My alarm vibrates, alerting me that it’s truly time to get on with my day. I’m not sure I’ve ever used the snooze feature on my phone, but the pull is strong. I’ve been up for a few hours already, checking emails, working out, and running a few errands ahead of what promises to be the start of a grueling week.
But Evangeline is still sleeping, and I couldn’t resist crawling into bed before my breakfast meeting to savor a few extra minutes with her in my arms.
I picked up coffee and fresh pastries and plucked a single Mister Lincoln rose and left it in a vase on the island for her to find when she wakes.
It’s official. I’ve deeply and irrevocably fallen for this woman. She’s what I want. She’sallI want. Above all my career aspirations and desires to win, I want to be with her, now and forever.
I’ve never felt so detached from the demands of my job or the dreams I’ve been chasing my whole life. I still care—quite a bit, actually—but for once, I care more about something else.
With a featherlight kiss to the top of Evangeline’s head, I reluctantly peel myself out of bed and get on with my day.
Leslie requested a check-in this morning, which is typical for us after a break. She flew in last night. We’re meeting for coffee and a catch-up session away from the motorhome. I suggested the same café Evangeline is so keen on, and if I don’t leave this second, I’ll be late.
It takes a bit of hustling, but I make it on time and find Leslie set up near the picture window.
I circle the table, greeting my colleague and friend. “Hard at work already, I see.”
Leslie lifts her head, hitting me with a frown.
Her expression causes my stomach to sink. “What’s going on? Is everything okay at home?” I ask as I take a seat. She spent the last week in London with her family. Surely if there was a problem she would have reached out.
“I’ll just come out with it,” she says. “We have an issue, Ric. One we need to deal with head-on.”
I sit up straighter, instantly on high alert.
“Is there anything personal you need to share with me?” she asks.
This must be about Luca. Sighing, I pinch my nose and shake my head. “I’m handling it. Or at least trying to.” My son certainly isn’t making any of this easy.
Leslie’s face twists in distress. “So what do you intend to do about her?”
I bristle. “Her? What are we actually talking about here?”
My second-in-command sighs, lips pursed tightly as she side-eyes me.
“Evangeline Bennett traveled with the team on your private jet last week.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “She did,” I confirm. There’s no point denying it.
“Logic dictates that she’s been in Monaco for a week. But her room reservation doesn’t start until today. On its own, that isn’t a big deal.” Except her stern expression says otherwise. “But then I heard rumors about yesterday’s media event. I couldn’t find any footage of Luca’s rant, but I did find this.”
She turns her phone around, showing me a screenshot of Evangeline and me seated on the couch during yesterday’s media event.
I stifle my reaction, not allowing the pleasure to rise to the surface as I drink us in. We look good together. Natural. Like we belong side by side.
With a frustrated huff, Leslie snatches the device, zooms in, and turns it around once more.
And there it is.
Evangeline is speaking, her face bright, her attention focused across the stage, probably on her sister or the moderator. But it’s the look on my face—the beaming, brilliant smile I’m not even trying to hide as I stare at her—that must be telling enough to warrant Leslie’s concern.
With a steadying breath, I lock eyes with my second-in-command.
“You have nothing to worry about. My son was out of line yesterday,” I start. “But we’ve got it under control. His outburst and wrongful accusations won’t be shared.”
The Formula 1 communications team took swift action, issuing a clear directive to all media personnel to exclude Luca’s outburst from both written and digital articles. Defying those orders could result in losing access to future events. That’s not to say something won’t leak, and truthfully, it’s practically a guarantee with the insidious rumor mill that fuels this sport, but for now, there’s no immediate blowback on him, me, Granata, or Evangeline.
Leslie stares back at me, deadpan.
