French Grand Prix #4
Despite racing this weekend, Sam seems unphased by the warning. “Are you at a restaurant? Personal chef?”
“A restaurant.”
“Not just any restaurant,” Maman interjects. “Matthieu’s restaurant has two Michelin stars.”
“Really?” It’s news to almost everyone at the table.
“I do not own the restaurant,” Matthieu hurries to say. “I’m a Chef de Partie.”
“A line cook,” Julien translates. “It’s still a big deal, especially at his age and especially-especially at a good restaurant. When did you get the second star?”
“Some time after the first one.”
“Thanks, asshole.”
Rafael leans over to say, “If you ever wanted to work privately, I have a friend with too much money and too little time who’s in the market for a good chef.”
“Is this a lady friend?” Maman asks with zero subtlety.
“No, ma’am, he’s another driver.”
Sam hums. “That could be any of us. I watched Owain eat forty chicken nuggets dry once.”
Ew.
“I meant Santiago.” Rafael doesn’t look at Sam, even while replying to him. “We live in the same building in Monaco—he asked for recommendations.”
“Who is this?” In a split second, Matthieu has his phone out between himself and Julien, at thigh-height so Maman can’t see. His social media is already pulled up and his thumb finds the search bar.
Julien types in the name and opens the page. “He’s not exactly nice.”
“I don’t mind.” Matthieu casually scrolls through a collection of Santiago’s vacation photos and pauses on a shirtless pic.
There goes any chance of him making a baby anytime soon.
“You’re shameless.”
Matthieu likes and saves the post. “You’re one to talk.”
“I think he’s straight.”
“I’m sure he is.” Still, he likes several posts in a row. “But Chef runs a hard kitchen and I’d rather work for myself. Tell Rafael to give him my number?”
Julien bumps his brother with his shoulder. “Sure thing, Mathé”
Thomas pointedly clears his throat and the table settles into a hush. “I would like to thank everyone for being here and meeting Samuel. We might go public at some point this year and would appreciate your support.”
Julien sure as hell doesn’t support it, but he bites his tongue as Thomas looks everywhere but across the table.
“It has been very nice to meet you, Sam,” Maman says. “And you as well, Rafael. You are both welcome additions to the family.”
Julien jolts. Addition to the family?! That’s a huge leap from trading sexual favors for driving advice. “We’re just friends, Maman.”
“Of course, mon loulou. I am just saying that if anything changes, we would be happy to have you.” She directs the end of the sentence to Rafael with a warm smile and Julien stomach drops.
It’s sorta nice, actually, being with someone who blends into the family so well. To see how Rafael would fit in, how he holds his own.
They are just friends, but sitting around the family table with Rafael almost feels like there could be something more one day. Maybe even—
“Nothing is going to change, Maman,” Thomas mutters in French. “Please don’t compare us. Samuel and I are serious.”
“Who are you to talk about my relationship?!” Julien spits back.
Thomas says whatever he wants and nobody ever tries to stop him. He isn’t the perfect man he pretends to be, and he sure as hell isn’t Julien’s fucking puppet master.
Thomas glances at their mother before switching to Italian. “You make me sound like some kind of villain, but I am just looking out for you.”
“Nobody asked you to look out for me!” Julien throws his arms up to punctuate his point. It’s so much more satisfying to do so in Italian than in French. “I’m an adult, I can decide who I want in my life.”
“Boys,” Maman says in warning. “It is rude to speak a language the rest of the table does not know.”
“I’m not a villain either, Thomas,” Rafael says in English.
Thomas seems surprised, his eyes wide and caught, like he hadn’t expected the other Ferraro driver to also speak Italian.
Maman gasps. “Thomas, are you insulting your brother’s guest?”
Thomas sets his utensils on his plate with a clatter. He stands up suddenly, and his lap napkin falls to the ground. “Rafael, could I speak to you for a moment?” He leaves without turning around, even after Maman calls after him.
Rafael watches him go before quietly setting his own fork on his plate. “I’m sorry. Please excuse us.”
His chair scrapes across the wooden floor as he stands. His hand connects with Julien’s shoulder for a brief moment before it slips away and he follows Thomas to the salon.
“What was that about?” Matthieu asks the table.
“I have no idea.” Julien strains his ear, but he can’t hear anything.
“I reckon I know.” Sam forks another piece of duck from the serving plate though everyone else has stopped eating. “Just leave ‘em to it.”
If Julien won’t let Thomas tell him what to do, he sure as hell won’t listen to Sam. He springs up, dropping his lap napkin over his dirty dish in his haste. As Julien rushes out of the room, he ignores the calls of the people at the table.
