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“Right, right—sorry ’bout that, honeybee.” Sage’s attention shifts back to me. “Got your grafting boots on, Franky-boy? I believe”—her voice stretches into something with a twang of the American South—“y’all said somethin’ about sweet-talkin’ me.”

I’m dismayed that Sage is alluding to possible negotiations in front of a reporter.

At this stage, such deliberations should be scrupulously discreet.

Even within the Emerald team, no one is aware I’ve made overtures to Miss Sikora about taking our second seat when Jakob Hahn’s contract is up.

Jakob himself doesn’t know, and it would be a disastrous blow to his morale if he found out.

His confidence has already incurred damage from finishing so far behind Cosmin in the points.

I know my response to Sage may present as petulant return fire to Natalia; my jealousy regarding her evening plans couldn’t be more embarrassingly clear. Still, the flirtatious misdirection serves the interest of camouflaging business negotiations.

“Shall we seek out a quieter spot?” I lay a hand over Sage’s on my arm.

“Hell yeah. I only crashed the party to see you.”

My smile mirrors hers. I look up, offering a curt nod to Natalia in parting. “Reece will be in contact about the article. Enjoy your evening.”

“Oh, always,” she replies airily.

Sage tugs my arm, turning with a small hop and pulling me toward the doors, energetic as a child.

As we exit the banquet room, she gives my forearm a hearty pat before releasing me.

“They say ‘If all you have is a hammer, everything’s a nail,’ but I know you’re better than that, Franke,” she scolds with amusement.

“Jealousy’s an unsubtle tool. Using me to get under that woman’s skin? Not cool.”

“Was it so obvious?” I ask as we make our way into the hotel’s lobby.

“Painfully so. And you guys’d make a cute couple. But don’t be a dipshit.”

I sigh. “Phaedra essentially gave me the same advice, in different words. You both appear to know what I want more than I do myself and aren’t afraid to tell me so.”

“Yeah, duh. First of all, can I just say Natalia is supernaturally gorgeous? I’d be trying to pull her if I didn’t think it’d break your stony little heart.

Megan Fox would look like ‘the homely cousin’ next to that woman.

And second? Phaedra Morgan’s not only hilarious as fuck, but whip-smart. You should listen to her.”

“She is smart. All the more reason you should join the Emerald family.”

“At ease, soldier. You’re not actually gonna win me with sweet talk in a pretty accent. I want hard numbers. You think I don’t know my worth?”

I push the front door open for her, and we walk out into the balmy night air. “Surely you recognize Emerald’s worth as well.”

Sage directs our course toward the water, the silver of her gown reflecting the cool purple external lights of the hotel. She walks backward, grinning at me and shaking a finger.

“We’re evenly matched and you know it. Emerald’s had a baller year with Cosmin Ardelean, but you’re still number three.

” She twirls forward again, bouncing on her feet as she goes to the nearby railing and leans on it.

“Jake Hahn’s a nice guy— too nice, if you ask me—but he’s a paper tiger. An empty racing suit.”

I lean beside her with a shocked laugh. “Your little dagger is so sharp I didn’t feel it until the twist.”

“C’mon, let’s be real. I’ve heard the gossip: Jake’s wifey is expecting, and she’s deep in his head, wringing her hands about his ‘dangerous job’ ever since his Peraltada-corner crash at the Mexican Grand Prix.

As a result, poof! ” She makes a magician’s sleight-of-hand gesture.

“His mojo’s disappeared. Auf wiedersehen, baby. ”

I only lift my eyebrows, gazing at the water, allowing no clue of my concern over such murmurs making the rounds.

“You need another hotshot,” Sage goes on.

“Twin star attractions to make it rain sponsor dollars on Emerald. Can you imagine it? All eyes on Cosmin with his savage skill and pretty face, and—” She blows a kiss toward the light-spangled marina as if it’s an adoring crowd.

“Yours truly, the girl everyone’s mother warned them about.

Soon to be the first female grand prix winner. ”

There have been some people—the more sexist fans of the sport—who criticize Sage’s arrogance, but I love the fact that she’s like all drivers in that respect. She sees no reason to demure due to gender. She’s boastful, fiery, larger than life.

My side-eye glance is coy. “It would be interesting to see what you might do with the E-19. It’s certainly a different animal to Harrier’s HR77.”

“Tell me about it—the 77’s a fuckin’ tractor. And yet…” She bumps me with her shoulder. “I squeezed sooooo many points outta that thing. Wanna see me shine with a better car under my ass? Grab your checkbook and let’s talk.” She stands, taming her wild skirts with a swipe of one hand.

I straighten as well. “Bold words.”

“ Psh! Why waste breath on anything else?”

I adjust my cuffs. “You know Allonby, as constructors’ champions three years running, are unlikely ever to take a chance on a woman driver.”

Sage shrugs. “Probably not, sure. Their loss.”

“And Team Coraggio?” I rub my jaw with a pensive half-smile. “Well, Miss Sikora… you aren’t the only one who’s heard gossip.”

“Aw, ain’t I?”

“No indeed. I know Bruno hosted you at his villa after Monza, hoping to get a jump on everyone else, taking your temperature. I have to assume he proposed ‘taking your temperature’ another way, because rumor has it you told a friend you’d ‘drive a diaper truck’ before you’d accept an offer from them. ”

Her eyes narrow for a moment. She slides a hand down her face, laughing.

“Me and my big mouth. Coraggio’s boss is kind of an old lecher, true fact. But everyone’s got a price. I may not be a fan of Bruno, but come on… such history! Who wouldn’t drive for ’em? I’d be a moron to pass it up if they came knocking.”

I chuckle. “At the risk of sounding like another ‘old lecher,’ I’d like to invite you to my Santorini home for a weekend during winter break. I’ll assemble a more concrete offer for you to peruse.”

