Chapter Nine
Lily
There was nothing I loved more than visiting Georgia and Luca’s Monaco flat. Their home was between a lovely bakery and one of my favorite bars in the city. Each morning, I woke to the scent of fresh croissants drifting up from the bakery below, and each night, I fell asleep to laughter.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, pinching the zipper at my ribs, “but your boyfriend is exceptionally bad at hiding a ring box.”
Georgia’s eyes lifted in the vanity mirror, a sly grin etched onto her face. “I’ve pretended all month that I haven’t seen that box.” She widened her eyes in mock surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. “Luca! I had no idea! What a complete and total shock!”
I snorted. “Don’t quit your day job. Acting may not be your calling.”
She threw a makeup sponge at me, and I caught it midair, laughing as I tossed it back.
Georgia had been there for me over the past three years.
The grueling races, the endless media scrutiny, the constant pressure to prove myself in a sport dominated by men.
She was the one constant in my chaotic life, and I missed her desperately as my teammate.
Luca was a fine substitute, but things were always so easy with Georgia.
“So,” Georgia said, turning to me with a sly grin, “Henri mentioned he saw you with Ollie the other night. How was your date?”
I felt my cheeks burn, and I wanted to ask if that was all he’d mentioned.
“It was really nice, actually,” I said, aiming for casual. “We caught up on old times. He’s clearly doing well for himself these days.”
Georgia raised an eyebrow. “If I’m being honest, I’ve always secretly hoped you’d end up with Henri,” she laughed.
How close she’d almost been to getting her wish…
“Any sparks after the dinner?”
I shook my head no, ignoring her shimmying shoulders and giddy smile.
“Well, maybe next time. You deserve some fun! Just because we’re always traveling, doesn’t mean you can’t do a little dating… or other things. I mean, who was the last guy you even kissed?”
Henri’s face flashed through my mind, and I was immediately transported back to Montreal. I reached for my drink and took a long sip, contemplating how “your brother” probably wasn’t the right answer.
Georgia dabbed another layer of highlighter across her face. “Look, Ollie’s cute, and he understands our world without being in it.”
I nodded. “It was nice to get out. He planned everything, and it was nice to feel wanted. Even if he is a member of the press…”
Georgia laughed. “Well, Ollie sounds lovely, and he’s been nothing but nice to Valkyrie in the paddock.
I know Henri was annoyed with him after the press conference in Montreal, but it’s Ollie’s job to ask those tough questions.
” Georgia shrugged. “Henri doesn’t need to make enemies with the press.
In fact, it’s why I invited Ollie tonight.
Hoping he and Henri could smooth out whatever weird tension that was in the press conference. ”
“You did?” My champagne sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “You think that’ll work?”
Georgia glanced meaningfully at a framed photo of her and her brother on the dresser.
A photo of them from her World Driver’s Championship win last year in Brazil.
I watched Georgia carefully. If I’d noticed the unsettling way Henri was acting in the paddock, then she definitely had.
She toyed with a hairpin, her expression troubled.
“Something is off with Henri,” she said quietly.
“He’s been a bit off all season. He used to be so joyful.
I mean, all we’d talk about was racing. Now, it’s like it’s the farthest thing from his mind.
” Georgia worried like it was her job. It was probably what made her such a dedicated friend, and a fierce teammate at Valkyrie F1.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, aiming for light and breezy. “This week’s Grand Prix is Monaco. He was born to win here.”
“That’s what scares me.” She turned to look at me directly. “It’s been eight years, and he’s never won Monaco before. If I he doesn’t this weekend, I don’t know what it’ll do to him. All those years of losing your home race—your dream race—does something to you.”
I knew that feeling intimately. Three years of losing Silverstone had been gutting enough. But eight years of Monaco? That would break anyone.
I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Well, maybe this weekend will be the turning point. If anyone can win Monaco, it’s Henri Dubois.”
Part of me couldn’t believe I was saying that about my competitor. The truth was, I wanted desperately to win this weekend—a thought best kept to myself, I decided. Not that Georgia didn’t see through it.
