Epilogue City of Dreamers
Epilogue
City of Dreamers
Dominic pushed through the crowded museum.
The Musée d’Orsay was a study in shadows.
Moonlight filtered through the glass ceiling, curling around marble statues.
Violin music drifted up like floating stars.
Women glided through the room, their skirts billowing out in odd-blooming flowers.
This had once been a train station, Dominic knew, although it was now a museum, a very expensive museum that the FIA had paid a small fortune to rent out.
He scanned the crowd. He’d been searching for Juliette for twenty minutes, although he’d been sidetracked by people wanting to speak to him. Apparently, dating someone had made him seem softer. “More approachable,” Liêm had explained, which was, in Dominic’s opinion, terrible news.
Even so.
He’d endure it if it meant he could have Juliette.
And speaking of which…
Dominic spotted her by a small painting. She wore a black dress that dipped low in the back, revealing a swath of creamy skin; silver cowboy boots peeked out from beneath the hem. His pulse sped up. Bloody hell, she was a vision; just looking at her knocked the breath from his lungs.
And it seemed he wasn’t alone.
Two men hovered nearby, their gazes lingering over her bare skin. Dominic slid next to Juliette, splaying his hand possessively over her hip. Mine, his eyes said, and the men abruptly averted their gaze to the nearest statue. Smart.
“I like this one,” Juliette said.
She nodded at the painting, oblivious to the men’s stares, which was typical; for someone who drove a race car for a living, Marchmont had no peripheral awareness off the track. He kissed the side of her head.
“What about it?”
“It feels like freedom,” Juliette said. “Like when you’re barreling down a track at two hundred miles an hour and nothing else matters.”
Dominic studied the painting; three women were having afternoon tea atop a sunny English cliff. Two of the women were dancing, their white skirts billowing like sails, and the third was shouting into the wind. Yes. He could see that.
“I remember this dress,” Dominic said in a low voice, running a finger over the strap. “You wore it when we went out after the final race in Vegas.”
Juliette shivered. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that night.”
“I liked that night.”
Juliette looked aggrieved. “I don’t remember most of that night.”
Didn’t he know it. He’d been the one to carry her back to her hotel room, although thankfully nobody was sick on the carpet this time.
“Well, there was gambling at Caesars Palace. Then Cap bought loads of drinks and we got outrageously drunk at an overpriced bar. Baz sang karaoke. Then you insisted on getting naked and taking a swim in the Bellagio fountain.”
Juliette hid her face. “Did I really?”
“You did.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
Dominic released her hair. “Why would I?”
“Weren’t people looking?”
“Oh, definitely,” Dominic said. “But I don’t give a shit.” His mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “So long as they know that you’re coming home with me.”
Juliette raised an eyebrow. She was frequently amused by Dominic’s possessiveness, but never surprised by it, which made one of them. “Was that Bo Zheng earlier?” She nodded toward the bar. “Speaking to you?”
Dominic nodded. Bo Zheng was the head of Hydra Auto, the second-best team on the grid after Duro Stallion. And although he wasn’t going to mention it tonight, since Juliette had brought it up…
“He had some interesting news.”
Juliette raised an eyebrow. “He’s finally realized that fedoras are a bad look?”
Dominic frowned. “I think Bo looks striking in a fedora. Really brings out his cheekbones. But no.” He plucked a beetroot canapé off a passing tray. “Apparently Kit Tomlinson is retiring next season. Wants to spend more time with his wife and kids.”
“I see,” Juliette said slowly. “So there’s an empty seat.”
“Looks like it.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “I suppose they’ll want to fill it.”
“Hard for the car to drive itself.” And then, because Juliette was looking increasingly excited: “Nothing’s decided yet. But Bo’s interested.”
“So we’re going to be on different teams.”
“It appears so.”
Juliette tapped her chin. “I’m not sure how I feel about sleeping with the enemy.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Dominic said mildly. “I’ve always fancied Bellatrix Lestrange. She had a sort of evil charm about her.” He popped the canapé into his mouth. “Does that mean Ranya renewed your contract?”
