William pulls back first, his breathing ragged. He rests his forehead against mine, a smile playing on his lips before he kisses me once more—a soft press to my mouth, then my forehead.
"I'm glad we got this moment," he says, voice husky. "Even if it's brief. To be ourselves. To be with each other."
He steps back, reluctantly dropping his hands from my waist. The loss of contact leaves me cold, adrift. But then his hand is at my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
"I love you," he says simply, firmly. "And I'm proud about it. I want you to know that."
The words hit me deeply—beautiful and devastating. I open my mouth, not sure what will come out, when the sound of voices in the corridor breaks the moment. Blake's louder-than-necessary laugh, EJ's animated response—Blake's way of warning us they're returning.
William and I move apart as if by unspoken agreement, settling on opposite ends of the sofa just as the door swings open. Blake enters first, his knowing eyes darting between us, taking in our flushed faces and odd distance.
"We're back!" EJ announces, arms full of small plush toys. "Blake is amazing at the crane game. He won all of these!"
Blake shrugs, the picture of modesty. "It's all about timing."
Indeed, it’s all about timing. And ours is off.
Chapter 23
Mobbing and planning
William
The sliding doors at Jeddah International part with a soft hiss. The last couple of days have been crazy. After a good result in Suzuka and some time in karaoke, we’re now in Saudi Arabia. I step through the doors, rolling neck muscles tight from the flight, and freeze. A wall of bodies blocks the exit—phones raised, cameras flashing, voices merging into a single, hungry roar. James bumps into me from behind, his hand immediately finding my shoulder.
"What the—" he starts, but his words vanish beneath the surge as the crowd recognizes me. They rush forward like a wave breaking against rock, and suddenly, I'm drowning in questions, accusations, and demands.
This isn't normal.
This isn't right.
Something's happened.
"William! Are you sleeping with your boss?"
"Foster! How long have you and Violet Colton been involved?"
The words come out of nowhere. My stomach sinks on the spot. I blink against the camera flashes, trying to process what's happening. I tighten my grip around the handle of my carry-on. I've never been mobbed at an airport before—not once in my career. Some attention, sure. A few selfies, an occasional autograph. Not this frenzy. I’m not famous. Hardly in the spotlight as a driver.
A girl with purple hair pushes to the front, her face contorted in rage. "How could you sleep with the devil? She's manipulating you!"
The devil? That's a new one.My internal response is immediate: Violet's not the devil. But even if she were, I'd follow her to hell and back. I bet the music there is amazing, too. The thought flares hot and protective in my chest.
James steps closer, a solid presence at my back. "Keep moving," he mutters, his hand still on my shoulder. "Don't stop."
I nod, forcing my legs to carry me forward. The crowd parts reluctantly, phones still thrust in my face. I catch fragments of their comments, each one more invasive than the last.
"William, we love you! You deserve better than her—"
"Did she threaten your contract if you didn't—"
"My brother says you're just using her to secure—"
These people don't know me. They don't know Violet. Yet they speak with the casual confidence of old friends, as if they have any right to an opinion about my life, my choices, my heart. It makes my skin crawl.
James walks slightly ahead now, creating a narrow path. His attention splits between clearing our way and scrolling frantically through his phone. His expression darkens with each swipe. People keep bumping into me, pushing and pulling.
"James," I mutter, dodging another microphone thrust at my face. "What the hell is happening?"
