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TWENTY-NINE

CHARLOTTE

Lucas’s C?te d’Azur villa overlooking the glittering Mediterranean Sea is a slice of heaven. I tend to prefer the hustle and bustle of big cities, where each day is full of possibilities and curiosities, but this peace and quiet is a welcome escape after what the media’s dubbing the “AlphaVite Altercation.”

My time here only improved when Willow flew in yesterday to surprise me. Formula 1’s summer break coincides with the Australian school system’s winter break, so Lucas invited her to spend the week with us in Monaco while his brothers are here. Knowing him, he realized that some quality time with my best friend after the last few days would be good for me. I haven’t heard from Theo since we left Italy. It isn’t surprising; he can hold a grudge like I can, but it still hurts. I thought he’d at least send a message saying he needs some time, but nope. Radio silence.

While Lucas picks his brothers up from the airport in Nice, Willow and I head out to the terrace with a bottle of rosé and chilled wineglasses and make ourselves comfortable on the in-pool chaise lounges. The infinity pool is framed by beautifully landscaped gardens, making the area feel like a private paradise. As I soak in the warmth of the sun, it’s easy to see why Lucas loves it here so much and why he’s gone out of his way to make it feel like my home, too.

“Are you sexting?” Willow jokes from next to me. “Because I thought we learned our lesson.”

“No,” I reply with a laugh. Not even my best friend’s teasing can knock the stunned smile from my face as I reread the message thread.

“Mm-hmm, sure,” she says, flicking water at my leg.

I simply hand her my phone to read the conversation for herself.

Unknown Number

Hey. It’s Cole Berrett.

Charlotte Walker

Goose’s dad!

Cole Berrett

Haha, yes. Lucas passed along your number. Hope that’s okay.

Charlotte Walker

I suppose it depends on why you want my number.

If you’re trying to recruit me into your MLM, it’s going to be a hard pass.

If you’re going to be texting me cute dog pics, it’s all good.

Cole Berrett

Lol. I can definitely send dog pics, but Lucas gave me your contact info when I asked about the jacket you wore to the Hungarian GP. He mentioned that you made it, and I’m interested in having something like that custom made for my girlfriend to wear to my games.

Could you create something like that for me?

Charlotte Walker

OMG.

Yes! I would absolutely love to make something custom for your girlfriend.

“Holy hell,” Willow squeals, her eyes dancing. “This is so much better than a dick pic.”

I scoff. “No one but you actually enjoys receiving those, Wills.”

“Don’t yuck my yum,” she playfully chastises as she hands the phone over. “I knew you’d do it.” Her smile is smug. “I can’t say I knew how, but I had an inkling.”

I study her, confusion washing over me. “What are you talking about?”

“You having a career in fashion,” she says slowly, like I’m one of her small students and not a contemporary.

“It’s one custom request.”

“So?” She scoffs, bringing her rosé to her lips. “Last time I checked, one is more than zero, and I highly doubt you, me, and Cole Berrett’s girlfriend are the only ones who’re interested in cute clothes that rep our favorite teams.”

My heart has lodged itself in my throat, and I’m trying to sputter out a response, but at the sound of voices inside the house, I give up.

“Oh, yay,” Willow says, shimmying her shoulders. “I’m ready for the new bombshells to enter the villa; I need to practice my flirting skills.”

“This isn’t Love Island ,” I remind her with a laugh. “And your so-called flirting might make them cry, so please be nice.”

Willow’s idea of flirting is roasting a man until their inflated sense of self-importance has been put through a blender and hodge-podged back together.

“That happened one time,” she argues, flipping me the bird. “And I don’t know why he got so offended. I told him he was cute.”

“And then proceeded to tell him his personality was the issue.”

As she’s waving me off, Lucas steps onto the terrace. His brothers, minus Grayson, trail behind him, the group of them looking like an outrageously attractive boy band. My room would definitely be covered in Lucas Adler posters if that were the case.

“Hi,” I call out, aiming what I hope is an extra friendly and nonthreatening smile at Jesse. I haven’t seen him since the pool cue and penis “accident,” and I’d hate for him to walk on eggshells while he’s here.

