Chapter 34 Grill the Grid
Grill the Grid
Now
Dominic adjusted his microphone.
The studio was busy today. Assistants raced by carrying armfuls of flowers, and a producer was barking orders, gesturing wildly to a green screen.
Six drivers sat on stools, making small talk with their makeup artists or scrolling through social media.
Juliette appeared to be showing a producer a picture of her family dogs.
Dominic looked away.
It had been three months since the incident at the Milan Duomo.
Seven races had passed: Azerbaijan, Singapore, Texas, Mexico, Brazil, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.
He and Juliette spoke only in meetings. It was pretty much killing him.
Juliette, on the other hand, had cheerfully asked if he wanted a coffee yesterday, which went to show that she had far better compartmentalization skills than he did.
And it all came down to the final race this weekend. The Las Vegas Grand Prix.
The Sun had called it “The Most Exciting Race in F1 History.” The Daily Mail had called it “that thing that your colleagues refuse to shut up about.” The Mirror had run features on all three contestants for world champion, alongside the odds of each of them winning (Sinclair, 78 percent; Dominic, 19 percent; and Juliette, with a measly 3 percent).
Dominic flexed his hands, glancing at the cameras.
Ranya had promised that today’s interview was a bit of fun.
No questions about qualifying tomorrow or the race the following day.
And especially no questions about how he felt about being back in Las Vegas for the final Grand Prix (terrible, obviously; he’d been hoping for Abu Dhabi, where it was acceptable to eat pancakes slathered in date syrup and cream cheese, and—crucially—where he hadn’t smashed a car into the wall on national television).
He glanced at his watch.
Thirty minutes.
Then he could go back to his hotel suite and think about other things. Like that pearl tapioca recipe that he wanted to try and not, for example, the fact that Juliette’s hair smelled like strawberries.
“Is it just me,” Cap said, “or does that look like a very abnormal interview setup?”
He was leaning back in his makeup chair, frowning at the producer who was untangling a jumble of copper wires. Wires that appeared to be hooked up to some sort of scary-looking machine. Perhaps they were being electrocuted, Dominic thought hopefully. That rewired your brain, didn’t it?
Cap shook his head. “Did anyone actually read the terms and conditions?”
Liêm—who, for whatever reason, had decided that now was the optimal time to eat a family-sized bag of Cheetos—paused in licking orange dust from his fingers. “Wait. There were terms and conditions?”
“I read them,” Baz said. He was rubbing Clyde’s belly while simultaneously trying to pry a makeup brush from the dog’s mouth. “There was a list of pre-approved questions. And then you’re playing Never Have I Ever.”
Liêm raised an eyebrow. “You’re not joining?”
Baz shook his head. “Reserve driver, remember? I’m just here for moral support. And the free snacks.”
Cap yanked the brush from Clyde’s mouth, revealing teeth marks. “What are the wires for?”
“A lie detector,” Baz offered.
Liêm choked. “A lie detector?”
Dominic patted him on the arm. “Don’t look so alarmed, Yang. People will think you have something to hide.”
“Of course I do,” Liêm said. “Everyone does.”
“Not me,” Cap said, lacing his hands behind his neck. “I’m an open book.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Juliette said, appearing in a waft of hairspray. “We all have secrets. Even you, Capulet.” There was something sharp in her gaze before she turned to Baz. “Can you help me with this microphone? I can’t get it to stick properly.”
She turned her back to Cap, who was frowning.
Definitely something going on there, Dominic thought; he hadn’t seen the siblings speak in weeks.
Still. None of his business. He was on a cleanse these days.
An I-don’t-think-about-Marchmont-at-any-cost cleanse, which, like most cleanses, was proving almost impossible to keep up.
A presence materialized at Dominic’s side.
Ah.
As if his day couldn’t get any worse.
“Hastings,” Anthony said coolly.
“Sinclair.”
