Chapter 38
Out in the open
Violet
The taxi crawls through Zandvoort's packed streets, each meter bringing us closer to the moment I've both craved and dreaded.
William's hand rests on mine, warm and steady, while my palm sweats beneath his touch.
A week together became two, then three, then a month.
Perfect weeks of blissful isolation at his countryside home—cooking together one-handed then two-handed when he recovered, watching races on his massive TV, falling asleep tangled in each other—has been the closest thing to peace I've felt in years, helping him with his recovery.
But now, reality awaits.
The paddock.
The cameras.
The questions.
Our relationship, private and precious, about to become public property.
"You're nervous," William says, his voice gentle as his thumb traces circles on the back of my hand.
"Of course I am." I wipe my free hand on my slacks. "This isn't like telling my parents or friends who I'm dating. We're telling the world. It feels..." I search for the right words, coming up empty. "Wrong? Weird? I don't know."
William's face sobers for a moment. "I feel like I'm gonna puke."
My eyes widen. "Please, no."
The last thing we need is William vomiting as we make our relationship debut. The headlines write themselves: FOSTER SICKENED BY RELATIONSHIP REVEAL.
His serious expression cracks, a grin breaking through. "Just kidding."
I slap his arm playfully, relief washing through me. "You're the worst."
"I know." His right hand—finally free of its cast and almost back to normal strength—tightens around mine. "But you love me anyway."
"I do."
I take a deep breath, centering myself. I've faced worse things. Hostile boards of directors. Nicholas's toxic behavior last season. Dominic's sabotage and lawsuits. This is just... being honest about something that makes me happy. I wish this could be just ours. Private. Special.
The taxi stops outside the circuit entrance, and William immediately moves to get out.
I reach for my wallet, paying the driver while William circles around to my side.
As I turn to push the door open, it swings wide, revealing William standing there with an extended hand, and that same goofy smile that first cracked my defenses last year.
My heart flips. Even now, even after all we've been through, he still has this effect on me.
I glance beyond him, instantly noticing the stares.
Paddock personnel pause mid-stride. A group of mechanics from another team nudge each other, pointing discreetly.
A photographer adjusts his lens, clearly recognizing the unusual sight—driver and Team Principal arriving together, in the same car, at the same time.
William's hand remains extended, patient, his eyes never leaving mine. I take a deep breath, grab my bag, and think, Fuck it.
I take his hand.
He helps me out of the taxi, and I expect him to release me once I'm standing. He doesn't. Instead, his fingers interlace with mine, grip firm and unwavering.
"Let's go," he says, eyes bright with determination. "Probably shock the paddock, but I don't give a fuck anymore."
We take our first steps together toward the entrance, and every eye is on us. Phones emerge from pockets. Cameras click. People whisper behind hands. My pulse throbs in my ears, but William's steady presence beside me keeps me moving forward.
As we enter the main paddock area, reality hits full force.
I'm back. After six races watching from screens, analyzing data remotely, attending meetings via video call—I'm physically present again.
The familiar smells of rubber, fuel, and coffee mingle in the air.
The symphony of engines, tools, and conversations envelops us.
And at the center of it all, William and I, hand in hand.
It takes approximately twelve seconds for the first journalist to spot us.
"William! Violet!" A woman with a microphone rushes over, cameraman in tow. "Is this confirmation of the rumors about your relationship?"
More media materialize, surrounding us with microphones and cameras. Questions overlap into incomprehensible noise.
William's grip on my hand tightens slightly. I glance up to find him smiling—not the media smile he's perfected over the years, but something genuine and proud.
"Please leave me and my boyfriend in peace." I lift my chin slightly, daring them to comment. They don't.
William gently tugs me forward with a grin on his face, creating a path through the stunned journalists.
I follow his lead, too overwhelmed to do much beyond keeping pace with his confident stride.
The flash of cameras continues, but the questions momentarily cease, reporters scrambling to process this direct confirmation.
We make our way toward the Colton Racing motorhome, William nodding politely to various team members and drivers we pass. Some look shocked. Others smile knowingly. A few even offer thumbs-up or small waves of encouragement.
