Chapter 200 Callum
callum
The future looked a lot like paperwork and promises—and me on my back while he whispered forever into my mouth. –Aurélie
Aurélie didn’t know I was watching her. Not at first.
She’d gotten distracted trying to untangle a necklace, pausing halfway through rubbing sunscreen on her thigh.
Her brows pulled together in the kind of concentration that made her bite the inside of her cheek.
We were meant to leave for the trailhead fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to say a word. Not when she looked like that.
Not when she looked like mine.
I leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, still towel-drying my hair.
The villa smelled like saltwater and her lavender body wash.
She was perched on the edge of the bed, tan legs bent, sunscreen glistening along the curve of her calf.
That stupid little gold anklet she got when we went shopping our first day here with the cherry charm winked at me every time her foot flexed.
God help me.
I stopped counting the hours after the third or fourth day. The sunrises blurred into sunsets, and the moon seemed to rise earlier every night. We were so blissfully removed from reality here, it felt like the universe had slowed down just for us.
Somewhere between lounging in the sand and fucking against every hard surface this place had to offer, we’d looked up marriage requirements in Greece, too.
Eloping in Milos wasn’t simple—it involved a lot of paperwork and a joint mailing address.
But we didn’t care; we were figuring it out.
We had time. And now… now I couldn’t help but soak in every glorious day, realizing the peace I’d gained in all our decisions.
The future didn’t scare me. It excited me.
And somewhere between Googling officiants and arguing over which beach had the softest sand, we started talking about everything else.
Next steps. Residency. Where we’d live. What “home” meant when you had three passports between the two of you, a penthouse in Monaco, a country house in France, and jobs in different countries.
We’d joked that getting married would be the easy part.
It was everything after that had us mapping out legal paths over breakfast, lying on the floor with my laptop open and her leg draped over my back as we half-argued about which country was the bigger pain in the ass.
“You already have dual citizenship,” she’d said, nose scrunched, eyes still sleep-heavy. “Scotland and Monaco. You’re a walking diplomatic immunity loophole.”
“And you’re half French, half brat.”
“Brat is not a nationality.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
We’d laughed, but the truth was, it mattered. Not just for our future—though that was at the center of everything now—but for the logistics. The paperwork. The addresses. The part where we actually had to tell the government something.
I was still sorting things with Beckett.
He’d given me full flexibility, said he didn’t care if I worked from Monaco or Milan or Mars, so long as I showed up for board meetings in person and kept the team steady while they rebuilt.
We were still locking down where Speed Demons Racing would be headquartered.
I knew he wanted it in Switzerland, but Orion’s old offices were still in Silverstone, and I wasn’t sure what the final call would be.
Either way, I’d have a home office and a standing desk, and if I had to fly a few times a month, I’d do it. That was the deal.
Aurélie, on the other hand, was headed to Italy next year. For the first time in her life, her career would take her out of her home country. Ferrari was everything she’d fought for, offered to her on a silver platter with her name already etched in the center.
So we were moving in together. No more only seeing each other during race weeks or stolen moments in the paddock. We’d be married, and that meant this was full-time. For real. But whose place, and whose country, would become home?
She could keep French residency without issue because of the country house. Easy. Or she could apply for Monégasque citizenship. Which was harder to get, but not when you were married to someone who already resided there permanently.
“Technically,” I’d said last night, skimming a website as she painted her toenails beside me, “you’d be eligible for expedited Monaco residency once we file the marriage paperwork. You’d have to establish legal residence for at least six months of the year.”
“So we keep both places,” she suggested. “We can alternate between the penthouse and the country house. Split it down the middle. It’s not like it would be difficult seeing as they’re less than an hour apart.”
“It would be dual-country domestic bliss.”
“You just want to keep fucking me in luxury tax brackets.”
“Obviously.”
She’d grinned then. Soft and smug and happy in a way that made my chest ache. Like she hadn’t realized we were already building a life together, one sun-soaked day at a time. Then she elbowed me and said, “Don’t lie. The country house is already our home.”