Anthony clapped his shoulder. “I hope the producer asks if anyone has terrible taste in trousers. It would be nice for you to win something.”
Dominic whistled. “Not bad. By next year, I reckon you’ll be clever enough to say something that’s almost insulting.”
“Worried about the race this weekend?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be?”
Anthony shrugged. “I can only imagine your team will drop you. Losing the championship once is embarrassing enough. But twice?”
“I don’t intend to lose,” Dominic said shortly. “And if you want your car in one piece, you’ll stay out of my way.”
“Is that a threat?”
Dominic adjusted his microphone. “Just a friendly warning.”
“And here I thought we were getting on better.”
Dominic smiled. “Luckily for you, Sinclair, stupidity isn’t a crime.”
“Guys.” Liêm muttered something in Vietnamese that could have meant baked beans or motherfucker. Dominic had heard the word only once before when a burrito scorched his mouth. “Stop. Both of you. There’s a live audience today, remember?”
A woman wearing a headset clapped her hands. “Everyone to set, please.”
Dominic sat on a stool. Someone attached sensors to him, and he could see Cap trying unsuccessfully to persuade his dog not to chew a blood pressure cuff.
All part of the lie detectors, presumably.
The lights were blinding. Juliette glanced toward the packed seats, shifting in her chair, and he felt a pang of protectiveness.
Right. The live audience that Liêm had mentioned.
He’d almost forgotten that loads of F1 mega fans and influencers would be live streaming the whole thing.
Not your business, he thought firmly, but he was already leaning closer.
“Don’t worry,” Dominic murmured. “The questions will be easy. And the audience is on our side.”
Juliette wiped her palms on her lap. “Easy for you, you mean. You always know the right thing to say in these things.”
Dominic paused. She thought that? He wanted to say more, but a shadowy figure was counting down off-camera: three, two, one…
The producer smiled into the camera: an Australian woman named Sarah. Dominic recognized her from previous interviews.
“Welcome to Grill the Grid! We’re here with six Formula 1 drivers, and we’re about to play a lie detector game answering your burning questions.” Sarah turned. “First up, I’ve got a question for you, Capulet. Can you tell our viewers…?”
And so it began. Had they ever gone out with a celebrity before?
Had they ever kissed a fan? Who was the driver with the biggest ego?
Sinclair lied for every question, Cap and Juliette lied once, and Liêm never lied.
Dominic had made it through the game without lying, although only because he’d given a very creative answer when asked if he resented his father for kicking him off Duro Stallion.
Honestly. Who approved these questions? He was having a word with his PR team later.
“Great!” Sarah clapped her hands. “We’re going to end with a quick game of Never Have I Ever. Everyone hold up five fingers, please.”
Everyone obliged. Dominic chanced a glance at Juliette, who was staring straight ahead. A cold stone settled in his stomach. Surely they wouldn’t ask anything that personal, right? Sarah consulted her checklist.
“Never have I ever used food in the bedroom.”
Okay. Turned out they would ask personal questions. Dominic put down a finger. Juliette did too. He ignored the way that his chest suddenly felt like it was on fire. Again. None of his business.
“Never have I ever stolen something,” Sarah continued.
Everyone left their fingers up. Cap’s siren went off, sending a shrill sound through the room. Sarah looked delighted.
“You’re lying, Capulet!”
Cap looked sheepish. “It was just the once. I took a pint glass from my favorite pub in Hackney.”
Sarah smiled. “Very naughty. Okay, we’re getting down to our final questions now. This next one’s juicy. Never have I ever…” She winked at the camera. “Slept with another driver.”
Dominic’s blood went cold. He kept his fingers raised, staring hard at a tray of iced coffees. Looking anywhere but at Juliette, really. Two sirens blared, and the sound was grating in the silent studio.
“Look at that!” Sarah waggled her pen. “We have two lies.”
Shit.
Shit.
“Dominic and Juliette.” The pen waggling continued. “Very naughty. Was it other people, or…?”