"That was sexy," he whispers and squeezes my hand, taking it to his lips to kiss the back of it. "Claiming me in public does things to me."
As we climb the steps to the motorhome entrance, my cheeks dusted in a soft copper, the door swings open, revealing Tom, Maya, EJ, and Felix standing in the common area. All four freeze, eyes darting between our faces—and our joined hands.
Tom recovers first, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, well."
EJ's jaw hangs open comically. "Wait, what?"
Felix steps forward, extending his hand to William. "About time, dude."
"Oh, this is so… cute! Congratulations!" Maya adds, her typically reserved demeanor breaking into genuine warmth.
The blush continues creeping up my neck, equal parts embarrassment and happiness. William beams beside me, accepting handshakes and backslaps with his free hand, still refusing to release mine with the other.
Heavy footsteps sound behind us, and Belforte appears at the door, his imposing frame blocking the light momentarily.
"Thank God you finally stopped circling each other," he announces, pushing past us to clasp a hand on each of our shoulders. "It was making me go insane."
William laughs, the sound light and carefree. "Subtle as always, Silas."
Belforte shrugs unapologetically. "Life's too short for games. You deserve to be together. Fuck the morality police in the paddock."
Footsteps on the stairs draw our attention.
Blake descends, taking in the scene with a knowing smile.
Unlike the others, there's not a hint of surprise in his expression—of course there isn't. I discussed our plans with him extensively, weighing the implications for the team, preparing for the media response.
"Welcome to the Colton-Foster couple," he says, eyes twinkling. "Though I must say, the hyphenation needs work."
I blush deeper, while William's face lights up with a mixture of pride and bashfulness. "Colton-Foster has a nice ring to it," he says, squeezing my hand.
EJ shakes his head, looking between us. "How did I miss this? When did this happen?"
Felix chuckles, clapping the younger driver on the shoulder. "You must not be paying attention if you didn't notice the tension between these two."
"Please"—I find my voice at last, though it comes out softer than intended—"don’t push this theme a lot. I... We shouldn't be the focus. I really don't like our relationship being a gossip topic."
"We all care about you two," Belforte says, his gruff voice gentler than usual. "So, congratulations. But don't worry—we've got a race to try to get as many points as possible. That's still the priority."
William nods, giving my hand one last squeeze before finally releasing it. "Speaking of which, I should grab Tom to talk about the car setup."
As he moves away, the rest of the team disperses as well, returning to their pre-race preparations with knowing smiles. Only Blake remains beside me, his presence steady and familiar.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
I take a deep breath, surveying the motorhome that's been my second home for years. It feels different now—warmer somehow, despite the professional chaos resuming around us.
"Yes," I say, and for the first time since the taxi arrived, I truly mean it. "I'm okay." I think.
The comfortable chaos of our team reunion settles into work mode, everyone shifting back to their pre-race routines.
William huddled with Tom over telemetry data, Maya guiding EJ through setup changes, Blake disappearing upstairs with his ever-present tablet.
I'm just about to retreat to my temporary office when the main door swings open.
Conversation halts as Oliver Lenox—four-time world champion, ProTech Energex's lead driver, the Ice King himself—steps into our motorhome.
His piercing blue eyes scan the room, shoulders relaxing visibly when they land on William.
"Looks like someone is back," Oliver says, his usually reserved expression softening.
William turns at the sound of Oliver's voice, his body going completely still.
I've never seen him look like this—frozen between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.
For a moment, I wonder if he's having a panic attack, but then he moves, covering the distance between himself and Oliver in quick strides.
He doesn't speak. Instead, he wraps his arms around Oliver in a fierce embrace, face pressed against the taller man's shoulder.
Oliver seems momentarily startled but returns the hug with equal intensity.
William's shoulders begin to shake, and I realize he's crying—not the quiet tears I've seen during our private moments, but open, unrestrained emotion.
"Thank you," William whispers, voice breaking. Then louder, "Thank you. Thank… you." The words pour out between sobs, raw and unfiltered. "You saved me. You stopped your car. You could have been hurt, too. Thank you."
