Chapter 24
Zaid
Top of the Podium magazine
By Damian Larson, columnist
WHO WILL DOMINATE IN THE SECOND HALF OF THE SEASON?
Today is the first official day of the summer break, three weeks when we can all take a breath and recalibrate for the second half of the season.
The first half brought us one of the most intense rivalries we’ve seen in decades, another iteration of Bergmüller vs.
Yousef, but with an undercurrent of chaos that was unlike anything we’ve witnessed before.
We’ve seen vitriolic battles between rivals in the past, including just last season between these two, and yet there’s something different about this.
It feels more like a no-holds-barred bare-knuckle underground fight than a match-up between gentlemen.
I hate to buy into rumors and speculation, but they’ve become hard for even the most serious journalists to ignore – does this new intensity have anything to do with Ava Farahani?
Monaco
After a win in Hungary and P2 in Belgium, I’m still trailing Axel in the championship as we head into the summer break.
Is it where I want to be? No, definitely not. But I’m only behind by seven points, a number I can make up in the second half of the season, and it’s a small enough difference that my mind is at ease over it. Besides, I have better things to focus on.
Ava and I are back in Monaco for a few days to decompress after the doubleheader and to prep for her to move in with me after the season ends.
Much to her chagrin, I’ve had my team handle everything regarding the move, from visas to opening new joint bank accounts to making sure the cats have the requisite papers and vaccinations to travel, all so she doesn’t have to do a single thing.
‘Your only job is to grow that baby,’ I remind her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as we step into the penthouse. ‘Stop trying to make trouble.’
‘Trouble is my middle name,’ she shoots back, kicking off her shoes and heading for the kitchen – likely straight to the gelato I told her was waiting in the freezer.
‘I’ve seen your driver’s license,’ I call to her retreating back. ‘I know it’s Lotus!’
Named after her mum’s favorite flower, she told me. After learning that, I asked what her own favorite flower was, and I’ve made sure to keep the motorhome stocked with sunflowers ever since. She’ll find a vase of them on nearly every table here too.
After setting down our bags, I head to the soon-to-be nursery, determined to start on the mural so that I can have it finished before the end of the break.
We won’t have much time back here after the season restarts, and then there will come a point when Ava can no longer travel.
Considering that’ll be around the stretch of races I’ll have in the Americas, her house in the States will be our base until after the baby’s born and old enough to safely travel.
And then this will be home. Our home.
Ava strolls in a few minutes later as I’m about to start sketching the rough outline on the wall. She leans into my side, gazing up at me with those big doe eyes that melt my heart every time, and it takes me far too long to look away and remember the task at hand.
‘You can keep me company while I do the outline,’ I tell her, motioning for her to sit on the sofa pressed to the opposite wall, the only furniture currently in the room. ‘But I’m kicking you out once it’s time for paint. Don’t want you inhaling those fumes.’
She rolls her eyes, lips twisting to the side as she fights a smile. ‘So bossy,’ she taunts as she saunters away. ‘I’ll be over here supervising, then.’
The sofa is small but just big enough for her to stretch out on, with one elbow on the armrest and her head in her palm, her other hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly.
Her dress is a deep red today, like the cherries she loves so much, and the hem settles just above her knees as she makes herself comfortable.
I need to be working on this mural, but I’m itching to capture her in this moment instead.
‘When I’m done with this,’ I tell her, vaguely motioning to the wall even though my eyes never leave her, ‘I want to paint you.’
Her smile is cheeky, pulling up on one side just a little more than the other. ‘Do you paint all the women you’ve been with, Mr. Yousef?’
I huff a laugh, finally turning back to the wall and drawing the first sweeping arc of what will become a forest scene.
She knows there have been plenty of women in my past, having witnessed years of playboy antics in my twenties.
I was young, rich, and on top of the world.
I couldn’t drink and eat and party like a lot of my age cohort were out doing, thanks to the fear that it would affect my racing, so women were my vice.
‘I never painted any of them,’ I answer, because I never wanted to.
They were all beautiful in their own way, but I felt no compulsion to even lazily sketch them.
Ava, though . . . She makes me want to pull out the biggest canvas and use every color under the sun.
