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CHAPTER TEN

Reece stands in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his jacket for the third damn time.

This shouldn't matter so much. It’s just a sponsor dinner, small, friendly, low-pressure. He's been to hundreds of these things.

Yet tonight is different.

Mai said yes .

She didn't ask for an annulment. She didn't slam the door on this crazy marriage. She agreed to let him date her. Backwards as hell, but he'll take it. He’ll take whatever shot she gives him.

Still, a knot of nerves sits in his stomach, like butterflies before a qualifying session when the car’s been difficult all weekend.

This dinner isn't just dinner. It's F1 politics with a capital P. Everyone who matters — Nitro, Telco, and sponsors who write the checks that keep the circus rolling — they'll all be there. Every single guest with eyes on the two of them tonight.

They won't say anything, not openly. But they'll be waiting to see if he screwed up when he married Maiken.

He doesn't want that for her. She's already completely out of her element, thrown into the deep end of a world most people spend years learning to survive. He just wants her to enjoy herself. To feel welcome. To know that she matters because of who she is, not because of who she married.

He hasn't spoken to Graham since the blowup in Vegas. Doesn't plan to either. His father made a cock-up of things, as usual, and if there's one thing Reece can do to start making it right, it's give Maiken a night where she doesn't have to look over her shoulder.

He glances once more at his watch, then goes to their adjoining doors, opens his, and knocks softly. "Mai? You ready?"

Her voice comes through, a little breathless. "Just a second!"

He leans against the frame, waiting. His heart kicks a little harder, nerves and anticipation tangling in his chest. No way is he walking into that dinner without her. If they're doing this, they're doing it together.

A few heartbeats later, her door opens.

The breath punches out of Reece. She looks stunning . Radiant . Like someone who doesn't even know how hard she could bring a man to his knees.

She's standing there in a pale peachy-colored dress that floats around her legs and brushes her skin. A dark red sash cinches her waist, emphasizing her outstanding figure. Her hair is pulled up with little wisps framing her face, and her makeup?—

Jesus. Her eyes alone might kill him. The look is dark and mysterious, but there's a bit of gold shimmering at the corners, catching the light when she moves.

It's subtle but flirtatious, and absolutely her , not staged or strategic. It’s just Maiken owning every inch of herself, and him, if she wants.

He’s forgotten how beautiful she is. Two days without seeing her and now he knows the woman he watched dance and laugh in smoky rooms, stand under neon, and bathe in the harshness of fluorescent lighting revealed only a fraction of the true beauty he now sees.

Reece stands there speechless for a second too long, gawping like he's never seen a beautiful woman before.

Mai bites her lip. “Is this okay?”

Bloody hell, one look at her and I've gone completely daft. Standing here like a proper muppet.

He finds his voice. “Yeah. You look..." He trails off, shaking his head and gesturing vaguely with one hand. "Absolutely stunning. Beautiful, no question about it."

Her cheeks flush, but she holds his gaze steady, a little smile replacing uncertainty. Yeah, she’s a goddess and he’s merely an acolyte.

He offers his arm, stepping into his role as husband and host. "Ready to make an entrance, Mrs. Pritchard?"

She hesitates just a beat, then slides her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Not at all, but I can fake it ’til I make it."

Reece chuckles. “Pretty sure you don’t have to fake anything, Mai.”

He leads her through his room and out to the hallway, and for a few seconds, everything feels almost easy.

Almost.

The private dining room is only a short walk from the elevators, but when they reach the open doors, all eyes turn toward them. Reece’s shoulders tighten, instinct honed after years in this world.

Coy stands near the entrance with Petra by his side. She spots them first, gives him a chin tip and a knowing smirk, however she's watching Maiken, too, assessing.

If Petra Hayter disapproves, she won’t hesitate to make it clear to him and to Maiken. Subtle, Petra is not.

The Telco Italia drivers are inside already, Lynch Sutton and Aigar Vehls, their wives with them. Sponsors cluster in polished groups, champagne flutes and practiced smiles at the ready. A few team photographers hang back, their cameras capturing the entrance.

Everyone is polite. Everyone is polished.

But Reece knows better.

The judgment is happening. There are knives hidden behind those smiles. The question is whether they’ll come out or remain sheathed.

Every detail is noted: Maiken’s dress, her posture, how she holds his arm, how she smiles. Whether she fits.

Whether she’s going to be an asset or a liability.

Her fingers tense just slightly against his jacket, and he covers her hand with his free one, a small, steadying squeeze.

