Chapter 129 Aurélie #2
"There's been a lot of attention on the people supporting you behind the scenes," she said casually. "And a few of them have been very, very vocal in their defense, potentially facing fines of their own."
I blinked, my brain trying to catch up with the turn of conversation. "Right…" Was she talking about the boys?
"Well," she smiled mysteriously, "I think it's only fair they get a chance to say some of it themselves."
I froze. What the hell was she talking about? This wasn't on the docket—
"Come on out, boys."
I turned toward the entrance just as the studio doors opened.
Marco walked out first, tall and dressed in sharp dark slacks and a white button-down, paired with his signature cheeky grin.
Then Kimi, who looked dangerously amused and surprisingly polished in a navy polo that hugged his lean frame.
And behind them, in all black—crisp and pressed—and neatly pushed back waves… was my Callum.
Mon Dieu, help my heart, soul, and pussy, I beg of thee.
He held a bouquet of pale pink peonies in one hand and had a devastatingly beautiful smile on his face. He looked exhausted, but he was here. Alive and on his own two feet and looking so much better than the last time I saw him.
This was what Ivy was hiding from me. Sneaky bitch—I'd give her an earful later.
I rose to my feet, stepping to meet them halfway. Everything I'd been feeling faded to the background, my world blurring when Marco swooped me in for a hug. I laughed, wrapping my arms around him.
"Can't get rid of us, Dubois," he murmured before pulling back and all but throwing me into Kimi's waiting arms.
"You're here early," I said into Kimi's shoulder.
He chuckled. "Yeah, you can thank your boyfriend for that."
I had no response time before Callum was prying me from Kimi's embrace.
He handed me the flowers, and just when I raised my teary eyes to his, he stepped into my space.
Then, in front of the entire studio, he cupped my face with both hands and kissed me.
I gasped against his mouth, and his tongue swept across mine, and my entire body shivered in response.
The crowd cheered, the cameras caught every second, and I was suddenly thinking very not safe for work things.
I was not to be trusted alone with my thoughts anymore, because he poured everything into this kiss. But most importantly, he was here, showing up for me. Even when I ghosted him the way he ghosted me.
Ugh.
When he pulled away, his lips hovered over mine, smudged with my lipstick.
"If you ever doubt that you're mine again," he growled, all low and possessive in a way that had my blood heating, "I'll fucking punish you."
My hand flew up to cover the mic on his lapel, eyes as wide as saucers. "Callum. You're mic'ed up," I hissed.
He graced me with his signature smirk. "Good. Let them know." I was trembling, every nerve alight, but now my cheeks were getting hot. The pale blue of his eyes traced my face before he full-on grinned. "There she is. I missed you. You okay?"
I laughed, watery and overwhelmed and real for the first time in days—weeks, maybe. I’d lived a thousand lives since his crash. None of them were worth focusing on when the only thing that mattered was him in front of me now. "I should be asking you that. But yes, I am now."
"Me, too."
"Alright, now that you've made a grand entrance," Marco muttered behind me.
Somewhat sheepishly, I stepped back from Callum and his intoxicating presence, remembering where we were. Cleo watched on with dark eyes, shocked and blushing.
Yeah, well. She allowed them in here not realizing that together they were like feral little gremlins. That was on her.
We took our seats, me at one end next to Callum, and Marco and Kimi on his other side. Cleo had now recovered and was beaming at all of us. Callum clamped his hand over my bare thigh and pulled me across the leather to be closer to him.
Ooooo-kay. Guess we weren't hiding this anymore. Not like that kiss left anything to the imagination.
"Well. That was not scripted, but very welcome," Cleo said, and the crowd cheered and clapped again, louder this time as if they were celebrating love and rage and survival all at once. Meanwhile my insides were melting at the smallest touch from Callum.
Yesterday, I got myself off in his sheets and convinced myself this was the end.
And right now, I told myself how fucking insane I must be if that was what I thought.
He'd never have given me a key in the first place, or sent me all the filthy things he had, or gotten me my favorite snacks and coffee, or loaned me his private jet, or all the other ways he'd found to pull me out of my lonely spiral, if he didn't love me.
Jesus Christ, I was really fucked in the head.
"So what part of this was scripted?" I asked her.
Her teeth glinted in the overhead lights. "This whole thing, minus their entrance. Callum reached out yesterday asking if they could join the interview to support you."
I slowly turned to face him, the plastic wrap from the flowers crinkling in my lap. He just stared at me with nothing but warmth and fondness. Then I leaned forward to look at the other two, who were wearing twin shit-eating grins. "Bonjour, boys. Bienvenue."
"If this interview doesn't end with you biting one of their heads off, I'll be shocked," Callum muttered.
Cleo laughed, flipping through her cards. "You know, this might be the first time we've ever had a live declaration, a public kiss, and two surprise co-drivers on this show in the same segment."
Kimi deadpanned, "We do what we can. But most importantly, the world should know that we stand beside Aurélie Dubois and all the women who continue to be silenced for no reason other than their gender."
The crowd fucking screamed.
