Chapter 43
I've got you
Violet
The Abu Dhabi night sky stretches endless and diamond-studded above me, a perfect backdrop to the thoughts tumbling through my exhausted mind.
Fifth and tenth in the Driver's Championship.
Fourth in Constructors'. Numbers that would have seemed impossible when I took over Colton Racing.
Numbers that felt like fantasy after Monaco, when William lay in that hospital bed.
We still have the investigation about his accident underway, the FIA is stalling things, and Belforte is doing his best to find anything to help us after things 'couldn’t be found' from the car’s wreck.
But with every day that passes, it seems it’ll get more difficult to understand if there was tampering, or if I’m certain Dominic was behind it.
I curl deeper into the plush outdoor sofa on this hotel’s rooftop lounge where all teams gathered to celebrate the end of the season, letting my body sink into the cushions as I replay today's race in my head—William's P4 finish, just shy of the podium, EJ's impressive P6.
Not bad for a team everyone had written off as dead last year.
The wind carries snippets of laughter and music from the party two floors below.
I should be there, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, playing the part of the triumphant Team Principal after an impressive season despite it all.
But after the media commitments, my social battery hit zero.
So here I am, hiding on a terrace bar while the F1 world celebrates without me.
I take a sip from my neglected glass of sparkling water. The cool night air feels too good against my skin after a day spent baking under the Abu Dhabi sun. The stars too bright to exchange for artificial lighting.
Our season wasn't perfect—far from it. The American leg proved brutal, one to forget with William's DNFs in Austin after a suspension failure, and Mexico due to a puncture on lap 1, and EJ's disastrous qualifying in Las Vegas that left him fighting through the field for scraps.
But there were moments of pure magic, too.
William's victory in Monza. EJ's pole position.
Felix stepping in seamlessly as our reserve driver and securing points when we needed them most.
The sound of footsteps pulls me from my thoughts. I don't need to turn to know who it is—his presence announces itself in the subtle shift of the atmosphere, the immediate awareness my body has whenever he's near.
"There you are." William's voice carries that slight rasp it gets after races, from shouting over the engine and radio for hours.
I turn to find him silhouetted against the rooftop lighting, still wearing his team polo and jeans. His hair is damp from a recent shower, curls more pronounced at the top than usual.
"Here I am," I confirm, patting the space beside me on the sofa. "Shouldn't you be downstairs celebrating with the others? I heard Farrant's buying drinks to everyone after finishing behind both of our drivers. It’s surreal, it feels like he’s gone insane."
William snorts, crossing the distance between us.
"And miss the real celebration?" He drops onto the sofa beside me, immediately slinging his arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his side.
His body radiates heat; a stark contrast to the cool evening air.
"Besides, parties aren't much fun when the most interesting person in the room is missing. "
"Flatterer," I murmur, but I can't fight the smile tugging at my lips.
"Just honest." He presses a kiss on my temple. "Told Blake I was turning in early. He just nodded, didn't even question it."
William shifts, adjusting our position so my head rests against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. "This view is something else."
Above us, the stars burn impossibly bright against the desert darkness, undiminished by the city lights below.
The Milky Way stretches across the sky like spilled sugar, while the waxing moon casts silver light across the rooftop garden.
In the distance, the illuminated Yas Marina Circuit glows like a fallen constellation.
"Worth escaping the party for," I agree.
We settle into comfortable silence, his fingers idly playing with the pearl pendant he gave me in Singapore.
It's become a habit of his, an unconscious gesture of affection that never fails to send warmth through my chest. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute, the exhaustion of the race weekend finally catching up with me.
"Don't fall asleep on me, Colton," William murmurs against my hair, amusement coloring his voice. "I'll be offended if my company puts you to sleep."
"Not your company," I mumble, unsuccessfully fighting a yawn. "Just the small matter of running a Formula 1 team for twenty-four weekends across five continents."
"Just that?" His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "Nothing taxing at all."
"I just want to pack up and go home," I sigh, nestling closer to his warmth. "Sleep in my own bed for more than three consecutive nights."