Then, like magic, the WAGs move.

Lina is the first to peel away from her group, her smile warm and welcoming. “Beautiful dress, Mai.”

Maiken smiles and it’s bloody dazzling. “Thanks. The credit goes to Reece’s thoughtfulness. I didn’t have time to shop before I left Las Vegas.”

Gudrun sweeps in with practiced ease, her presence deliberate. She gestures to Maiken. “Stunning from head to toe, particularly your makeup.”

They flank her like a velvet shield, making her a part of their circle with a kind of fierce, gracious choreography that leaves no room for predators to move in, and sends a clear warning to those gathered.

Reece exhales, gratitude threading through his ribs. He plucks a glass of white wine from a passing waiter and puts it into his wife’s hand. Another waiter appears with sparkling water. “Sir?”

“Thank you.”

Mai tips her chin at him before returning to her guardian angels.

After a few moments of chit-chat, Reece catches Claudia's subtle signal across the room.

It's the choreographed dance he knows well — move to this group, charm that sponsor, keep the money flowing.

A Nitro staffer materializes at his elbow, guiding him and Maiken toward a cluster of FuegoFrío executives.

They're Telco sponsors who bring serious money to the table.

The kinds of people who don't wear team colors but whose signatures keep the lights on, and PNW Nitro has been courting them all season.

Juanma Montero smiles. "Reece, good to see you again." He’s the youngest son of FuegoFrío’s owner Valeria.

“Good to see you, Juanma.” Reece shakes his hand. "I’d like to introduce my wife, Maiken. Mai, Juanma Montero is the head of sponsor relations for FuegoFrío Internacional."

His heart thuds a little harder than he likes to admit, as she releases his arm and steps forward with an easy smile.

"How lovely to meet you."

"You as well. How are you finding our little corner of the world, Mrs. Pritchard?" Juanma's eyes are keen, and Reece knows he’s sizing her up. All the sponsors want to know what Maiken Lange Pritchard is made of.

"It's unlike anything I've ever experienced." Mai's smile lights up her face. "Though I'm still learning all the rules. There seem to be quite a few."

"Ah, yes, Formula 1 is nothing if not structured ." Juanma laughs. "What do you think of Qatar?"

"Breathtaking architecture." She gestures toward the windows. "Sadly I haven't seen much beyond my hotel room and this lovely venue yet."

Sofia Bautista, Juanma's colleague, leans into the conversation. "You must visit the Museum of Islamic Art while you're here. The building alone is worth the trip."

"I would love to explore more of Qatar. Perhaps after the race weekend?" She glances at Reece. “If there’s time.”

He smiles and the executives nod.

Juanma swirls his drink. "I understand you’re a dancer when you're not at the circuit, Mrs. Pritchard?"

Reece locks down his expression. He’d hoped this wouldn’t come up tonight, but he should’ve known better.

"Yes, in Las Vegas." She straightens, professional pride automatic. "But honestly, I'm more interested in discussing Formula 1." She touches Reece's arm. "The technical knowledge required for these cars is absolutely mind-boggling, and I’m so impressed with Reece and the Nitro team."

He’s impressed with how skillfully she just redirected the group’s focus back to him.

Sofia smiles. "Reece is too modest to discuss his accomplishments."

"I’ve noticed that." Mai’s expression turns sly. Her lips curve into a smirk and she side-eyes him as she adds, "And I’ve heard rumors that drivers need to be quite fit . Something about g-forces ?" That smirk’s become a devastatingly wicked smile.

Juanma chuckles at the subtle double entendre.

Sophia’s laughing as she says, "The physical demands are extraordinary."

"Reece mentioned the cockpit temperatures get so hot.” Maiken fans herself, and he can’t believe he’s married to this absolute minx. “Is that true for all drivers?"

Reece just shakes his head as she puts him in the spotlight while demonstrating how witty and engaged she is. She’s daring without overstepping things, acknowledging the raciness everyone wants to pin on her without compromising her intellect, and the execs are eating it up.

After a few minutes of flirtatious back-and-forth, she returns to his side. He leans in, keeping his voice low. "You're dangerous."

She shrugs. "I deal with all kinds of people at my shows and classes. Reading a room is part of my job."

Bloody hell. Every time he thinks he’s got her sussed, she goes and surprises him again. He shakes his head. "You're seriously impressive, Maiken Lange Pritchard."

The smile she gives him is small and honest, not that flirty smirk from earlier. This is the woman he remembers from Vegas. The one he had to marry.