Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
VIOLET
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not wearing that.”
Cleo’s grin only got wider as she dangled the red t-shirt in front of me. “Live a little, Vi. You can’t be the only person in this paddock not in team colors.”
I hadn’t worn Aedris merch since I was thirteen years old and my father caught me cutting up a t-shirt to make it more my style. I got a pass after that.
I hadn’t planned on that ever changing.
“I’m not team and I’m not a fan. Why would I wear the merch?”
“Right.” Imani’s brow arched. “And I’m not drinking before noon.”
“That’s different. You’re on holiday.”
“And you’re in denial.” Cleo rolled her eyes and picked up a baby romper from the array of options she’d laid out on the table.
“I don’t know how to break this to you, babe, but you’re holding the team mascot.
” Imani smirked, barely blocking her expression with a glass of champagne.
“Even if you want to pretend your dad doesn’t run the team and you’re not getting lucky with you know who, that cutie’s earned you honorary status. ”
If I’d known they planned to gang up on me, I wouldn’t have let the pair of them into our suite.
Hazel giggled in my arms as Cleo danced a matching romper in front of her.
I pursed my lips, not even remotely swayed. “I’ll look like a groupie.”
Imani snorted and Cleo clucked at me disapprovingly.
“Correction,” Cleo said, flipping the t-shirt around with a flourish. “You’ll look like the world champion’s personal good luck charm.”
She held up the back: MICHAELS 7, bold and white across the shoulders.
My stomach dropped. Wearing his number felt like crossing a line I couldn’t uncross. Like admitting something I wasn’t ready to name. But the thought of standing in the paddock with his name on my back sent a thrill through me I couldn’t ignore.
“Don’t give me that look!” She tossed it onto the sofa near me. “You’re his person. You’re supposed to wear the merch.”
“I’m just the nanny. Nannies don’t wear the driver’s name like a brand.”
“Save the lies for people who don’t know you.” Imani set her glass down. “Besides, you’re making us look bad. We can’t have the team principal’s daughter refusing to play along.”
“Fine. Give me the t-shirt.” I reached out with my free hand. “But I’m drawing the line at the cap.”
“Deal.” Cleo handed over the t-shirt with a triumphant grin. “Now, about little miss...” She held the romper up again. “Do you want it, cutie?” Hazel reached for it. “See? She approves.”
“She’s grabbing at anything shiny. That’s not approval.”
Imani laughed. “Just think how cute she’ll look in the victory photos.”
“There won’t be victory photos. I’m staying well away from cameras, thank you very much.”
Cleo snorted. “Right, because you’re so forgettable. The gorgeous nanny with the world champion’s secret baby? No one would ever notice you.”
I glared at her, but my resolve was already crumbling. The romper was adorable, and Hazel would look impossibly cute in it. Plus, Griffin would get that soft, melty look he always got when Hazel wore anything related to racing.
Not that his opinion should factor into my decision-making. At all.
“Fine.” I sighed, handing Hazel to Cleo. “But no photos. I mean it. If I see either of you pull out a phone, I’m leaving.”
“So dramatic.” Imani rolled her eyes. “Now put the t-shirt on before you freeze to death.”
I replaced my t-shirt with the team one and pretended the lump in my throat had absolutely nothing to do with it.
It was ridiculously soft. I’d never admit it aloud, but it felt nice.
“Much better.” Cleo nodded approvingly. “Now for the baby makeover.”
She changed Hazel into the team romper, cooing over how adorable she looked. And she did look adorable.
“If she wasn’t already the paddock darling, she will be now.” Imani snapped a quick picture on her phone before I could protest. “For her baby book, calm down.”
“She doesn’t have a baby book.”
“Yet.” Cleo handed Hazel back to me. “Give it time. Griffin seems like the type to document everything once he gets the hang of fatherhood.”
The thought made my chest ache in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.
Griffin, carefully curating photos and memories, creating the childhood album he probably never had himself.
The kind of father who’d keep Hazel’s first drawings, build science fair projects with her, teach her to drive on empty country roads.
The kind of father I’d want for my own children.
I swallowed hard and adjusted Hazel’s romper. “The race starts in an hour. We should find our seats.”
“Smooth subject change.” Imani stood, straightening her dress. “Lead the way, Mrs. Michaels.”
“I will murder you.”
“Worth it.” She grinned, linking her arm through mine. “Now, where’s the alcohol in this place? If I’m going to pretend to understand car racing, I need more champagne.”
“This is... mad,” Cleo whispered, staring wide-eyed at the space before us. “Is it always this... full-on?”
She took in the high tables, the glossy buffet, the champagne towers. Outside the windows the main straight shimmered with heat.
