14. Wes
It isn’t until I pull up to the Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo that I remember this place is a magnet for papparazzi.
Since I have my own apartment in Monaco, I haven’t been in this part of town. I genuinely didn’t think about the fact that photographers and fans camp out here since so many teams and celebrities stay here for the grand prix.
Though I’m used to the attention and don’t mind people snapping a few photos, I am not so callous as to take pleasure in a situation that could put Elizabeth in an awkward position at work.
But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe she won’t show. Maybe this won’t be a problem at all.
Of course, the moment I think that, she emerges from the hotel’s opulent lobby.
And then every thought in my mind vanishes.
She said her dress is black, but what she should have said is that it’s the sexiest garment in existence.
There’s a slit that stops high on her thigh, exposing a toned leg; material that hugs the flare of her hips; a low neckline that showcases cleavage I’ve never seen before.
Though her hair is pulled back from her face as usual, her makeup is more dramatic—her eyes darker and lips a deep red that has me thinking about how I’ve always had a thing for evil queens.
About how much I enjoy danger. About how that lipstick would look smeared on my face, my chest, my cock tomorrow morning.
Fuck. Fuck.
She looks around, and it’s only then that I remember I’m still in my car—and she has no idea what I drive when I’m not on an F1 track.
I prepare for screams and camera flashes as the crowd notices me, but as I step out, a movie star and her soccer player boyfriend exit the hotel and everyone’s attention goes to them.
So no one bats an eye when the gorgeous woman they were all just ogling walks down the steps and over to me.
I move to the passenger side and open the door. Elizabeth gracefully climbs in without a word, as if sitting in a vintage sports car while wearing a formal gown is a daily occurence.
I’m harder than I’ve been all year. Maybe in several years.
This night might kill me.
“Good evening, Jacobs,” I say once I’m behind the wheel.
“Grant,” she says, looking straight ahead.
This woman, I swear.
I pull away from the hotel, following the circuitous route required to reach Sporting Monte-Carlo when Avenue Princess Grace is closed for the grand prix. “I must admit, I’m surprised you decided to come.”
“No, you’re not. You knew I wouldn’t be able to pass this up.”
I didn’t, actually—but I like that she thinks I can predict her decisions. “It’s not every day us Americans get the opportunity to be in the presence of royalty.”
“I figured it’d be old hat for you by now.”
“Maybe so,” I concede, since my F1 career has seen me in the presence of various royal families annually. “But I’m not as jaded as you might think.”
When she doesn’t respond, I itch to fill the silence. I want to know what she thinks of Monaco, if she’s enjoying working with Baz and David, if she wants to skip this stupid event and go to my place instead.
“So,” she says, and I brace myself. “I’m guessing whatever this car is, it costs about as much as a Manhattan apartment.”
I laugh. “I guess it depends where in Manhattan you’re pricing apartments.” I glance over to see her reaction, and something bright flares in my chest when she grins. “It’s a 1968 Lamborghini Miura. For the record.”
“Sure,” she says easily, but in a way that makes it hard to discern if that information is meaningless to her or if she simply couldn’t care less that she’s sitting in one of the most revered classic cars in the world. “Is this your dream car?”
I nod. “I bought it after the second time I was runner-up to Stas in the Drivers’ Championship.”
“Why not the first?”
It’s a good question. These days, the answer highlights just how much hope and confidence I once had. “Back then, I thought I’d beat him one day.”
I expect her to laugh the way everyone else does. But she doesn’t.
“You don’t think you could beat him now?” The question cuts me to the bone. It must show on my face because she follows up with, “You’re currently doing well. Do you not think you could win this year?”
I shrug. “It’s a long season.”
What I don’t add is that even if I did win, I don’t know if it would be satisfying when Stas isn’t competing. It might feel like a consolation prize, leaving me wondering what might have happened if he were out there with me.
As we weave our way around the closed roads, I sneak glances at Elizabeth, whose gaze stays on the elegant buildings, the manicured palm trees, the cinematic view of the ocean as the sun begins to set.
“Wes, why don’t you have an actual date for this event?” I’m quiet for long enough that she looks over, those dark blue eyes seeing right through me. “You never have personal guests in the garage, either.”
“Hoping to lock me down, Jacobs?”
A blush rises on her cheeks and I can’t help but stare.
