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She shoots a raised eyebrow my way. “That’s sweet, but hells to the nope.

We don’t want babies. Cos gets enough happiness from the kids at Vlasia House, and we spend a lot of time there.

The Ardelean Foundation his sister runs—and the children’s home—have expanded this year.

Vlasia House has more than a hundred kids now.

Cosmin says he’s aiming for World Driver’s Champion specifically so they can build a second children’s home at another location with the sixteen mil he’d get as a bonus. ”

“That’s very cool. And it makes sense that you guys aren’t planning on kids.

” My mind flashes to Klaus. “This sport is so demanding with all the travel and pressure, it’s probably not conducive to family life.

” I chew at my lower lip. “I mean, that’s exactly why it’s better that Klaus and I aren’t going to be a thing. ”

Phaedra’s look is sly. “Don’t speak too soon, chickie. There’s no telling what’s around the corner. Something could happen to challenge those assumptions.”

Wednesday morning, I’m hoping to hang out with Phae all day, but before this final race of the year, her duties seem to have compounded exponentially. She’s running around to meetings and taking calls right and left.

We finally manage to carve out a free hour together. Over a spread of room-service snacks, I try to make her look at white dresses online that have quick shipping and would work for a wedding, and she throws a very on-brand tantrum.

“If you don’t stop insisting on some stupid floofy-ass gown,” she growls, “I swear to God, I will show up at my own wedding dressed as a hot dog.”

I pull a face. “I wish I could call your bluff, but you’d one hundred percent do it just to spite me.”

“Damned straight I would. And Cos does not expect me to wear a dress. He knows me better than that.”

“I nagged you into a dress for that party in Sochi, and you looked amazing.” I clap my hands together in prayer. “Please don’t wear a math T-shirt and jeans. For me?”

After more pleading, I get her to agree on a skirt to go with the gauzy white shirt and tuxedo jacket she already owns—she was wearing them when Cosmin proposed—and the rest of our hangout is stress-free… aside from her still teasing me about Klaus.

I ran into him this morning as I went down to the hotel’s gym to speed-walk on the treadmill and do some weights.

The elevator doors opened and there he was inside.

I don’t think it was lost on either of us that the last time we were in this exact elevator together, two years ago, we didn’t know each other’s names and were hustling up to his suite with the unspoken-yet-clear intention of tearing each other’s clothes off.

As we made conversation on the descent this morning, the way Klaus leaned on the elevator’s railing and studied me provocatively—wearing that damned sexy smirk, eyes dark as sin—must have been intentional, taunting me with the memory of how good we are together.

The night we met he had that same pose, and I remember wondering why he wasn’t kissing me, since we were alone in the elevator.

Part of me was wondering the same thing again this morning.

On Thursday, it’s time for the pre-race press conference.

Sherri and Jason have arrived in Abu Dhabi, looking sun-kissed and as in love as the teenagers they once were.

They’re staying with me in my suite and have an all-access VIP pass from Emerald, which Klaus arranged.

They’re watching the press conference live right now in a reception lounge at the Emerald paddock.

I take a spot near a friend, Ian, who writes for Autosport , and we chat for a few minutes while six of the top drivers assemble for interviews.

Cosmin is one of them, and he and the rest reply to questions, amiably trash-talking each other while joking around and offering tantalizing comments engineered to create speculation through the offseason.

It’s critical that fans’ eyes stay on the sport even while there are no races, and throwing out teasing hints is the way to do it.

Implying behind-the-scenes drama and big upcoming changes—whether to the driver lineup or the cars themselves—is the best way to ensure that racing fans keep following the news.

Cosmin need only finish in the points—come in at least tenth—on Sunday to give Emerald second place in the constructors’ championship, which would be its highest accomplishment to date.

So there are plenty of questions about the scenarios that could play out this weekend.

His rivalry with current world champion Drew Powell is a big topic, as well as his feelings about losing Jakob Hahn as a teammate and having Sage Sikora at Emerald in Jakob’s seat next year.

When the drivers are done, the top four team principals come in and take their spots.

Ben from Allonby is typically close-lipped and prickly, saying no more than necessary and having little sense of humor.

