Chapter 15 #2
I grin at the callback to what he said at the awful American-themed pub about being bad at golf, which I still don’t believe, but mostly I’m smiling at the way he’s willing to joke with me.
He’s lighter today, like being home has allowed him to shed the facade he puts on for the public.
It’s a good sign that he can feel like this with me here, that I’m not adding to his already heavy load of stress.
At least, I hope I’m not, but judging from the way his shoulders hang loose under his linen button-down, he’s comfortable with my presence. And I’m more than happy with his.
I take a bite of my omelet and sigh contentedly. His mother may have only taught him the basics, but they were the important ones, like how to cook eggs perfectly. When I tell him as much, it earns me a small, quick smile before he turns back to the counter.
I’ve just finished eating when he sets another plate in front of me, full of neat slices of mango, the paring knife still in his hand.
‘Extra vitamin C,’ he explains, seeming almost embarrassed to be serving me this. ‘You’ll need it for all the traveling. Can’t let you get sick.’
I want to thank him for being so considerate, for all that he’s done for me so far, but there’s a lump of emotion in my throat that keeps the words from coming out.
So I just nod and take a slice, savoring the juicy ripeness and doing my best not to cry on the plate over this man casually cutting fruit for me.
As I eat and attempt to compose myself, he turns away to clear up the dishes.
‘Have you turned your phone on yet?’ he asks over his shoulder, hands deep in soapy water.
The reminder of the outside world has my tears drying faster than anything. ‘Hadn’t even thought about it,’ I admit. ‘I should probably face the music soon.’
I should at least check in with Edith and my neighbors who have been graciously cat-sitting for me over the last week and a half, then cross my fingers that I don’t succumb to the pull of social media. I’m content right here in this Monaco penthouse bubble and I’m not ready for it to burst.
‘I’ll save you the trouble,’ he says. ‘Other than the gossip pages spewing their usual hate, most of the media is speculating how long we’ve been secretly together, and everyone else is screaming that our kid is destined to be an F1 champion in eighteen years.
It’s definitely invasive, but not overly negative. ’
I slump in relief, because it certainly wasn’t like this last time, although I’m sure there are plenty of people currently paying Etsy witches to put a hex on me.
‘So, how long have we been secretly together, Zaid?’ I ask dryly. ‘Six months? A year?’
‘Obviously we’ve been together for several years,’ he tosses back. ‘This was very much a planned pregnancy.’
I snort. Honestly, it kind of was on my part, and from the wry look Zaid shoots me as he dries his hands and leans against the counter, he knows exactly what I’m thinking. But soon his expression turns thoughtful.
‘Have you always known you wanted to be a parent?’ he asks.
I consider his question for a moment. The short answer is Yes, I have, but there’s more to it – a deeper, ever-evolving answer.
‘When I was a kid, you could usually find me with a baby doll in one hand and a Hot Wheels car in the other,’ I tell him.
‘I never doubted that it was something I wanted. Plus, I . . . I thought my mom was the coolest person on the planet. She was my mother, best friend, and partner in crime all in one. I wanted to be like that for my own kid one day.’
Judging from the way his dark eyes lower, I’ve struck a chord with him. The way I was with my mother, I imagine he was the same with his father, and going through life without them by our sides is the kind of pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
‘I don’t know if you feel this way,’ I hedge, but I think he might understand.
‘And maybe it won’t even make sense but .
. . when my mom died, I was left with all the love I had for her but nowhere to put it.
That unconditional love, you know? The kind that’s so specific to a parent and child.
I was young, but that’s when I really knew I wanted to raise a kid one day. Someone to give that love to.’
Zaid’s gaze stays on the floor, Adam’s apple working as he swallows, because, yes, he knows what I’m talking about.
He knows that deeply rooted love that lives within us both that has nowhere to go now.
We pour bits of it into other people we care about, of course, but for me it’s not quite the same.
Some people find amazing outlets for that love, are able to let it all out and not feel like it’s choking them.
There were so many days when I wished that could have been me.
But I have someone to give that love to now, and I have Zaid to thank for making that happen.
‘I get it,’ he says, voice scratchy as he finally looks back up at me.
‘It’s why I want to be the same kind of dad my father was.
’ He pauses, drawing in a breath that shudders slightly.
‘I feel like I’m ruining your plans, though.
You were so prepared to do this on your own, and now I’m forcing my way in.
Are you really okay with us raising this kid together? ’
‘You’re not forcing your way in,’ I say gently. ‘I can’t lie and say I’m not scared about how this is going to work, because I really, really am. But I’d never deprive a child of having two parents who love them.’
A relieved sigh escapes him, and I swear the tension around his eyes eases too. ‘Thank you, Ava.’
‘You don’t need to thank me.’ I tilt my head and flash him a slightly smug grin.
‘Honestly, I should be thanking you for signing on to change diapers and do middle-of-the-night feedings.’ But some of the humor leaves me when I think about it, another complication popping up.
‘I guess we should talk about what our living situation’s going to look like after the baby’s born.
Kind of hard to shuttle a newborn between houses, let alone countries. ’
‘Would you be open to living together for the first few months?’ he asks. ‘I want to do my fair share, but I can’t do that if we’re in different places.’
It’s the logical thing to do, but am I open to it?
Traveling with him for a short part of the season is one thing, but making that arrangement semipermanent is another.
It requires completely uprooting my life and figuring out a brand-new game plan, because, let’s be real – there’s no way Zaid can move to the US with me.
He has a season to finish, first of all, and more career responsibilities than I can wrap my head around.
In contrast, I don’t have much going on besides a job I can do from anywhere and my cats.
I’m the one who can easily shift their life to accommodate, and honestly?
If it means this baby’s going to have the love and care they deserve from their other parent, then I’ll do what I have to for them to receive it.
‘Yeah, okay.’ I pause, taking a moment to settle into the idea. ‘Would we live here? In Monaco?’
In this bougie building I could never afford on my own? I nearly tack on, uncomfortable with the idea of letting him take care of all the finances. But what can I really contribute to a multi-championship-winning F1 driver who’s used to a particular lifestyle?
‘If you’re open to it,’ Zaid says. ‘We could split our time between here and London with our families. I know mine will be more than willing to help us.’
Mine will be too, once they get over the shock of it all. ‘That would be nice. It’ll be great to have that support while you’re finishing up the season and when the next one starts.’
I swear he winces at the reminder of our unorthodox situation. ‘It won’t always be like that,’ he says quietly, gaze dropping to survey the gleaming island between us. ‘I won’t be racing forever. I’ll be around more.’