Page 52 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

FAMILY TIES

~ L ACHLAN~

The private VIP lounge sits atop one of Monaco's most exclusive buildings, the kind of place where reservations are made months in advance and money alone isn't enough to guarantee entry.

But being a four-time Formula One champion opens doors that stay closed to mere mortals, and the rooftop terrace we've secured offers an unobstructed view of the grand city sprawling below.

The Mediterranean sparkles in the afternoon sun, yachts dotting the harbor like expensive toys in a billionaire's bathtub. From up here, the chaos of the streets feels distant, manageable, as if the swirling media storm we've created is happening to other people in another world.

The main hostess arrives with our cocktails—something complicated and colorful for Auren that involves at least three types of fruit and enough sugar to fuel a small country, and a simple whiskey neat for me.

She sets them down with practiced elegance, her smile professional but tinged with the kind of curiosity that suggests she knows exactly who we are and is dying to take a selfie for her Instagram.

"I'll be right back," I tell Auren, who's already eyeing her drink with the kind of intensity usually reserved for complex mathematical equations. "Need to wash my hands."

She waves me off, already reaching for her cocktail, and I head toward the washrooms that are somehow even more luxurious than the main dining area.

Marble everything, gold fixtures, towels that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

It's excessive in that particular Monaco way that stops being impressive and starts being exhausting after a while.

I'm just finishing up, shaking water from my hands because even the expensive hand dryers in places like this are still terrible, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting Terek with some new crisis or maybe Kieran asking about training schedules.

But the name on the screen makes me pause.

Dad.

I haven't heard from my father in weeks—not unusual given his business schedule and general philosophy that his adult sons should figure their shit out without parental intervention. The fact that he's calling now, after everything that's exploded in the media...

"Now what madness are you two pulling?" His voice comes through before I even get a chance to say hello, that particular blend of exasperation and amusement that only parents can achieve.

I smirk, leaning against the marble counter. "I thought you said I was the good twin."

"You are the good twin," he agrees, but I can hear the 'but' coming from a mile away. "But when it comes to racing, all that adrenaline and Alpha testosterone in you gets all frizzled up and you start acting like your little brother. Blind and stupid."

I sigh, though I can't help the smile tugging at my lips.

My father has never been one to mince words, even when his sons are international celebrities with egos that need careful handling.

To him, we're still the boys who used to race go-karts in the backyard and get into fistfights over who got the last piece of cake.

"I enjoy the compliments," I say dryly, "but if you're talking about the leak, it wasn't from our end at all. Have no clue who took that picture of Lucius, and he's acting like he doesn't give a shit."

There's a rustling sound, and then I hear her—my mother's voice in the background, her thick Russian accent turning the English words into something musical and terrifying in equal measure.

"Конечно, он дает ебать!" she says, before switching to English for my father's benefit. "Of course he gives a fucking shit. Is he going to run away to Dubai to fuck party girls or whatever you boys do when you're horny for pussy bullshit?"

I groan, pressing my free hand to my eyes. "Hi, Mother."

"Привет, дорогой," she says, her voice warming immediately. "Hello, darling. Glad to see you enjoying your newfound romance in the heart of Monaco."

The words are delivered with just enough sarcasm to make me wonder how much she already knows, but there's genuine warmth underneath that makes my smirk transform into a real smile.

My mother has always been a force of nature—a Russian hurricane who married my Croatian father and somehow created a family that's equal parts chaos and love.

"Now," my father's voice returns, apparently having wrestled the phone back, "does she remember you?"

The question hits harder than expected, and I find myself sighing as I turn to look out the window at the city below. "Not yet. Things kind of just... happened."

"Happened?" His tone suggests he finds this explanation lacking.

So I tell him. About the incident with her almost crashing into me on the mountain road, about the night at the old place that was supposed to be our home.

About not expecting her to join the competition mysteriously, stealing a car and announcing herself to the world with all the subtlety of a nuclear explosion.

"Everything kind of led to this," I finish, knowing how inadequate that sounds.

