Chapter Nine #2
Grabbing a fresh champagne flute on my way out, I let the door slide shut behind me, muffling the party noise.
Music from a yacht below drifted up through the warm night.
I raised my glass, took a sip too quickly, and immediately regretted it.
The bubbles burned down my throat. I bent over coughing, bracing one hand against the cool metal railing.
A glass of water appeared beside my champagne flute. I didn’t have to look to know who it was. Henri’s presence was always something I could feel—in the paddock, in press conferences, in a room full of people.
“Thanks,” I managed between coughs. Our fingers brushed in the exchange. Barely a touch, but I felt it everywhere.
Henri leaned against the railing, close enough that I could see the faint scar above his eyebrow. “Try not to die.” He nodded toward the drink. “It would ruin Georgia’s night.”
“Yours too?” My voice came out smaller than intended.
Why would you say that? I chastised myself.
But I knew why. Because despite everything—the rivalry, the tension, the careful distance we’d maintained for months—part of me still remembered when we were friends. When hearing his voice hadn’t made my chest tight with frustration and anger.
Henri watched the boats floating in the harbor instead of me. “I like seeing Georgia this happy.”
“You and me both.” I turned to look at him. The city lights caught the exhaustion etched around his eyes, the tension he carried in his jaw, the shadows in his eyes that hadn’t been there at the start of the season.
I opened my mouth, almost ready to ask about Montreal, but I closed it again. What would be the point? It was just a kiss. A kiss that had ended with me kicking him out. Nothing had changed between us.
So, instead, I opted for something safer. “How are you really?”
He glanced at me, surprise flickering across his face. Like he hadn’t expected the concern. Like we didn’t do that anymore—ask real questions or care about each other’s answers. Like our last interaction hadn’t ended with me kicking him out of my room after a mind-numbing kiss.
“Ask me Sunday night,” he said quietly, almost a whisper.
“That bad?”
“That complicated.” He drained his glass in one sip. “I’m just ready for this weekend to be over.”
I understood that too well. It was almost impossible to describe how a driver felt about their home race. All your friends and family were there to watch you win on the streets they had raised you on. It was exhilarating and fun and magical.
Unless you lost.
“Eight years is a long time to wait for something,” I said quietly.
He finally looked at me. “Three years is too.”
Silverstone. He meant Silverstone.
The understanding passed between us without words.
We both knew what it was to want something desperately and have it slip through your fingers year after year.
To feel the weight of expectation, the fear of failure, the desperate hunger for redemption.
No one quite understood it like Henri, that feeling of carrying the weight of your deferred dreams.
“Well,” I said, lifting my champagne glass, “may we both be miserable together this weekend.”
A tiny hint of a smile crossed his face.
Our glasses clinked in the Monaco night, and for just a moment, the tension between us felt less like animosity and more like understanding, almost like we weren’t enemies.
The old friend I’d once longed for almost seemed recognizable, at least for a minute, and it was nice not to be at each other’s throats.
His shoulder edged closer to mine on the railing, and without meaning to, I found myself leaning into it. The smallest shift of weight, just enough that our shoulders touched as we both watched the lights twinkle along the water.
Henri went very still beside me. Then, slowly, carefully, he turned his head to look at me. I could see the gold flecks scattered through his dark eyes.
“You can win this weekend, Henri.”
In the moment, it felt like the right thing to say. And I believed it to be true. Henri was capable of magnificent things, and no feud between us was going to stop me from believing in him.
“Yeah?” The single word was barely more than a whisper, fragile and uncertain and achingly hopeful.
“Yeah.”
For a long moment, we just looked at each other. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back up. His hand moved on the railing beside mine.
This felt like Las Vegas all over again. Like Montreal the other week. There was no denying this indescribable pull between us.
His words from Las Vegas echoed in my head even as his hand moved on the railing beside mine. I watched, heart in my throat, as his pinkie finger extended slowly toward mine. Giving me time to pull away. Time to stop this before it started.
I didn’t move.
Move away, Lily, my rational brain screamed, but I couldn’t make myself step back; couldn’t break whatever spell had settled over us on this balcony.