Dominic’s heart pounded. This couldn’t be in the pre-approved question packet. He scanned the studio for Ranya—for literally anyone on their PR team—but all he could see were cameras. God. Being electrocuted would have been preferable.
This would be all over social media within the hour.
Juliette recovered first. “A lady never tells.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Not even a hint?”
“Oh, come on, Sarah,” Dominic drawled. “Do you really think we’d sleep together?” His heart was pounding, which probably wasn’t a good sign. How did lie detectors work? He should have paid more attention to that television crime series that Liêm bullied him into watching. “Ask us something else.”
He gave the producer his easy smile. The self-assured I-am-the-Prince-of-Racing-and-you-will-listen-to-me smile. Sure enough, Sarah gave a rather theatrical sigh.
“I guess we’ll move on. For now. Never have I ever…”
Dominic didn’t hear the other questions.
As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Juliette was out of her seat, pulling off her sensors.
Cap and Baz were close behind. Dominic took off his blood pressure cuff slowly, chatting to a Swedish producer about his new cockapoo and the football last night.
Eventually, he turned in the direction of the corridor, keeping his steps unhurried.
Chasing Juliette would only confirm suspicions, but fuck if it wasn’t killing him.
Voices drifted down the corridor.
“—none of your business,” Juliette was saying tersely. “Honestly, Cap, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”
Cap’s voice was tight. “Don’t you see how this looks?”
“Who cares?”
“Our parents. Your fans.” Cap made a noise in his throat. “I’m going to find Hastings.”
Footsteps sounded, followed by a scuffling sound.
Cap’s voice was a snarl. “Let go of me!”
“Calm down,” muttered Baz, who presumably was holding Cap back. “You can’t just go around punching people.” He let out a pained grunt, followed by something in Spanish. “For god’s sake, Capulet, that was my kidney.”
“Stop.” Juliette’s voice was curt. “Leave Hastings out of this.”
“Why should I?” Cap demanded. “He’s the one who created this mess. Imagine all those little girls who look up to you thinking that you only got on a team because you’re hooking up with some—”
“That’s not fair.” Baz sounded exhausted. “Juliette’s worked her arse off to get to where she is, and you know that.”
Juliette’s voice was bitter. “Does he?”
Dominic moved closer. The three stood in a loose circle; Baz was holding Cap’s arms, although his grip had loosened. Juliette—who was a good six inches shorter than both men—looked up at them with something ferocious in her eyes. Something that made her appear much taller.
Cap drew back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I heard you in Milan,” Juliette said. “With Frederick. What was it you said?” Spots of color burned in her cheeks. “That I only got my sponsorships because I’m a woman?”
Juliette said the words as if she were chewing them. Perhaps even savoring the flavor. All the blood drained from Cap’s face.
Baz stilled. “You said that?”
He was staring at Cap as if he’d never seen him before. Cap’s throat worked. “I didn’t know she could hear.”
“That doesn’t fucking matter!” Baz said, and both siblings jumped, as if the sound of him raising his voice was an anomaly.
“We’re family, Capulet. We don’t talk about one another like that, and especially not to Frederick bloody Von Galen.
” His fingers picked at his sleeve. “Of all the thoughtless, stupid, idiotic things to say—”
“Enough,” Juliette said. “That’s enough.”
The fluorescent lights flickered, casting her face in a sickly white glow. She looked tired, Dominic observed; purple bruises ringed her eyes, as if someone had dug their thumbs into the sockets.
“You know,” Juliette said, “I’ve spent my whole life listening to men tell me that I’m not enough. That I’m not strong enough, or fast enough, or smart enough. But to hear those things from you…” Her voice was quiet. “I just never thought those words would come from my brother.”
Cap flinched. “Jules…”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Juliette said. “Please. Not today.”
Her footsteps echoed down the corridor. Toward the greenrooms, Dominic realized. And before he could change his mind, he started after her.