Chapter 45 The Victor
The Victor
Now
Fireworks erupted, shattering in devastating bursts of vermilion and burnt gold.
Someone was screaming into her headset, a blur of Scottish curse words.
Hamish. Anthony punched a fist. In anger or victory?
Her heart flattened to the back of her rib cage.
They’d been so close at the end. Still, she thought—for a second, she thought that—
“Hamish?” she croaked.
Hamish drew a breath. And she knew. She already knew. Tears pricked at her eyes, and the lump in her throat was so thick that it was hard to breathe around.
“Juliette Marchmont,” Hamish said, his voice wavering. “You’ve done it.” She could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “You are the world champion.”
And the dam inside her broke.
She cried. Loud, messy sobs. But she didn’t care, didn’t give a single damn as she parked the car.
Ranya was the first to reach her, using her cane like a battering ram.
Hamish was next, leaping up and down like a madman, but Juliette was scanning the crowd, trying to see past the slapping hands and grinning faces.
She could see Anthony swearing and kicking his car, could see Vance shielding his eyes from the pit wall…
And then she saw him.
Dominic was climbing from his car, his helmet tucked under his arm.
His dark hair was sweaty from the race, sticking up in all directions, and his skin was flushed.
He looked tired, and wrecked, and impossibly handsome, and she couldn’t have said who moved first but she was suddenly flinging her arms around him.
“The dummy.” He shook his head. “That was your idea, wasn’t it? Bloody brilliant—”
“I didn’t know if I would make it—”
“And the tires—”
“You held the others up.” Her throat was raw. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You could have,” Dominic said fiercely, gripping her shoulders. “You did this all by yourself, Marchmont. You deserve the championship.”
The words spilled out of her. “Liêm explained everything. About Vance and the photographs. I thought it was your career on the line, that you’d given me up for racing, and I was hurt but I understood.
I really did. But I never imagined…” A lump rose in her throat.
“It was my career, wasn’t it? That’s what you were trying to protect. ”
Dominic’s throat bobbed. “Yeah.”
She shook her head. “I should have listened. But you also should have told me.”
“I know.”
“I would have…”
She trailed off. Would have what? Charged into Vance’s office?
Reported him to the FIA? Rung up every team and told them that Vance had threatened her?
It didn’t matter, Juliette realized; Vance had the FIA in his pocket, and he supplied engines to most of the teams. Dominic was right.
His father would have ruined her career.
Vance could still ruin her career.
But…
“There are some things,” she said evenly, “more important than trophies. I know that now.” She reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck.
“And I’m sorry for what I said that day in the art gallery.
I didn’t mean it. I was…” She swallowed.
“I was angry, and I was hurt, and I lashed out with the one thing that I knew could hurt you too. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret saying it. ”
A muscle fluttered in Dominic’s jaw. “So you don’t think I hide behind my father’s money?”
“No. God, no.” Juliette’s grip tightened. “Look at what you’ve accomplished, Hastings. You’ve finished third in the championship, driving the worst car on the grid. How many other drivers could do that?”
His smile was rueful. “You did.”
“Well, I’m exceptionally talented.”
She’d expected him to laugh, but Dominic shook his head. “But I didn’t get first place.”
“Does that matter?”
“That depends.” Dominic’s eyes were shadowed. “Do you still want me?”
Something squeezed her heart. “Is that a serious question?”
“Even though I’m not a world champion?”
Juliette paused. Something lodged in her throat, burning like a hot coal. How terrible, she thought, to grow up believing that love was only given as a reward for something. She chose her next words carefully.
“Listen to me, Hastings, because I’m only going to say this once.
I don’t care if you’re a driver, or a sous-chef, or a bloody—a bloody acrobat.
I care about you.” Cameras flashed, although she hardly noticed.
Every muscle—every ounce of her being—was trained on Dominic.
“I’m in love with you. Not your career, or how many trophies you win, but you. Do you understand?”
Dominic studied her. “Head chef.”
“What?”
“Obviously I’d be the head chef,” Dominic said indignantly. “You can’t imagine I’d agree to mash someone else’s potatoes while they took all the glory—”
Exasperation filled her. “Hastings?”
“Yes?”
She smiled. “Shut up.”
She tipped her face up. Surprise flickered in his eyes, and something bittersweet tangled in her chest. She’d done that, Juliette realized; even now, Dominic was wary of kissing her in public. Well. She’d have to rectify that, wouldn’t she? She stretched up on her toes, touching his cheek lightly.
“Let them see,” she murmured.
A dimple appeared on his cheek. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“For the record,” Dominic murmured, “I’m in love with you too.” His fingers threaded in her hair, his smile growing as he leaned in. “I was going to tell you tonight, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you beat me. You have a habit of doing that.”
He kissed her with devastating force, his mouth slanting to claim her. Camera flashes exploded, but Dominic either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Mine, his mouth said, and Juliette sank into the warmth, her body singing in response. Yours, her heartbeat said. Yours, yours, yours.
She made a little noise of protest as he pulled back, and Dominic smiled ruefully. “The things I’m going to do to you later…” His voice was laced with dark promise. “Come on. We’ll miss our trophy ceremony.”
Juliette hesitated. There were a thousand things she wanted to say. A million questions to ask. But that could wait, she realized, her shoulders relaxing; they had that evening, and tomorrow, and the next day.
They had time.
“Okay.” Juliette squeezed his hand. “Lead the way.”
Dominic carved through the crowd. They’d made it to the steps when Juliette spotted a small figure; she wore Toro Significa clothes, her blond hair sorted into pink-ribboned plaits. Very familiar plaits.
“Hey!” Juliette called.
She untangled herself from Dominic, hurrying toward the young girl. Tiggy, if she recalled correctly; they’d met before the opening race in Bahrain. She squatted down, ignoring the frantic gesturing from a man in a headset.
“I remember you,” she said.
Tiggy’s eyes were wide. “You do?”
She gave a solemn nod. “I always remember my competition.”
“You did really good today,” Tiggy said, sucking on her sleeve. “I knew you’d win. Even though Dad said you wouldn’t.”
Three percent odds, Juliette thought, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I have an idea. How would you like to come get my trophy with me?”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Really?”
She looked up. “If your mum’s okay with it.”
In retrospect, she probably should have asked first. Not to mention cleared it with their security team. Tiggy’s mother raised her hands, looking torn between amusement and astonishment. “I mean, if you’re sure you want her.”
Tiggy bounced up and down. “Can I really go?”
“Really,” Juliette said firmly.
Tiggy beamed, taking her hand as they ascended the podium. The English national anthem blared through the speakers, thrumming through her bones. The roaring crowd was a blur of faces. Cap and Baz. Her family. Cameras flashed. Fireworks exploded.
Tiggy waved manically, flexing her fingers as if her hand was cramping but she didn’t want to stop, and a lump rose in Juliette’s throat.
She’d done that once too. Stood in front of the mirror with her green plastic hairbrush, hoisting it above her head like a trophy.
And here she was. About to hoist the real thing.
How did she get so lucky?
She glanced at Dominic. He held out a champagne bottle, and their hands grazed, sending hot tingles down her spine. As if he could read her thoughts, Dominic’s lips moved, forming words that only she could see.
We make our own luck.
Juliette tipped her head back, watching the fireworks explode like golden paint thrown at the night’s inky canvas. Champagne tears slid down her cheeks, salty-sweet.
Yeah, she thought. We sure did.