There's a pause, and then my father's voice comes through softer than before. "Must be fate then."

"Maybe," I sigh, running my free hand through my hair. "I'm a tad worried though. Things are going to get messy if Lucius is involved and he doesn't want to commit."

My mother's laughter erupts in the background, bright and knowing. "Александр! Ты должен мне спа-день! Все включено!" Alexander! You owe me a spa day! All inclusive!

I hear my father groan. "Woman's intuition," he mutters, clearly having lost some bet about how this situation would play out.

"You should have known you'd lose the bet when it comes to Lucius," I point out, unable to resist the dig.

"Someone's got to be on that kid's side," my father says with exaggerated patience, "or else he'll be a loner on a cliff with no one to tell him to think before he jumps."

The image is so accurate it's painful. Lucius has always been the one teetering on edges, seeing how far he can push before gravity takes over. And we've all been there, in our own ways, trying to pull him back or at least cushion the fall.

"We got into a bit of an argument," I admit.

"Commitment with your precious little Omega?"

"Yup." The word comes out heavier than intended, and I find myself adding quietly, "I can't afford to fuck this up a second time, Dad."

The admission hangs between us, years of weight in those words. The memory of Auren's accident, of almost losing her, of making the choice to step back—it all crashes over me in a wave that threatens to pull me under.

"I love her," I continue, my voice rough with emotion. "Love her so fucking much, and now I finally have a chance to get her to fall for me all over again. With my pack. It's the miracle we prayed for, but Lucius without commitment will fuck it up a second time."

I lean heavily against the counter, the marble cool under my palms. "He got a year with her. To be a plaything in and out of her life. She deserves better than that, and we're not going to play with her at all."

"He's still young and stupid," my father agrees, though there's sympathy in his voice for both his sons.

I can't help but mock him slightly. "Dad, we're the same age."

"Нет," my mother's voice cuts in, having apparently commandeered the phone again. "You are same age in years, but not in soul. You, мой дорогой Лachlan, you have old soul. You know pain of loss, of almost losing everything. Lucius, he is still child who thinks world owes him something."

My father takes the phone back, his voice thoughtful. "You know how it feels to watch the world crumble in your arms, my son. Lucius sadly doesn't yet. Those types of lessons will either break or change you. Sadly, you experienced both, but now you know the risks in this gamble called life."

The truth of it sits heavy in my chest. I remember holding Auren's unconscious body, blood mixing with rain, her heartbeat so faint I thought I'd imagined it.

I remember the months of recovery, watching her struggle to remember, making the impossible choice to step away because her parents demanded it.

Lucius doesn't have those memories. He has the aftermath—a year of on-and-off toxicity with a woman who couldn't remember why she should stay away from him.

"Lucius won't get it until it hits him in the face," my father continues. "And if that leaves him with consequences that put him out of the equation, it's his choice."

"Yeah," I agree, though the thought of my twin being excluded from this second chance we've been given makes something in my chest ache.

"Is it possible to provide some security?" I ask, changing the subject to something more practical. "With all the newfound attention, I wouldn't mind the extra eyes."

"For the little Omega?"

"Yes, please."

I can practically hear my father shifting into business mode, the international businessman who built an empire from nothing taking over from the concerned parent.

"It will be done within the hour," he says with the confidence of someone who's never met a problem money and connections couldn't solve.

"Thank you," I whisper, genuine gratitude flooding through me.

"Always," he says simply. "But that means you better get the girl because we need little grandbabies to chase and break backs for, so hurry up and win her heart all over again."

"Да!" my mother shouts in the background. "Маленькие внуки с глазами Аурен и твоей упрямостью!" Little grandchildren with Auren's eyes and your stubbornness!

I laugh, the sound echoing off the marble walls. "Yes, Dad. I'll do my best."

"Oh, and Лachlan?" My mother has grabbed the phone again. "You tell that beautiful girl that when she is ready, she comes to visit. I make her пельмени and tell her embarrassing stories about you and your brother as children."

