Chapter 17
Ava
Zaid sticks it on pole like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. And when he wins on Sunday, I don’t think twice about rushing down to parc fermé to celebrate it.
I’m buzzing, body practically vibrating with excitement as I wade through the crowd of Mascort mechanics and engineers waiting to congratulate their – our – two drivers.
Willow’s hand is clutched in mine as I try not to lose her in the chaos, and the team is kind enough to clear a path for us to get to the metal barricade that separates the onlookers from the end-of-race happenings.
It’s been two years, nearly to the day, since I last did this, but the rush of watching my team win in person hasn’t changed.
It still burns as brightly in my chest as it did before, prompting me to laugh and clap and cry just a little bit – damn hormones – as our drivers pull into their designated spots for first and third.
The only thing different is the team I’m cheering for.
Willow flashes me a grin when we make it to the front and I know she’s as thrilled as I am that Zaid and Dev have finished on the podium.
She’s been great company this weekend, someone to show me the ropes of a new team and all the dynamics that come with it, plus what it’s like to be a WAG – even if neither wife nor girlfriend is my title.
I don’t think there’s an acronym for those of us who aren’t in a relationship with a driver but are instead tied to them by a baby. Might be up to me to invent one.
I’m careful to stay on the black-and-silver Mascort side of the celebrations despite the tug in my chest pulling me toward the swarm of navy and neon yellow off to my right.
For so long I stood among them, united and matching in our team kit.
They’re undoubtedly disappointed by Raphael’s lap-one crash, but Axel’s P2 finish is a buoy, and I’m sure the parties tonight will be wild.
Not far from us, Dev and Zaid slap hands and shoulders after climbing out of their cars, congratulating each other.
Axel pats Dev on the back as he passes by, heading toward the whooping Specter Energy pit crew, but he doesn’t even turn his head when he passes by Zaid.
He does, however, do a double take when he spots me at the front of the Mascort crowd, eyes narrowing before nodding to me and moving on.
We haven’t spoken since I told him the news, even though I’ve typed and deleted too many texts, wanting to reopen that line of communication yet knowing he’ll only reach out when he’s ready.
His dismissal stings, but I don’t have long to dwell on it, because Dev is pulling me and Willow in for a hug.
‘I didn’t crash!’ he rejoices, rocking us back and forth.
Willow gives him a kiss on the cheek of his helmet before shooing him off to greet the rest of the team. I watch him jump around for a few seconds before looking back to the rest of the chaos, and I find myself staring at Zaid.
He’s just finished being weighed by an FIA official, his helmet and balaclava clutched in one hand as he moves toward his designated stand to set them down.
He glances our way, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he sees Dev being lauded by the team, but he seems content to let his teammate have the spotlight.
I unabashedly watch as Zaid grabs the towel from the stand and scrubs it over his face, pushing his black hair back from his forehead, though an errant lock of it immediately falls back over.
I’ll admit that I’m already a little warm standing in the sunshine, but I flush with heat when he drops the towel and is suddenly looking at me.
When a true, delighted smile blooms on his face, I’m close to combusting on the spot.
Zaid’s beautiful on a regular day. He’s gorgeous first thing in the morning, still half asleep and rubbing at his forehead as he expertly brews me the one cup of coffee I’m allowed per day.
I’m always tempted to murmur Whatever you say, handsome when he’s lecturing me on getting enough nutrients in my diet, and then happily nod along when he hands me yet another perfectly balanced snack every three hours on the dot.
And I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed a lovelier sight than him humming an old Iraqi pop song as he sits in his studio and sketches something I haven’t been brave enough to ask him about.
But Zaid after a win, exhausted and sweaty and one step closer to breaking yet another record .
. . I’m powerless against the force of it.
My weak knees have nothing to do with my body working harder to grow a human and everything to do with the allure of this man and the way he makes this all look so easy.
It’s a privilege to know Zaid’s retirement plans, because I can truly cherish every win of his, since after this season there will be no more.
No more races, no more wins, no more of these celebrations.
