Epilogue 1
Violet
I step out into the crisp winter air. William's farmhouse stands before me, renovated yet rustic, with smoke curling from the chimney. The karting track in his backyard is dusted with a thin layer of snow. My heels crunch on the gravel as I approach his front door, my breath clouding before me.
Before I can knock, the door swings open. William stands there, hazel eyes widening, mouth slightly parted in surprise. He's wearing a black zip hoodie over a Colton Racing T-shirt—our team's merch, with his name emblazoned across the chest—and black sweatpants. Comfortable. Home.
"Violet?" His voice breaks slightly. "You're early."
I barely have time to smile before he's moving, closing the distance between us in two quick strides. His arms wrap around me, lifting me slightly off the ground. The smell of chocolate and William's scent that makes me melt on the spot fills my senses. His soft beard tickles my face as his lips find mine, hungry and insistent. It seems that he’s been using those beard care products I’d bought as his present last Christmas and ended up giving him back in Monaco.
"Desperate much?" I laugh against his mouth when he finally pulls back. "We saw each other two days ago at the factory."
He doesn't release me, just adjusts his grip to look into my eyes. "Two days, sixteen hours, and"—he checks his watch dramatically—"twenty-three minutes. But who's counting?"
"You, apparently." I love how ridiculous he can be at times.
"Any distance from you is enough to make me count hours." He tucks a curl behind my ear. "You should be all coy instead of a realist. It's more romantic."
I laugh, the nervousness from earlier melting away in the warmth of his gaze. We're still standing in his doorway, my body pressed against his, and I suddenly realize this is perfect. This moment.
"And what if that distance was shortened?" I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
William's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
"I've just returned from a realtor in London." I watch his expression, cataloging every microshift.
"Did you buy a new house?" Confusion ripples across his features.
"I sold mine."
He stiffens, his arms loosening around me. "You what? Why? Is everything okay? Is the team—"
"The team is fine," I cut him off. "I sold it because I want to be close to a certain someone."
I look directly into his hazel eyes, watching as confusion gives way to something else, something hopeful. "Someone with hazel eyes." I trace my fingers along his jaw. "Fluffy beard." My hands drift to his shoulders, and I pull myself closer. "Who gives the best hugs."
His expression transforms—confusion to shock to raw emotion. It happens in waves, like watching a sunrise in time-lapse. His eyes widen, then grow glassy, his mouth working silently before he finally manages words.
"Violet... Are you saying that you want to move in with me?" His voice cracks, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tight.
I decide to tease him, just a little. "Well, I was thinking of moving in with EJ, but his apartment is so small—"
"Violet." He growls my name, but there's laughter behind it.
"Yes," I say simply. "Brought all the stuff I had left at my penthouse. Impressive how all my life is only four boxes, nothing more."
He blinks rapidly, eyes scanning my face as if checking for signs that I'm joking. Finding none, his face breaks into a smile so bright, it could power the entire countryside. Then he's lifting me again, spinning me around in his doorway, his laugh vibrating through both our bodies.
"You're moving in. You're actually moving in." He sets me down, hands cupping my face. "With me. Here."
"That was the plan. Unless you'd prefer I didn't?"
His answer is another kiss, deeper this time, his hands tangling in my curls. His smile spreads against my lips, a slight wetness on his cheeks. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining.
"My Christmas present is shit compared to this," he says, thumbs stroking my cheekbones.
"What did you get me?"
"A cashmere scarf, and a signed first-edition of that engineering book you mentioned a couple of months back."
"That sounds perfect, actually."
"Not compared to this." He gestures between us, then toward my car. "Are those your boxes in the backseat?"
I nod. "Everything that matters."
"Let me help you bring them in." He's already moving toward my car, practically bouncing with each step.
I follow, watching as he opens a back door and lifts two boxes with ease. His forearm muscles flex, bulging through the tight-fitting hoodie. As I grab the remaining boxes, I notice he's already mentally reorganizing his space, talking quickly about where things could go.
"We can clear half the closet in the master bedroom—more than half, actually.
And the second drawer in the bathroom is empty.
The guest room is your office already, or we could set up something in the corner of the living room with that view of the track.
Do you prefer the left or right side of the bed?
I usually sleep on the left, but I can adjust. And we should get new sheets—"
"William," I interrupt, laughing. "Breathe."
