusive with anyone for a couple of years now. Easier that way.”
“There’s nothing to worry about with me, though.” Something gnaws at Julien, the pit in his stomach too tight to ignore. “Since we’re, um, friends.”
“Yeah, of course.” Rafael’s knee bounces. It’s distracting. “I still feel like I should’ve brought a gift. Is it too late to stop somewhere? I can be quick.”
“Oh, I already did that.” Julien points his thumb over his shoulder, to the back seat. “You’re bringing the wine—a nice Pinot to pair with dinner. I’m bringing the dessert, which everyone will look at, but no one will eat. It’s pretty and French.”
“Like you.”
Julien drags his eyes away from the road to study Rafael’s face, to catch his teasing look, but the Brazilian doesn’t seem to be joking. He focuses on popping a plastic panel of the door back into place.
French. He meant the part about being French.
Julien pulls into the long driveway with trepidation. It feels more real now that he can see the house.
He parks next to a shiny black SUV. Not Maman’s usual tastes. Then again, he can make out the face of a driver inside, uplit by the blue light of a phone screen.
“Guess Thomas is already here.”
“That’s strange.” Rafael sounds almost sarcastic as he rubs his hands on his trousers. “Do you think their car can go over the speed limit?”
Julien won’t laugh. He can’t give him the satisfaction. “Stop making fun of her or I won’t let you out.”
“Wait, what?” Rafael pulls the passenger-side handle, but it pops out of the door. It’s just decorative, really. “Please don’t leave me here.”
“You’re such a baby.” After Julien slams his door, he takes his time walking around the car. Let the man sweat a little.
He releases Rafael before ducking into the back seat and gathering the gifts. After the wine is handed off, Julien checks the dessert before lifting it and bumping the door closed.
“Julien, mon loulou!” Maman calls out from the porch. “We can hear your car from the end of the driveway.”
“Ready?” Julien asks Rafael, though there’s no other option.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Maman.” Julien navigates the front steps while balancing the dessert. “This is Rafael.”
“Thomas’s teammate?” Maman hisses in French, while she kisses his cheeks. She turns to Rafael with a warm smile and embraces him. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you for having me.” With a flash of his hand, Rafael presents the bottle of wine.
“Oh! And he knows his wine.” Maman nearly snatches the bottle and turns it to read the label. “My Matthieu has made duck à l’orange tonight. This will pair perfectly.”
It better. Julien specifically asked Matthieu for recommendations ahead of time.
“Glad to hear it.” Rafael smirks at Julien who presents the flimsy pastry box.
“This as well.”
“How pretty,” she says, flipping the top open. “Three of you will be racing this week, and I’m watching my figure, but it’s still very nice.”
It’s useless to argue, so Julien doesn’t bother reminding her Rafael won’t be racing this weekend.
Instead, he steadies the dessert as she drags their guest inside. Julien dutifully closes the door behind them before hurrying down the hallway after his mother and fuck buddy.
Maman is showing Rafael the paintings in the salon when Matthieu sticks his head in and announces, “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Mathé!” Despite his brother having to finish what is probably a very complicated dinner, Julien rushes to him with excitement. “It’s been so long!”
“How have you been, Juju?”
“Good, it’s going good.”
“That’s what I thought.” Matthieu is far too perceptive. “You and Thomas sure have a type, huh?”
A type? “What do you mean?”
The middle brother nods over to Rafael. “Your man? He looks a little like Thomas’s guy. Tall, tan, handsome.”
Julien nudges his arm with his elbow. “Rafael is not ‘my man'—he’s just a friend.”
“Sure, sure.” Matthieu accepts the burden of the dessert box with a sly smile. “Well, when you see the other guy, you’ll understand.”
Other guy? Matthieu might not follow Formation 1, but he still knows Jean-Luc. He’s met him before, at least.
Julien follows his brother through to the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks. “Why is Sam Campbell at our dining room table?”
“You know him? That’s Thomas’s man.” Matthieu raises a discerning eyebrow. “You see the resemblance, right?”
Thomas’s man?
Thomas’s man?!
Since when have Thomas and Sam been together? It’s a joke, right?! Even Thomas could do better than—
“Why is Rafael in our salon?” Thomas asks, rounding the corner behind them. He looks at Julien, then back to the salon. The cogs start to turn.
“Are you fucking Sam Campbell?!” Julien asks.
Surely not. Obviously something is wrong here. The Australian clearly received Julien's invitation by accident.
“Even in French, I can still recognize my name,” Sam calls out from the other room.
Instead of answering, Thomas points a stern finger in front of Julien’s face. “You cannot be with Rafael.”
“I’m going to uhhh…” Matthieu slinks away without finishing his sentence.
Julien smacks Thomas’s finger aside. “I’m an adult. I can’t do whatever I want—whoever I want.”
“That goes double for me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Everything okay here?” Sam slides up behind Thomas and places a protective hand on his shoulder.
Oh, they’re so fucking familiar. They’re already meeting families and casually touching each other? After Sam crashed Julien off the track?!
They’re probably only together because Sam crashed into Julien. Bet Thomas really liked that. What fucking losers.
Before Julien can respond, an arm wraps around his middle and the heavy weight of a wide hand settles on his waist.
“Are you alright?” Rafael asks, leaning to speak in Julien’s ear.
Thomas scowls. “Don’t touch him.”
“He can touch me all he wants!”
Who the fuck does Thomas think he is? If Julien wants to climb Rafael and slobber all over him, it’s his prerogative. Fuck whatever Thomas thinks.
Rafael tugs Julien away from his stupid oldest brother and places a soft kiss on his temple. “C’mon, let’s go help with dinner.”
“You’re not surprised enough,” Julien accuses as they set the table. “Thomas is fucking a Red Boar driver. He’s literally sleeping with the enemy. You have to care at least a little bit.”
“I did.” Rafael folds a fabric napkin into a pretty little fan and gently balances it upright on a plate. “But I’ve known about it for longer than you have. Had more time to get over it.”
“Get over it,” Julien repeats with a scoff, slamming a spoon down. “Sam ran me off the road and Thomas introduced him to our family as his special someone.”
That’s probably why Thomas didn’t invite him tonight. Bet he thought he could get away with it as long as Julien didn’t know.
Wait.