Page 42

ABU DHABI

THREE WEEKS LATER

NATALIA

Phaedra flails a bare arm out the window of a white SUV, emitting an excited screech that makes nearby people swivel to look. I speed my steps across the walkway, wheeled suitcase purring behind.

“Look at you!” she shrieks. “Holy shitbiscuits, you have a certified bump. Wow! Get in here and—No, wait… what am I thinking?” She launches herself out of the car to wrestle the tow handle of my suitcase away. “You can’t be lifting shit, right?”

“Yes, Phae,” I say blandly. “I also can’t step over a rope or look at any ugly animals.

Did you time-travel to the 1800s to learn about pregnancy?

” I pull her into a hug, and despite not being a hugger, she just about collapses my lungs.

“I do technically need to breathe though…” I add, my voice thin and strangled.

“Sorry!” She disengages and moves to hoist my bag into the back of the car. Slamming it shut, she plants her hands on her hips and surveys me head to toe. “Can I touch?”

“Um. Sure? Not very interesting yet. It just looks like I had too much pasta and garlic bread.”

She extends a cautious palm and flattens it over the slight roundness of four months’ pregnancy. “Weird. It’s hard, not squishy.”

“I’m not Santa Claus.”

“Very funny. Everything’s okay in there?”

“Right as rain. I just got the test results back in an email when we landed.” I smack her hand away from my abdomen. “Enough fondling. Let’s get outta here and stop tying up the loading lane.”

She takes two manic steps toward the passenger door before skidding to a stop and whipping around. “Wait, where the fuck are Sherri and Jason?”

“Stopped in Italy. They’ll be here day after tomorrow for the Thursday press conference. Mom has always wanted to see Venice.”

Wow. It still feels a little strange to say “Mom,” but… sometimes it sneaks in there lately, and I kinda like it.

I hop into the car when Phae holds the door for me. She jogs around and climbs in, quickly swooping into the exit lane traffic. “How’d they get passports this fast?”

“They applied December of last year—Auntie Min told them I lived in London, and they hoped to visit. Neither of them has ever been anywhere other than Kentucky, California, and the points on the map between. This is huge for them.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet ’em.” She glances at me with apprehension. “It’s all good now, family stuff?”

“Maybe ‘ all good’ is ambitious. But we’re getting closer. I’m working hard to make us a family, for obvious reasons.” I lay a hand briefly on my belly in my houndstooth skirt. “We’re gonna do it right this time.”

“No plans to become a screwdriver murderer?” Phae teases.

“Too soon!” I deliver a mock-punch to her shoulder.

We fall into comfortable silence as Phae navigates a traffic situation. I sink deeper into my seat, sapped from the exhausting flight and looking forward to a long bath in the room Nefeli booked for me.

She didn’t play her usual blasé self and make me wait and wonder when I suggested covering one last grand prix in person but rather jumped at the chance. Alexander was surprisingly gracious about my stepping into his place—next season he’ll have the job to himself, so one race is no biggie.

Thinking of it—Alexander in my role next year, both at the grands prix and with ARJ Buzz —I can’t help feeling a tiny bit bluesy, which in turn makes me scold myself for being selfish and shallow.

I remind myself of all the thrilling things that’ll happen over this next year instead, but I can’t pretend this isn’t an unexpected pivot in my life’s course, to which I’m still acclimating.

The good news: The book, Faded Sunlight , is going amazingly.

Like… sometimes-I-get-prickles-on-the-back-of-my-neck-level amazing, when I glimpse what it may become.

The research has taken me to unexpected places and whoa , if I’ve ever hoped for a “big and important” topic, this is it.

I don’t know if it’s the Pulitzer Prize winner of my fantasies, but there’s little question it’ll get people talking.

My publisher said I should expect making the rounds on some talk shows and podcasts.

Sherri too. As exposés go, this is a barn burner.

The baby will be about a year old at the time of publication, and I’m hoping it won’t be too upsetting to leave her with my aunt during the book tour.

I can hardly expect Klaus to drop everything during an F1 season and come to Kentucky for dad duty.

Sherri will be traveling with me, and… there’s part of me that worries about Auntie Min going solo, being in her seventies and having a lot of arthritis.

Can she keep up, and deal with all the lifting and bending and running around?

Jason will be there to help when he’s not working, but it isn’t ideal.

I take a deep, slow breath and watch the scenery out the window, doing my best not to “borrow trouble,” as Auntie Min calls it.

