10. Callum #2
The room kept moving—waiters passing, chopsticks clicking—but it all faded around the sound of her voice, the way her fingers trembled as she set the sake cup down, untouched and out of reach.
“I’m fine,” I said, softer now. “I promise.”
She didn’t look convinced. She just shook her head, glancing to the ceiling and muttering something in French under her breath I couldn’t fully catch, but it sounded like a prayer wrapped in a threat.
I reached for her hand under the table, weaving my fingers through hers and giving them a gentle squeeze. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I added. “The first few days were rough, yeah, but the stretches and physio have helped. Once the worst of the bruising fades, I’ll be cleared to drive again.”
“How long is that, exactly?” Marco cut in, swallowing a piece of nigiri like he hadn’t just been eavesdropping the entire time. “Because if I have to spend more than one race dealing with Tobias fucking Meinhardt, I’m walking into traffic.”
“Two weeks, maybe three,” I said, brushing my thumb over Aurélie’s knuckles. “Hopefully only a couple more days of headaches, then another week for the swelling and neck strain to calm down fully. If all goes well, I’ll be back before Silverstone.”
“Thank God ,” Marco groaned. “The man uses more hairspray than my nonna. And he called the sim rig a 'video game controller' in the group chat earlier this week after Dom told him to practice the Spielberg track.”
Aurélie blinked at him, clearly torn between horror and hysterics.
Kimi muttered, “He said the same thing at Spa last year and didn’t understand why the brake bias wasn’t working. He was Luminis's reserve driver and I hated every second of him lurking in the garage.”
I snorted, but Aurélie’s fingers still trembled in mine.
“I’m fine,” I said again, looking at her and not them. “It looks worse than it is. And I’m not taking a single risk, I swear. I’ve got you, yeah?”
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue. Instead, she just nodded. Barely.
Kimi made a face. “Well. That killed the vibe.”
Aurélie turned to him, all bite and bark again. “You wanna keep your kneecaps, Kimi? Because I’m this close.” She held her fingers up to show a small gap between them. "I know how to orchestrate a crash on the track. Keep testing me. I dare you."
I couldn’t stop looking at her. Even glassy-eyed and flustered and seconds from combusting— especially like that—she was everything, and she’d just saved me from myself.
Marco made a gagging noise. “All night we've watched Fraser become the embodiment of the heart-eye emoji. Christ. Get a room. Please put me and Kimi out of our misery.”
Aurélie stirred the straw in her water cup. “Trust me, I’m considering it. So I can set it on fire with Cal inside.”
Kimi rubbed his hands together. "Ooooh, will we get to see the make-up and break-up in the same night?"
She rolled her eyes. "You two are on the fast track to joining him. You guys let him travel like this? He should be at home resting!"
"It was his idea!" Marco protested, pointing at Callum.
"You should've told him it was a bad one! You're supposed to be his best friend and teammate!"
"Well then he wouldn't have asked you to be his girlfriend during your interview and put all your doubts to rest," Kimi interjected.
Aurélie paused, then pulled her hand from mine—much to my dismay— and folded her arms across her chest. She slowly leaned against the back of the booth. "How dare you throw that in my face. I told you that in confidence . "
Interesting. So she was feeling insecure about us.
Kimi gulped. "Wait, Aurélie?—"
"No, I think I should share one of your secrets. Like how your first kiss was, in fact, with a family member."
Silence at the table. Then Marco and I burst into laughter, uncontrollable and loud while Kimi just stared, horrified, at my girlfriend. She stared right back, smug and satisfied.
"Wait, wait. He what ?" Marco was gasping for air. People from a nearby table glanced over at us.
"Yeah, it was his fifth cousin. He didn't know it until after. Bet family reunions were a bit awkward after that."
"Oh my God. Incredible." Marco wiped his eyes. "Hey, Dubois, I have a question now that you seem to have recovered from your heat stroke. Is it true French girls don't wear bras?"
"Is it true Italian boys can't find the clit?" she fired back with an arched brow. I kept laughing. Jesus Christ, she was an icon.
Marco looked personally victimized. "Hey. That was one time?—"
"She moaned for ten minutes and you still didn't know she was faking," Kimi deadpanned.
"Wait a damn minute. How did Dubois even know?—"
"I didn't. You gave yourself away." We all turned to look at her. She just shrugged casually. "What? You're the ones who continue to underestimate me even though I'm quite smart. That's on you."
"Oh my God. I love you," I murmured, grabbing her chin and pulling her in for a kiss.