“Lucas has a thing for that, you know,” Willow says, her voice low.

Frowning, I turn to her. “Huh?”

“Your wave.” She chuckles. “He grins every time you do it.”

“Oh God. Do I wave like my mum? I always tease her about it,” I groan, clutching my hands to my chest. It doesn’t surprise me that Lucas noticed the habit; he’s been watching me for the last few years, just like I’ve been watching him.

As the boys approach the pool, Finn breaks the ice by eyeing Willow and saying, “If you looked up gorgeous in the dictionary, there’d be a picture of you beneath it.”

Ezra jerks his head back, and Jesse’s lips twist like he’s just sucked on a sour candy, but Willow cocks a brow and replies, “It’s a little embarrassing that your dictionary still has pictures in it.”

Lucas barely reacts to the exchange, his attention focused entirely on me. He surveys my body, his attention hotter than the sun’s rays beating down on me. With a saucy wink, I stand to greet his brothers and introduce them to Wills. Finn ogles my best friend like he’s a cartoon character, and I swear he almost kisses the back of her hand like she’s royalty. Already, I’m certain the two of them will either kiss or kill one another by the end of the week.

The Adlers all change into swim trunks, and Lucas brings out a charcuterie board filled with French cheeses and locally made jams, a tray of wineglasses, and a six-pack of beer. He sets it all out on a table shaded by an oversized striped umbrella, but when I shuffle to a vacant chair, he tugs me onto his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’m an affectionate person by nature—the number of times I’ve gone for a hug when the recipient is going for a handshake is embarrassing—but I didn’t peg Lucas for one, too. It’s a pleasant surprise.

Everyone noshes—a Yiddish word I learned from Lucas’s mum that means “to snack”—while chatting, though I’m silently cursing my body instead of participating. My blood sugar’s over three hundred, so while I can nibble on cheese, which is relatively low carb, I can’t indulge in the crackers and jam that are calling my name like a siren at sea.

“If you don’t get in on this soon, there won’t be any left,” Finn tells me, cracker crumbs falling out of his mouth.

Ezra shakes his head. “There won’t be any left because half of it’s on your fucking lap.”

“Her blood sugar’s high,” Lucas answers for me. When I eye him, he shrugs, saying, “My phone beeped on the way back from the airport. ”

Willow lights up in her surprise at Lucas’s revelation. The only person I’ve ever shared the app with was my parents, and that’s when I was younger and needed their help managing my glucose levels. My face flushes at her cheeky grin, and I snuggle farther into Lucas, placing a chaste kiss on his jaw.

Despite his insistence that he wouldn’t micromanage, I couldn’t help but worry that he’d monitor my levels so closely that I’d have to revoke his access. Instead, he’s been a silent partner, anticipating my needs, always having glucose tablets or candy handy, or suggesting we stay in and watch TV rather than going out if I’m exhausted from a low. Almost like that person who helps the queen or king remember the names of the people they encounter. He’s an extra layer of support if backup is needed.

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry,” Ezra says with a frown. “We won’t eat all of it.”

I wave him off. “Don’t worry on my account. It’s probably better if I save room for dinner, anyway, since Lucas made enough food to feed the entire principality of Monaco.”

He spent all morning in the kitchen chopping vegetables and whipping up marinades. I offered to be his sous chef, but he politely declined, since he doesn’t vibe with my cooking style, which consists of throwing in a little of this and a pinch of that and hoping for the best.

Chuckling at my comment, he rests his hands on my shoulders and digs his thumbs into my sore muscles. I can’t help but groan at the hurts-so-good pain as he massages the knots out. For the last two weeks, I’ve been locked away in the office-slash-workspace, making Willow’s promised Wallaby rugby corset top and turning a thrifted cream-colored, double-breasted blazer jacket into a two-piece set with the AlphaVite logo embroidered and beaded on the back. I’ve spent hours upon hours hunched over my sewing machine and meticulously gluing and hand-sewing the finishing details. Now my muscles are paying the price. Theo was right; I can’t make a new outfit for every race. Though his reasoning was off. If anything, I have too many ideas and not enough time.

