Page 23 of Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3)

Lara

T he smell of coffee drifts from the kitchen as I pad out of the bedroom, still barefoot and wearing one of Reid’s soft black button-downs.

It falls nearly to my knees and smells faintly of his cologne—crisp and warm, all cedarwood and clean linen.

It’s funny how I never really noticed how good his cologne smelled before, but now that it’s wrapped around me, I don’t understand how I didn’t.

He’s at the stove wearing a pair of loose jeans and a white T-shirt, making eggs like it’s just another normal morning between us.

But nothing about this seems normal. Not Monaco.

Not the rooftop gala last night. Not the yacht-sized espresso machine humming on the counter like it came straight out of a movie.

Reid glances over his shoulder when he hears me. “Well, damn. If I’d known that shirt would look that good on you, I’d have cooked you breakfast a lot sooner.”

I smirk and head for the fridge, keeping my tone light and teasing. “You mean you don’t make all your women breakfast the morning after their first Monaco gala?”

He sets the spatula down and turns toward me, one eyebrow raised. “Women? Plural?”

“Just covering my bases.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one who’s ever stolen my clothes and gotten me to slow dance in front of all the other drivers. You’re in a class all your own, Candlish.”

I roll my eyes, grabbing jam and some leftover baguette from last night’s catering box. “Your flattery is outrageous. You’ll say anything for toast.”

Reid leans over and swipes a slice. “Absolutely. Toast is love. Toast is life.”

We sit together on the balcony, the sea breeze fluttering the hem of his shirt on my thighs. Reid’s barefoot, and dressed in those casual, faded jeans, he makes the whole scene less surreal and more grounded.

“So what’s on your Monaco Rock Star Agenda today?” I ask, sipping my espresso. He told me he was going to be gone most of the day for work-related stuff.

He groans and tips his head back. “Sponsor breakfast. A couple of press interviews. Some video thing with Adrenalux. And there’s a lunch I might fake a stomach bug to get out of.”

I smile, but there’s a little pinch in my chest. “Sounds exhausting.”

Reid strokes his jaw as his eyes travel down my legs. “Maybe I should just cancel all of it. We could go back to bed. Blame it on a power outage.”

I laugh softly. “You think a blackout will excuse blowing off sponsors?”

“If I phrase it right, maybe.”

I glance at him over my mug. “You’re impossible.”

“You like it,” he says, smug in that assertion.

He’s not wrong.

He reaches for my hand and I set my coffee down to take it. “Are you excited about going to Zurich?” he asks, his thumb moving in gentle circles.

“I am actually.” We’re flying out tonight as Reid wants a few days to decompress before meetings at Matterhorn FI headquarters in preparation for the Suzuka race.

“I’ll be back around three. Be packed and ready to go and we’ll head to the airport.” His gaze pans out to the sea then back to me. “What are you going to do today?”

“I might go exploring,” I say casually. “Walk the harbor. Pretend I’m one of the locals.”

“You’ll blend right in,” he says, tugging my hand in a silent plea to get off my seat and join him. “Except you’ll be the only one not trying to get discovered on Instagram.”

I slide into his lap, draping my legs across his and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls me close, smiles against my temple and then his mouth finds mine. His hands span my hips like it’s second nature.

“This what you meant by ‘stay in bed’?” I murmur, running my lips over his jaw.

He chuckles, hand going into my hair where he grips it and tugs so I’m forced to look at him. “I can make a very convincing case.”

“You’re going to charm your way out of a full calendar today just because I kissed you on a balcony?”

Reid’s eyes grow dark and serious. His voice drops to a low rumble that makes my belly swirl with butterflies. “I’d cancel an entire race season if it meant more of this.”

An ache forms low, and I squirm as he tightens his hold, clearly not letting me go without a fight.

“Reid,” I warn, laughing as I try to wriggle free. “You have actual responsibilities.”

He groans theatrically. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re late,” I counter, finally slipping off his lap with a playful push at his chest.

He watches me with narrowed eyes but he’s still grinning. “Worth it.”

And I’m smiling again right back—giddy and warm and in over my head just a little. Yes, this is all overwhelming, but I’m so freaking happy. Even if the jet-set lifestyle feels odd, everything about Reid feels right.

I clean the kitchen while Reid gets ready and he emerges in a pair of dress pants and a fitted blue shirt, with a suit coat slung over his arm.