Kimi looked between us. "Whoa. Did we just witness you saying that to her for the first time?"
Aurélie sipped my sake. "No."
"When did that happen? I've never heard him say that before. Not even to his mum," Marco said.
"You don't tell Malina you love her before hanging up the phone? Callum ."
I groaned. "Don't listen to him. He's never around when I talk to her."
"Or you just don't call her enough. You didn't hear her on the phone that day."
"Trust me, I got lectured. Full name and everything."
She hummed. "Good."
The waiter returned. Marco ordered chocolate mochi—surprising given how adamant he was that gelato was better, which was on the menu. Kimi asked for whiskey. Aurélie declined anything further and swatted at my hand again when I tried to touch her.
Wait. "When did you get on a first-name basis with my mother?"
"Since she friended me on Facebook."
"You're friends with her on Facebook ?"
"Are you having a difficult time keeping up through all those painkillers? I feel like I'm explaining this in English pretty well."
“Hey, that reminds me,” Kimi said suddenly, reaching for a black paper bag hidden under the booth. “We got you something.”
Aurélie narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because,” Marco said with a smug grin, “your Frenglish is iconic.”
"My… Frenglish? Did you just come up with that term?" She grabbed the bag, then pulled out a folded piece of fabric and unfolded it. It was navy blue, with the Monaco track printed in white along with the words:
Les Twisty-est Virages
Aurélie gaped at it, mortified. “You did not .”
“Oh, but we did,” Kimi said proudly. “We’ll all be wearing them next year. Matching. It's a new Grid Gremlin tradition.”
“I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Marco said.
She glared at me. “Callum, say something. Were you in on this?”
“No, but I think I’m going to marry you in that shirt,” I said with a straight face. “My mum really is planning the wedding.”
Her jaw dropped. “Wait, what? I thought you were joking.”
Marco groaned. “ Finally someone said it out loud. I've been dying for an update on this.”
Kimi raised a hand. “I give them a year. Max.”
I leaned over, dropped a kiss to her cheek, and whispered, “Just don’t let her pick the flowers.”
"I already know what flowers will be at the wedding," she stated matter-of-factly, then dropped the shirt in her lap when she realized what she'd said. Oh yeah, she was as gone as I was.
"Oh? And what's your decision, love? Lavender?"
Her eyes rolled so hard I thought they might disappear. She folded the shirt back up and put it in the bag. "You and this lavender obsession."
"You started it."
"Oh mon Dieu, all of you are so childish. No, Callum, not lavender. Pink peonies."
I froze. That was all I'd bought her this last week. She winked at me before turning back to the boys. “As for you two. Shut the fuck up. I already know you’re both—” She pointed her butter knife like it was a sword, dramatic and deadly. “—how do you say. .. biting the chomps?”
They tilted their heads at her, and I just fucking ate it up. Her little Frenglish fuck-ups were arguably one of my favorite things about her.
“ Chomping at the bit, ” I said, fighting a grin. “The timing is impeccable as always, love. You're adorable.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but my hand slipped right back between her thighs under the table, tugging at the lace. Her voice cracked mid-syllable. She gasped and slapped a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Marco muttered. “This is torture. Aurélie, I thought you grew up bilingual.”
“She’s French, as Fraser continues to point out. Always dramatic,” Kimi said with a sigh. “Her parents believe English is an inferior language and chastised them for using it around the house.”
"This is true," she muttered, then held her finger up as she did an impression of what I could only assume was her father in a thick, pompous accent.
"English is only useful for two things: airline safety announcements and binding legal agreements.
If it is not earning you money or keeping you alive, why speak it? "
"Pretty pretentious for a man who doesn't own a private jet," I muttered. "Or at least doesn't pay for his daughter to fly private."
Aurélie snorted. "Please. They sponsored my time in F2.
That was it. For all the money we come from, they believe in making us all work for our own dreams, which, don't get me wrong, is a good lesson.
But they never picked my sister Emilie and I up when we needed them.
Only étienne." She sighed. "He also said he only taught us English so we could negotiate contracts, not so we could gossip like Americans.
" She scrunched her nose, and it was positively adorable. "Kind of xenophobic, actually."
"Wait, so you know words like xenophobic but you don't know common English phrases?" Marco was appalled.
"Ce n'est pas gentil, Marco." That's not nice. "My English is not perfect. Not all of us are Italian royalty who grew up knowing four languages."
"I didn't realize you knew so much about me."