Even though I knew better. Even though his actions never seemed to match his words, and I was tired of trying to figure out which version of Henri was real—the one who pushed me away in Las Vegas, or the one who couldn’t seem to stop pulling me close.
“Lily—” His voice came out rough, raw with something he wasn’t saying. His pinkie hooked deliberately around mine, and the simple touch reverberated through my entire body.
Then Luca’s voice called from inside, nervous and excited, and we both knew what was coming.
And just like that, the spell was broken. Henri recoiled back into himself, taking a step back.
“Showtime,” he murmured.
“You saw the ring too? Hiding it in the guest room wasn’t exactly a genius idea.” I knew Henri had stayed with them while his kitchen was under renovation last month.
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to join them soon.” Henri nodded toward Ollie, who was chatting up éliott at the makeshift bar.
I bristled at Henri’s implication. “Ollie and I are just friends,” I said coolly. “And it’s none of your business anyway.”
Henri held up his hands in mock surrender. “My mistake. I just thought, with him being your date tonight and all…”
“He’s not my date,” I snapped, perhaps a bit too sharply. “Georgia invited him. That’s it.”
Something flickered in Henri’s eyes. Relief, maybe? But he masked it quickly with a shrug. “Just be careful with that one.”
I frowned, turning to face him fully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head, setting his glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
The balcony door slid open. “So sorry to interrupt,” Ollie said brightly, laying easy fingers at the small of my back. “Georgia needs you both.”
Henri’s hand dropped from the rail. I didn’t see his expression. Didn’t let myself look as we walked inside.
As if on cue, Luca clinked a spoon against his glass, drawing everyone’s attention. He stood in the center of the room, Georgia beaming at his side. “Thank you all for coming tonight,” he began, his voice warm with affection.
His eyes shone with love and adoration as he gazed at Georgia.
“I wanted to gather our closest friends and family here to celebrate something very special. Georgia, amore mio, you’ve been by my side through every triumph and challenge.
Your unwavering support, your fierce determination, and your boundless compassion inspire me every single day. ”
Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Georgia’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.
He dropped to one knee, opening the box to reveal a stunning diamond ring.
“Georgia Dubois, you are the love of my life, my partner in every sense of the word. I can’t imagine my life without you—without your laughter, your love, your constant support.
You’re my best friend, my soulmate, my everything.
Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me? ”
Tears streamed down Georgia’s face as she nodded. “Yes!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with joy. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”
The room erupted into cheers and applause as Luca slipped the ring onto Georgia’s finger and swept her into a passionate kiss.
Friends and family swarmed the happy couple, offering their congratulations and excitement. Making my way over to Georgia, I pulled her into a tight hug.
“I’m so happy for you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.
She squeezed me back, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Lil.”
I shook my head, smiling. “You two were made for each other. I’m just glad I got to be here to see it happen.”
Ollie was in the kitchen, chatting with a few of the other drivers. I made my way through the hallway, only to bump my hip into Henri. In trying to move away, his arm brushed mine, and we both awkwardly tried to avoid the other’s gaze.
I stepped back quickly, breaking contact. “Sorry,” I muttered, ducking my head to hide the flush creeping up my neck.
Ollie and éliott materialized behind us. “Well, I daresay everyone in the room saw that proposal coming. Too bad they’ve ruined this for the rest of us,” éliott laughed.
Ollie raised an eyebrow at éliott’s comment. “Ruined what for the rest of you?”
“Let’s just say, some people aren’t too keen on their drivers dating each other. It worked for Georgia and Luca, but I don’t think the top bosses of other F1 teams want to risk their drivers sharing secrets. I’ve heard rumors of morality clauses starting to make their way into contract renewals.”
“My Rennen contract has one. Apparently, my sponsors don’t want any media circus around any potential relationships,” I sighed.
“You have a morality clause in your contract?” Ollie seemed genuinely surprised.
I nodded. “My mother said a few sponsors insisted on it when they signed me. Rennen seemed to be pleased with the idea, too.”
éliott grabbed Henri, pulling him in by the shoulders. “Well, Hermes don’t need to with this one.”
“Ha, because his only love is racing?” I added, trying—and failing—not to sound too bitter.