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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I’m curled up on one of the hospitality couches, one leg tucked under me, carefully stitching a tiny blue feather to the velvet cuff of my gown. It’s peaceful in here, cool and quiet, removed from the chaos humming through the paddock outside.

When Reece walks in, I look up. “There’s my favorite husband.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day, sinks into the seat beside me, and lets his head fall back.

I run my fingers through his dark hair. “Rough meeting?”

“The day was fine until Graham showed up.”

“Ugh. Did you throw him into traffic?”

That gets me a hard smile. “Thought about it.”

There are more team personnel and visitors in the hospitality unit now, so I squeeze his arm instead of kissing him. “That’s restraint. I’m proud of you.”

His smile softens, then disappears. “He went after Wyn too. Made some crack about his setup for the weekend.”

I frown. “What the hell? He’s like, what? A teeny-tiny owner of WolfBett? He’s not supposed to play armchair strategist, right?”

“Exactly.” Reece makes a face like he’s just tasted shit. “It’s like he can’t stand watching us make decisions he doesn’t control.”

One of the Nitro hospitality staff appears with a plate for each of us. Roasted lemon chicken, grilled vegetables, and something that looks like couscous. Reece nudges the grain to the side like it’s offended him personally.

I raise an eyebrow. “Eat it or I’ll rat you out to Ona.”

“Do that and I’ll hide your pasties tape.”

“It’s toupee tape, darling. Specificity matters.”

He chuckles, but he also eats the couscous.

We dine in easy silence, elbows bumping now and then. I feel him letting his anger go. After a few minutes, I nudge his foot with my toe. “Tomorrow is media day?”

“Yeahhh, not looking forward to it.”

“Ignore any question that isn’t about the race.”

He nods slowly, chewing. “Gonna be hard to sleep tonight.”

I tilt my head and flutter my lashes. “I could help tire you out.”

That earns me a proper smile, and God, it’s good to see it.

“Deal.”

After dinner, Reece has one more engineering meeting, then we head back to the hotel.

We’re barely through the door to our room when his phone buzzes. He glances down, then groans. “Claudia.”

I freeze halfway through kicking off my shoes. “Bad news?”

He shrugs and puts the call on speaker. “Hi, Claudia.”

“Is Maiken with you?”

“Yeah. You’re on speaker.”

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“Someone just dropped footage from The Golden Oyster. It’s spreading fast.”

My heart jumps. “Footage of what?”

“Junior grabbing you, and Reece forcing him to back off. Whoever shot it was close to the action. I’m sending the video now.”

The file pops up on Reece’s phone and pings mine. I hit play.

"Beautiful show." Junior invades my space, hulking and predatory. "Damien Betterton, Junior. You might know the name."

I give him a quick stage smile. "Thanks for coming."

His greasy grin widens and he leans closer. "I’d love to come again. How about a private encore?"

My disinterest is obvious. "Sorry. No. We don't do private shows." I step back and glance toward the bar because that’s where Eddie is.

Douche Bag scowls, grabs my wrist, and yanks me toward him. "Don't be like that, sweetie. I can make it worth your while."

I try to pull away. “Please let go of me.”

Based on my tone and expression, “Please” is a metaphor for “motherfucker”.

He drags me even closer. "I'm not finished ? —"

Then Reece appears and grips Junior's wrist, forcing him to release me. I step back and look up at Reece as he says, "She said no."

Wow, he looks pissed. I was so trapped in the moment when it happened that I didn’t truly appreciate how enraged my now-husband was at the time.

Junior's face contorts. "What the fuck, Reece?"

"Touch her again and you'll bloody well find out exactly what the fuck." His voice is low and controlled, but there's no mistaking the threat.

The video ends, and I stare at Reece like I'm seeing him for the first time. In that moment, he wasn't RP11 the driver or the media darling. He was just a man who saw someone being hurt and made it stop. No hesitation. No calculation. Just protection, pure and simple.

