Page 104 of First in Line

“Indeed, I won’t.” He looks at me for a moment, still dazzled by my presence here. “You’re here for him, aren’t you?”

“Yes, he… he invited me. And only a fool would say no to a week in the French Riviera.”

“One of the most romantic places on Earth, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s not—we’re not—This is a trip between two old friends, nothing more.”

“Right… Well, allow me to introduce you to my wife. She might remember you from when I told her about our peculiar encounter.”

He doesn’t wait for my answer, turning around before walking away. After one last look at the track, I join him.

His wife is in her late sixties, like him, and while I look like I don’t belong, she’s the opposite. This is her territory, her people. She’s practically the blueprint with her Chanel dress, elegant gold jewelry, and perfectly blow-dried long bob.

When we reach her, Mr. Pryce rests a hand on her lower back, claiming her attention away from her friends with, “Darling, this is Evangeline Reyes.”

“Gillian. Evangeline Gillian,” I explain, extending my hand to shake hers.

“Not Reyes?” Mr. Pryce wonders.

“No, I changed it after I left.”

“I see.” Turning to his wife, he says, “Well, Miss Gillian here was once married to Jackson. She’s the one who threw the binder at me, remember? I told you about her.”

“Oh, right!” Jesus, even the way she laughs sounds rich. “I heard about you for days. I’m Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Eliza. Why have I never met you before?”

“I left all this before Jackson made it to Formula One.”

“Terrible timing, by the way,” her husband cuts in. “One more year and you would have experienced all this.”

“It was better that way. I’ve come to learn that money buys comfort, not happiness.” The way they look at me as if I’d just spoken in a foreign language almost makes me smile, but I hold back.

“Well, you’re here now,” Eliza says. “And you twomustjoin us for dinner on the yacht this evening. To celebrate today’s win.”

“Oh, I—I’ll have to check with Jax. We’re not together. This is—”

“In fact, you know what we should do, my love?” she interrupts me, turning to her husband. “They should join us on our journey to Spain. There’s enough room for them and the Hendricksons. Some friends who are staying with us this summer,” she explains to me. “Wouldn’t it be brilliant? We would all have so much fun, don’t you agree, Wes?”

Her husband has completely tuned out of the conversation, his eyes on the wall-mounted large TV, eyebrows twisted with a mix of worry and disbelief.

Curious to see what’s going on, I turn to look at the live footage playing on it.

“What an incredible overtake!” the commentator practically shouts. “Only two laps until the finish line, and Vollenweider from Mercedes has taken the lead from Reyes!”

The images confirm the man’s words, and we all stare at the silver car, now a few lengths ahead of Jackson’s.

“Who would have thought there was still hope for another team to win this race?” the commentator continues. “After Reyes’ dominance this season and his track record here in Monaco, not many would have predicted this twist. But look at Vollenweider, already pulling away from the Altron driver.”

Mr. Pryce pulls his phone out of his jacket’s inside pocket and calls someone on speed dial. “What’s happening?!” he barks into it as soon as the call connects. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Aware he must be talking to someone from the paddock below us, I return my focus to the screen. What is happening, indeed? Jackson spent most of the race in the lead, quickly regaining track position after each of his pit stops. And now, so close to the end, he’s losing it?

“And Reyes needs to be careful here because von Ranzow from Red Bull Racing is right on his gearbox,” the commentator adds. “With only one lap remaining, can the championship leader hold on to second place, or will he drop to third?”

Everyone around us is as absorbed as we are by what’s unfolding on the screen. The race’s stakes have just shifted, and the winner we were all expecting might not make it after all. Because of the narrow track, overtaking is rare here in Monaco. Yet we are, it seems, about to witness it not just once, but twice.

When the Red Bull car finds its way past Jackson halfway into the last lap, Mr. Pryce slaps his forehead, an aghast expression plastered on his face. “What the fuck is happening?” he shouts into his phone.

“I can’t believe this!” the commentator shrieks. “We are about to see Reyes lose his first race of the season! The man who once claimed to know this circuit better than his own driveway is now down to third!”