“Oh my. Saucy. ”

“You’re welcome to bring a companion,” I add, wanting to reassure her that my interest is purely business.

“Might take you up on that. Here, lemme see your phone.”

I pass it to her, and she enters the contact—complete with a selfie, winking comically into the camera—then hands it back.

“All righty, Franke. Guess we’re BFFs now.” She starts a slow, wandering gait toward the hotel, and I follow. “But this invitation had better not be because you wanna let that heartbreaker journo think we’re up to no good on your Greek isle, just to get a reaction.”

“Certainly not. I’ve no interest in playing games.”

Sage laughs. “ Liar. Our sport is one big game with mad stakes. It’s only less fun when you’re not winning.”

I managed a fitful sleep between 2:00 and 5:00 a.m., then went downstairs to the gym, assaulting the treadmill at high speed while doing my best not to wonder where—and with whom—Natalia might wake this morning.

Like a song stuck in my head, my mind returns to the necklace. It might as well be the Hope Diamond, for its feeling of having cursed me. I’ve ferried it on and off airplanes in my carry-on a dozen times since Phaedra gave it back after Austria.

While finishing my workout, I make a decision: The necklace must return to Natalia. I need it out of my possession and scrubbed from my thoughts. If she doesn’t wish to keep it, she can dispose of it how she sees fit.

I shower and dress, tuck the velvet box into the pocket of my suit jacket, and take the elevator to Natalia’s floor, striding with purpose to the door of her room.

My knock goes unanswered for a full minute.

I extend one arm with a snap to draw back my sleeve and peer at my Bell & Ross wristwatch: 6:41.

Not here. She spent the night elsewhere.

I’m about to return to the elevator when the door flies open.

“Phae, what the—”

Natalia falls silent, and her eyes go wide under a pushed-up satin sleep mask. Her dark fringe sprouts over the top like unruly weeds. Sooty smears of cosmetics ring her vivid blue eyes, and she’s wearing a massive pink T-shirt that hangs to her knees and reads THIS BITCH SNORES .

“Um, hi.” She moves her bare legs behind the door. “Are you lost?”

My gaze darts past her into the darkness of the room, blackout curtains drawn tight. “Am I disturbing you?”

She sweeps the mask up and off, tossing it over her shoulder and combing her fringe into place with her fingers. “Don’t get cute about it—we both know what you’re really asking. Am I alone , right?”

“Not at all. I’ve simply realized it’s quite early.”

“Oh, bullshit.” She lifts the neck of the T-shirt and wipes beneath her eyes, inspecting the gray smudges left on the fabric. “Cut to the chase. I’m tired. Not all of us look like a wealthy father of the bride at nothing o’clock in the morning.”

My hand dives into the pocket where the velvet box is stowed, but I hesitate, struck with a case of nerves.

How does she do this to me? All week long I speak to powerful people without a ripple of anxiety: FIA officials, sponsor CEOs, heads of state in host countries.

Yet this woman—barefoot and sleepy, dressed in an absurd novelty shirt—affects me as if she were a planetary empress holding my fate in her palm.

I withdraw the box. “I’d like for you to keep this. I… can’t have it anymore.”

She frowns, moving to sandwich herself between the entryway wall and the door, arms crossed tightly. “If that’s the necklace, I can’t have it either, and you know it.”

“Consider it a gift of… friendship.”

“We’re not friends anymore. And if I wanted to wear something worth tens of thousands, I’d hang a first-edition copy of Catcher in the Rye around my neck.” She folds my fingers over the box and pushes my hand away.

“You needn’t keep it,” I insist. “You once spoke of helping the library in your hometown. This could go far in that goal. I won’t be hurt if you sell it.” I meet her eyes. “Please, kleine Hexe.”

Her trembling hand moves to the hollow of her throat as if the necklace hangs there still, and her eyes brighten with tears. “Don’t call me that,” she almost whispers.

“Es tut mir leid,” I automatically apologize. In truth, it was a relief to say the former pet name aloud, inadvertent as it may have been.

With one hand, she picks at her opposite sleeve hem. The little nails of her toes are painted a shimmering bronze color, and she flexes them on the herringbone-tiled floor.

“ No. ” She shakes her head. “It’s too valuable. You can give it to someone else.”

“Do you think I could give another woman the same gift?”

Hostility flashes in her eyes. “You once offered me cash , Klaus, and in almost the same breath made it clear that was your standard operating procedure. We all got your little stack of euros. Why not necklaces too?”

“It was my ‘standard operating procedure.’” I touch her chin and tip her head to meet my gaze. “You once made me hope for more.”

I graze a knuckle along her jaw, then trail it down her neck. By the time I’ve reached the shoulder, her eyes have closed. She sways a little. I cup her hand, placing the box on her palm.

“I won’t trouble you further,” I tell her soberly. “This finishes it.”

Her lips part as if to say something, but then she presses them together.

“Thank you,” she manages after a pause, rubbing the box’s velvet with her thumb. “For your generosity. And for understanding why it can’t mean more. Not at this point.” She shrugs, but I can tell she doesn’t truly feel the casualness implied by the gesture. “We blew it. Not meant to be.”

I look down at our feet—hers bare and soft, mine armored in Berluti loafers. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. It will never be fine.

“Goodbye, Miss Evans.”

She steps back, swallowed by darkness, and closes the door.

When I get to my room, I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, studying the sunrise out the window.

I should never have apologized back in Melbourne. Had she continued hating me after the night we met, it might have healed faster for us both. But I couldn’t let well enough alone, and the scars are much worse for having prolonged it…

Taking my phone from a breast pocket, I look up the town in which Natalia was raised, then send a donation of thirty thousand dollars—the value of the necklace—to the library there, in case Natalia decides to keep my gift.