Page 22

Thomas

The other side of the bed is empty when I wake.

Judging by the sound of the shower running, Stella hasn’t gone far, but my stomach twists with disappointment nonetheless. It’s silly. Absolutely ridiculous. And yet I find myself wishing she would have stayed a little longer.

Last night was like a red-flagged race. Our conversation was going well, headed somewhere important, before she hit a wall and shut it down. Maybe I was wrong to ask about her ex, but he played a role in shaping her into who she is today. There are moments, these brief but beautiful sparks, when I see exactly who she was before he came in and wreaked havoc on her life. The woman I met in Vegas, that’s the Stella I thought I was going to get 24-7. Instead, I’m left with only a glimpse of her before the gates she’s built swing shut and I’m left standing on the outside.

I don’t want to be on the outside anymore. I want to know the woman I married. Whether that’s a good idea remains to be seen, but I’m too curious to stop.

Stella emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam a few minutes later, wearing nothing more than a black lace bra and matching panties. If her pajamas last night had me staring too hard, then it’s a miracle now that my eyes stay in my head.

“Shit, I thought you’d still be asleep,” she says when she spots me sitting up in bed. “I forgot my robe out here.”

She doesn’t try to cover herself or yell at me to shield my eyes as she pads over to the closet, grabbing her silk robe and shrugging into it. She’s got to know I’m watching her every move, but she doesn’t seem to care, so remarkably confident in her body that she could be fully naked and still act the same way. Between that, the lingerie, and how goddamn perfect every inch of her body is, my cock is aching, nearly rock-hard in record time. Thank God I haven’t thrown off the duvet yet, or she’d be getting more than an eyeful.

I’m kicking myself for not letting her touch me last night. Instead, my outrageous desire to respect her rules won out over everything. It’s probably for the best, but still . I can’t get the fantasy of her hand stroking over me out of my head. Of pressing her onto her back and pushing between her soft thighs, hearing her sounds of pleasure panted in my ear.

It’s a feat to pull myself back into the present when I realize Stella’s talking to me as she belts her robe with a flourish, asking what the plans for breakfast are.

I clear my throat, dislodging what I really want to say to her, something along the lines of I don’t give a fuck about breakfast. Come back to bed and let me finish what you started.

“Breakfast is at eight,” I tell her instead. It comes out scratchy and low. “It’ll be the whole family again, just to warn you.”

“As long as I don’t have to eat beans, I’m fine with whatever.”

I snicker and drag a hand through my hair. I don’t miss the way her eyes trace the line of my biceps or the way her teeth scrape across her full bottom lip, so quick I’d miss it if I weren’t already watching her closely. It would be so much easier if this attraction were one-sided, but no—we’re both suffering through this mutual mess of keeping our hands to ourselves for the sake of the greater good.

But I’m about ready to tell the greater good to go fuck itself so I can rip those lace panties off her.

“The chef will make you whatever you’d like,” I say as I try to discreetly adjust myself under the covers. “Are you done in the bathroom? I’ll get ready once you are.”

She nods, the topknot perched on her head quivering with the motion. Even like this, with her hair tied up and skin glistening with whatever she’s smoothed over it, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

And if I didn’t know it before, I certainly do now—I’m in trouble if I can’t find something to hate about my wife.

Stella and I are the last ones down to breakfast, even though we’re perfectly on time. Which means everyone else got here early—absolutely unheard-of in this family—and that means something is up.

I glance at each face around the table as I escort Stella in and pull out her chair. Geneva smirks as we sit down, as if she’s in on the secret, while Edith and Calais keep themselves busy on their phones. Andrew and his wife look like they couldn’t care less about what’s going on. Figgy, however…Well, she may be staring at the empty plate in front of her, but her shoulders are tense and her lips are pressed into a firm line. Huh.

Thankfully no one makes a fuss about our arrival. Mum smiles at Stella from across the table, practically vibrating with excitement—another warning sign. Dad sits to her left at the head, jaw set as he looks between us, and unease creeps up my neck when his gaze moves to Mum. We’re about to be ambushed.

I’m proven right when Mum claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Now that we’re all here,” she says as she glances around, “I want to make an announcement.”

Under the table, Stella’s hand lands on my thigh and squeezes. Despite the positioning, it’s not a sexy touch—it’s more of a What the fuck is happening here and do I need to be worried? kind of thing. I catch her eye and give a small shrug. I’m as clueless as she is. But I get the feeling I’m not going to like what’s about to come out of Mum’s mouth next.

“Thomas,” she says, and I slide my hand over Stella’s, keeping it there and squeezing back. “Your father and I were so upset we weren’t invited to your wedding. That should have been a full family affair. It was incredibly disappointing to hear about it secondhand, to say the least.”

I should have known that was coming. She planned both Edith’s and Andrew’s weddings, pushing the respective brides out of the way each time to do exactly what she wanted. At least Stella and I avoided that fate by eloping.

Or so I thought.

“And that’s why we’ve decided to have another wedding for you here!”

