Page 33

Thomas

I’m going to be late for dinner with Stella and it’s all Arlo fucking Wood’s fault.

Normally I might respect his dedication to making sure he’s informed about the car’s specifications for the season, but tonight I want to slap my hand over his mouth and tell him to quit it with the questions. Preseason testing in Bahrain isn’t for another two and a half weeks, anyway. We’ll have plenty of time to talk to the engineers before then; none of this has to be discussed tonight.

I’d still want to shut him up even if I didn’t have Stella waiting for me, mostly because his voice is the most irritating sound in the world now. It’s my newfound distaste for him shining through, I know that, but he’s like a little yapping dog who won’t be quiet.

“We’ll wrap things up there,” our team principal announces, and I’m out of my seat at the conference table in a flash.

I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m rude for striding out with only a half-assed wave goodbye, but I’ve got somewhere to be and a long-awaited conversation to have. Stella’s text earlier nearly stopped my heart. To say it was unexpected would be the understatement of the century, considering she’s been so hell-bent on avoiding me lately.

Part of me was tempted to ignore her like she’s been ignoring me. It was petty and childish, not my usual style, but that’s what her rejection has brought out in me—this unsettled desire to make her feel as uncomfortable as I do.

It was unfair, though, so I messaged back once the feeling passed to say I’d be there by eight. I’ve been staying at the team apartments for the past few days, and these evening meetings aren’t a problem when all I have to do is drive ten minutes down the road, but if I want to make it back to London before eight, I should have left thirty minutes ago. It’s seven now, so barring any traffic and a few—okay, a lot of—broken speed limits, I might get there just a few minutes late.

“Thomas! Wait a second.”

I roll my eyes but don’t slow at Arlo’s shout. “I’ve got somewhere to be, Wood.”

His sprinted footsteps follow, and soon he’s falling in next to me. “My, my. Old man’s got plans?”

“Something like that,” I answer, eyes straight ahead as I push through the doors that lead to the lobby.

“Color me shocked.” I catch his grin from the corner of my eye, but it flickers a little when I don’t return it. “You all right? You’re an odd one on a good day, but you’ve been off all week.”

I wonder why you think so, you backstabbing gobshite. “Absolutely fine.”

He eyes me cautiously, not buying it, but I don’t care what he thinks at this point. My goal is to survive the season together, and if his role in leaking the video comes to light, he’ll get his answer as to why I’ve been distant.

“Everything good at home?” he asks, like he’s figured out the reason for my discontent. “Trouble in paradise already? Didn’t you two just get married?”

I don’t reply. Partially because he’s right but mostly because it’s none of his business and I don’t owe him a damn thing.

“Wait, don’t you have another wedding coming up?” Arlo pushes. “I swear my assistant said she got an invitation. I can’t believe you didn’t hand deliver it to me. I’m hurt, Tommy boy. I thought we were closer than that.”

My fists itch to wipe away his smug smile. How did I ever think anything about him was endearing? He’s pure smarm hidden behind the facade of a racing driver.

But it’s his mention of the wedding that has something deep in my chest twisting. The date looms ever closer. Five days from now, Stella and I will be publicly declaring our commitment to each other. Or at least I hope we will be, because with the way things have been, I don’t know if she’s going to want to go through with it. Hell, I don’t know if she wants to even be in the same room as me.

Although, she wouldn’t have asked me to come home for dinner if she couldn’t stand me, would she? I don’t know exactly what she wants to talk about, but I’m taking it as a good sign that she’s cooking. A woman who hated me certainly wouldn’t do that …unless she’s trying to let me down gently before declaring she has no intention to meet me at the altar.

Fuck, I need to be home.

“Have a good night, Arlo,” I say as I step out into the frigid February night.

Thankfully, he gets the hint and falls back, letting me walk off to the car park alone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had his suspicions about me discovering his misdeeds, but I won’t say anything directly. He can sit and stew.

And sitting and stewing is all I can do as I make the torturous drive back to London, though with each passing mile, I swear my heart beats a little faster at the prospect of seeing Stella. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed our conversations and our easy mornings and our dinners together. I know it’s not all down to her specifically avoiding me—our individual careers really have taken over—but I’ve been miserable without her infectious humor and unwavering belief in me. I want it back. I need it back. I need her .

