Page 21

Around them, the evening moves on. More sponsors, more introductions.

Maiken listens carefully, asks thoughtful questions when needed, and admits to ignorance without any apparent embarrassment.

She never tries too hard, never plays a role she doesn't own. She walked in understanding that everyone knows what she does for a living and has certain expectations for her, and she’s subverting them by demonstrating her wit.

Small conversations weave through the room — polite, practiced, all smiles on the surface.

At one point, an exec’s wife, already a little too loose with her champagne, leans close with a syrupy smile. "So Maiken, do you have much experience handling the pressures of this lifestyle?" Her tone makes it clear she knows the answer and expects Mai to stumble.

Before Reece can react, Gudrun steps in smoothly, her voice dry. "She survived a Vegas wedding and a pack of paparazzi. She’ll survive a few cocktails and photo ops."

The wife laughs it off, tilting back her drink. The moment passes, but the undercurrent remains.

A Telco Italia exec makes a backhanded joke about impulsive Americans, but Lina dispatches it with a razor-sharp smile. "Some risks pay off better than cautious plans."

The man chuckles uncomfortably and retreats. They all fear Lina.

Petra appears beside them. “I’m stealing your partner, Reece Pritchard.” She loops her arm through Maiken’s and steers her into a small group of wives swapping travel nightmares, then tops all them with the story of her F3 race kit going missing.

"I really was one of the lads that day. Had to borrow a racing suit from Lynch. I’m still recovering from the aromatic experience of raw teenage boy essence."

The women howl at that.

Reece stands apart and breathes easy.

The WAGs have closed ranks around his wife. They’re making it clear: Maiken isn’t alone. She belongs, whether the sponsors like it or not.

He's deeply grateful that they're doing the heavy lifting tonight, so he doesn’t have to choose between being the team’s polished representative and being the man who would move heaven and earth to shield his wife.

Maiken catches his eye and smiles.

Maybe this won't be such an uphill battle after all.

Coy grips his shoulder. “She’s holding her own.”

Reece glances at his TP. “I told you there was a reason this happened.”

“Yes, you did.” Coy sips his drink. “Expect it to get harder before it gets easier, Reece.” With a nod, he moves on, leaving behind that nugget of warning, not wisdom.

When dinner is served, Nitro’s event manager directs them to a table near the center of the room. It’s a visible spot but not the focal point, and definitely a calculated choice.

Reece pulls out Maiken’s chair before she can do it herself, steady and easy, like he’s done it a thousand times. She murmurs a quiet thanks, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she sits.

Her gaze flits around the table, quick and careful. She watches Lina unfold her napkin, then places her own in her lap the exact same way. She studies the arrangement of silverware without touching anything yet.

Noticing how she’s taking stock of the situation, it hits Reece hard and sudden — none of this is second nature to Maiken.

She wasn't raised on weekends at country clubs or gala dinners.

She didn't grow up knowing which fork is for the salad or when to nod and smile at a sponsor's rubbish joke.

She's learned to survive, to adapt, but tonight she's doing it all in real time in a room full of people who were born into this world.

And he threw her straight into the deep end, thinking it would be an leisurely swim.

God, he’s a complete bloody arsehole.

Something twists in his chest, driven by admiration and regret.

Graham would’ve torn her apart for the slightest misstep, making her feel small and insignificant.

That's how Reece grew up; every dinner was a test, every social interaction a potential minefield.

Watching Maiken navigate this unfamiliar terrain with humor and grace reveals the absurdity of it all.

The arbitrary rules, the practiced smiles, the polite predators.

She's more genuine in this unfamiliar world than most people who've spent lifetimes perfecting their paddock personas.

While he’s been worrying about appearances, she’s been treading water with nothing but grit and instinct keeping her afloat.

Reece straightens his own napkin with slow precision, making sure Maiken can see him out of the corner of her eye. As the first course arrives — some delicate salad with flowers in it — he picks up the correct fork without comment, setting the rhythm for her to follow.

He says nothing. Draws no attention to her. His every move is deliberate and something she can shadow without feeling exposed.

A bit of this is second nature. After all, he’s a big brother.

Graham would rage whenever he or Wyn made any faux pas, so Reece always took pains to demonstrate what was expected for his younger brother.

Whatever it took to keep Wyn out of Graham’s crosshairs, he did it. Just like he’s doing now for his wife.

Between courses, he leans in, keeping his voice low, meant only for her. "If this gets overwhelming, just say the word, and we're out of here. It’s absolutely fine."

Maiken’s eyes meet his, wide and grateful. She says nothing, but her fingers find his under the table and she squeezes his hand.

He squeezes back.

We're a proper team. Even if it’s just tonight.

The evening winds down, the heavy weight of expectation easing with every passing minute. As dessert plates are cleared, Petra weaves through the tables toward them.

She pulls up a chair beside Maiken, draping an arm casually over the back. "Brilliant dress." Her voice is low and casual, but Reece hears the real message under it: Well done. You handled yourself.

Maiken’s smile is weary but genuine. "Thanks."

Reece glances at his watch. "I’m calling it a night. Big media day tomorrow."

Mai nods, relief flashing in her eyes.

He stands first, helping her up with an easy hand at her elbow. They say quick, polite goodnights. Coy nods, Petra gives a mock salute, the WAGs wave. They slip out before anyone can drag them into another round of small talk.

The elevator ride up is quiet. Maiken leans against the wall, exhaustion finally showing. She’s still graceful, still standing tall, but cracks have formed in her veneer after carrying the burden of assumptions all evening.

When they reach their floor, he walks her to her door.

"I’m sorry." Reece touches her hand. "I misjudged tonight. I thought it would be an easy introduction, something low pressure. I didn’t think about how different this world must be for you."

Maiken shakes her head, fumbling with her keycard. "It’s okay. I survived."

"You did more than survive." He waits until she looks up at him. "You crushed it, Mai. I’m impressed."

Her cheeks flush a little. “I know how to perform, Reece.”

He nods and steps back, giving her space, unsure if she took his words as insult or compliment. "Tomorrow’s easy. Media day is just for the teams. You don’t have to do anything. You can hide in your room all day if you want."

"Mm. Tempting."

"Branca said you brought some work?"

She nods. "Yeah. A couple of costumes I'm sewing and beading for upcoming shows. I have enough to keep busy."

"Good." He smiles and stomps on the urge to keep apologizing. "Rest, work, whatever you need. No pressure."

Maiken gives him a small, tired smile and disappears into her room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Reece lingers for a moment. He’s back to feeling unsure if they’re going to be okay.

He hates uncertainty.

“I know how to perform, Reece.”

Is that all she’s doing? Playing a role until she’s sure this won’t work for her?

“Bollocks.”

This is out of his control. There’s no setup change, no strategy call, no skills honed over a lifetime that he can apply to this situation. He’s driving blind with Maiken and it scares him shitless.