I forgot how much time and effort goes into designing a new piece—brainstorming and sketching, then finding, sourcing, and thrifting the right material before putting it all together, whether it’s sewing, stitching, hemming, or fitting. Some of my ideas, like what I’m currently working on, involve restructuring and adding on to an existing piece, but others involve using old AlphaVite jumpers and shirts to construct something from scratch. But I’m not scared of the challenge; I’m ready to make it my bitch.

Willow scrunches up her nose in mock distaste. “I’ve only been here a night and have already heard enough of your moaning and groaning to last a lifetime.”

Huffing, I roll my eyes. I’ve kept any noise to a minimum, much to Lucas’s disappointment. Luckily, he likes how loud I am in bed. If he didn’t, he’d be out of luck, since it’d be impossible to keep quiet with his talents.

“You can stay in one of the other rooms,” Lucas says, grasping my waist. “But I have to warn you: these fuckers all snore like garbage disposals.”

“Charlotte snores, too,” she points out, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

“I know,” Lucas says, his grin wide. “It’s cute.”

“I don’t snore, arseholes,” I snap, sounding ridiculously petulant. “Stop gaslighting me.”

On the table in front of me, my phone vibrates with a new message from Cole. When I pick it up, I can’t help but wiggle in excitement.

Lucas tightens his hold on me and forces my movements to stop.

Oh. Oops. I can’t help but giggle. He may not be wearing the teeny-weeny swimwear I bought him in Budapest, but an erection would still be hard to hide in the trunks he’s sporting.

Cole Berrett

Awesome. What do you need from me? And just let me know how much I owe you.

“Did Cole just text you?” Lucas asks casually, his chin resting on my shoulder.

“Don’t act all innocent, mister,” I answer with a disciplining laugh. “You’re the one who gave him my number, which, thank you, by the way. Why didn’t you mention it?”

He doesn’t get to answer before Jesse chimes in. “Cole as in Cole Berrett? Captain of the Boston Panthers?”

“Mm-hmm.” I nod, though I can’t confirm or deny that he’s the captain. “He wants to surprise his girlfriend with a custom-made Panthers jacket.”

Jesse, Ezra, and Finn toss questions at me rapid-fire, starting with “Lucas won’t share his number with us; will you?” and ending with “What do you mean by custom?”

“I’m up-cycling team jerseys, shirts, pants—whatever merch there may be—and turning them into stylish statement pieces.” I sit a little straighter in Lucas’s lap. “I’ve mostly been making clothing for myself to wear to races, but my hope is that people will commission me to make them their own custom items.”

“Oh, yeah. You made a pair of pants, right?” Finn says, tapping his chin. “I remember you posting on your social accounts about them.”

“Of course you do,” Lucas mutters.

“You have, what? Three hundred thousand followers or something like that?” Ezra adds, dropping his forearms to the table. “You should blast the hell out of yourself. Sorry, that sounded weird. I meant you should promote your work on your account since you have such a big following. ”

I’m well aware that if my last name weren’t Walker, I’d have a few thousand followers at best, but since I post about my own travels and outfits rather than the behind-the-scenes details of my brother’s life—he posts enough of that himself—I like to think that at least a small percentage of them are sticking around for me.

“Do you have a website?” Jesse asks. He crosses one ankle over the opposite knee, looking the perfect picture of relaxation. “If you don’t, I’m more than happy to design one for you.”

“A website?” I ask, tilting my head. “Sorry, that was dumb. Obviously, I’m aware of what a website is, but Lucas told me you focus more on consumer software than web development.”

Jesse tries to play it cool, but by the way his eyes light up and dart to his brother, he’s clearly thrilled that Lucas has talked about him in any capacity. I can’t help but stick out my lower lip at how cute it is.

“Yeah, I do both,” he says. “We can put something basic together while I’m here and then tweak it as you grow.”

“That’d be amazing,” I tell him, emotion clogging my throat at the genuine kindness he’s showing me. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Could I create a website myself? Probably. But I’d much rather a professional do it, and if it gives Jesse and me a chance to get to know each other, that’s a win-win. If my own brother doesn’t want to speak with me, at least Lucas has a few to spare who do, and for right now, that’ll have to be enough.