Their bickering continues, comfortable and familiar. I begin to relax, the tension of the race weekend slowly uncoiling from my shoulders. The legal and PR teams already have the recording I made of Dominic. They're preparing a strategic release to counter the negative press surrounding William and me. It's not over—far from it—but for the first time in months, we've regained control of the narrative.
William finds my hand under the table, his fingers hooking around mine in a gesture so simple yet so intimate, it makes my breath catch.
I should pull away.I don't.
"You good?" he asks quietly, his eyes searching mine.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak in this moment. Iamgood. Better than I've been in days. The team performed well despite challenges. The recording gives us leverage against Dominic. And William is here, beside me.
"Better than good," I finally say.
His answering smile is soft, genuine, lacking the teasing edge from before. For a moment, it's just us—the noise of the room fading away, the presence of others temporarily forgotten.
Then Blake nudges my other side. "You want Saudi Champagne or are you sticking with mint tea tonight?"
The moment breaks. William's fingers stay linked with mine as I turn to answer Blake, but reality reasserts itself. "I’m sticking to mint tea."
The double doors to our private dining area swing open, and the scent hits me first—rich, complex, immediately transporting. Servers glide toward our table bearing large platters that send my heart racing with recognition.Kosharywith its layered rice, lentils, and pasta.Molokheya, deep green and aromatic. Stuffed vine leaves glistening with olive oil. Crisp falafel. Fluffybaladibread. My Mom's kitchen materializes in my memory so vividly, I almost expect to see her standing there, wooden spoon in hand, shooing me away from sampling before dinner. I blink my eyes a bit too fast to hold in the tears threatening to spill.
"Oh my god," I breathe, sitting up straighter as the servers arrange the feast before us.
Blake notices my reaction and smiles. "Someone's excited."
"Of course I'm excited!" I say, unable to contain the childlike enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "I haven't had proper Egyptian food since..." I trail off, hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Well, since my Mom passed away. She used to cook feasts like this."
The words bring a bittersweet ache. I rarely talk about my Mom—it's always easier to discuss Dad, whose legacy surrounds me daily at Colton Racing. But these dishes, these smells... They're hers. And I miss her a lot.
"This looks incredible," Felix says, leaning forward to inspect the colorful array. "When I was racing in Abu Dhabi years ago, I found this tiny restaurant off the main streets. Went back every night of the race weekend."
"Did you win that race?" EJ asks.
Felix grins. "By twelve seconds and spent the whole race thinking about their falafel."
"Food is power," Belforte declares, already reaching for the bread. "Especially food that reminds us of home."
William has been quiet beside me, but I sense his attention shift. He leans closer, his shoulder pressing against mine, bringing with it that new, sweet scent that's been driving me crazy all evening.
"What would you recommend?" he asks softly, his breath warm against my ear. "I've had Middle Eastern and North African food before but never specifically Egyptian."
I turn to answer him and find his face millimeters from mine. Our noses almost touch. His eyes, hazel flecked with gold in this light, drop briefly to my lips before returning to meet my gaze. The world narrows to just us, just this moment, just the microscopic space between our faces.
"I—" My voice catches.So close. Too close. Not close enough.
A smile plays at the corners of his mouth—that infuriating, perfect smile that says he knows exactly what he's doing to me, and what I want to do to him. He doesn't move away.
"You were saying?" he prompts, voice deliberately low.
Heat rushes to my face. I place my hand against his chest and push him back playfully, creating a safer distance between us. "You're impossible," I whisper.
His laugh is soft, intimate, with a playful edge. "Just curious about the food."
"Start withkoshary," I say, gesturing to the dish nearest him. "It's our national comfort food. Rice, pasta, lentils, chickpeas, fried onions, and this spicy tomato sauce that'll knock your socks off."
"Pasta and rice together?" He raises an eyebrow. "That's carb-on-carb crime."
"Trust me," I say. "This breaks all the rules in the best possible way."
William reaches for the serving spoon, deliberately brushing his fingers against mine as I reach for the same dish. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm.