Juliette shifted her weight. “Among other things.”
“What sort of things?”
She glanced around. “Come upstairs with me?”
As if he would ever refuse. “Lead on.”
Gazes lingered as they passed, but nobody stopped them.
The sounds of the party faded away, replaced by their steady footfalls.
Juliette led them into an open space, where moonlight spilled across the wooden floorboards like a silk scarf.
A large clock dominated the room; the hands were easily as large as a person, and the wheel was marked with black numerals.
She raised a hand, her fingers ghosting over the cold glass.
“This,” Dominic said, “was my mother’s favorite place in Paris.”
Juliette half turned. “This room?”
Dominic trailed a hand down the knobs of her spine. “She said it felt like you were standing in the heart of the city.”
Juliette smiled. Seeing her in that silky dress, half-cast in shadow, like something plucked from the deepest parts of his dreams…Fuck, Dominic thought helplessly. I’m so in love with her. “What did you want to tell me?”
She drew a quick breath. She was nervous, he realized. “Do you remember that female drivers’ academy that Ranya was talking about? The one that the FIA wouldn’t sponsor because it wasn’t lucrative enough?”
Cautious hope filled him. “I thought they couldn’t get funding.”
“Well, they couldn’t,” Juliette said. “But then an anonymous donor made a fuck-off donation, and now they’ve asked me to help run it next season.”
Dominic stared. “As in two months from now?”
“Yes.” Juliette seemed to interpret his silence as tacit disapproval, and she barreled on at speed.
“I mean, I told them I’d think about it.
Obviously, we’d try to structure it so that it wouldn’t interfere with my racing schedule.
And it’s more of an honorary position. I’d be teaching a few classes, but nothing crazy, and I—”
“I think it’s brilliant.”
She paused. “You do?”
He was grinning. Like an idiot. “Come on, Marchmont. You know you’ll smash it. Stop fishing for compliments.”
She laughed. The sound warmed something in him, and suddenly he couldn’t stand not to be touching her.
He caged her against the cool glass, and Juliette shivered, her eyes fluttering closed.
Black spires cut through the night like iron keys.
He could see a glimpse of the Seine, curling around whitewashed stone buildings, although Dominic hardly noticed it.
Every dizzying beat of his heart was consumed by her. Juliette, Juliette, Juliette.
“I asked Ranya who the donor was,” she murmured. “She reckons it’s some wealthy European royal.”
He kissed her shoulder blade. “Should I be jealous?”
“Maybe.” She shivered. “He did ask for me specifically.”
Dominic’s hand lingered over the thin strap of her dress. “Right. Well, I’ll obviously have to kill him then.”
Her laugh vibrated through him. “Can we please not murder anyone? You’re going to get Project Arc killed before it’s even off the ground.”
He stilled. “What did you just say?”
“About murder? Generally, it’s a good idea to avoid it—”
“No, the project. What’s it called?”
His heart hammered. No. He had to be mistaken. Juliette smiled, looking slightly baffled. “Project Arc. Like Joan of Arc. I think it has a nice ring to it. The female resistance and all that.” She tilted her head. “Why?”
Something warm filled his chest. Well. Not a wealthy European royal after all. “I’ll tell you later.” His mouth dropped to her shoulder. “Have I mentioned that I like this dress? That being said, I’d like it even more off of you.”
She shivered. “There are a lot of hidden buttons.”
“I drive a car for a living,” Dominic murmured. “I’m very good with my hands.”
Juliette’s mouth curved. Just the hint of a challenge. “Prove it.”
Dominic flipped her around, undoing the top clasp in a fluid motion. The dress slipped down, and Juliette let out a little gasp. The sound was like kerosene, and he bit back a groan. God. How was it that he never stopped wanting her?
“What,” Dominic said, his voice low, “do you think of Paris?”
Juliette half closed her eyes. “I like it.”
“How much?”
“A lot.” Her voice was breathless. “Although I can’t speak the language. A man gave me a potato instead of an apple tart yesterday.”