I freeze. Stella freezes. The only sounds in the room are of Edith’s children playing with their toy cars in the corner and Geneva’s snickering. I bet she was the first one Mum told about her plans, considering my youngest sister is her favorite. Calais looks like she’s trying to tamp down her excitement for our sake, though I’m sure she’s already been asked if she’ll design Stella’s dress. Andrew, Edith, and their spouses don’t look shocked to hear any of this news either. Even Figgy doesn’t seem surprised.

We’re really the last to know.

Mum waits for our reactions, but Stella’s parted lips and wide, unblinking eyes tell me she’s too stunned to speak. If she could form words, I already know they’d be along the lines of You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, lady .

I search for something to say that won’t hurt my mother’s feelings or set off Dad. I can only grit out, “When?”

Mum’s delighted by the question. “Well, we’re on quite the tight timeline if we want to do it before your season starts, but we were thinking mid-February. Maybe around Valentine’s?”

Stella’s nails press through the fabric of my trousers and dig into my skin.

“Why not wait until the summer break?” I ask, trying not to shut her down completely. If we were a real couple who’d married on a whim without our families present, we’d want to have a celebration with them, right? “The weather will be better.”

And it will buy Stella and me more time to build our lie and convince them not to have what’s sure to be a massive, multimillion-pound wedding. We don’t need more eyes on our relationship if we’re going to be divorced by the end of next year.

“Nonsense, there’s no reason to wait.” Mum waves a hand, dismissing the idea, before looking to Stella. “I’ll handle everything, dear. All I need are your measurements for your wedding dress—Calais will be designing it, of course—and a list of your color preferences.”

Stella nods over and over again, processing as quickly as she can. “That sounds amazing, Iris,” she eventually replies. There’s a breathless note to her voice that I recognize more as panic than excitement. “I’ll leave it all in your capable hands.”

“Then that’s settled.” Mum claps again, bringing an end to the ambush. “Let’s have a wedding!”

“We cannot let her do this.”

Stella and I are tucked away in a hallway corner, debriefing after breakfast and that hit from my mother. I get where Stella’s coming from with her hissed refusal, but I don’t think we can shut this idea down now that everything is in motion, especially not with Mum at the helm.

“Look, we can let my mother plan, but we don’t have to go through with it,” I offer, keeping my voice low so we’re not overheard if anyone comes out of the dining room. “Maybe the wedding can be our new divorce deadline.”

Stella’s eyes go wide. “We said we’d try for a year. That would barely be three months . It would look terrible for us both.”

She’s right, and I can’t deny that. “I don’t know, maybe I could initiate the divorce and blame it on wanting to focus exclusively on racing?” I swear a flash of hurt slides across her face at the suggestion. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, her mouth once again set in a grim line. “But obviously I don’t want it to look like you’re being left again.”

“How kind,” she drawls. “Would that give you enough time to make sure Figgy lays off, though? I get the sense she’s in this for the long haul.”

“We’ll just have to put on a hell of a show until then.”

“I don’t know if—” She cuts short, and I’m about to ask what’s wrong when I hear footsteps.

My back is to whoever’s coming down the hall, but I move closer to Stella anyway, crowding her farther into the corner. Her shoulders hit the wood paneling with a gentle thud , a sharp inhale passing between her lips. The sound distracts me for a moment, sending less-than-pure thoughts through my mind as I slip an arm around her waist, my other hand sinking into the hair at the nape of her neck.

To anyone looking on, we’re sharing an intimate moment. And to be honest, up close and personal with Stella, it feels exactly as it looks.

She doesn’t miss a beat, bringing her hands up to my chest and curling her fingers into my button-down. The motion tugs me closer, and I’ve got to wonder if this is an act or if she’s making up for what we missed out on last night. I don’t mind it either way, because the press of her body is blissful.

I dip my head, lips close to her ear, and ask, “Can you see who’s coming?”

Stella must have short-circuited, because the first sound I get from her is a soft whimper. It’s another second before she gives me an actual answer, breathy as it is. “No. Maybe one of your siblings?”

It could be. Or it could be Figgy, the exact person we want to convince that all of this is real. My mother doesn’t need any help on that front, but everyone else? It wouldn’t hurt.

I let my lips drift down to Stella’s neck, pressing a kiss to the spot right under her ear that made her shiver last night. I get the same reaction now, her body swaying into mine like her knees have gone weak, and I have to smile. She can make up new rules and regulations, but her body tells me everything her words won’t.

I do it again, scraping my teeth over her skin, and this time I get the softest moan that sends blood rushing to my cock. I jacked off in the shower— twice —this morning after seeing her in those barely there panties, and I’m certain there will be another shower session in my future if this is how my wife is going to keep affecting me.

If we could just have one night, one time together to cut this aching tension, maybe we could—

Someone clears their throat behind me. A woman. Figgy.

Reluctantly, I lift my head and glance back at her.

“Your father wants to see you,” she announces. Her expression is unreadable, but her words are just this side of cold. “He’s waiting with Edith and Andrew in his office.”

I frown, fingers drifting out of Stella’s hair to rest on her shoulder. If my older siblings are there too, then it must have something to do with the company.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” I murmur to Stella.