He asks me, “Did Eddie record this?”

I shake my head. “Couldn’t’ve. He was on the other side of me.”

Claudia hmms. “Doesn’t matter, for now. The footage destroys Junior’s credibility. We’re prepping a statement, but I wanted you to see this first, so you can be prepared tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Media day.

I blow out a breath while Reece watches the clip again, jaw tight and expression thunderous.

Claudia says, “I’ll update you when the statement’s ready.”

“Thanks.” He ends the call and pockets his phone. Then he mutters, “So much for a quiet night.”

I lean into him. “Honestly? I’ll take this kind of noise over silence any day.”

He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Pissed off all over again, and ready to fight. But I’m okay, thanks to the stranger in that video who stepped in when he didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.” He cups my jaw and kisses me, then rests his forehead against mine and gazes into my eyes. “Then, now, in the future. I’ll always be there for you, Mai.”

I burrow into my husband’s arms and sigh. “I know. And I’ll always be right next to you, Reece. ’Cause we come out swinging.”

“Precisely. And side by side.”

Media day dawns bright and cool. Reece arranged for me to choose a capsule wardrobe from a styling service instead of relying on a concierge who knows nothing about me.

I made my choices online last night, then they were delivered to our room this morning, and OMG, it’s like fucking Christmas came a few weeks early.

So many pretties and some are even vintage haute couture. I could get very used to this part of the F1 lifestyle.

But.

Today calls for a girl-power suit. Men’s-cut trousers in forest green herringbone wool blend, a fitted burgundy vest over a pink men’s Oxford-style shirt, sleeves rolled to my elbows.

Men’s tie? Absolutely with a subtle floral pattern that ties into the whole PNW Nitro color scheme.

Aggressively masculine brown belt and my brown stacked Oxfords.

Though the real statement is my hair. I’ve gone full 1940’s with thick, shiny waves and genuine victory rolls pinned and sprayed to within an inch of their lives.

This is war, bitches, and my hair is locked and loaded.

Also, I’ve noticed the online interest in my style, so I’m perfectly happy to keep the fans focused. Especially since, overnight, the WAG fan groups have launched a massive counter-strike against Junior Betterton.

PRITCHARD WIFE DEFENDS HERSELF IN CLUB ALTERCATION: Footage Proves She Was Grabbed First

The headline scrolls past on my phone with a blurry still of me mid-motion. DBJ’s hand is tight on my wrist, and Reece’s hand is reaching for his.

My stomach flips, and I close the app. No way I’m starting the day like that.

Instead, I straighten my spine and pack my day bag. I’ve got the blue velvet costume with me again. It’s definitely not feathery or shimmery enough for stage, and it’s something to focus on while Reece takes meetings and faces the media.

“What’s your plan?” He watches me pack the dress and my sewing kit.

“Hospitality only. I won’t be on the paddock. Claudia said it’s too volatile.”

He nods, but there’s tightness in his shoulders.

“I’m not hiding, speed demon. I’m choosing where I belong.”

That gets a smile. “Damn right you are.”

I heft my bag and check my reflection one last time. Victory rolls. Winged liner. Blood-red lipstick. I look like a woman who knows exactly who she is and that the line in the sand was crossed over a week ago.

He offers his hand. “Ready?”

“Yup.” I lace my fingers through his. “Let’s go make some tongues wag.”

When the elevator doors open into the lobby, Petra’s waiting dressed in Nitro team gear, arms crossed. She scans my outfit, pausing on my hair. “Aggressive. I approve.”

Ona appears beside her, ever calm. “United front. Let’s go.”

The four of us pile into Petra’s rental car. On the short drive to the track, Reece holds my hand the entire way. No words, just that quiet, grounding pressure that says he’s with me. Whatever the world chucks at us today, we face it together.

Yesterday I was hiding. Today I'm arriving. There's a difference, and everyone will see it.