William's arm tightens around me. "Our bed, you mean."
The possessive note in his voice sends a pleasant shiver through me.
After Monaco, once he'd been cleared by doctors, I'd practically moved into his countryside house.
What began as helping with his recovery evolved naturally into sharing a life.
Some of my clothes migrating to his closet, my favorite tea appearing in his kitchen, the spare bedroom transforming into my home office.
Neither of us ever officially discussed it—it just happened, as natural as breathing.
I spend more time at his place than mine.
"Yes," I concede, smiling against his shirt. "Our bed."
William shifts slightly, angling to see my face. In the moonlight, his features appear softer, more vulnerable. "You know what's better than that P4 today? Better than the Monza trophy? Better than finishing fifth in the championship when everyone said I was washed up?"
I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
"This." He gently cups my cheek. "Being able to hold you without looking over my shoulder. Walking through the paddock with your hand in mine. Not having to pretend we're just colleagues when every part of me wants to shout that you're mine."
My throat tightens unexpectedly. "We weren't very good at hiding it anyway."
"Terrible," he agrees with a grin. "And I hated it. Hated feeling like you were my dirty little secret, which you never were. If I'd had my way, I'd have told the whole world the first time you kissed me in Melbourne last year."
"That would have been problematic for team dynamics," I point out, though I can't help but smile at the memory of that first night together, the unexpected vulnerability we'd found in each other even if I was trying to do my best to create distance.
"Worth it." His eyes hold mine, utterly serious despite his smile. "Every challenge, every media circus, every stupid question about whether our relationship affects my driving—all worth it to have this. To have you."
The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I love this side of William—thoughtful. Sincere. Unguarded in his affection.
"I never thought this would happen," I admit quietly. "When I hired you, relationship drama was the last thing on my mind."
William laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "Relationship drama? Is that what I am to you?"
"Among other things."
"Such as?" His eyes dance with mischief.
"A headache," I offer. "A distraction. A surprisingly good driver."
"Ouch." He clutches his chest in mock offense. "And here I thought I was the love of your life."
"That, too," I murmur, watching his expression soften. "Sometimes."
His smile widens, bright enough to rival the stars above. "I'll take sometimes." His fingers thread through my hair, gently massaging my scalp. "Violet… say… I want to spend the holidays with you properly this year. Make up for last year's mess."
"Is that so?" I arch an eyebrow, though I'm fighting to keep my eyes open under his ministrations. "And what does 'properly' entail in the Foster universe?"
"Christmas at my place. Lazy mornings in bed. Matching ugly sweaters if I can convince you." His voice drops lower, intimate. "Being disgustingly in love where everyone can see us."
"We'll see about it," I tease, though we both know I've already mentally agreed to everything he's suggested.
"We will," he confirms with absolute certainty as he softly caresses my forearms.
His lips find mine in a gentle kiss, warm and familiar and still somehow thrilling. I taste mint toothpaste, and the faint sweetness of the champagne he must have had earlier. When he pulls back, his eyes reflect starlight.
"I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "What you've built with this team. What you've survived. How you've led us. You’re a remarkable professional. And an even more remarkable woman, Violet."
A lump forms in my throat, unexpected emotion rising at his words. "We did it together. You, me, Blake, EJ, Belforte, the whole team."
"Your vision, though." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Your refusal to give up when everyone said Colton Racing was finished."
I swallow hard, still not used to such direct praise. "Well, we're just getting started. Wait until next season."
William chuckles, pulling me closer again. "That's my Violet. Already planning world domination while barely keeping her eyes open."
I don't bother denying it, just settle more comfortably against him, letting my eyes close fully. The steady rhythm of his breathing, and the distant hum of the party below create a soothing soundtrack as exhaustion pulls me under.
"Rest," he murmurs, lips brushing my forehead. "I've got you."
And I do, surrendering to sleep with complete trust. Because if this season has taught me anything, it's that some risks are worth taking. Some vulnerabilities are worth exposing. And some loves are worth fighting for, consequences be damned.