“She didn’t mention you, either, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say with a smile.
He frowns. Second worse fear: his ex has moved on. “Great.”
We’ve reached the back walkway to the “staff-only” area of the paddock. From here, Bernard can meander his way by the brand activations and staffers and guided tours, to the Leone Racing garages. This is the last stop on our ride.
“Bernard.”
Exhaling, he stops in place, looking my way. “Cat.”
“I really did want to talk about something with you—before the race.”
He nods. Once, then twice. “I did, too,” he says with utter determination.
I pause, surprised by the fire in his tone. “Okay,” I say slowly. Too late for it now. Always, but particularly now. With a deep breath, I reach back to my rehearsed spiel, words I’ve said a thousand times before. I’m sorry. It’s over. Goodbye. You do kind of suck. I’m so good at this, and I guess Faust was right. I like to design memories, though as a heartbreaker, they’re bad ones.
“Bernard,” I repeat, glancing cautiously at the camera crew behind him. It isn’t Lilah and the documentary, thank God, but some country’s paddock broadcast. I lower my voice. “We’ve had such a special time these last two months…”
A strange smile crosses his lips, surprised but relieved. “I know.”
“Because what are the odds we’d meet, right?”
He laughs, more relieved. “I know.”
“That’s why—”
“No, let me,” he murmurs.
Then, Bernard does something I’ve never seen before.
He takes my hand and drops down on one knee.
Time slows down and with it, so do sounds. I watch Bernard’s lips move before his words can register—“Cat, we’re clearly meant to be together. I’ve known it since I first saw you, standing by that track in England, smiling at me. All my values, what I want in life, you want those things, too. It’s like we’re the same person. And thinking about how I hurt you these past few weeks—Cat Cromwell, the most perfect woman—it just destroyed me. That’s how I know you’re the one for me. That everything and everyone has been leading me to you.” I see him pulling out a large, Grace Kelly–style engagement ring from a velvet box before I hear the sounds of the camera crew swinging my way, the paddock stoppingin its tracks around me like it’s a goddamn river and I’m a truck of cement.
“Ms. Cat Cromwell,” Bernard says, loud enough for the cameras to hear him. “Will you marry me?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Whirling, though nothing comes out. I have no idea what to say, and yet time isn’t going slow anymore. Suddenly, it’s fast. And it’s hot, and there are people watching around the world, and my beaded dress is weighing too heavy on my chest, the hemline pressing into my thighs, and Imogen was right—completely predictable. And every second that I don’t answer is another second where this is happening. Bernard is proposing to me.
Holy shit.
I take a wobbly step back on very wobbly feet. “Um. That’s—thank you, Bernard, but—we’ve only known each other for… for a few months, really.”
This isn’t what I should be saying. This is when I should be flexing my true bite. Going for the kill. People are literally watching, there is a cameraman broadcasting this. I can tell Bernard off. I should be telling Bernard off.You partner with companies that break people’s lives. You lost your best friend and outed his private medical information because you’d rather burn a bridge than face the truth. You’re proposing to a woman who ran away the one time you tried to kiss her.
You’re a billionaire, and the real world hates you, just outside those Paddock Club gates.
But I’m still working on swallowing. Breathing, too. And when Bernard’s eyebrows start to pinch in anxious confusion, my eyes swing up to the far-off exit to make a break for it.
Only the exit isn’t empty.
There’s a man standing there.
Two, actually. And a girl.
Water starts rushing against my eardrums as I register the shape of the shoulders in the backlit doorway—broad, tall, wavy hair—and then the roar is deafening, threatening to drag me under. Because that’s Faust. Faust is here. Watching.
And so is my dad. And so is my sister Maisie.
My lower back hits a low walkway railing behind me with a painful throb.