I’ve always rooted for him in the background, even when Axel and his teammate du jour were meant to be my main focus, and it’ll be a dramatic change not to see him on-track any more.
Then again, I suppose he’ll be by my side instead, helping me raise this baby – our baby.
I have to fight to find my breath when he tosses the towel down and comes my way, still smiling.
It’s the biggest reaction to a win I’ve seen from him all season, like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders and he can finally enjoy what he’s accomplished.
This isn’t just a win, but a victory lap for his career.
I throw my arms around his neck when he makes it to me, proud and gleeful and overwhelmed, and I want him to know it.
‘Congratulations,’ I murmur against his ear, pushing up on my tiptoes to reach, though I’m almost completely swept off my feet when he wraps his arms around my waist to hug me back. My bump presses between us, though not yet big enough to keep us apart. ‘That was an amazing drive.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, squeezing me tighter before letting go. He dips his head to assure I can’t avoid his gaze. ‘And thank you for being here.’
‘Happy to be.’ I won’t lie, though – as much as I’ve loved attending race weekends again, two in the past two weeks has been a lot.
But it’s not going to stop me from tagging along for the rest until the summer break.
Our trial period is officially over, and I’ve made up my mind. ‘Can’t wait to head to Canada.’
Zaid’s eyes light up at the mention of the next grand prix. ‘You’re going to join me?’
I nod, my smile so broad it almost hurts. ‘For as long as I can.’
I blink, and suddenly he has my face cradled gently in his hands, thumbs swiping over my cheekbones to brush away the lingering happy tears that I forgot were there.
‘Tonight,’ he says softly, ‘just you and me. We’re going to celebrate.’
I know he has to go back to England this week for simulator work and meetings with the engineers at the Mascort factory, plus attend a few events for his foundation and sponsors, so the fact he’s carving out this time for us has my already weak knees turning to jelly.
‘Okay,’ I reply, far too breathless. ‘Now, go spray champagne in Axel’s face.’
——
I guess what Zaid meant by just you and me was just you, me, Dev, Willow, and the entire Mascort Formula 1 Team. But honestly? I don’t mind it.
We’re seated in a private dining room in one of Monaco’s best restaurants, the table so long I can barely see the other end of it, but Zaid is seated right next to me.
His arm is draped across the back of my chair, fingers hovering near my shoulder and sometimes brushing the skin that my strappy black dress has left bare.
It’s joyfully loud in the room, everyone celebrating, and he has to lean in close when he speaks.
‘Just so you know,’ he says, mouth at my ear, breath stirring the little hairs that have escaped my messy low bun. ‘This isn’t what I had in mind for our celebration. I made the mistake of telling Dev where I wanted to take you for dinner and he turned it into . . . this.’
I grin, tilting my head closer so that he can hear me in return. ‘I figured as much when he dragged us in here and you looked like you wanted to beat his ass.’
‘I like Dev.’ The words are careful and measured, though I can hear the amusement he’s trying to hold back mixed in with his exasperation. ‘But if that kid ever fucks up my plans with you again, I’ll get him kicked off the team.’
I know he’s only joking, but I don’t doubt he has the power to do exactly as he’s promised, and the idea of him using that sway because he wants time alone with me . . . I’m overheated and it’s not because of how many people are packed into this room.
‘Aw, but I’d miss him,’ I tease back. ‘And Willow’s just a doll. She’s made me feel so welcome this weekend. Everyone here has, honestly.’
The Mascort employees – from the mechanics I’ve randomly chatted with in passing to the fleet of folks keeping the hospitality suite running – have been nothing but pleasant and kind, making sure I’m well taken care of.
Sure, there have been a few confused and hesitant glances, but there’s been little outright hostility, aside from one or two people who eyed me with open suspicion.
Can’t really blame them. I’d probably be suspicious too if I watched a rival team principal’s daughter waltz in out of nowhere.
‘Good,’ Zaid says, and the way he strokes my shoulder this time is definitely on purpose. ‘Tell me if you have issues with anyone. I’ll take care of it.’