Oliver moves his hand to the back of William's head, the gesture surprisingly paternal from someone known throughout the paddock for his emotional detachment.
The rest of us stand frozen, witnessing something intensely private yet unable to look away.
This is a side of William few have seen—vulnerable, unguarded, his usual cocky facade completely stripped away by gratitude.
"I'm a human first, driver second," Oliver says quietly, still holding William. His voice carries throughout the silent motorhome. "I've already lost too many important people in my life by being a driver first, and human second. I wasn't about to make the same mistake again."
The melancholy in his eyes catches me off guard.
There's a story there—a painful one. I try to recall what I know about Oliver's personal life.
He dated the same woman for years, since before he entered F1—Stephanie…
something. They were the paddock's golden couple, childhood sweethearts.
Then suddenly, around the time of his first championship, they weren't together anymore.
No announcements, no explanations. Not that he owed any.
He simply stopped mentioning her, stopped bringing her to races.
The paddock gossip machine churned briefly before moving on to juicier targets.
William pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, clearly embarrassed by his outburst but making no attempt to hide it. Oliver reaches up and ruffles William's hair affectionately, like an older brother.
Then, to everyone's surprise, Oliver's gaze shifts to me. "There you are," he says, voice warming. "How are you holding up, Ice Queen?"
The familiar way he addresses me sends a ripple of confusion through the room.
The team's collective gaze shifts between us, questions forming.
Only Blake remains unsurprised—he knows our history, of course.
He was there during my early years, when I was still chasing the dream of being a driver myself.
Oliver crosses the room toward me, arms outstretched in greeting. I step forward into his hug, the casual familiarity still strange after all these years.
"Fairly well now," I say as we separate. "A bit stressed about having to manage expectations about a private relationship in public."
Oliver chuckles, the sound dispelling some of the room's lingering tension. "She's actually even more amazing than you think," he says, turning to address the others while keeping one arm loose around my shoulders.
William stares at us, confusion written plainly across his face. "Do you guys know each other?"
The question hangs in the air, innocent yet loaded with implication. Oliver's smile widens as he gives me a gentle side-hug.
"This badass woman handed my ass to me constantly in karting," he explains, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"We were teammates in 2003 in the regional karting championships. That’s where our nicknames come from—the Ice King and Queen.
" He points dramatically in my direction.
"She won the championship that year. I went back home to cry. "
I laugh, memories flooding back of mud-splattered race suits and trophy ceremonies. "If it consoles you, you're chasing your fifth championship in F1, so... I think that's a good trade-off."
We both chuckle, the shared history momentarily bridging the vast gulf between our current lives—him a multiple World Champion, me a Team Principal fighting to rebuild my father's legacy.
William watches our exchange with something akin to wonder in his eyes. It's the look of someone witnessing two separate parts of their life unexpectedly intersect.
"I didn't know this," Belforte says, his eyebrows raised high. "Quite the piece of information." He turns to Oliver, extending a hand. "Thank you for what you did for our William in Monaco. Not many would risk disqualification to help a competitor."
Oliver accepts the handshake awkwardly, a flush creeping up his neck. "It's okay," he says, shrugging off the praise. "The bare minimum a human should do is help another."
"Still," I press, touched by his modesty, "we owe you. Come have dinner with us after the race."
"That would be nice, but I already have a flight to Germany right after," Oliver says, then turns to William. "Actually, I wanted to ask if it'd be a problem... if we exchanged contacts? To stay in touch, maybe hang out sometime?"
William's face transforms, pure joy replacing his earlier emotional vulnerability. It's like watching a child being offered their dream gift. "Seriously? That would be amazing!"
"Exchange numbers, plan your playdates," Felix interjects with a grin. "You two look like schoolgirls who just discovered they have the same favorite boy band."
The room erupts in laughter, William's indignant "Hey!" barely audible over the noise. Even Oliver joins in, his usually stoic demeanor cracking to reveal genuine amusement.
This was not on my bingo card for this season.