Coraggio’s Bruno is a chatty, jolly old veteran of the sport, head of the team for nearly thirty years now.

Team Easton’s principal, Conrad, is so warm and soothing that Phae jokes he’s the “marry” in everyone’s “team principal fuck-marry-kill game.”

As for Klaus… oh mercy. He’s a gorgeous creature, half a head taller than his peers, one ankle crossed on the opposite knee as he sips from a glass bottle of water and responds to questions in that smooth rumble of his.

My face is hot when I look at him, and when it’s my turn to ask a question, I wonder if people can hear my voice shake.

I really hope I look cool and confident and professional while my parents are watching.

I suspect everyone knows about Klaus and me. The photo in that French F1 gossip rag didn’t blow up or anything, but rumors do get around in the press pool.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I didn’t feel this nervous even when he was the smug, infuriating smokeshow I’d had a one-nighter with, the guy who insulted me with his stupid bundle of euros.

Nor was I this nervous earlier in the season when we were secretly dating behind closed doors.

Why am I falling apart now , when things should feel settled between us?

We’re friends.

Friends who are having a baby next April.

Friends who shared a panty-melting kiss three weeks ago…

As the question-and-answer session winds down, Klaus lifts a hand toward Conrad, who’s holding the mic. It’s passed to him, and he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and saying, “One last thing I’d like to share.”

I exchange a look with Ian, who smooths a hand over his bald head and gives a confused shrug. We focus on Klaus, who suddenly has the silent, rapt attention of everyone in the room.

“After this race, I’m stepping down as Emerald team principal,” Klaus announces, his voice so light that it doesn’t seem to fit with the shocking revelation.

“Next season, owner Phaedra Morgan will take over the role. I know this seems sudden, but Ms. Morgan and I will be working together during the offseason to ensure a smooth transition. She’s a strong leader and the ideal team principal to guide Emerald F1 into a new era of dominance. Thank you.”

He hands the mic back to Conrad, but the room explodes with a buzz of conversation. The press pool is a sea of waving hands, clamoring to ask questions.

With an expression of friendly resignation, Klaus retrieves the mic. He scans the crowd, and his eyes fall on me, one of the only people not to have a hand raised. I’m too stunned. Lips parted, I stare at him. He gives me a secretive half-smile.

“One question only,” he tells the room. “I don’t want to spend much time on this—I’d prefer to keep the focus on racing.”

He glances at me again; I think he’s hoping I’ll be the one to ask. But I can’t. My brain won’t assemble the words. I’m spinning on a wild current of bewildering emotions, like someone going down the rapids in a battered rowboat with no oars.

Finally, Klaus points to a woman from the Formula Fangirls website. She’s sitting near the back, and I can’t help loving him even more when he calls her by name, bypassing the dozen more prominent journalists in the room whom anyone else would choose first.

She stands. “I don’t think I’m alone in wondering about the reason behind your sudden retirement,” she says. “The last time a major figure from Emerald bowed out—Edward Morgan—it was under tragic circumstances.”

“Thank you, Jamila. I can assure everyone that I’m quite well.

I’m retiring to focus exclusively on my upcoming role as a father, next spring.

My time in Formula 1 has been rewarding—it’s a great honor to have been at Emerald’s helm as it’s grown.

Now I’ll have the even greater honor of being there for my daughter as she grows as well. Thank you.”

He raises one arm in a wave before passing the mic again to a stunned-looking Conrad.

Bruno is laughing heartily and leans across to give Klaus an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

Conrad shakes Klaus’s hand enthusiastically, and Ben does the same, with a tight smile that shows he’s only doing so because it’s socially required.

The room falls into chattering chaos again as reporters talk among themselves. A few stand, waving and calling out, trying to sneak in one last question.

“Klaus, Klaus! Who’s the child’s mother?”

“Have you married, Mr. Franke?”

“Wait—one more question, please!”

He stands and lifts a hand to the crowd, saying a silent goodbye before walking out the side door, followed by the other team principals.

As they exit the dais, I hear Bruno telling Conrad, “We’re in for some entertainment next season with Phaedra Morgan as Emerald’s TP. She’s a tigress.”

With his typical diplomacy, Conrad replies, “Yes, quite a colorful manner of expressing herself.”