I want to capture each element of who she is, even though I know it would be impossible to reproduce the sheer life she exudes.
‘Really?’ she teases. ‘Not even that K-pop star? Or any of the actresses? Ooh, maybe that gorgeous human rights lawyer – she had cheekbones to die for.’
‘None of them. It will only ever be you, Ava.’
I expect another quip, but instead I’m met with silence. When I glance over my shoulder again, she’s staring intently at the ceiling, her chest lifting with a deep breath, lips turned down at the corners.
‘You all right?’ I ask her, hand dropping from the wall.
‘I’m trying so hard not to ruin my eyeliner,’ she says, voice wobbling a little. ‘It looks really good today.’
I can’t help but chuckle, and thankfully it has her snickering along with me, even if it’s joined by a few sniffles. In the interest of protecting her makeup, I change the subject.
‘Have you narrowed down your list of baby names yet?’ I ask, tracing the beginnings of an old oak tree.
‘Whatever we pick, I want to make it look like her name is carved into one of the trees.’ And my plan is to put mine and Ava’s together on another, though that will stay a surprise until the mural’s done.
Ava clears her throat, and when she speaks again, she’s back to her usual impish ways. ‘I think you’re going to love my shortlist,’ she boasts.
‘Let’s hear it, then.’
‘Monza,’ she announces grandly, and I have to close my eyes for a second to prepare myself for what else is about to come.
‘No.’
She takes my rejection in stride. ‘Suzuka?’
‘Ava,’ I warn.
‘Emilia Romagna, but we’d call her Imola.’
‘You’re an absolute pest.’
She laughs, throaty and loud, and it’s like my whole world gets a little bit brighter. I don’t dare turn and look at her for fear that I’ll never be able to look away.
‘All jokes aside,’ she says when she’s recovered, ‘I’ve always loved the name Noor.
It’s been at the top of my all-time favorites for a while now, and honestly .
. . I’ve been calling her that in my head ever since you told me to narrow down my list.’ She pauses, then rushes to tack on, ‘But if you don’t like it, we can go with something else. ’
My hand slows then stills as I take in her suggestion, letting it settle over me, but I already know it’s our daughter’s name. ‘That’s perfect.’
‘Really?’ Ava sounds surprised that I’ve agreed so easily. ‘You don’t even want to look at my lists?’
I shake my head. ‘No. Her name is Noor.’
Ava goes quiet again, but this time when I glance over at her, she’s beaming. My ray of sunshine, carrying the light of my life, named exactly for that, and I’ve never felt warmer.
We contemplate whether we want to give her a middle name as I continue sketching – ‘Okay, but you have to admit, Noor Emilia Romagna really has a ring to it,’ Ava says at one point, which I again shut down – and by the time my wrist starts to ache, we’re no closer to agreeing on that part of our daughter’s name.
‘Take a break,’ Ava orders, coming over to take the pencil from my hand. ‘Sit with me.’
I’m only about halfway done, but pushing through the pain won’t do me any good, so it’s in my best interest to obey.
I let her gently take my hand and guide me to the sofa, grinning when instead of squeezing in beside me, she chooses to straddle my lap, her knees on either side of my hips.
She cups my jaw, thumbs drifting over the stubble on my cheeks, holding me so adoringly that I don’t doubt for a second that every inch of her is devoted to me.
‘Thank you for this,’ she murmurs, eyes holding mine.
‘Not just the mural, or for everything you’re doing for Noor, but for making room for me.
It’s been . . . it’s been a while since I felt like I fit somewhere.
Or like I was wanted there. But you’ve made space for me as if I was always meant to be here with you. ’
Deep in my chest, I feel the same tug of destiny.
We’ve landed here after a decade and a half of moving in each other’s orbits, circling close but never quite intercepting – not until one of the hardest moments of my life, then again in another when I was ready to give up everything I’d worked for.
It was like she’d been dropped directly into my path.
I ignored it once, let her go, and let it all crumble down, but I somehow knew to hold tight this time.
‘I can’t imagine you anywhere else,’ I tell her. Up this close, I can see the little flecks of amber and caramel in her irises, like golden stars, an infinite light. ‘I’ll always make space for you, princess.’