Dominic’s mouth fell to her neck. “I’ll teach you.”
Juliette inhaled as his mouth dropped lower. “You’re very distracting as a teacher.”
“I’d offer rewards for good behavior.”
Her breath hitched. “That could work.”
“Let’s start our lessons now,” Dominic murmured, his hands spanning her waist. “Emménages avec moi.”
Juliette’s eyebrows drew together. “You also want a…potato?”
“Move in with me.”
“Oh.” Juliette’s frown deepened. “Well, that was a long shot. We’d be better off starting with animals or fruits.”
Amusement curled in his chest. “Marchmont. I’m being serious.”
Juliette spun so fast that only years of reflex training saved Dominic from stumbling. Her blue eyes were wreathed in shadow, a dusky indigo that made him think of early morning October walks, where frosted leaves crunched underfoot.
“You want to move in together?” Juliette repeated.
Dominic shrugged. “Why not?”
She looked baffled. “In Paris?”
“Or London,” Dominic said. “Or Monaco. Or anywhere you want, really, depending on where our teams are based. But yes, I’d like to move in with you.” His heart pounded, and it took a great effort to keep his voice casual. “This is usually the part where you say something.”
Juliette’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.
Dominic’s heart sped up. Shit. He’d known it was too soon.
But how was he meant to contain himself?
How was he meant to wait when he’d wasted more than two years because of his own stupidity?
And he loved her. God, he loved her. He would know her soul in the dark; not what she looked like, or her hopes and dreams, but her, the very essence of her, the colors that made up the pieces of her heart. Just as she knew him.
“You should know,” Juliette said finally, “that I have a hideous amount of clothes.”
Cautious hope filled him. “That’s okay.”
“I own stupid things,” she warned. “Like a yogurt maker.”
Dominic’s mouth twitched. “I love yogurt.”
“And I put knives the wrong way up in the dishwasher. You could trip and die at any moment. That’s a real possibility.”
“Is that a yes?”
Juliette smiled. “That’s a yes.”
Dizzying relief filled him, although his voice was solemn. “Thank god, because I’ve already hired an estate agent.”
Juliette was laughing as he claimed her mouth, although the kiss turned hungry.
Greedy. She stretched onto her toes, her mouth hot and impatient.
He backed her against the clock, pressing her hands against the cool glass.
How long had this clock stood here? How many lovers had it seen, strolling hand in hand through scuffed cobblestone streets?
His mouth fell to her neck, and Juliette made a whimpering noise that sent a pulse of blood straight through him.
“Hastings…”
He kissed her neck. “Yes?”
“We can’t.” Her fingers tightened on his jacket. “Not here. There are cameras—”
“I’ll buy the tapes.”
She let out a breathless laugh. “I doubt the museum will sell them to you.”
“Fuck it,” Dominic growled. “I’ll buy the museum.”
Still. She had a point. Reluctantly, he drew back. Juliette was looking up at him, her blue eyes amused; her mouth was pink and swollen from kissing, and a pretty flush crept up her neck. Dominic’s breath hitched in his chest. So goddamn beautiful. He wanted to show her off to the world.
More than that, he wanted to show the world to Juliette. Skating across a frozen river in Paris. The sugar-dusted orange cake he’d eaten as a child in Morocco. His mother’s photographs. The flowers in Borough Market. Everything senselessly beautiful in this world, he wanted to give to her.
There was a bang.
Dominic looked up. Red sparks shattered in the night air; there was a cheer, then a second firework exploded, dissolving into the Seine. Juliette’s dazed face was bathed in white and then pink and then green.
“Fireworks,” Juliette murmured, and her blazing smile could have melted the snow settling over the city. “They’re setting off fireworks for the new year.”
Dominic drew her backward, resting his chin on her head.
He could feel Juliette’s heartbeat in his chest like the hum of a car.
Another firework burst, raining fat blueberry drops onto the city of dreamers below.
The clock chimed midnight. And somewhere outside, a solitary violin began, heralding in the new year…