She’s always so fearless, so intentional, so in control that seeing her flustered feels intimate.
Delightfully, her blush deepens. “Your secret is safe with me,” I stage-whisper, and she glares at me with such imperious intensity that she really does look like an evil queen.
But she came to this event tonight, even though she had major reservations about coming with me.
The least I can do is give her a real answer.
“I knew the offer from Martine was my last chance. I’d spent years fucking around and partying too much, only staying in the sport because of my popularity—but even that only goes so far.
When Stas left Orion, I didn’t have a contract in place for the next season.
I told him I was trying to make peace with the fact that I was being forced into retirement.
The very next day, my agent called with the offer from Martine. ”
“Why did you leave Orion in the first place?” she asks. “You had a good thing there, right?”
“I did,” I admit. “But I was told Stas would always be the priority for the team. If I stayed, I’d always be second. And at the time, that wasn’t good enough. I thought that if Stas was my competitor and not my teammate, I’d be world champion rather than runner-up.”
Elizabeth nods. “I get that.”
“In theory, the move to Sterling should have worked,” I say. “But I struggled with the car. After my fourth no-points race with them, Stas called me for the first time since I announced I was leaving Orion and told me to meet him at a club. So I did. And that became my coping mechanism.”
“Clubbing and threesomes with your former teammate?”
I breathe a laugh. “The threesomes weren’t as regular as you’re probably thinking, but yeah.
I’d have a terrible race, but it wouldn’t matter because the party was wherever I decided it was.
It was a vicious cycle, mentally and physically.
I was a mess. I probably should have been dropped from the sport.
But Stas used his world champion leverage to get me a seat.
I know that Martine didn’t actually want me.
But I don’t care. I’m not squandering this opportunity.
Each day, I close every drawer in that filing cabinet in my head so I can be the best possible driver. I haven’t focused on anything else.”
Elizabeth nods as she absorbs that information. I’ve actually told her something most people don’t know. Though there is a lot of speculation about how I ended up at Martine, no one has ever confirmed that Stas is the only reason I have this seat.
“Still. Surely you could have called up some model and brought her as your date.”
“I’m sure I could have,” I agree. “But then I wouldn’t have been able to bring you. Maybe this is fate.”
“Or maybe you don’t trust yourself to do your job well when people expect you to be Wes Grant, F1 Fuckboy instead of Wes Grant, F1 Driver.”
She looks out the window again as if she didn’t just open me up like a book and read me out loud. But like that night in Miami, I feel relief rather than offense at the way she so deftly regains control when I’m doing my best to throw her off balance.
And this time, it’s not so hard to admit that it’s a welcome feeling.
By the time I make it to the Martine table at the gala, the soup course is being served.
We arrived as close to the start of dinner as possible so Elizabeth wouldn’t run the risk of being photographed. And because of that, by the time I made my way inside after walking the red carpet, I was stopped by no fewer than nine people who wanted to shake my hand and make small talk.
“There you are!” Marcus cries. “I was starting to think you walked the red carpet and then immediately left.”
“Wouldn’t have dreamed of it,” I say smoothly, even though that was exactly my plan before Chalondra called.
I place my napkin in my lap and take a sip of sparkling water before looking around the rest of the table.
In addition to Marcus, his wife, Agnès, and Elizabeth, there’s Freddie along with his date—who actually is a model.
After the mains are cleared and more wine is served, a representative from a high-end watch brand that sponsors Orion drops by to say hello. Elizabeth gives me a small nod, then disappears into the crowd.
I want to follow her. To introduce her to people. To establish that she’s here with me. So the second the extremely nice Swiss man leaves, I get up and search the crowd for Jacobs.
I’m halfway across the room when I do a double-take. étienne Beaumont didn’t tell me he’d be in Monaco this weekend. Not that I can really blame him. I’m sure all his advisors have told him to stay far away from Martine Racing.
But I don’t care.
“Beaumont!” I boom, probably violating all sorts of royal protocol by approaching him directly and not calling him ‘Your Highness.’
“Grant!” he shouts back, opening his arms to give me a massive hug. “I’m so glad to see you, mate.”
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I say, stepping back to look at the former F1 driver and current Crown Prince of Druvia.