Marco tipped his head at me before looking at Cleo, the spotlights above reflecting off his dark hair.
"Besides, someone had to show up and say what the world's been too afraid to: she is the bravest damn person in this paddock.
" A murmur of applause. "She's not here because of a quota.
She's not here because of her brother. She's here because she can outdrive half the grid on her worst day and still stand up for what matters when the rest of us are hiding in the garage. "
Callum squeezed my thigh before speaking, and it took everything in me not to react. "She's doing what none of us would've had the guts to do, and she's doing it with her head held high. Do you understand what it takes to do that? The kind of public criticism she's getting for this?"
My eyes watered again, because yeah, it fucking sucked being painted the way I was. Maybe Callum sensed the sudden rush of emotions, because he released my leg and grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers. His touch grounded me.
"She's being called horrendous things by people who claim to be fans of the sport, and all for speaking well within regulation. Advocating for driver safety and using her platform to do good things for the sport and for feminism."
Cleo blinked, stunned. “Well… I don’t even have a follow-up to that. Except maybe this.” She turned to me again. “Your fans are obsessed. Your critics are loud. And the internet is still demanding answers about this.” She gestured to me and Callum.
A few audience members whistled, some sighed dreamily, others yelled their support.
Cleo gave me a slow, knowing look. “So. For the record... are we still pretending his entrance was just part of a French greeting ritual?”
The audience laughed.
My cheeks flamed as I smoothed my free hand over my blazer. “We are,” I said sweetly, trying not to smirk. “In France, we kiss on the cheek, on the mouth, sometimes with tongue. It’s a very warm country.”
Callum groaned. “She’s unbelievable.”
“French tradition,” I said with a shrug. “Can’t fight culture. Actually, I'm sure everyone is familiar with the term French kissing. Goes all the way back to World War I, where other countries admired the passionate French culture. So, like I said, a tradition.”
Cleo beamed. “Well, consider us converted.”
Marco leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So does that mean I get a kiss too, or...?”
Callum didn’t even blink. “Try it again and die.”
The audience burst out laughing. Kimi just lifted his brows. “I think I deserve one. I kept her coffee stocked all week and didn’t even flirt.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “That’s a lie. You flirted twice.”
Callum turned to him slowly. “Twice?”
Kimi shrugged, sipping from a water bottle like he hadn’t just lit a match and tried to walk away. “She’s hot. I’m not blind.”
I reached for my phone. "I think everyone would love to see Exhibit A," I threw out there, an homage to Marco and Kimi's harassment of Callum and me back in Monaco. "In our group chat, where you said while I was on a live interview—"
Kimi lunged across Marco and Callum to grab my phone. "Absolutely not. That group chat is sacred."
That ridiculous, chaotic group chat had become my anchor.
But somewhere along the line I’d been pulled into the inside jokes and bitch sessions.
In those long flights and sleepless nights, their constant ragging—on each other, on me, on the sport—kept me afloat.
Humor became its own kind of lifeline, the stupid jokes and half-serious debates distracting me when the world outside was loud and ugly.
It was pathetic, really, how much I needed it. But when the headlines were cutting me to pieces, the boys were the only ones who made me laugh until my ribs hurt. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t even always kind, but it was real. And it reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in the chaos.
I cackled, letting Kimi confiscate the device that had wreaked havoc on my nerves all week, and leaned back into Callum's shoulder. Closer than before, where I was surrounded by his scent and warmth and reminded of all the time we'd spent apart this last month.
Fuck the PR teams, the FIA, and the rest of the goddamn paddock. There was no way in hell they were keeping us apart now.
Cleo looked like she might pass out from secondhand tension. “This is... a very educational episode.”
Callum, still holding my hand, smirked at the camera. “Just to be clear, I don’t share.” The way he said it, all quiet, certain possessiveness, made my whole body heat. And it was so fucking public—
I twisted toward him, whispering just loud enough for my mic to catch it, “So what does that make us, then?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I told you I’m not asking over text.”
Then he turned toward me fully, still live, still mic’ed, still holding my hand in front of the entire goddamn world. “Aurélie Dubois, mon c?ur... will you be my girlfriend?” His eyes were on me now, captivating me and gluing me to the spot. Fuck. Me.
The crowd erupted.
I blinked, stunned. “Now?!”
He grinned, and his single dimple made a rare appearance. Be still, my heart. “Well, I figured after the French tongue and global audience, we were past the ‘casually dating’ phase.”
I laughed, the ache in my chest easing a little more. “Oui,” I said. “Obviously, yes.”
He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, and suddenly, the world didn’t feel quite so heavy.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because now that it’s official… you’re never getting rid of me.”
Cleo wiped beneath her eye with a laugh. “I’ve never had to follow up a relationship status update with FIA regulation questions, but we’ll try.”
I grinned, leaning into Callum’s shoulder again. Let the world see what it looked like when a girl took the weight of the sport on her shoulders—and still got the guy.
And this time, when the lights burned hot and the cameras zoomed in, I didn’t flinch.
Because I wasn’t alone anymore.
The only family who had never judged me were all sitting right here beside me.