He looks yummy and another passionate kiss almost derails his plans, but it’s the promise of us seeing each other in a handful of hours that finally gets him out the door.

I shower and do my hair in a loose knot, choosing a simple sundress with a lightweight cardigan and flat sandals. No makeup. No pressure. Just fresh air and a little breathing room.

The streets outside his building are clean and quiet.

I wander toward the harbor, passing boutiques with handbags in the windows that have so many zeros on the price tag, I’m not sure I can afford to even look at them.

I walk past outdoor cafés filled with poshly dressed and beautiful people, their laughter echoing off whitewashed walls.

I follow the curve of Avenue Princesse Grace, the sea glinting beside me with gleaming yachts and crisp white decks, their flags fluttering lazily in the breeze.

Deckhands move about in matching uniforms, scrubbing teak and arranging fresh-cut flowers on dining tables bigger than my entire childhood kitchen.

The morning sun casts a warm sheen over the manicured gardens and sleek glass high-rises that line the promenade.

I pass the Japanese Garden, its stone lanterns and koi ponds nestled quietly among the palms, before the path opens toward the Grimaldi Forum—a glass and steel behemoth event venue perched above the water.

It’s beautiful. It’s ridiculous. And it’s not mine.

But, if I want to be a part of Reid’s life, it will be mine. For this small-town Australian girl, this seems impossible and exciting all at once.

I sit on a stone bench overlooking the marina and pull out my phone. The time in Torquay is just past 7:00p.m. My mum will be home from work by now, so I hit her name and wait for her to connect.

She answers on the second ring and her cheerful voice instantly grounds me. “Lara, love! Are you calling to make me jealous of your view?”

I laugh softly. “No way. It’s not all that great.”

What a lie! It’s fabulous and she knows it.

We talk for a few minutes. I tell her about the gala last night—about the lanterns and champagne, about how I talked for almost half an hour to Brienne Norcross and that she might be the coolest woman I’ve ever met—my mum excluded, of course.

I leave out the part about women flirting with Reid, about my moment of self-doubt, and the part where it all felt like too much.

I don’t want her to see me as being unsure about any of this, especially since our timing is a bit awkward.

But I do tell her about Posey making me laugh so hard I nearly dropped my glass.

About how someone mistook me for a model and asked what agency I was with and Reid beamed at me with amusement.

About how I stood in an expensive green dress (worth more than my laptop) that Reid had delivered to the apartment for me and about how I still can’t quite figure out how I got here.

“It’s like I’m playing pretend,” I admit finally. “Like I’m just a footnote in his real life. The flashy one.”

“Oh, honey,” she says. “That’s just the glitter talking. None of that has anything to do with what really matters. The question is—how do you feel when you’re with him?”

“Safe. Seen. Wanted.” I pause, a little hesitant. “Loved… I think.”

I can hear the thrum of joy in my mum’s voice, that I’m getting the things I want and need. “That’s what counts. The rest is noise.”

A silence stretches before she says, “Have you heard from Lance?”

My heart squeezes. “Yeah. He texted me this morning.”

It came in just moments before Reid was ready to walk out the door. I immediately showed it to him, and he scoffed at Lance’s words. You always said I didn’t see you. I do now. I see everything. And I’m sorry.

“What did he say?” Mum asks.

“He apologized,” I say, not bothering to tell her the full message. It was odd… his choice of wording.

He didn’t see me before, but now he does?

It’s cryptic and I wonder if he’s deflecting from the real issue… that he struck me in anger.

My mum exhales into the phone. “And does his apology change anything?”

I stare at the water for a long beat. “I appreciate it but I’m a little sad. Not a deep grieving of what was lost, but just… a little sad. And the fact I’m not grieving our relationship fills me with guilt.”

“I expect that has something to do with the fact that it was over in your mind long before he hit you,” she suggests and admittedly, that resonates. “I think you need to own your feelings as they are because you’re doing what’s best for your happiness.”

“Except Lance will be hurt,” I say quietly.

She pauses before saying, “This is where I’m going to step out of mum role where I should be philosophical about these things, and simply say, I’m not sorry that Lance will be hurt.

He made a choice and now these are the consequences.

I know that sounds harsh, but I want you to remember that.

You didn’t cause him to cheat on you, and you didn’t force him to hit you.

That’s all on him and now he’s reaping what he sowed. ”

That’s strong coming from my mum, a woman who is about love and forgiveness. It puts things into a better perspective.

