Chapter 12 Then…
Then…
The first time that Juliette spoke to Dominic Hastings alone, he was standing in the academy kitchen, wielding a wooden spoon and wearing a black apron that said Oh, Crepe! I Left the Oven On.
She paused in the doorway. The muggy August heat filtered through the window, along with the faint sounds of a car engine revving. Butter sizzled in an iron skillet, accompanied by the mouthwatering aroma of thyme and parsley.
“Please,” Dominic said, without turning. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“Oh.” Juliette hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to intrude—”
“You’re not.”
She ground her sock into the floorboard, hugging her sudoku book to her chest. She was suddenly painfully aware of her outfit: leggings, an oversized hoodie, and greasy hair pulled back in a pink scrunchie. Not that it mattered; Dominic still wasn’t looking at her.
Juliette took a seat. “What are you cooking?”
“Coq au vin.”
Juliette whistled. “Fancy. I’ve never had it.
” Most of her childhood meals had involved boil-in-the-bag hot dogs.
It had been a good day when they’d had rice pudding cups for dessert.
“I thought you’d have your own kitchen. In, you know…
” She waved a hand toward the window. “Wherever teaching staff live.”
Dominic crouched to grab a chopping board. “I do. But my oven’s broken, so I’m being forced to mix with the general public today.”
Juliette paused, her pencil hovering over her sudoku. Was that a subtle hint? Was he trying to get rid of her? She was still wondering how to gracefully extract herself from the situation when Dominic said, “Can you hand me that grater?”
She did so. “Nice apron.”
“Thanks. My friend Liêm got it for me.”
He said this casually, as if it was normal to be friends with Liêm Yang, a former F2 champion and heir to Vietnam’s biggest shoe brand.
Perhaps it was. She wouldn’t know; Cap rarely spoke about any of his fellow racers.
Most of their conversations revolved around his dog Clyde, or their parents’ latest Shakespeare-themed item and whether it was terrible (it always was).
She had the sense that her brother relied on their conversations to be about anything but racing; it was how Cap held on to a shred of normalcy.
“What’s that?” Dominic asked, nodding at her book.
“Sudoku puzzles.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do a lot of those?”
“Sometimes.” Usually followed by chess or any strategy game she could rope Baz into playing. “It gets me out of my head for a few hours.”
Dominic tasted the sauce. “I watched your practice laps today. You need to work on that undertake. If you go into the corner a little earlier, you might stand a half-decent chance at winning.”
She hid a smile. “Was that meant to be a compliment?”
“You don’t need compliments. You know you’re talented.”
He said the words like a fact, but her chest warmed anyway. Like the sucker for praise that it was. “Still. Doesn’t hurt to hear you say it.”
“Frederick spoke to you for a while after class. Does he make a habit of that?”
Dominic’s voice was casual. Too casual. Juliette shrugged. “Sometimes. I find it best to ignore him.”
“What was he saying?”
Juliette hesitated. Truthfully, she could hardly recall.
She’d become accustomed to the barrage of insults that came anytime she out-lapped Frederick: hag, whore, slut…
Women everywhere could make a drinking game out of it.
Two shots for when he disparages your appearance.
Down your drink when he sexually shames you.
Juliette shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be.” He reached for the salt. “I can speak with him, if you’d like.”
She almost snorted. Yeah. She could only imagine how that would go. “It’s fine. Comes with the territory of being the only woman.”
Dominic’s knife flashed. “At the academy?”
“In the sport.”
He scraped the mushrooms into a frying pan. “What’s that like?”
Juliette exhaled. “I’m still navigating it. There are some things that I…” She flapped a hand, feeling suddenly sheepish. “I don’t know. It’s not important.”
Dominic set down his knife. “I want to hear it.”
Juliette pursed her lips. She was almost sure Dominic was making fun of her, but his expression was serious.
She tapped her pencil against the page. God, there were a million directions she could go with this.
Where to begin? Well, I start every day by putting on makeup so that the boys take me seriously, but not so much that they’ll assume I’m shallow.
Every day I wonder if I’m wearing makeup for me or because it’s expected of me.
I wonder if I can even tell the difference.
I wonder if that makes me a bad feminist.
“No, it’s just…” She cleared her throat.
“It’s an honor to be at the academy. It is.
And I’m proud to be one of the first women in the sport.
But sometimes it feels like…” Dominic watched her intently, and she resisted the urge to shift.
She couldn’t recall anybody ever looking at her like that.
“I don’t even know if I’m changing anything, or if I’m a one-off, you know?
Sometimes I feel like I’m not even in the driver’s seat.
Like I’m just knocking on the window, waiting to be let in. ”
For a terrible moment, nobody spoke. The chicken bubbled away in the pan.
She could feel the heat of it against her cheeks.
Or maybe she was just blushing. Why on earth had she shared all that?
He probably thought she was a babbling idiot, or ungrateful at the very least. God, she should have never—
“Yeah, I get that,” Dominic said. “One of the first Moroccan drivers, remember? Or half Moroccan, at least.” His smile was wry. “The people in power are the people who change things. We’re outsiders.”
She relaxed. Just a little. “Then what do we do?”
He shrugged. “Just keep knocking.”
He pulled a bowl from the cupboard. She watched as he ladled chicken, wine sauce, and mushrooms, garnishing it with something green. Then, to her surprise, Dominic placed the bowl in front of her.
“Here.”
Juliette raised an eyebrow. “What is this again?”
“Another first.”
He packed the rest of the food into a container. Juliette surreptitiously took a bite; buttery chicken melted in her mouth, along with smoky onion and wine. She bit back a moan. Holy hell, that was good. Where the hell had Hastings learned to cook like that?
“Marchmont?” Dominic asked.
She turned.
He stood in the doorway, the container propped under one arm. For the first time, Dominic looked almost…uncertain.
“I’m not sure there’s an answer to these things. But for what it’s worth…” He gave her a small smile. “It’s nice to hear I’m not the only one who feels alone.”
He disappeared through the door.
Over the next week, Juliette forced herself to turn into every corner early.
Her lap times improved by a half second.
Frederick began leaving her alone after practice, and although Dominic never said anything, she suspected he had something to do with it.
Sometimes, for a crazy moment, she thought she felt his eyes lingering on her after practice, but whenever she turned, he was looking at something else.
She told herself that she must have imagined it.