“—confused.” Rafael’s voice carries down the hallway. He sounds exasperated.
“And Julien is less confusing?”
“Well yeah, actually.” Rafael shrugs as Julien slides to a stop behind a pillar. “Look, I get it. It surprised me too. We just click.”
Thomas scoffs. “Oh yes, I definitely believe that.”
“I know what it looks like—”
“You do? You know what it looks like?! It looks like you confessed your love for me only months ago.”
What?
“Yeah, I know.”
What?!
“After years of me chasing you. Years of bending over backwards for you. You ignored me until you saw me happy with Samuel.”
“I didn’t even think of men as an option until that point. When you were with him, I—I got confused. I wanted it to be me.”
“I bet you were so fucking happy to see him,” Thomas spits. “To know there was a younger, more naive version of me to finally claim for yourself.”
Julien can’t listen any longer. He doesn’t deserve this. He needs to leave.
—Not just the house, the entire country.
He bolts through the building, avoiding everyone in both the dining room and the salon as he runs down the long hallway and out the front door.
At his car, Julien’s hands shake as he tries to get a good hold of his car keys. He drops them to the asphalt twice before he can successfully connect with the door lock and turn.
He falls into the driver’s seat, slams the door, and screams into his hands.
It was too good to be true.
Of course it was too good to be true. Just look at Rafael! A guy like that doesn’t give rookies advice and fuck them unless they’re in love with their fucking brother!
I didn’t really consider men until last year. After it didn’t work out with that guy—
That guy.
It was supposed to be some faceless, nameless, nobody, not Julien’s own brother!
The front door to the house opens, and Julien’s family crowds around the doorway as they stare out into the dark of the night. Julien should’ve parked on the other side of the giant SUV. At least then, he’d have an ounce of privacy for his monumental breakdown.
Actually, Rafael can take the SUV back to the hotel. He can ride with Thomas and Sam since they’re all such good friends in love with each other.
Julien stabs his key into the ignition and turns. There’s a sharp crack, but the engine doesn’t roar to life like it should. When Julien tries to get a better grip, his key ring falls to the footwell.
He didn’t miss the ignition, right?
Julien shines his phone’s flashlight at the side of his steering wheel. In the ignition, there’s a sliver of metal where an empty key slot should be.
Great! His key snapped in half!
It’s only metal—why wouldn’t it snap in half when Julien is desperate to leave?!
Julien forgets all about his audience until after he stumbles out of his car. He slams the door hard enough for the entire vehicle to shake and kicks the wheel for good measure.
He needs a better car.
“Julien, mon loulou,” Maman calls out in French. “What’s wrong? Come back inside.”
“Nothing!” Everything. “I’m leaving now. See you Sunday.”
The very last thing Julien wants to do is go back inside that house. He shuffles down the long driveway, heading towards the main road. It’s late, but not too late for a rideshare.
He’ll get his car towed tomorrow. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.
“You can’t just walk home from here.” Rafael is nearly out of breath when he catches up to him. Probably because he has all of those duck skins weighing him down.
“Watch me.” Julien just needs to get to an intersection before he orders a ride. “Take the SUV back, it’ll give you more time with Thomas.”
“What? Julien, stop.”
Rafael’s grip is like stone, and Julien has to choose between slowing down or ripping his arm off. He stops, but only because he needs both arms to drive.
“So what was your plan? To make Thomas jealous? Well, he’s obviously pissed, so I guess you got what you wanted!”
Rafael has the gall to look confused. “Being with you has nothing to do with Thomas.”
“It doesn’t?!” Julien’s voice cracks as he laughs. “How am I supposed to believe that?! How do I know you don’t think of my brother—my brother!—when you fuck me?”
A third voice answers, “Oh man, that’d be ironic.”
Julien freezes. He hadn’t noticed the SUV had moved from its spot and pulled up next to them.
Sam’s arm hangs from the window of the back seat. He smacks the outside of the door a couple of times. “C’mon, we’re heading back to the hotel.”
Julien shakes his trapped arm, finally breaking free of Rafael’s grip. “Go with them.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“I won’t be left here.” Julien shakes his phone at the stubborn man. “I have a rideshare.”
“Cancel it. We need to talk.”
Oh yeah sure, except Julien can’t imagine a worse hell than being trapped in a car for half an hour with Thomas, his lover, and his former lover.
Should he run for the road or back to the house? If he goes for the road, the SUV might hit him. If he heads back to the house, his entire family might hear what Rafael has to say.
Julien could survive a car accident.