Page 101 of Full Throttle

His voice sounded off. Unsurprising, Juliette thought, considering how their last conversation went. She’d sent him a series of text messages, but all of them had gone unopened. “Look, Cap, if I’d known about the sponsorship thing—”

“I need a refill,” Cap said abruptly. “Want anything?”

“No.” She paused, glancing at Anthony, who was emerging from the staircase. “But can we please just—”

But her brother was already gone.

Juliette shivered, rubbing her bare arms. A hand caught her shoulder. Cap, she thought with relief, half turning. She knew he’d come back.

“Are you all right?” Dominic asked.

He looked slightly breathless, as if he’d pushed through the crowd to reach her. Goosebumps erupted from where his fingers brushed skin, and Juliette shrugged him off. “Fine.”

The relief was trickling away, replaced by cold dread. Dominic searched her face. “You look…”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “Is this about the other night?”

Juliette’s voice came out more clipped than she’d intended. “Believe it or not, Hastings, not everything is about you.”

Dominic stilled. The bored amusement was back, shrugged on like a coat. “And what a pity that is. I find myself endlessly fascinating.” He tipped his drink. “Congratulations on your win. I’ll let you enjoy the evening.”

He disappeared into the crowd.

Juliette exhaled. Guilt settled in her chest, alongside something else. She could still feel the ghost of Dominic’s touch on her shoulder. Had she ever really thought that it was Cap? She knew the rhythm of Dominic’s footsteps, the exact way that his mouth curved around words, as if they were ripe strawberries held between his teeth. It felt impossible that she could mistake him for anyone else.

Even so.

They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything.

Better that she reminded both of them.

Juliette pushed through the crowd. Liêm was holding court by the food, waving his hands as he recounted the usual I-was-almost-burned-alive-at-the-Australian-Grand-Prix story. Juliette could have recited it by heart now, although somehow the car always got smaller, and the flames grew inexplicably bigger. She thought about joining him before she caught a glimpse of Dominic in the crowd.

Never mind.

She scanned the rooftop. Anthony leaned against the bar, and he smirked as she passed, tipping his champagne glass. Her pulse picked up. She felt oddly disoriented, a ship turned around in foggy waters. She needed a port. She needed somewhere safe. That had always been Cap and Baz, but Baz was at the hotel looking after Clyde, and Cap apparently wasn’t speaking to her.

If only she could find him and explain.

She turned for the clump of artificial trees wreathed in fairy lights. A seating area, she realized, drawing closer; it was half concealed by a partition. She was about to push past it when she heard a loud German accent. Frederick Von Galen.

“Just have a cigarette,” Frederick was saying. “For god’s sake. One won’t kill you.”

And then, a second voice: “I don’t smoke.”

Juliette paused. That was Capulet. Why the hell was her brother here? He didn’t even like Frederick Von Galen.

“Take it,” Frederick said. “Don’t be a pussy.”

There was a pause.

“Fuck it,” Cap muttered.

There was the sound of a lighter being flicked. Overhead, the sky gave a distant rumble. Leaves scattered across the terrace. Juliette pressed closer to the partition, her heart racing. A terrible foreboding crept over her. She ought to leave. But she couldn’t bring herself to go, especially given Frederick’s next words.

“Your sister did well today.”