She nods and smooths out the wrinkles she created in my shirt. “Do what you need to. Don’t worry about me.”

With one last squeeze of her waist, I force myself to step back and follow Figgy down the hall. There’s no need for the escort, but when she looks up at me, eyes blazing, I know it’s so she can interrogate me.

“You’re really going to keep up this charade?” she snaps.

I don’t rise to her bait. “I’m going to keep being affectionate with my wife, yes.”

Figgy scoffs. “Come on, Thomas. This can’t be what you actually want. A big wedding planned by your mother? That’s been your nightmare since we were kids.”

The reminder of how well she knows me stings. It doesn’t matter that I have a very public job and my face is plastered on billboards around the world, I’ve always liked my privacy. I like keeping my circle small. I don’t need strangers prying into my life, and that’s the only thing a spectacle of a wedding would bring.

Figgy knows I don’t want that. Surely Mum does too, so why would she—

“Did you tell my mother you think this is all fake?” I demand, the pieces suddenly fitting together. “Is that why she’s pushing this huge wedding on us? To make us prove our relationship is real?”

Figgy’s eyes dart away, but her chin stays defiantly lifted. “I said I would do it.”

“Unbelievable.” I huff a humorless laugh. “Well, I hope you enjoy my wedding. If you’re lucky, my mother won’t rope you into helping plan it.”

I watch her go pale, but I don’t feel more than a twinge of guilt over the idea. “Thomas…” she says softly. “I just—”

“Save it, Figgy.” We’ve reached my father’s office, but either way, I’m done with the conversation. “It didn’t need to be like this.”

I step inside before she can say anything else.

My father’s already seated behind his desk, with Edith in one of the chairs across from him while Andrew stands by the window. I shut the door behind me, pushing aside my brewing anger with Figgy, then take a seat next to Edith.

Whatever I’ve missed must have been the equivalent of a bomb dropping, because when I glance at my sister, she’s slack-jawed and barely breathing. My attention shifts to Andrew, whose arms are folded tightly over his chest, but there’s triumph in the set of his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” I dare to ask.

Our father inhales deeply as he laces his fingers on the desktop. “As you know, Thomas, I’ll be retiring soon. I was just discussing A.P. Maxwell’s succession plan for when that happens at the end of next year. I figured since we were all together, now was the best time to make my intentions known to everyone.”

The timeline has me leaning back in my seat, surprised. Last I heard, he was planning to stay on as CEO for a few more years. This is a massive shift.

“Edith will remain as COO,” he continues. “And Andrew will become our CEO.”

That explains the mood in the room. I could have sworn Edith was going to take over the show. It’s not that my brother is incompetent, but Edith is just…better at everything. The idea of her having to report to him is positively laughable.

No one here’s laughing, though.

“Congratulations,” I say to Andrew, but it’s an empty commendation. He knows I don’t think he deserves it.

As if he can tell, Dad rises from his seat and goes to stand beside Andrew, patting him twice on the back like a child who’s just won a football match. Guess someone has to be happy for him, because it certainly won’t be me or Edith.

Andrew straightens, arms dropping to his sides. He even puffs out his chest. “I’ll be making some changes when I take over,” he says, but I don’t understand why he’s directing it at me.

I nod, my smile pacifying. “As is your right.”

“And one of those changes is that A.P. Maxwell International will no longer be a sponsor of the McMorris Formula 1 Team.”

I stare at my brother, unsure I’ve heard him correctly. There’s no way I could have. There’s no way he would take this away from me.

Without that sponsorship, without that money , I’m not worth much in the world of Formula 1. In fact, some people might go so far as to call me a pay driver. And while I’m very good at what I do, I’m still not the best of the best. On my own, with just my talent and smaller sponsors behind me, I might not be enough to warrant one of the twenty coveted spots on the grid. I know that. And Andrew knows it too, because he tried to get there with the same resources, only to fail. It was my talent that got me through to my first F1 season—but is it enough to keep me there five years in?

My heart stops dead for a second before restarting. “Excuse me?”

I need him to repeat himself. He has to look me dead in my fucking eyes and say that again so that I know without a doubt he’s doing this to me.

“Our resources are better spent elsewhere,” he explains, but none of this is making sense . “We’re not seeing the return on our investment that we hoped when it came to our backing of the team. I’m sure you understand. And besides, Thomas, it’s not a good look for us to be sponsoring a driver who wishes death upon his opponents. I mean, come on. You screwed yourself there.”

There’s a ringing in my ears that starts quietly and builds. It’s shrill and screaming, drowning out everything else Andrew’s saying. My eyes drift to Edith, taking in the hard set to her eyes. She knows what this means for me. She knows what I’ve just lost, and I can see the same in her.

We’ve both had our futures ruined in one fell swoop.

My father comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder, meant to soothe, but it’s another weight pushing me down. “You’re a great driver, Thomas. They may want to keep you even without our backing.”

I already know they won’t. I already know exactly who’s coming for my seat.

And I already know this is where my dreams end.