Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
GRIFFIN
Violet sighed. “We need to talk.”
“About what? How your old man just strong-armed us both?”
“About how we’re going to make this work.” She moved to the sofa, carefully clearing a space among the scattered baby supplies. “Because like it or not, we’re stuck with each other.”
“Right.” I dropped into an armchair across from her. “Four months of... this. Then you’re free to go back to your life, and I can—”
“Figure out how to parent on your own?” Violet arched a brow. She threw a towel over her shoulder and settled Hazel against her chest, patting her on the back.
I scowled. “I’ll have it handled by then.”
She didn’t bother responding to that, which was somehow worse than an actual argument. Instead, her gaze swept the room, lingering on the half-unpacked baby supplies and the sheer lack of preparation.
“Where’s the bassinet?”
“The what?”
“The bassinet. Where is Hazel sleeping?”
I gestured vaguely toward the sofa. “She’s been in the car seat.”
Violet’s eyes widened. “You’ve been letting her sleep in a car seat?”
“Is that... bad?”
Never mind that I’d only had her for a couple of hours and the kid hadn’t done much sleeping.
“Yes, it’s bad. Babies can suffocate in car seats if they’re not positioned correctly.” She stood, bouncing Hazel gently.
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“You weren’t,” she said, softer now. “That’s why I’m here.”
The doorbell rang. I pushed myself up, half expecting Julian to have returned with more rules, but it was the driver with a sleek black suitcase.
“For Miss Carter,” he said, deadpan.
I took it without a word, setting it by the stairs before turning back to find Violet watching me with a peculiar look in her eyes.
“We need a proper bassinet. And about a dozen other things Liam missed.”
Irritation prickled under my skin. “I’ve had her for less than a day. I’m figuring it out.”
“Well, figure it out faster.”
Hazel squirmed against her chest, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt like she already knew who she could count on. Violet smoothed a hand down her back, effortlessly soothing her.
“Where am I sleeping?”
I hesitated for half a second too long. Long enough for the reality to sink in that she’d be here, in my space, for four months. In my house. Eating my food. Judging my every move. Probably rearranging my furniture and reporting my sleep schedule back to Julian.
Christ.
“I didn’t exactly prepare a guest room for you, Princess.”
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It fits.”
“Because my name is Violet. Not ‘Julian’s Daughter,’ not ‘Princess.’ Just Violet.” She shifted Hazel in her arms. “So unless you want me to start calling you ‘Playboy,’ I suggest you stick with Violet.”
I raised my hands, surprised by the venom in her voice. “Fine. Violet it is.”
She nodded once, her expression cooling. “Where’s the guest room?”
I gestured to the stairs, and without another word, she turned and headed up them.
Four months. Just four months of her in my house, in my space, in my head.
I could handle it.
I had to.
Ipushed open the door to the spare room. It looked about as welcoming as a holding cell— bare walls, a bed, a dresser, and not much else. I never had guests who actually needed to sleep.
Violet nodded. “This will work. I’ll need the bassinet in here.”
“Why?”
“Because Hazel will need night feeds, and I’m not running across the house every two hours.”
I frowned. “You’re taking her?”
“Would you rather get up every couple of hours?”
“No, but—”
“Then yes, I’m taking her.” Violet adjusted Hazel in her arms. “Unless you have a better suggestion?”
I didn’t. The thought of waking up repeatedly throughout the night made my stomach twist. I needed sleep. I needed to be sharp for the next race.
And yet, the idea of handing Hazel off to someone else, even temporarily, sparked an unexpected pang of... something. Not quite guilt. Not quite possessiveness.
I exhaled, forcing my shoulders to relax. “Fine. Take her.”
“Good. Then we’re agreed.” She scanned the room with an assessing eye. “I’ll need to order a bassinet online. If I get next-day delivery, it should be here tomorrow.”
“Great. Can’t wait to fill my house with more shit I don’t know how to use.”
Violet ignored me. “We’ll need a changing table as well.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong with using the kitchen counter?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath like she was summoning patience from another dimension.
“I’m not even going there.” She started back down the stairs, not bothering to wait for me. “I’ll order a crib and a bunch of other things from a flat-pack place online once I get her down for the night. You’ll need to leave me your card.”
“Right.” I trailed after her. “Because nothing says trust like handing my credit card to Julian Carter’s daughter.”
She stopped, turning to face me. “You think I want your money?”
“I think you’re enjoying this. Playing the hero, swooping in to fix everything.”
Her jaw tightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”
She continued down the stairs without another word.
I glowered at the back of her head.
She reached the living room and placed Hazel down in her car seat. The baby stirred but stayed asleep, her mouth parting on a sigh.
“She deserves better than this, Griffin.”
I knew that. Knew it in a way that felt like a punch to the ribs.
I cleared my throat. “Fine. You’ll get my card.”
“Good. Now, we need to sort out the rest of this mess.” Violet took stock of the supplies Liam had bought. “I don’t even know where to start.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “Welcome to my world.”
She shot me a look but got to work.
“These nappies are too big. And you need more formula. And wipes. And a proper changing mat.” She sighed. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
I found a notepad and pen in a kitchen drawer and handed them to her.
“Thanks.” She took them without looking up. “We can order most of it online, but some things we’ll need right away.”