“Well, with you out there pushing him, he’ll have no choice but to bring his A game.”
Luca stepped fully into the room. He was dressed in tailored navy slacks and a crisp white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. He really had a way of looking effortlessly stylish even in the simplest of outfits.
“Don’t you two look stunning?” he said, his eyes twinkling as they landed on Georgia. “Especially you, amore.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I think we’re about ready. Lil?”
I nodded, taking one last glance in the mirror before following them out to the living room.
They’d transformed the flat for the party, with twinkling string lights draped along the walls and vases of vibrant flowers scattered throughout.
Soft music played from the beautiful record player Georgia had gifted Luca for Christmas the year prior.
People arrived one by one, each one greeting the hosts with an unspoken eagerness. I don’t think it was lost on anyone what was going to be happening tonight.
Someone shouted my name from the hallway.
“Lily!” Ollie called out, dragging me in for a hug. When he pulled back, he kept his hands on my shoulders, studying my face like I was something precious. “God, you look absolutely stunning.”
“Oh, Ollie,” I laughed, my cheeks warming.
Georgia just chuckled before thanking Ollie for the flowers.
“That was sweet of you to bring flowers.” My eyes flicked over to the bouquet. An assortment of roses—nothing like the ones that had appeared in my room after Miami.
“I was glad to be invited. Gives me another excuse to see you! Now, I want to hear all about your Monaco prep.” Ollie waved his phone in the air. “Off the record, of course.” He winked.
Henri stepped through the door a moment later, looking annoyingly handsome in charcoal trousers and a tight shirt that hugged his chest perfectly.
A smile broke across Henri’s face, slow and genuine, and it carried a warmth that spread through his eyes and reached every corner of the room.
It was almost unsettling how much gravity his smile held—how it drew me in like it was meant only for me.
Ollie said something beside me, before leaving my side, but I’d stopped listening.
Henri’s hair was still damp from a shower, and I could see where he’d run his fingers through it, leaving it messier on one side.
I watched him touch it self-consciously before dropping his hand and shoving it in his pocket instead.
The door closed behind him and carried his cologne forward: vanilla and cedar, unmistakably him.
My champagne glass was suddenly slippery in my palm.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss in the elevator all week.
The memory kept ambushing me at the worst moments.
During practice laps, in team briefings, in the shower.
His mouth on mine, the elevator wall cold against my back, his hand at my jaw tilting my face up.
The way he’d tasted like whiskey and bad decisions.
How I’d gripped his shirt and pulled him closer instead of pushing him away.
The sound he’d made against my lips, somewhere between relief and surrender.
I couldn’t stop replaying it over again in my mind.
“Henri!” Georgia exclaimed, hurrying over to embrace her brother. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, but there was a tightness to his voice that made me wonder how many excuses he’d gone through before deciding to show up.
He gravitated toward the back of the room, falling into conversation with éliott about their upcoming photoshoot.
But every few minutes, I felt his gaze land on me.
A quick glance when he thought I wasn’t looking.
Our eyes would meet for a split second before one of us would look away.
A game of chicken neither of us wanted to be playing.
Part of me wanted to approach him and bring up Montreal. But what would I even say? Any idea who sent me that threat? Does that kiss also consume your every waking moment?
Both terrible options, especially the last one.
Ollie re-appeared beside me with a fresh drink, his hand immediately finding the small of my back.
“There you are. Sorry, I got distracted. I’ve been fielding questions about the podcast all night.
Apparently, everyone wants to know who I’m interviewing next, which is a bit annoying, considering all I can think about is getting five minutes alone with you. ”
From across the room, I caught Henri watching us, something unreadable crossing his face before he looked away.
“The podcast’s really taking off then?” I asked, turning my attention back toward him.
“It is, but that’s not what matters right now.” His thumb traced small circles against my back through the fabric of my dress. “What matters is that you’re here, and you look absolutely stunning. I haven’t had nearly enough of your attention tonight.”
Before I could answer, another guest approached Ollie. I took the moment to excuse myself, mumbling something about needing the bathroom. Truthfully, I needed air, and I was happy to discover that the balcony was blissfully empty.