Chapter 25 Spare Part #2
“Well,” Anthony said, “you’re welcome to stay at my flat tonight if you need a place. It’s just round the corner.”
“Oh.” Juliette paused. “That’s very kind of you, but I’ll be okay.”
She glanced at Dominic. If this was an ill-disguised attempt to get under his skin, it wasn’t working; he was buttering a bread roll, looking entirely unbothered.
But then again, why would he care? He’d spent the summer break hooking up with supermodels on a yacht.
He’d probably forgotten about what happened between them in Monaco entirely.
“I have a spare room,” Anthony added. “It’s already made up.”
Dominic speared a potato. “She said she’s fine.”
His gaze was fixed on his plate, which was organized into neat little sections, wedges of lemon-soaked chicken and buttery potatoes. None of the sections touched. Vance shot his son an admonishing look.
“Join us.” Vance swept a hand toward the empty chair. “Have some dinner before you go.”
“Oh.” She hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt—”
“Nonsense,” Vance said. “I’d love to get to know my son’s new teammate. And you can use my phone to ring your brother.”
Dominic’s knuckles were white on his wineglass. “I’m sure Marchmont has better things to do than join us for dinner. And look at her. She’s soaked through. She can’t just sit here like that.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“The restaurant won’t let her stay,” Dominic said tightly. “There’s a dress code.”
Juliette—who was suddenly very aware of the water pooling in her socks—willed the heat in her cheeks to vanish. She wouldn’t give Dominic Hastings the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. She’d rather die.
“Stay,” Anthony said. “You can share my meal.”
“Juliette?” Vance turned. “What do you think?”
Juliette looked at Dominic. His gaze was fixed on the remnants of his red wine, and something hardened around her heart. Screw it. Who was she to pass up the opportunity to speak with Vance Hastings, the Kingmaker of Racing? He could snap his fingers and paint the world gold if he chose to.
Anyway, she wasn’t about to offend him by refusing.
“Sure,” Juliette said. “I’d love to stay for a bit.”
She slid into her seat. Anthony piled garlic prawns onto her plate, and Juliette suppressed a grimace. She briefly considered explaining that eating those prawns would induce anaphylaxis, wondered if that was rude, and settled for grabbing a bread roll instead.
Anthony nodded at the prawns. “They’re exceptional.”
Juliette offered a smile. “I’m sure they are. Thank you.”
“Try them.”
“Oh, I—”
“She’s allergic.” Dominic’s voice was clipped. “As I’ve mentioned before. So unless you’re hiding an EpiPen in your suit, Sinclair, I’d stop talking.”
Silence descended. Dominic went back to his wine, and a surge of frustration filled her.
Look at me, she thought, and Dominic’s mouth tightened but he didn’t lift his head.
Fine. She shifted her gaze to the window.
The storm was breaking, and two green birds circled above the buildings, like twin spots of land in a cloudless blue sea.
“Parakeets,” Vance said, following her gaze. “Native to Asia originally, until some sadist let them loose in London. They thrive here, feral parakeets.” He cut into his chicken. “It’s amazing how one can adapt to the environment one is put in.”
There was a note of something in Vance’s voice, although she didn’t know what. “I’ve always thought so.”
“Of course, it depends if that species is equipped to survive.”
She shrugged. “Some species evolve.”
“Over centuries.” Vance’s smile was pleasant. “Not overnight.”
Ah. And there it was. A thinly veiled barb. Still, it was a nice restaurant, and she wasn’t paying, so Juliette buttered her bread roll and said nothing. Anthony’s gaze lingered on her lap; her white dress was transparent, sticking to her thighs, although to fix it now would feel like a concession.
She cleared her throat. “This restaurant is lovely.”
Vance dabbed at his mouth. “Dominic used to work here.”
Surprise flitted through her. “When?”
She directed this to Dominic, although it was Vance who answered.
“Four years ago.” He crumpled the napkin.
“He used to help in the kitchens. It was why his racing statistics were off for the first half of the season.” He turned to Dominic, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But we put a stop to that, didn’t we?”
