Page 9

CHAPTER FIVE

"Drink." Ona places a tall glass of murky green liquid in front of Reece. Her tone leaves no room for argument.

He squints at the concoction. Even in the dimmed cabin of PNW Nitro's private jet, the light feels like needles in his eyes. "What fresh hell is this?" He pushes the glass away. Its color and odor offend him. "Some new recovery formula?"

"Electrolytes, vitamins, and the salvation you don't deserve.

" Ona Kenyatta, his physio of five years, crosses her arms over her chest. At thirty-eight, she's a decade his senior and treats him with the perfect blend of maternal concern and older-sister brutality.

"Drink it all if you want to survive this flight. "

Reece takes a reluctant sip, wincing at the grassy, acidic tang.

Ona’s Kenyan accent gets more pronounced when she's enjoying his misery. "The tabloid photos are already everywhere. CircuitJerks is calling it 'Prix at the Altar.'"

From across the aisle, Jacintha snorts without looking up from her tablet. "You screwed yourself." She glances at the woman sitting beside her, Petra Hayter, the second of their Britain-based team’s two drivers. "RP11 just handed the PR team a category five hurricane to manage."

"No shit." Petra’s impish grin suits the vibrant pink streaks in her long dark hair. "Dad's already been on the phone with legal. And sponsors. And probably God."

Dad is Coy Hayter, PNW Nitro’s team principal. Jacintha is Petra’s physio and her cousin.

Reece downs half the green sludge Ona’s foisted on him. The jet's gentle turbulence makes his stomach lurch in protest. He checks his phone for the twentieth time since takeoff. There’s nothing new from Maiken, beyond her terse texts from earlier.

Thanks for the extraction. Great PR move. Very convincing.

Don't worry, I'll play my part until this blows over.

And, yes, I'm wearing PEONY’S ring.

That last one feels like a punch in the nuts. The ring was supposed to be something special between them, not a prop from his failed past. No wonder she thinks this is just some calculated move.

Ona catches him staring at his phone. She hands him a plate with dry toast and a few slices of apple. "Eat. Slowly. Glaring at your messages won't make new ones appear."

He takes a bite of toast. "Look, I know how it sounds?—"

"Like a drunken disaster?" Cin offers unhelpfully.

"—but it wasn't just the alcohol talking. There was something genuine there." He makes a fist for emphasis. "Hard to explain, but definite."

Petra's eyebrow arches. "Oh? So you'd have proposed stone-cold sober after only a day?"

"Probably not.” He glares at her, but he can’t be mad at Pet. She’s one of the few people who knows he planned to propose to Peony, though she doesn’t know the extent of his ex’s betrayal. “That doesn't mean it was wrong.”

The three women exchange a glance that Reece has seen a thousand times in the paddock, a universal female code that transcends team garages, hospitality units, and nationality. The "men are complete idiots" look.

Ona drops into the seat opposite his. "Look, youngblood, you got married to a stranger in a drive-thru chapel by a man in a sparkly jumpsuit. That's not exactly the careful planning we've come to expect from you."

"Elvis." He takes a bite of apple.

"Pardon?"

Reece chews and swallows. "It was Elvis, not a bloke in a jumpsuit."

Cin throws her hands up. "Oh, well, that makes it completely reasonable then!"

Across the cabin, Reece catches Coy's eye. The team principal is pretending to read something on his tablet, but there's no doubt he's absorbing every word that’s spoken. Reece feels a twinge of dread at the conversation they'll have later. While he may have stopped giving a shit about his father’s opinion years ago, he has the utmost respect for Nitro’s TP. Coy Hayter is untouchable, and Reece never wants to lose standing in the man’s eyes.

He has way too much respect for Coy to think what he’s done is inconsequential.

Petra studies him with surprising sympathy. "What's she like? Besides the obvious talent for driving you to temporary insanity."

Despite everything — the hangover, Graham's scene, Maiken fleeing — Reece smiles.

"She's real. Funny, and smart as hell. She talks to me like a person, not like 'Reece Pritchard, Formula 1 champion.

' She didn't even know who I was." That fact alone had been like taking a full breath after a lifetime of thin air.

"Marry her immediately." Cin smacks her seat arm. "Oh wait, you already did."

Reece ignores the jab. "She's a classically trained ballet dancer who teaches dance to kids and adults. Her stage name is Mai-Lan Rouge, but she's actually Maiken Lange."

"Maiken? As in your wife , Maiken Pritchard?" Petra's glee is barely contained, her brown eyes bright with the same spark they get before qualies. "Bold brand alignment, teammate. I approve."

