Felix takes position beside us, his hand joining ours. "For the photographers," he explains with media-trained precision.
"Three, two, one!" Belforte counts down, and together, we cut the ribbon.
Camera flashes explode around us as the crowd applauds. Belforte wraps us all in a group hug that lifts me partially off my feet.
"My boys!" he declares proudly. "My champions!"
Felix leans in close to my ear. "Is it just me, or does he sound like he's adopting us?"
"Better than being collected like trophies," I whisper back.
EJ, somehow caught in the middle of Belforte's embrace, makes a strangled sound that's half laugh, half plea for oxygen.
"Smile, rookie," I tell him through gritted teeth. "This is the easy part of the job."
As Belforte finally releases us to thunderous applause, a strange warmth that has nothing to do with the whiskey or the lights floods my chest. This team—this weird, mismatched collection of people—has become something I never expected.
Family.
The crystal tumbler is heavy in my hand as I swirl the last of my whiskey, watching EJ and Felix debate different racing lines through Singapore's street circuit. Belforte's booming laugh punctuates their discussion as he recounts some story to Oliver that involves excessive hand gestures and at least three differentaccents. Under normal circumstances, I'd be right in the middle of it all, but tonight, my mind is elsewhere—room 604, specifically, where Violet is probably reviewing data or finalizing strategy notes. The thought of her, alone and working while we socialize, makes my decision easy.
"Gentlemen," I announce, setting down my empty glass. "It's been a pleasure, but I'm calling it a night."
Felix raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Give Violet our best," he says, not even pretending to believe my excuse.
EJ blushes slightly—still not entirely comfortable with the open acknowledgment of my relationship with our Team Principal—but raises his glass in farewell.
The elevator seems deliberately slow, each floor marked by the steady illumination of numbers that refuse to hurry despite my impatience. When it finally deposits me on the sixth floor, I walk the plush corridor with quickening steps, counting down room numbers until I reach 604.
I hesitate for just a second, my hand poised to knock, suddenly aware of the small weight in my trouser pocket. The box I've carried since London feels simultaneously heavier and more fragile than it should.
I knock three times, soft but deliberate.
The door opens, and everything else falls away. Violet stands before me in hotel-provided slippers, and a silk robe over comfortable clothes, curly hair down around her shoulders the way almost no one gets to see it. Her face, free of makeup, looks softer in the warm light of the room, more vulnerable than the paddock version of herself she presents to the world.
"Hi," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathless just from the sight of her.
Her lips curve into that smile—the one that started as a rare gift and has slowly become my daily sustenance. "Hey. How was the—"
I don't let her finish, crossing the threshold and capturing her lips with mine, one hand cradling her face while the other pulls her against me. She makes a small sound of surprise that quickly transforms into a moan as she melts into the kiss, her arms wrapping around my waist.
This—this is what I've been waiting for all day. Not the fancy party or the sponsor obligations or even the camaraderie with the team. Just this: Violet in my arms, solid and real and mine. The smell of her shampoo, the softness of her skin, the perfect way we fit together like puzzle pieces finally finding their match.
When we break apart, I don't go far, just enough to rest my forehead against hers. "Missed you."
She laughs softly. "It's been six hours."
"Six hours too long," I murmur, pressing another quick kiss to her lips before reluctantly stepping back.
I shrug off Mom's knitted jacket, draping it carefully over a chair before turning back to Violet. Her eyebrows raise slightly as I reach into my pocket.
"What's that look for?" she asks, a hint of suspicion coloring her voice.
I pull out the small velvet box, holding it between us. "For you."
Her eyes widen, darting between my face and the box with sudden alarm. "William..."
"Relax." I laugh, understanding her panic. "It's notthatkind of box. Not yet, anyway." I add the last part with a wink, enjoying the copper that blooms across her cheeks.
