Chapter 28
Heritage. Memories. Home.
Violet
The elevator doors slide open to reveal an entire floor of Belforte's Resort in Jeddah, transformed into our private oasis. A scent of mixed spices fills the air—cardamom, cinnamon, cumin—that remind me of childhood dinners when Mom would spend hours in the kitchen.
Team members pour out of the elevators behind me, their voices mixing in a blend of exhaustion and celebration. P7 for William and P11 for EJ might not sound impressive to outsiders, but for us—for Colton Racing—it's another step forward, another day proving we belong here. After all, Jeddah is one of the most claustrophobic tracks on the calendar.
Blake appears at my side, his weathered face lined with satisfaction. "Decent result, all things considered."
"That safety car was brutal timing for EJ," I say, watching our youngest driver stride into the room ahead of us, already gesturing animatedly to Maya. "His pace was incredible before that."
"Still got points with William," Blake reminds me. "That's four points finishes in five races now."
I nod, allowing myself to enjoy the small victory. Consistency building. Momentum growing. Small steps that, together, create something bigger.
Belforte greets us at a massive round table in the center of the room, arms spread wide like he's welcoming us to his kingdom. Which, I suppose, he is. The hotel bears his name, after all.
"For my favorite team," he announces, "the best table in the house!"
I slide into the curved sofa that forms half the seating area, Blake settling to my left. Felix drops into the spot beyond Blake, looking unusually relaxed in a simple linen shirt, his usually perfect blond hair slightly tousled. Across from us, Tom, Maya, and Johnson take their seats, followed by Belforte himself and EJ, completing our circle.
Something in my chest warms and melts when William enters the room. He's changed since the race—now wearing a loose linen shirt and shorts that show off his tanned, newly tattooed thighs. His hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the edges. He slides into the empty space to my right, his thigh pressing against mine in a way that feels both accidental and deliberate.
"Sorry I'm late," he says to the table, but his eyes find mine. "Got caught by some fans on the way up."
EJ leans forward, elbows on the table. "Wait, is this all Arabic food?" he asks, eyeing the menus a staff member has just distributed. "I've never actually tried it."
Belforte's face lights up with mock outrage. "Never? This is a tragedy we must correct immediately!" He claps a hand on EJ's shoulder. "Tonight, we have a mix of Saudi and Egyptian dishes. You're going to love it."
"To celebrate our queen here," Belforte adds with a theatrical flourish in my direction.
Heat rises to my face. I hate blushing. How Belforte found exactly how to trigger it is still a mystery.
"Indeed," William murmurs beside me, his voice lowering to a whisper. "A queen."
I turn to give him a look—half warning, half something else—and freeze. The scent hits me first, something new and unexpected. Not his usual cologne but something sweeter, warmer, with notes of vanilla and amber. It's intoxicating. I inhale again, trying to be subtle but failing miserably.
William notices.Of course he notices.His lips curl into that infuriating smirk that makes my heart beat faster. He leans closer, his mouth near my ear.
"Do you like sweets?" he whispers, and the double meaning isn't lost on me.
I push him away playfully, hoping my burning cheeks aren't as visible as they feel. "Behave yourself," I mutter, but there's no real admonishment in my tone.
His laugh is low, shared only with me despite our public setting. I focus intently on the menu, though the words blur before my eyes. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lean into him, to not rest my head on his shoulder or—worse—grab his stupidly handsome face and kiss that smirk off his lips. We're in public. With the team. With our family.
And that's what they've become, I realize, looking around the table.Our family.Blake, with his paternal wisdom. Belforte, the eccentric uncle no one talks about but everyone loves. Felix, the cool older cousin. EJ, the enthusiastic younger brother. Maya, Johnson, Tom—all essential pieces of this strange, beautiful puzzle we've assembled.
"So," Tom says, breaking into my thoughts, "that strategy we tried with the hard compounds—"
"Oh no," Maya interrupts, wagging a finger. "No race talk for at least thirty minutes. I need food and at least one drink before we dissect what went wrong."
"Nothing went wrong," Johnson corrects her. "We adapted to circumstances. The safety car was just bad timing."
"Still should've pitted EJ earlier," Tom mutters.
"Hey!" EJ protests. "I'm right here."