I hummed. “No lies detected, Dubois.” I placed a hand on her thigh. “But truthfully? I’m not giving up my Monaco tax status, baby. I love you, but I also love not paying income tax.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you accepted my proposal.”
The truth was, she didn’t want to give up her French residency either. She was still legally tied to her family’s vineyard, and emotionally tethered to those lavender fields she pretended she didn’t miss as much as she did.
She’d admitted it quietly during a night swim, how being back in the south of France felt complicated now.
How she was more than a little homesick and ached to visit.
Especially since she’d started carefully reconciling things with her brother, étienne, and trying to turn a new leaf with her sister.
She missed her parents too. Even with the history.
Even with the way she’d finally stood up to them after her first victory in F1, drawing a line they hadn’t known how to handle.
They’d exchanged a handful of texts over the last month.
It was still a fragile truce, and it would be a bumpy road, considering she’d stepped into étienne’s seat at Luminis.
They still carried expectations she’d long outgrown. But that didn’t mean she’d stopped caring. The guilt, the pride, the unspoken tension… it all lived right under her skin.
To keep her citizenship, she’d need to reside in France for at least six consecutive months every few years. It wasn’t strict, but it mattered. Just like Monaco mattered to me.
So yeah. We’d figure it out and split our time. Keep both addresses and share a life between two countries and two pasts. It didn’t feel complicated. It just made sense.
Aurélie rose from the edge of the bed and stretched, letting out a big yawn. “Papa texted me last night,” she said casually.
“Yeah?” I walked over to the closet and yanked an athletic shirt off a hanger, tugging it over my head.
“He said the vines are going wild this year.” She bent to dig through her purse, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and tucking them onto the front of her shirt.
“étienne mentioned that to me when I moved into the house. Guess Papa also wanted to tell me. He even sent photos. They’re climbing the eastern slope, past the terrace wall. ”
I buckled up my backpack. “Is that good or bad?”
She shrugged, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Both. Depends who you ask. Wild vines twist away from their stakes. They grow wherever the hell they want. They love to steal sunlight and take up space. Harder to harvest and even harder to predict. But they’re usually the strongest.”
“Sounds like someone I know.” I winked at her.
She straightened and met my gaze with an amused look. “Papa pretends to hate them, but he loves the surprise. I think they remind him of me.”
I stepped toward her, brushing a kiss over her temple. “I think they remind everyone of you.”
She nudged me away, but her smile softened. “You’d like them.”
I raised a brow. “Because they’re stubborn and need constant supervision?”
She giggled and swept her hair up into a ponytail.
“Because they thrive where they’re not supposed to.
” She grabbed her own pack, slinging it over her shoulder.
“My father always talks more when the vines surprise him. My siblings never cared much for them, but to me they were a challenge I wanted to conquer.”
Of course it was. Aurélie was nothing if not a competitor at heart.
We left the bedroom and paused in the kitchen to fill up our water bottles. “Did you respond to him?”
“Ouais. I texted him back and said it was the first time I’ve been gone this long and didn’t know what the soil smelled like.”
I stilled, a warm ache blooming in my chest as I tightened the lid of my water bottle. The weight in her voice caught me off guard. “The soil?”
“You can smell it all, you know?” she said, more to herself now. “The rain, the minerals, the way the earth holds heat. It tells you everything. I used to know it instinctively. But now…” She exhaled and grabbed her water bottle. “Now I don’t. And I hate not knowing.”
“You miss it.” It was a statement, not a question.
Yearning glittered in her eyes before she clipped her water bottle to her bag and grabbed her sunglasses, slipping them on like armor. “I do.”
Aurélie didn’t say it makes me feel unsettled. She didn’t have to. Her connection to that land was deep, complicated, and spiritual. She was emotionally anchored to it in ways she couldn’t explain to anyone who hadn’t been raised by grapes and ghosts.
“Well, we’ll have to visit after we get home,” I murmured, brushing her hip gently as I guided us toward the front door.
“You’ll come with me?”