I shrugged, scanning the crowd of sponsors, celebrities, and a few faces I half-recognized from glossy magazine spreads. “Depends on the race. Some tracks, you barely notice the people. Most of the US tracks are like this.”
Imani dropped into a velvet chair, already commandeering a glass of something sparkling. “If this is what you call work, I’ve been doing it wrong.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I tugged Hazel’s little socks straight, nerves prickling every time a new wave of guests swept in. “Most weekends, you’re lucky if they remember to feed you.”
Cleo eyed the massive video wall and the stack of timing screens. “So, what are we actually looking for?”
I pointed to the leaderboard, Griffin’s number three blinking in yellow. “That’s the grid. Stefano’s on pole, Nico Kraus’s P2, Sebastian Ritter’s P3, then my—” I caught myself, “—Griffin’s in fourth, and Callaghan’s starting in P10.”
“Jesse,” Imani muttered, mood darkening. “The one who nearly punted him off track yesterday?”
“That’s the one.” I kept my voice even, but my grip on Hazel tightened.
He’d qualified in P2 but the stewards handed him an eight-place grid drop for dangerous driving. I thought he deserved more of a punishment, honestly.
“He’s lucky he’s even racing,” I muttered.
Imani’s attention drifted to the balcony, where a cluster of VIPs pressed against the glass for the grid walk. “Is Griffin alright? After all that?”
I didn’t answer straight away. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur—team meetings, sponsor dinners, Griffin’s jaw clenched tight whenever anyone brought up Callaghan’s name.
“He’ll be fine once the race starts.”
A sudden burst of cheers drew our attention to the track. The drivers’ parade had started. Cleo rushed to the balcony for a better view.
From above, the cars looked almost delicate, lined up for the formation lap. Every seat was packed and the collective thrum of anticipation built as the grid filled.
Hazel squirmed, restless, so I bounced her gently and let the noise wash over us.
Imani leaned closer and whispered, “Are you alright?”
I swallowed, trying to force down the nervous energy I’d refused to acknowledge. “Ask me again when the checkered flag drops.”
Cleo returned, face flushed, waving a programme. “This is wild. I think I’ve seen three film stars and a minor royal already.”
“Welcome to the paddock club.” I tried to sound casual, but my stomach tightened as the lights on the gantry blinked on, one by one.
“I’m serious though. Isn’t that Prince Raffaele of Valmonta?”
I hummed in some semblance of agreement but I couldn’t look. Every instinct screamed at me to look for Griffin, even though I couldn’t see his helmet from here. My hands curled tighter around Hazel. The revs built. Everything in me stilled.
The lights went out.
Twenty cars shot forward, engines screaming, and the crowd leaped to its feet. Even in the VIP section, champagne flutes rattled on glass tables and the noise punched straight through my chest.
“Holy shit,” Cleo breathed, clutching Imani’s arm. “How do you watch this without having a heart attack?”
“Who says I don’t?” My eyes were glued to Griffin’s car as he slotted in behind Sebastian, gaining a position.
Hazel blinked, unimpressed. I envied her oblivion.
For the next hour, I bounced between explaining the basics—DRS, pit windows, why the tires mattered so much—and biting my tongue every time Griffin’s car showed up in a replay.
Hazel slept through most of it while Cleo and Imani leaned into the spectacle.
Imani shook her head, lips twitching. “You’re the calmest disaster I’ve ever seen, Vi.”
I shrugged, dragging my gaze back to the timing screen. Griffin was closing on Sebastian. Too close. My heart stuttered.
When he finally made a clean pass with none of the drama the commentators wanted, the VIP area erupted.
“That’s your boy!” Cleo nudged me.
“He’s not…”
She chuckled.
With fifteen laps to go, he closed in on Stefano.
“Is he going to try something stupid?” Imani asked, her voice low.
“He promised he wouldn’t,” I whispered.
Stefano defended aggressively, but Griffin was patient. He waited, probing for a weakness. Then, on the main straight, he pulled alongside. For a heart-stopping second, they were wheel-to-wheel, a hair’s breadth from disaster. Griffin held his line, executed a perfect pass, and claimed the lead.
The room exploded. I was on my feet, screaming inside. The move jostled Hazel awake but mercifully she didn’t scream the place down.
Cleo nudged me. “You can breathe now, you know.”
“Not until the checkered flag.”
Imani raised her glass. “To surviving ninety minutes of terror. For you, anyway.”
The final laps rushed by in silence, Hazel heavy on my chest, every muscle drawn tight. When Griffin crossed the line first, the stands exploded. Champagne everywhere, strangers hugging, Hazel blinking at the commotion.
