Chapter 33 Then…
Then…
Dominic knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Vance called.
Dominic stepped into the conservatory. The room smelled heavily of chlorine and bamboo; Vance was swimming laps in the pool, wearing a cap and blue goggles.
Dominic glanced at his watch. Quarter past three.
He was on time, so either his father had forgotten about their meeting or the swimming was designed to set him at ease.
Probably the latter.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Dominic.” Vance flipped onto his back. “Good. Have a seat.” He gestured vaguely to a folding chair. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”
Dominic crossed his ankles. “My flight’s not until tomorrow.” He’d finished up his teaching role at the Taurus academy last week, and in the morning he was flying out to Zandvoort for the first race after summer break. And while he normally looked forward to a short flight…
His fingers curled around his phone.
With Juliette joining him, it didn’t feel nearly long enough. Not with the sort of plans they had for in-flight entertainment.
“And no plans today?” Vance asked.
Dominic paused. It was strange for his father to inquire after his social life. Even stranger that Vance had seemingly called Dominic here to watch him do laps in a Speedo.
“I’m meeting a friend at an art gallery,” Dominic said, which was half-true.
He could hardly classify Juliette as a friend; friends didn’t hold hands while watching the sunset from a narrow wrought-iron balcony, or shamelessly snog over coq au vin in his flat.
Dominic had never had a friend who looked as outrageously good in a miniskirt (although he was certain that Liêm would challenge that claim).
Technically speaking, though, they hadn’t put a label on it.
Dominic wasn’t lying, exactly. He was meeting a friend.
Just omitting some crucial details.
Vance switched to the butterfly stroke. “A gallery?”
“The Musée d’Orsay.”
“Your mother’s favorite.”
“Yes.”
She’d liked the photographs best. Colette would spend hours poring over collections of old prints, pointing out the color and aperture. Her favorite was Marthe au Tub, a black-and-white photograph from 1908.
“That’s the photographer’s wife,” Colette had explained, pointing to the nude woman bathing.
“People called her a neurotic recluse. They blamed her for Pierre’s absences from Paris.
His muse and his jailor, that’s what they’d say.
But you know what, ma poule?” Colette had crouched down, glancing around before lowering her voice.
“Male historians wrote her story, and you must never believe the things that men write about women. Only half of it is true, and none of it is kind.”
There was a splash. Dominic looked up. Vance climbed from the pool, dripping water all over the deck.
“Which friend?”
Dominic paused. His father’s voice was suspiciously casual. “What?”
“Which friend?” Vance toweled off. “You said you were going to the gallery with a friend.”
His chest tightened. “You don’t know them.”
“I see.” Another pause. “How was your time teaching at the academy?”
Dominic gripped the armrests. A sudden change in subject, he’d learned, was never a good sign. “I enjoyed it.”
“More than you expected?”
“I liked the students.”
“Yes,” Vance said. “So I’ve heard. Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Dominic?”
His father’s gaze was steely. Cold dread pooled in his stomach. But Vance couldn’t know, could he? They’d been so careful.
“If this is about the race next week—”
“Not just next week,” Vance cut in. “The last month. I looked at your training data, and your practice lap times are off by half a second. Why do you think that is?”
Shit. He definitely knew. “I’ll work harder.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Vance said.
Dominic’s fingers dug into the armrests. The smell of chlorine was overwhelming, burning his nostrils. He had the terrible feeling that his father was gearing up for something, like a conductor raising his arms before the final flourish. And here it was.
“Does the name Juliette Marchmont mean anything to you?”
Dominic’s stomach dropped. “Of course it does. Cap’s my teammate. He talks about his sister all the time.”
“She’s at the academy, isn’t she?”
Best not to lie until he had to. “Yes.”
“You taught her?”
Dominic’s heart sped up. “She was one of my most promising students.” Again, not a lie. “She has a natural aptitude for race strategy. Why?”
Vance crossed to the bar. “It seems that race strategy isn’t the only thing you taught her.”
His father tossed a brown packet. A folder, Dominic realized, his stomach tightening; why the hell was his father giving him a folder? Was it an NDA? An envelope of cash to get him to end things with Juliette? He opened it, his eyes flicking over what appeared to be photographs. Photographs of—
Dominic stared.
Of him and Juliette.
His heart raced as he scanned the photos.
Snaps of them strolling down the Champs-élysées, snacking on a variety of biscuits, kissing in his flat…
His eyes lingered over a shot of Juliette laughing as Dominic wiped ice cream from her nose, his mouth curved with tender amusement, and his blood went cold.
It wasn’t the most sexual photograph, but it did feel the most…
Intimate.
Dominic slammed the folder shut. “Where did you get these?”
Vance raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say?”
“You had someone tail us?”
“No,” Vance said. “A source informed me that these pictures”—his voice curled around the word—“were going to be released in the Daily Mail tomorrow. I’ve spent all morning trying to kill the story.”
Dominic’s blood went cold. “They’re being printed?”
“Not anymore. Luckily, I know the editorial director. He’s agreed not to print them in exchange for a generous donation.”