He stops in the middle of his living room, boxes still in his arms, and takes an exaggerated breath. "Sorry. I'm just—" He sets the boxes down and runs a hand through his curls. "This is happening, right? You're actually moving in with me?"
"I am." I place my boxes beside his and step closer. "Unless you've changed your mind in the last thirty seconds?"
"God, no." He pulls me against him. "I just never thought—I mean, I hoped, but I didn't expect—"
I understand his surprise. I've been the cautious one in our relationship, the planner, the overthinker, the one who needs time. This impulsive decision is out of character for me. But watching him now, seeing the joy radiating from him, I know it's right.
"Maybe your recklessness has rubbed off on me," I say, fingers trailing along his chest. "This is the first time I've ever done something like this."
"Like what? Moved in with a devastatingly handsome F1 driver?"
"Like made such a big decision without a backup plan." I meet his eyes. "I sold my house. If you'd said no, I'd be homeless on Christmas."
His face softens. "You knew I wouldn't say no."
"I hoped."
"What was your Plan B, though? Because you always have one."
I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. "Anna's guest room in Japan. Or bother Silas to book me a free hotel room until I found a new place."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. "Violet Colton, Team Principal, CEO, and terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent liar when needed."
"Not with me." He kisses my forehead. "I see right through you."
"Is that so?"
"Mmhmm." His arms tighten around me, pulling me against the solid warmth of his chest. He places his lips by my ear. "This is the best gift I've ever been given," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "You choosing to be here, with me."
I turn in his arms to face him, framing his face with my hands.
His beard is soft under my palms, his eyes bright and open.
There's something so vulnerable about him in this moment—this man who fights for every position on the track, who is a ruthless competitor but the best person you can have in your corner outside of it—looking at me like I've given him the stars.
"I've never lived with anyone before," I admit.
"Me neither." He grins. "We can figure it out together."
"I hog the blankets."
"I already know that from hotel rooms and your visits here. I've adapted."
"I work late."
"I'll bring you coffee."
"I'm bossy."
His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. "You? The woman who runs an F1 team with military precision? Bossy? I'm shocked."
I smack his chest lightly. "Very funny."
"I'm serious about the coffee, though. I know how you like it, I can make it perfect every morning. Same with the tea." His expression shifts, becomes more earnest. "And about making space for you. Not just in the house, but in my life. I want you to feel like this is your home, too."
The sincerity in his voice wraps around me like a blanket. I still can’t believe I’m allowed this happiness, even after the shit year we all had, at least personally.
"It already feels like home," I say softly. "You do."
His smile is blinding. He scoops me up again, this time carrying me toward the couch. We collapse onto it laughing. He keeps one arm around me, using the other to gesture at the living room.
"We should finally take some photos together and hang them around the house to annoy everyone who visits us.
And get you one of those fancy coffee machines you like.
And maybe redo the guest bathroom—I know that showerhead is crap.
" He's talking rapidly again, enthusiasm pouring out.
"Oh, and we need to clear space in the garage for your car.
The Taycan deserves better than the driveway in winter. And install a charging station for it."
I watch him, fascinated by his excitement. William has always been open with his emotions—it's one of the things I love about him, how freely he expresses joy, anger, frustration. But this happiness is different. Deeper. Like he's been waiting for this without realizing it.
"You really want this," I say, more statement than question.
He pauses his planning to look at me. "More than anything. I want morning coffees and arguing over what to watch and seeing your shoes mixed with mine by the door." He takes my hand, kisses my palm. "I want all of it, Violet. The mundane stuff especially."
"Even when I'm in a bad mood because the board is being difficult?"
"Even then." He grins. "I'll just distract you with my charm and good looks."
"So modest."
"It's one of my best qualities."
I laugh, settling deeper into his embrace. Outside, the winter sun is setting, casting golden light across his living room—our living room now. The Christmas tree in the corner sparkles with lights, a few wrapped presents underneath. Everything feels right in a way I wasn't expecting.
William shifts to look at me, suddenly serious. "This is the best Christmas ever," he says, and though the words could sound trite, the raw honesty in his voice makes them anything but. "Having you here, knowing you'll be here tomorrow and the next day and—"
I silence him with a kiss, pouring everything into it. When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his.
"Merry Christmas, William."
He smiles against my lips. "And welcome home, Violet."
I close my eyes, letting the words sink in. Home. Not just a place, but a person. Him. Us. The beginning of forever.