I take in a deep breath, decision made. “I know what I need to do.”

“Then do it,” she says, and I can hear the approval in her tone. “So you can get on with your life.”

I sigh heavily, even though she’s exactly right. “I know I need to. But gah… this is so hard.”

“Because you loved him,” she says. “And you’ve been friends forever. And just because he made some horrible mistakes, you have a loving and forgiving heart.”

I heave out another heavy breath, pondering when I should make the move. “Maybe I should wait until we can meet face-to-face. Maybe in Torquay in a few weeks?”

“Lara,” my mom says, her tone with a bit of bite. “Don’t delay this anymore. No one can move on until you do this. And it’s not just about Lance needing to move on. No one can, especially his parents, who are navigating very murky waters.”

Guilt nearly swallows me whole as I think of Graham and Leanne.

They’re truly stuck in limbo between loyalty to their son and love of me through our longstanding family relationships.

That fact hits me square in the chest, and I am suddenly and unabashedly assured that I have to do this without wasting another second.

“I’m going to call him right now, Mum.”

She gasps in surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” I assure her, pulling on every bit of strength I have. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow as we’re catching a flight to Zurich tonight.”

“My little jet-setter,” she coos. “Okay… good luck, honey. I love you and I’m proud of you.”

Those words echo through me as I hang up. I tap my phone on my thigh as I try to pull my thoughts together. I need to be firm. Keep it short but clear. I need to be ready for him to resist and I need to stay true to myself.

My mom is proud of me. She loves me. I’m with Reid. There’s no reason to put this off.

“Let’s do this,” I murmur, pulling up Lance’s name and tapping the call button.

He answers almost instantly. “Lara?”

“Hi,” I say, my voice tight with tension.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually call.” He sounds relieved. “Thank you.”

“I read your text,” I say. “I appreciate the apology.”

“I meant every word,” he rushes out. “I was blind. Selfish. Angry. I’ve been talking to someone—about getting into an anger management program. I’ll do anything, Lara. I want to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Lance.”

“Of course there’s something to fix,” he says dismissively.

My anger swells and I tamp it down. “No, there’s not. It’s already done and I’m not going backward. I can’t look past cheating and physical violence.” He hisses in a breath, and I imagine I hear shame in it, but probably not. “I moved my stuff out of the apartment. I left the ring there.”

He goes quiet, and ordinarily, this is when his anger would explode. I brace for an outburst but it doesn’t come. I don’t even know if he’s still listening, but my goal is to be clear. “I’m sorry, but we’re over.”

“I don’t understand. We were engaged.” His voice sounds small and without conviction. As if he doubts we were ever contemplating marriage.

“I know. And I loved you. But…” I suck in a stuttering breath. “But you killed that.”

“I’m sorry I hit you. I promise I won’t—”

“It’s not just the fact you hit me,” I cut in over him.

“You cheated. You’re controlling. My desire to be with you started dying a slow death awhile back and I didn’t have the guts to do anything about it.

When you hit me, that was merely a catalyst to end things, but I’ve wanted to do that for a while. ”

“You don’t mean that,” he murmurs.

My heart wrenches because I can hear the pain. “I’m sorry, but I do.”

He sounds so dejected. “Then… can I please see you? Just once. I’ll be in Torquay in a few days. Let me sit down with you. If you still feel this way after, fine. But give me one more conversation. One real one.”

I close my eyes, hating that I’m hurting him. It doesn’t matter how bad he hurt me, I am sensitive that he’s suffering a real loss right now. But I want to keep this boundary clean.

“I’m not in Torquay right now,” I say, and realize my mistake before the words get fully out of my mouth.

“Where are you?”

Fuck. I should have just said no.

I hesitate. My pulse kicks up. I cannot let him know I’m in Monaco. He can’t find out about me and Reid on the heels of me calling it quits with him. He’d never understand.

“I have to go,” I say quickly. “I’ll reach out when I’m back.”

“Lara—”

But I’ve already disconnected the call.

I stare at the screen, the aftermath of it settling over me.

It’s done.

And yet, I know it’s not completely done until I face him in person. Until I sit across from him and say it all without flinching. But for now… calling him was a step in the right direction.

I stand and walk slowly back toward the apartment, past the yachts and the glitter and the curated perfection of a city built on unimaginable wealth.

Maybe I don’t know exactly where I belong.

But I know one thing… it’s not in the past anymore.