Yet she's still here. Still choosing me. And she’s my girlfriend. I still can’t believe it.
The realization sends a flush of warmth through my chest that has nothing to do with the perfect July temperature. I close the fridge and move to the windows, looking out at my property. The grass stretches green and lush toward distant trees, the sky above an impossible blue with just a few cotton-ball clouds. Even the weather is cooperating with my plans for our week together.
"Perfect," I murmur, running my hand along the spotless kitchen counter.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A message from Violet:
On my way. Traffic good. ETA 30 min.
I grin at the screen like an idiot. Three simple sentences, yet they make my heart rate spike. I type back with my left thumb:
Drive safe. Door's open.Then, after a second's hesitation:Miss you.
Three weeks ago, lying in that hospital bed, I wasn't sure I'd ever race again, because I was in rough shape. The doctors were encouraging but realistic about the extent of my injuries. The team brought in Felix as my replacement for the remaining races before the summer break, and he's done brilliantly. Silverstone is coming up—my favorite circuit, my home race—and I'll be watching from the sidelines. It should devastate me. Some days, it does.
But right now, all I can think about is Violet spending seven uninterrupted days here, in my space. With me.
I check my watch. Twenty minutes until she arrives. I head back to the kitchen to pour water into the kettle—Violet will want mint tea after her drive. As I reach for cups with my good hand, I catch sight of myself in the reflective surface of the refrigerator. Hair slightly too long, beard neatly trimmed this morning, eyes bright with anticipation. I look healthy. Happy.
The distant crunch of tires on gravel makes my heart leap. I move to the window, catching sight of her icy blue Porsche Taycan coming up the drive, the automatic gates swinging opento admit her. She's early—of course she is; punctuality borders on religion for Violet.
I can't stop the smile spreading across my face, or the sudden acceleration of my pulse. She's here. Finally here.
And I already know exactly how I want to welcome her home.
I move quickly, positioning myself against the wall where she won't immediately see me when she enters. My heart beats faster with childish excitement at the thought of surprising her. The front door opens with a soft click, followed by the sound of her heels on the hardwood, and the gentle thud of her bag being set down. I wait until the door closes behind her, then slip forward on silent feet, wrapping my left arm around her waist and pulling her back against my chest. She startles for a fraction of a second before melting against me, her body instantly recognizing mine.
"Gotcha," I murmur against her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. I place my lips on the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she shivers against me.
"Ambushing a woman the moment she walks in?" Violet's voice is warm with amusement. "Very mature, Foster."
I tighten my arm around her waist, nuzzling deeper into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. "You love it."
She doesn't deny it, just covers my hand with hers and leans back further into my embrace. For a moment we just stand there, connected, my front to her back, heartbeats syncing. It feels like we’re resetting and then getting into our rhythm. These quiet moments of physical closeness have become more precious the more time passes.
"How did it go?" I ask finally, reluctantly releasing her so she can turn to face me. "The trial?"
Violet's expression shifts subtly, a mixture of satisfaction and lingering frustration crossing her features as she meets my eyes."We won. The court ruled that Dominic violated privacy laws when he leaked those photos."
"That's fantastic!" I take her hand, squeezing gently. "So they're throwing him in prison? Banning him from F1? Public flogging at the next race?"
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Not quite so dramatic. He has to pay a fine."
"How much?"
"Two hundred thousand euros."
I blink, then burst out laughing. "Two hundred thousand? Exactly the same amount the FIA fined you for rearranging his face?"
"Precisely." Violet's smile widens into something more genuine. "The universe has a strange sense of humor."
"Or perfect justice," I counter, pulling her closer again. "So what you're saying is that hitting Dominic effectively cost you nothing."
"A free beating," Violet agrees, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Though I wouldn't call it free just yet."
My eyebrows raise in question. "What do you mean?"
"Dominic is suing me personally for the paddock incident and leaking part of the conversation, because of course he is." She sighs, some of the light leaving her expression. "I spent the morning with my lawyer at their office trying to work out terms for a settlement outside of court."
