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“Yeah. Like when I was thinking about a merch concept for women at the boutique? I felt like I could do it. And I would be happy. When I negotiated the clothing borrow for you, I enjoyed it. This could be a new career path for me.”

“I think you were on to something yesterday. I mean, simply going off the number of social media followers that we have who are women, they’d want the merch.”

“I think so, too. I’m going to ask for some logos from our merch team and take the pieces to an embroiderer to have prototypes made. And see where it can go from there.” I smile up at him. “But for now? I want to explore your wardrobe.”

“Go on. I’m ready,” he says.

“I’m going to just start running it and I can edit out anything,” I say as I go behind the tripod and hit the button to begin recording.

I walk back over to Mason and stand next to him in front of his open wardrobe. “Ready?” I ask.

“Go on.”

“Remember, I’m not Isla.”

“Oh, I’m well aware you’re not Isla.”

Goose bumps ripple my skin. Both from the way he’s gazing down at me and the way he said that sentence. I clear my throat. “Let’s start.”

Mason nods. “Ready.”

I look at my phone. “I’m here this afternoon in the Monaco home of Collings Motors driver Mason Clark, for one very particular reason. To snoop inside his wardrobe.”

“Unprecedented access,” he quips. “As you can see, it’s small. No walk-in dressing area here.”

“How much am I allowed to snoop?” I tease.

“Wherever you want.”

I begin by flicking through his shirts on the top rail. “Your paddock fashion is a classic T-shirt and jeans, isn’t it? Or a jumper if it’s a cold climate.”

“No, no, let’s be honest now,” Mason says, moving next to me and sliding open one of his drawers. “I accessorise. I have an insane collection of trainers, you know. And I also love jewellery.”

I look inside and see his black leather bracelets and black and silver necklaces carefully laid out in the drawer. Mason holds up some of the bracelets. “I like men’s jewellery. Give me your arm.”

I laugh. “This raises so many questions.”

“I think it’s a pretty straightforward request.”

“Well, yes, but I can’t just give you my arm. That would require surgical extraction.”

“You’re way too literal.”

“To further the point, once you have possession of my arm, what would you do with it? It’s kind of an odd thing to collect. Very macabre.”

An exasperated groan escapes his lips, but I notice the corners of his mouth are trying to pull up into a smile. “Let me see your hand, please.”

I don’t know what has gotten over me, but I wave my hand in front of his face. “Now you see it!”

He bursts out laughing. “Okay, enough, Catherine!” To my surprise, Mason grabs my hand. I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist. He slides his black leather bracelets over my hand, his thumb slowly dragging underneath them to hold them in place against my wrist.

Something is shifting between us. It’s seismic and unsettling and sends hope rushing through me.

I don’t even look down at my arm to see his jewellery on my body. His thumb continues to drag along the underside of my wrist, his rough skin against mine, his fingers warm and firm as they hold his bracelets in place. I lift my gaze and his eyes instantly meet mine.

“I know your perfume smells like oranges and sunshine,” he blurts out. “I know you start your morning with an Earl Grey latte or coffee with oat milk.”

“What?” I ask, stunned.