Dominic speared a pea. Still, he didn’t speak.
“I didn’t know you were such a chef, Hastings,” Anthony said. He draped an arm around the back of her chair, and she hid a grimace. “The food is delicious. You ought to make a career of it.”
Dominic’s eyes darkened. “I prefer to dabble.”
“Always nice to have a backup.”
Dominic smiled. “Shame your mother didn’t feel the same way about condoms.”
“Dominic,” Vance said.
“Sorry,” Dominic said, with no feeling. “Can you pass the pepper?”
He pushed around his peas. He still hadn’t met her gaze; she was starting to feel that she could jump on a table and perform a three-part Shakespeare play and he wouldn’t take notice. Anthony held up a hand.
“It’s all right, Vance. Just a bit of friendly ribbing between drivers.”
Vance leaned forward. “Anthony’s been having some marvelous drives. The team couldn’t be more pleased with his performance.”
Anthony adjusted his napkin. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Nonsense,” Vance said. “You’re spectacular out there.”
“It’s down to the car.”
“Don’t be so modest,” Vance said. “You’re one hell of a driver.” He turned to his son. “Dominic is talented too, of course, but it’s wasted on a midfield team. And there’s no shame in quitting. I have a friend in television who would be delighted to take him on as a commentator.”
Dominic took a large bite of chicken. Juliette’s grip tightened on her knife.
“He’s too talented to quit,” she said.
Vance raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“Dominic,” Juliette said. “He’s a racer. He always will be.”
She wasn’t sure who was most astonished by her outburst: Vance, Dominic, or herself. Her heart was beating fast. But to sit here at this table…to watch Vance talk about his only son as if he were some sort of spare part…
She couldn’t do it.
And, heaven help her, Juliette found herself continuing. “Dominic has good instincts, and he’s fast. Especially for a driver in a midfield car.”
“Well,” Vance said. “He’s having a tough season.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed. “He’s had several crashes. And only one podium.”
Juliette glanced at Dominic. “You were close in Monaco. You almost overtook me.”
“Well,” Vance said, “that’s not saying much.”
Juliette ripped into the bread roll. She thought about the time that Cap had hidden a spider in her shoe.
She’d retaliated by scattering his dirty boxers across the lawn before he brought his first girlfriend around, and her brother had never done it again.
Politeness, Juliette often found, was vastly overrated.
But some part of her had hoped…
She glanced over at Dominic. But he was staring at his potatoes, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Juliette’s heart sunk.
He doesn’t owe you anything. She gripped the bread roll.
You’re not even friends. And his father is the most powerful man in the sport; of course Hastings doesn’t want to cross him.
She ought to let it go. Then she looked at Vance, who was calmly flagging the waiter down for a dessert menu, and something in her hardened. So he was paying for the wine. Fine. Did that really give him the right to sit here and disparage her career?
Juliette set down her bread roll. “That’s not saying much because I’m a woman. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
Vance paused. “That’s not what I said.”
“I’m fourth in the championship.”
Vance set down the dessert menu. “You’re a clever girl, Juliette.
I’m sure you’ve noticed that some of the male drivers make allowances for you.
Your brother Capulet, Sebastian Moreno when he’s on track…
” He waved a hand. “You’re a hell of a driver, but women can be a distraction. Just look at Ranya Silva.”
Blood pounded in Juliette’s ears. “What about her?”
Vance refilled his wine. “She was involved romantically with another driver. It ended badly for both of them. I’m fine with women having their own championship. In fact, I think they should. But mixing genders on track?” He shrugged. “That can become dangerous.”
Silence fell. Vance’s gaze flicked over her, as if she were a particularly uninteresting piece of furniture that he’d forgotten was in the room. And honestly? She’d had enough.
Juliette pushed back her chair. “I should go. I have an early flight tomorrow.” She forced a smile. “Thank you for dinner. And don’t worry about lending me your phone; I’ll just ask one of the waiters.”
She could feel Dominic’s gaze burning into her, and something bitter filled her. So he’d decided to finally look at her, had he? Well, too late.
She was already going.