“Ooh, that was a major sigh,” Phae comments. “Are you, uh… nervous about seeing Klausy?”

“No! Not in the least. We’re very friendly. He met my parents that time he was in Kentucky before the S?o Paulo GP, so everyone’s fine with everyone. We’ll be good co-parents. Even if we won’t be a couple.”

“Okaaaaay.” Her tone is that maddening half-amused know-it-all one that makes me want to mildly strangle her. “Since you’re trapped in the car with me, it’s a good time to get it out of you how you’re feeling about that whole thing.”

I flash a grumpy look at her. “You’re awful.”

“Ha! I know.”

I wonder if Klaus told her about the kiss?

I know they’re close, but I can’t imagine him confessing something so personal.

He’d think that terribly awkward. In the past three weeks since our spontaneous (and oh my God, so incredible ) lip-lock in the car, I can’t stop thinking about it.

Obviously I wish we could make it work. But there are massively complicating variables.

I’d have to feel confident he’s really learned from the blowup in Hungary. Months of lies and evasions, followed by the painstakingly engineered insult of the USB drive “intel”? It still makes my teeth grit with indignation when I think of it.

I do trust that his remorse is genuine, and I also believe he thought he was “protecting” me, in his incredibly dumb way.

But part of me worries—especially with the heightened safety concerns inherent to adding a child to the equation—that he could easily fall back on that sort of crap again in the future.

Phaedra has argued in his favor. She reminded me that when her father was terminally ill and the transition of power within Emerald F1 was in question, Klaus could’ve pressed Mo for a buyout, taking total control rather than just his 40 percent stake in the team.

Instead, he was the first person to accept—more like embrace —the idea of Phaedra as team owner.

All the years she’s worked as a race engineer in a male-dominated field, taking flak not only on social media but also straight to her face by a few sexist idiots on the team, Klaus has staunchly defended her. He’s responsible for Emerald being one of the most diverse teams in the sport.

So. Let’s say I take a chance on Klaus Franke 2.

0, the absolutely-not-patronizing upgrade version.

That brings us to the second problem: How would it work logistically, being a couple?

Long-distance romance is miserable. But if I move to Europe, I wouldn’t have the consistent, daily support system of Auntie Min and Sherri and Jason.

Even imagining I’m a work-from-home mom, writing books on a Greek island, I’ve given up the stability of a nice little family unit in Kentucky for life with a grouchy housekeeper who hates me and Klaus traveling for nine months of every year.

Realistically, it wouldn’t be much more than the time he’ll spend with our daughter visiting Kentucky here and there. It’s better to let him go back to being the freewheeling bachelor who used to pick up a new one-night “lady friend” at every grand prix location.

And… maybe someday I’ll meet someone who’d be a great stepfather, a man who’s home every night—there for Halloween trick-or-treating and parent-teacher conferences.

Rather than giving me optimism for the future, the thought of a relationship with someone else droops over me like a heavy storm cloud. But I have to be realistic.

After Klaus’s visit to my hometown was over—once he was gone and I could think clearly, rather than existing in a fog of longing—I gave myself a stern talking-to about our prospects and the insurmountable obstacles.

I blow an impatient raspberry noise. “How I feel about Klaus is irrelevant. Am I a little mopey that I won’t be jet-setting to the GPs with my bestie next year, flashing my press pass and rubbing elbows with the ‘beautiful people’?

Sure. Am I always gonna be kind of halfway in love with him? Ugh, yes. But I’m—”

“You’re being deliberately vague. Dammit, be straight with me, woman!”

“I said I’m still in love with him!” I snap. “Are you trying to rub it in?”

She holds up a hand. “Jesusfuckingjones, don’t go ballistic.

” A minute of tense silence passes. “I can’t help noticing your phrasing went from ‘kinda halfway in love’ to ‘I’m still in love with him.

’ Don’t be a dipshit like I was with Cosmin last year.

” She flashes an impish grin. “As the maid of honor and best man at my wedding next week, you and Klaus will be fully expected to get frisky and make out in a coat closet.”

I turn slowly, eyes wide.

“A little casual thing in Gibraltar,” Phae goes on. “It’s why I lobbied so hard for you to come to the last race. Cos and I are making this shit official. A year’s engagement is enough for me to have concluded that Formula Fuckboy is gonna make a great husband.”

“Eeeee! Oh my God, Phae… I’m so happy for you guys.” I dance my feet giddily in the footwell. “Hey, maybe our kids’ll be besties like you and me.”