"Please don't," I groan, but I'm smiling.

"I tell her about the time you both tried to build rocket car in garage and almost burned down?—"

"Okay, Mother, goodbye!" I interrupt quickly, though I can hear both my parents laughing.

"Удачи, мой мальчик," she says softly. Good luck, my boy. "That girl, she is special. She is fighter, like Russian woman but with fire of her own. You don't let her go this time."

"I won't," I promise.

"And if your brother is being идиот," she adds, switching between languages with ease, "you tell him his mother will come to Monaco and drag him by his ear like when he was seven and tried to run away to join circus."

"He wanted to join a racing team, not the circus," I correct, remembering that particular incident with fond exasperation.

"Same thing," she says dismissively. "All flash and danger and not enough sense. Now go. Your Omega is waiting, and it's rude to leave beautiful woman alone with expensive alcohol. She might find someone else who doesn't take phone calls during lunch."

The line goes dead before I can respond, which is typically how conversations with my mother end—with her having the last word and leaving everyone else scrambling to catch up.

I pocket my phone, shaking my head but unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.

My parents are chaos incarnate—a Russian force of nature married to a Croatian businessman who somehow produced twins that are simultaneously too similar and complete opposites.

But they love us, in their own overwhelming, occasionally embarrassing way.

And they love Auren. Have since the first time I brought her home, nervous and trying to pretend she was just a teammate.

My mother had taken one look at the way I watched her and declared in Russian that this was the girl who would give her grandchildren.

My father had bet her it would take at least five years.

They were both wrong about the timeline, but maybe not about the destination.

I check my reflection quickly—still presentable despite the emotional conversation—and head back toward our table. The security my father promised is probably already being arranged, discrete professionals who'll blend into the background but keep Auren safe from the chaos we've unleashed.

As I walk through the lounge, I catch sight of her at our table.

She's got her phone out, probably scrolling through the endless notifications that have been blowing up both our devices since yesterday.

The afternoon sun catches in her hair, turning the magenta and purple streaks into something otherworldly.

She's absently sipping her cocktail, and there's a small smile on her face at whatever she's reading.

She looks up as I approach, and her smile widens into something that makes my chest tight with want and affection and a hundred other emotions I'm not sure I have names for.

"Everything okay?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. "You were gone for a while."

"Just a family call," I say, sliding back into my seat. "My parents saw the news."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Oh god. Are they..."

"Thrilled? Demanding grandchildren? Threatening to come to Monaco and embarrass me with childhood stories?" I grin. "All of the above."

She laughs, the sound bright and genuine, and I think about what my mother said. About not letting her go this time. About fighting for this second chance we've been given.

Looking at her now, relaxed and happy despite the chaos swirling around us, I know I'll do whatever it takes. Deal with the media, manage the pack dynamics, handle my brother's complicated feelings—all of it.

Because this? Sitting across from her with the Mediterranean sun warming our skin and the future spread out before us like an open road?

This is worth fighting for.

This is worth everything.

I reach across the table and take her hand, threading our fingers together. She squeezes back, and her smile turns softer, more intimate. We have contracts to sign this evening, races to win, a complicated situation with my twin to navigate. But right now, in this moment, it's just us.

And I'm going to make damn sure that this time, I don't let go.

The grin on my face must be ridiculous because Auren laughs again, shaking her head.

"What are you so happy about?"

"Just thinking about the future," I tell her, and it's the complete truth.

She raises her cocktail in a mock toast. "To the future then. May it be slightly less chaotic than the past forty-eight hours."

I clink my whiskey against her glass, but I'm thinking about what my father said. About lessons that break you or change you. About watching worlds crumble and choosing to rebuild anyway.

"I'll drink to that," I say, but I'm already preparing for the chaos I know is coming.

Because with Auren Vale, with my twin's complicated feelings, with the eyes of the racing world on us?

Chaos is guaranteed.

But looking at her now, that competitive fire in her eyes mixing with something softer when she looks at me?

I head back to the table with a big grin on my face.