Dominic exhaled. “Thank you.”
The relief was so abrupt that it felt like a gut punch. Dominic had the sudden desire to chuck the folder in the pool, or—better yet—to set it on fire. If anyone saw these photos…if the media got hold of them…
His heart raced. Juliette would be publicly ripped apart.
His mother’s words came back to him, raw as a wound: You must never believe the things that men write about women.
Only half of it is true, and none of it is kind.
He’d wanted to go public, but not like this.
He’d imagined a carefully worded interview, an exclusive with a trusted journalist who wrote positively about female athletes.
Something where they were in control. But letting these photos leak would be akin to firing a burning arrow into the sky and just praying that it didn’t set anything important on fire when it landed.
Anyway, Juliette had been right, he realized, staring at the photos; he hadn’t wanted to admit it, but here it was, the gut-wrenching truth, staring him directly in the face: Her career just wasn’t there yet.
If these photos got out, she’d be introduced to the world as Dominic Hastings’s girlfriend, and not as a championship-winning racer in her own right.
She’d be forever sitting beside the racetrack.
Not on it. And it was the one thing she would never forgive him for.
He’d been selfish. If his father hadn’t killed the story…her career ending would be your fault, a little voice whispered, and he deserved the guilt that came with it, deserved the sharp sting of regret.
“You were careless,” Vance observed.
Dominic’s throat burned. “I know.”
“A student.” Vance clicked his teeth. “Do you have any idea what sort of damage that could do to your career?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Of course,” Vance said evenly, “it would do more damage to the girl’s career. Should the photos be released.”
Dominic’s throat felt dry. He felt as if he’d been so busy staring down the lens of a camera that he’d missed the gigantic wave creeping up behind him. And now, Dominic thought, it was about to come crashing down.
“I thought you had all the copies,” he said dully, although he knew where this was going. He’d been foolish not to anticipate it from the start. And sure enough, Vance leaned forward, preparing for the final strike.
“I do.”
“What are you saying?”
His father folded his arms. “Break things off with the girl. Or I’ll release the photos.”
It was difficult, Dominic reflected, to look intimidating while wearing a small red Speedo, but his father was certainly pulling it off. “Why?”
Vance sighed. “I’ve told you, Dominic. If you’re going to be the best racer in the world, then sacrifices must be made. And it’s clear that this…relationship is affecting your ability to perform on track.”
“I’ve had a bad run.” He hated that his voice rose. “It has nothing to do with…” He couldn’t bring himself to say Juliette’s name; it felt like handing his father a severed heart. “Nothing to do with her.”
“End it,” Vance said. “Today.”
His voice was firm, but not unkind. Dominic’s heart rate accelerated. Nothing made him more nervous than when his father was gentle. It was like honey from a bee before it stung. “And if I refuse?”
Vance reached behind the bar. “I didn’t want to do this. Here.”
He produced a second folder. This time, Dominic only eyed it warily.
“What is this?”
Vance’s gaze was steady. “A list of every company sponsoring the girl. A cosmetics brand, clothing companies, a protein shake start-up…Do you know what they all have in common?” He pulled on loose trousers.
“A zero-tolerance policy for misconduct. No company wants to be attached to a female racer who climbed the ladder by fucking her superiors.”
Heat surged. “She didn’t—”
“But that’s what it will look like,” Vance said, almost patiently. “If these photographs get out, those companies will drop her. All of them.”
Dominic gripped the folder. The paper was slicing into his skin, although he hardly felt it. “You’d ruin her career. Over nothing.”
“For you. I’m doing this for you.”
The odd desire to laugh filled him. “I don’t want this.”
“As a parent,” Vance said, “my job is to look out for your best interests. Even when you can’t see it.”
Dominic was already shaking his head. “I won’t do it.”
“She needs those sponsorships, doesn’t she? She doesn’t come from wealth.”
Dominic slapped the folder down on the table. “She’ll find new ones.” His heart was pumping. “She’s going to be a world champion one day, and the money will follow. Even you can’t compete with natural talent.”
Vance’s gaze was filled with a terrible pity. “Did you know that Duro Stallion supplies engines to every major racing team? Hydra Auto, Taurus, Asteri Stag, Viper…” He counted each team on his fingers. “All of them rely on our engines to make their cars run.”
Something terrible curled inside him. “You’d really threaten them?”
“Of course not,” Vance said. “But I’d hate to be put in a position where I needed to call those teams and ask for a favor.”
Dominic closed his eyes; it didn’t take a genius to read between the lines. “You’d bar her from racing altogether.”
“No. I’d do whatever is necessary to protect my son’s career.”
They locked eyes. How disturbing, he thought, to realize now how similar they looked; he shared his father’s ink-black eyes, yes, but it was more than that.
Something lurked in Vance’s gaze that Dominic saw in the mirror: a deep, fathomless hunger, as if he could crush the world in his fist. There was no stopping that sort of resolve.
He knew that all too well.
When Dominic spoke, his voice was hollow. “What would you have me do?”