His impeccably tailored tux accentuates his long legs, and his dark blond hair is longer now, styled with product.
But his green eyes are still filled with the same warmth and good humor he’s always had.
“Well, considering this is Monaco, yes, I can.”
He laughs, and the two of us catch up as much as you can when you’re in public.
Soon, a couple other drivers join us for a little reunion, and then Chalondra comes over—with Elizabeth in tow.
It seems as if time slows as I watch my friend take her in for the first time.
His eyes widen, and though I absolutely understand, my brain also starts considering whether or not he’d press charges if I punched him.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he says. “I’m—”
“His Royal Highness, étienne Beaumont, Crown Prince of Druvia,” Elizabeth says, her voice warmer than I’ve ever heard it.
He grins. “Ahh, so you’ve heard of me.”
Elizabeth smiles, and it’s the one that makes it seem like the sun is shining even in the darkest of rooms. I want to kick étienne in his stupid royal shin. “I have definitely heard of you, Your Highness.”
“Please, call me étienne,” he says, extending his hand. “And you are?”
“Elizabeth Jacobs,” she says demurely, though she meets his gaze with confidence.
“Of course,” étienne says, and he isn’t just being polite. He knows exactly who she is.
Elizabeth grins. “So you’ve heard of me.”
For fuck’s sake, I can’t stand here and watch this.
“This one is with me,” I say, sliding an arm around her waist. Elizabeth stiffens, and I freeze as I realize I just insinuated the two of us are together when that was exactly what she didn’t want to happen tonight.
étienne shoots me a questioning glance. I have no idea how to explain that she actually isn’t with me, but that I was fantasizing about smearing her lipstick earlier and am feeling all sorts of possessive right now even though she would be appalled and would likely go off and become Her Royal Highness, Princess of Druvia just to spite me if she knew.
But before I can come up with a retort, étienne’s eyes fill with alarm just as a hush falls across the room. I turn to see what could cause that sort of reaction in a crowd like this and my jaw drops.
My eyes must be playing tricks on me. The man looking directly at me can’t possibly be Elio Rocca.
It has to be a coincidence—someone who resembles him.
But when he smiles, flashing his too-white teeth, and starts walking in my direction, it becomes very clear, very quickly that this is, in fact, my former team principal.
Who was recently arrested.
Who embezzled money from the team.
Who Stas said to stay away from.
I’m vaguely aware of étienne saying my name. Suddenly, Elizabeth’s low, calm voice is in my ear. “Wes, I’m going to take care of this. You need to let go of me and leave with étienne. Can you do that?”
I blink.
“Wes,” she says, more urgently. “You have to go. Right now.”
“Wes!” Elio crows.
“Fuck you, Elio,” I say, finally remembering how to move. étienne matches my ground-eating stride and we’re soon flanked by people I assume are his security detail, who escort us out of the venue and into an SUV.
“Wait,” I say once the doors are closed and my brain turns back on. “What about Elizabeth? And Marcus? And, ah hell, that little asshole, Freddie?”
étienne laughs. “He really does seem like an asshole.”
“Finally, something you and Stas agree on,” I quip.
“Oh, you’ve spoken with him?” étienne asks. “I’ve tried to get in touch, but haven’t had any luck.”
I freeze, suddenly uncertain how to play this.
It’s not like I can give him Stas’s number or pass along a message.
étienne must pick up on my discomfort because he says, “Don’t worry, Wes, I won’t ask you to betray his trust. Or tell anyone that you’re in touch with him.
Honestly, anyone who thinks they can keep you two apart is deluded. ”
Something about that sharpens my frustration that he’s all but disappeared.
I can’t get in touch with him. I can’t get the answers I desperately need to make sense of what the hell is happening or why he was arrested.
And I don’t understand why he’s gone into hiding while Elio is doing whatever he wants.
Suddenly, it’s all too much.
“Why did Elio think it was okay to walk into the Monaco Grand Prix Gala? And who the hell let him?”
“The man has balls, I’ll give him that,” étienne says coolly.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out from the inside pocket of my jacket, relieved to see the message is from Elizabeth.
NOT LIZZY OR BETH
Meet at the motorhome ASAP.
I exhale with my entire body.
“So,” étienne says. “Tell me where to take you. Then, tell me all about your crush on Elizabeth Jacobs.”