A strange mixture of relief and resentment churned in my gut. I needed the help—God knows I was drowning—but watching Julian’s daughter dismantle my kitchen felt like letting the enemy inside the gates.
“What?” Violet looked up from her list, pen paused mid-word.
I forced my expression blank. “Nothing.”
She studied me for a moment, then went back to writing. “We need to establish some ground rules.”
“Let me guess. No parties, no women, no fun.”
“I don’t care what you do in your free time,” she said, her tone cutting. “But I’m not here to be your maid or your cook or your entertainment.”
“Right. And to report back to Daddy.”
Her pen stilled. “Excuse me?”
“Come on.” I crossed my arms. “You think I don’t know how this works? Julian plants you here, you keep tabs on me, make sure I’m behaving like a good little driver.”
She set the pen down with deliberate care. “I’m here to teach you to be a parent, Griffin.”
“I know that.”
“Good. Then I’ll handle Hazel.” She picked up her phone and unlocked it. “You focus on your career, but you need to learn the basics of childcare.”
How hard could it be? I memorized race reports in my sleep, adjusted strategy on instinct, handled more pressure in a single lap than most people did in a lifetime. A baby wasn’t that different, right? Learn the mechanics, adapt to the conditions, execute.
Except one wrong move in a race cost me a position. A wrong move with Hazel would be far worse.
“You don’t need to worry about cleaning, by the way. I have a cleaner that comes in once a week.”
She didn’t look up. “Good for you.”
I smirked. “Was that sarcasm or relief?”
“A bit of both.”
Fair enough.
“And food?” she asked, typing away on her phone. “Because I’m not cooking for you, and I’m definitely not surviving off takeaway for the next four months.”
I crossed my arms. “I have a meal service.”
“Then add me to it.”
Hazel started fussing, and Violet’s nose scrunched up before a devious glint entered her eyes. I took an instinctive step back.
“What?”
“You need to learn the basics,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket. “And no, before you say anything, a baby is not like racing.”
I eyed her as she stood. “Both require precision, quick reflexes, and the ability to stay calm under pressure.”
“If you’re comparing Hazel to a V6 turbo-hybrid engine, we have bigger problems.” She lifted Hazel out of her carrier. “Isn’t that right, cutie? Daddy’s got a lot to learn.”
Her whole face softened when she smiled down at Hazel, cooing at her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Why did she have to be so good at this?
I exhaled, stretching my neck. “Fine. What’s first?”
“She needs changing.” She smirked as she walked toward me. “And you’re going to do it.”
“But —” I accepted Hazel while a cold sweat prickled the back of my neck. “I don’t know how.”
“You’re going to learn.” She glanced around. “Liam bought the wrong size nappies, so we’ll have to improvise.”
Violet grabbed a clean tea towel from the pile of baby supplies and walked into the kitchen, shaking it out as she went.
I followed, my pace gingerly slow. Violet spread a blanket across the kitchen floor with brisk efficiency before turning to me expectantly.
“Put her down.”
I moved like I was handling live explosives, easing Hazel onto the blanket. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with sleep, but she didn’t fuss. Yet.
Violet handed me a packet of wipes. “Alright. Nappy off.”
I stared at her. “You want me to take it off?”
“No, I want you to leave her in a dirty one forever,” she said, her expression deadpan. “Yes, take it off.”
My fingers fumbled with the tabs, and the second I peeled the nappy back, I recoiled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”
Violet snorted, unfazed. “It’s just poop.”
“That is not just poop. That is a biohazard.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it.”
“Too bad.”
Hazel wriggled, kicking one tiny foot against my wrist, completely indifferent to my suffering. I swallowed hard and forced myself to grab a wipe and tackle the mess while Violet folded the tea towel.
“Where do you keep safety pins?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Safety pins.” She opened a drawer and rummaged through it.
“Do I look like I own safety pins? I have duct tape and superglue.”
“We are not duct-taping the baby.” She didn’t even look up, just slammed the drawer shut and moved to the next one, rifling through random kitchen junk.
“It would stay on.”
She muttered something under her breath and yanked another drawer open. I wiped Hazel’s legs carefully, hyper-aware of how small and delicate she was while Violet banged around in the background.
Finally, she let out a triumphant sound and returned, holding up two plastic clips from an opened bag of coffee. “This will have to do.”
She made quick work of fastening the makeshift nappy. “It’s not ideal, but it works.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” I muttered.
“Don’t bother. I’m only doing this for my father.”
I’d never understand that. I played along with Julian’s demands to keep the team happy, keep my seat, and keep winning.
I didn’t do it out of devotion.
And yet his daughter was here for him.
Hazel settled against her chest, content for now. Violet stood, rocking her gently. “I should get her to bed. We’ll make do with the car seat for tonight.”
I nodded. “Whatever you need.”
Violet carried Hazel to the guest room, and I followed, hovering in the doorway as she settled the car seat on the floor beside the bed. She positioned it carefully, checking the angle before straightening.
“She’ll be okay for tonight,” she said, more to herself than to me.
I lingered as she checked on Hazel one more time. There was a tenderness in her movements that seemed at odds with the sharp edges she’d shown me. I closed the door softly behind me, leaving her with Hazel. In my own room, I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands.
Hours ago, I’d been celebrating a podium finish in Zandvoort. Now Julian’s daughter was across the hall, probably texting him an update right now.
Fuck my life.