Relief hit me so hard my knees felt weak. He was safe. He’d won.
“He did it!” Cleo hugged me from the side. “And you didn’t faint. I’m impressed.”
I laughed, letting the sound dissolve some of the tension. “Don’t tempt fate. There’s still the podium. And the interviews. And the endless sponsor photos.” I pressed Hazel’s hand to my lips, relief and something sharper fizzing through me. “He’s safe. That’s all that matters.”
Cleo squeezed my arm, eyes bright with mischief. “So, when do we get to meet the man himself?”
I smiled, but kept my eyes on the screen. “Let’s give him a minute. He’s got a victory to enjoy.”
“This is insanity,” Imani shouted over the noise, dodging a cameraman.
“Welcome to racing.”
Cleo nudged me, eyes shining. “You know you’re on every video screen right now, right?”
“I’ll survive.” I kept my gaze on the podium, on Griffin.
It was ridiculous, but I felt exposed wearing his name and number, like I’d wandered into a spotlight without meaning to.
The crowd roared as the drivers stepped onto the podiums. Stefano looked thunderous in second place. Then Griffin took his spot on the top, holding his trophy high, and the crowd’s roar just about deafened me.
As he scanned the celebrating crowd, his gaze snagged on mine. His attention dropped to my shirt and happy surprise flashed across his face. I shifted Hazel, covering my chest and his number. His lips curled, and I remembered we’d dressed Hazel for him too.
His gaze returned to mine and he swallowed, something raw and electric in his stare.
For a breath, the rest of the circuit faded.
It was just him, staring at me like I’d handed him the checkered flag myself.
Then the media mask slammed down. The easy smile, the practiced fist pump for the crowd.
“Holy shit,” Cleo whispered beside me. “He just had a full-on ‘my family is here’ moment.”
“He looked like he’d been run over by his own car,” Imani said, not bothering to hide her grin.
“He saw Hazel,” I said, but that wasn’t the truth and we all knew it.
I feigned ignorance while butterflies danced in my stomach. I gladly turned my attention to the stage as the champagne chaos began.
Champagne exploded, the winners drenching each other, the crowd shrieking as the spray flew. Hazel giggled, reaching for a streamer that drifted past.
Selene appeared at my elbow, clipboard still in hand but softer around the eyes than I’d ever seen her. “Best-dressed in the paddock,” she said, nodding at Hazel’s kit. “And you, Violet. Love the team spirit.”
I stared at her. “A few weeks ago, you’d have thrown me out for wearing this.”
She shrugged. “People can change. Or maybe you’re just hard to ignore.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
After the ceremony, the team swarmed him, carrying him toward the garage. In the crush, he ended up right in front of us, champagne dripping from his hair.
“Look who’s here!” a mechanic bellowed, clapping Griffin on the back. “The good luck charms!”
The team put him down and he reached for Hazel, his eyes soft. “Look at you in your race gear. Starting her early, are we?”
“She insisted,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor inside me.
He grinned, scooping her up and bouncing her as if the cameras didn’t exist. He kissed the top of her head, voice dropping conspiratorially.
“Told you I’d win, Hazelnut. Daddy doesn’t lose when his best girl’s in the crowd.” His eyes slid to me, smug as hell.
I rolled my eyes, unable to help the smile tugging at my lips.
He winked, lowering Hazel so she could gnaw on his medal. “She deserves a little showboating. First race in team kit and I win. She’s a proper talisman now.”
“She’s going to expect a trophy every time she puts this on,” I muttered, trying to be annoyed but failing.
His gaze dropped to my lips for half a second and he took a step closer to me, ducking his head. “The t-shirt suits you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.” His breath ghosted across my skin, voice pitched low and filthy. “I’m fucking you in that tonight.”
Before I could fire back any sort of response, Liam crashed into us, arms wide and shouting, totally oblivious to the gauntlet Griffin had just thrown at my feet,
“That was unreal, mate! You see the look on Stefano’s face when you took him? Beautiful!” He caught Hazel’s hand, shaking it solemnly. “Photo time! Get in, everyone!”
Without warning, Griffin’s arm looped around my waist, pulling me into the crush of mechanics and engineers, everyone crowding in for the cameras.
“No, no. I’m okay.” I twisted out of his grip, scooping Hazel back and slipping to the edge of the group.
Griffin didn’t argue, just nodded and smiled for the photographers.
I hovered on the periphery, watching the team close ranks around their champion. It felt like belonging and exile all at once, but I couldn’t risk us being photographed with him and then Julian losing his mind. We were already tempting fate.