Maiken Pritchard. The name hits Reece like a physical force. He hadn't even thought about that part.

"You're so screwed." Ona’s voice has softened. She hands him a bottle of water. "Though I suppose there are worse things than marrying someone who sees you for who you are."

He brushes the bruise on his forehead. "Graham called her a whore."

The cabin goes silent. Even Coy looks up from his tablet and his expression is hard. He’s never pretended to have anything but contempt for Reece’s father.

"He what ?" Petra's voice has that dangerous edge he knows well.

"Stormed into my room this morning. Said some really ugly shit. Mai left before I could explain." He stares down at the green dregs in his glass. "Branca got her out from the paparazzi siege at her apartment, but now she thinks—" He stops and exhales hard.

"Thinks what?" Ona touches the back of his hand.

"That I used her to humiliate Graham. That this whole thing was some kind of revenge play." He runs his thumb over the black face of his phone, obscuring his own reflection as he remembers Maiken’s angry words. "She thinks she's just a prop in Pritchard family drama."

Cin leans toward him. “Is she?"

"No!" The word explodes from him. "God, no. That wasn't… Look, when we were together, it was just us."

"Just you and your dick, you mean?" Petra holds up a hand when Ona glares at her. "Sorry. Low-hanging fruit."

Reece ignores that. "Graham was never part of the equation. I wasn’t thinking about that tosser at all last night, and that’s kind of the point. Maiken and I didn't even sleep together. I mean, physically, yes, we crashed out in the same room, but not like that. Nothing happened."

All three women stare at him, eyes wide, surprise obvious.

"You got married without even...?" Cin trails off, clearly recalculating everything she thought she knew about the situation.

Reece nods. "We talked for hours. About everything.

Racing, life, family — you name it. I don't remember the last time I laughed that much.

It was just—" He gestures, searching for precision.

"That connection with her felt more proper than anything has in years. Immediate and authentic, no question."

A beat of silence follows.

"Wow." Petra’s expression has softened. "That's actually kind of sweet, Reece. In a completely insane way."

"She's flying to Qatar now?" Ona taps the water bottle, a reminder for him to drink.

"Yeah. She and Branca left a few hours after us." He downs more water.

"She's actually joining you for the weekend?" There's surprise in Cin's voice. "Even though she thinks this is all some twisted game?"

"She said she'd 'play her part.'" Reece's shoulders sag. "I don't think she believes anything I said was honest."

Ona grips his wrist and squeezes gently. "Then you'll just have to convince her it was."

"How? She won't even talk to me. Just these texts." He gestures toward his phone.

Petra leans forward. "Look, Reece. I've known you since I was fourteen. You're many things — stubborn, occasionally self-destructive, pathologically punctual?—"

"Thanks for that," he mutters.

"—but you're not manipulative. Not like Graham." She shares a look with her father across the cabin, who nods almost imperceptibly. "If you really care about her, you need to show her who you actually are, not who she thinks you might be."

"And who are you?" Cin has lost her edge.

Reece stares out the window at the clouds passing beneath them, thinking about a woman with a saucy wink who'd looked at him like she could see right through him. "I don't know anymore. But she made me want to find out."

Ona hands him two pills for his headache. "Well, I'd say that's a start."

Petra leans back in her seat, crossing her legs. "The Qatar press conference just got a lot more interesting."

"Christ." Reece hadn't thought about media day yet. "What am I going to say?"

“As much of the truth as you can bear." Ona gestures to the water bottle again.

"What truth is that?" He takes another swig.

Coy speaks up. "That meeting someone who knocked you sideways made you do something totally off-strategy. Like taking a line through a corner that shouldn't work but somehow does."

Petra smiles and nods. "Exactly. Sometimes the best drives are the ones you don't overthink."

The cabin falls quiet as Reece contemplates their words. His phone buzzes, and his heart lurches as he scrambles to check it.

The message is from Wyn.

What the actual fuck?

He sighs, setting the phone face-down. He’s not interested in another family confrontation today.

Reece wakes with a start, momentarily disoriented in the dim cabin.

The soft hum of the jet engines and the faint ever-present smell of sanitizer brings him back to reality.

He squints at his watch. He's been asleep for almost two hours, which barely makes a dent in the bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down. It’s the kind that comes from emotional whiplash more than physical exertion or even drinking way the hell too much.

His phone has been silent but for a text from Branca.

On 2nd leg. Should arrive on schedule.