By the time I park and push through the front door, I’m near to bursting with everything I want to confess. It all starts with us going through with the wedding and letting it mark a fresh start for us. I want it to be the beginning of us being together as a real couple, not as two people playing pretend. Yes, we have a legally binding contract tying us together in matrimony, but we could ignore that and just…date. Learn about each other organically, with no pretenses and no acts to put on. It would just be us. No secrets, no lies, and nothing to fake.

“Stella?” I call out as I set down my bags, but I get no answer.

I stride toward the kitchen, figuring she might be in there, considering she was supposed to be cooking. But the space is empty, save for the full dinner spread on the counter—including dessert. It’s all finished and yet there’s no sign of her.

Worry creeps across my shoulders, tightening the muscles, but I force myself to shake it out. She’s probably just upstairs getting changed. Maybe she accidentally spilled something on herself and needed to put on something new.

I take the stairs two at a time, calling out for her again, figuring she didn’t hear me. When I don’t get an answer this time, the worry slowly morphs into dread.

It momentarily stops when I throw open the door to her bedroom and spot her, but it rushes in when I see the suitcase she’s kneeling next to.

Her head snaps up when the doorknob bangs against the wall, and I hate the panic that lights her eyes at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” I rush to say, but I stop in my tracks as I stare down at her. “What are you—what are you doing?”

Her gaze drops to the suitcase, hands returning to the task of putting items inside. “I have to go back to DC.”

The words are quiet, nearly a whisper, and they’re not said with her usual confidence. It’s…weak. She seems weak, like something has beaten the life out of her and has left a husk in its wake. It’s a Stella I’ve never seen before.

“You— what? ” I shake my head, not understanding. Is this what she wanted to talk to me about? I know I’m late, but not so much that I thought she would give up on waiting and start on whatever plan she’d hatched without explaining it to me. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t lift her head, just keeps steadily working, folding a blouse and pressing it into the case. “There are some things at home I need to handle.”

Home. The last times she’s said that, she’s meant here, this house. Our home. But other than that throwing me, it’s the timing of it all.

“Our wedding is in five days,” I point out.

“I know.”

I wait for more, staring slack-jawed. “Okay…” I try not to scoff, but the derisive sound escapes anyway. “Will you be back by then?” Or is this her way of telling me it’s over? That we’re completely done?

Finally, Stella looks up. The misery in her gaze catches me out, my breath hitching.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“You don’t know ?” I repeat incredulously. I let my hands fling out to the sides, silently begging for her to let me in and tell me what the hell is going on. “Stella, what—”

“I have some business to take care of,” she interrupts, louder this time, but it’s still not her voice.

I don’t recognize this woman on her knees. And I don’t know what could have turned her into—

No. I do know. If she’s going back to DC and it’s got her this wrecked, then it’s because of her ex. Something has happened between her invitation this morning and her packing now, and I’m certain it has to do with him. The only times I’ve ever seen her close up and curl in on herself like this were when something I did reminded her of him or whenever I pressed too hard to share about her past.

The fight floods out of me, and then I’m on the floor in front of her, kneeling on the other side of her suitcase and trying to get her to look at me. “Sweetheart, talk to me. Please.” I reach across to where her hand rests on a pile of clothes, covering it with mine. “Is everything all right?”

She’s quiet again, fighting for the right answer. It’s a long moment before she quietly settles on “It will be.”

But that’s not good enough. I need more. I need a real explanation of what étienne has said or done to have her crawling back to America mere days before we’re supposed to prove to everyone that our love is real.

“Stella,” I hedge, squeezing her fingers, trying to keep her with me even though she’s already slipping away. “You don’t have to—”

“I need to go, Thomas, okay?” she cuts in. The words are rushed and her eyes are pleading. “Will you let me do this? Please?”

I want to tell her no, that I won’t let her do that because I don’t want her to leave our home to go see another man. But that’s not my place. Stella doesn’t need my permission for anything. She never has and never will. I’m certain she knows it too, so the fact that she’s even asking in this roundabout way instead of just jerking her hand away and storming off is a punch straight in the heart.

She’s said it without having to say the actual words—she feels for me as deeply as I feel for her. This is all reciprocal, a closed loop of respect and adoration, the start of something that’s steadily building to more.

And now I have to watch her walk away from me.

I’m slow to draw back. Slow to stand. Slow to step to the side and watch her zip the suitcase closed. She keeps her head down, eyes low, lips pressed together hard. I’ll break if I see a single tear slip down her cheek, but I doubt she’ll allow herself that show of emotion.

I have to let her go and pray she’ll come back. She’s said her piece and I won’t debate her on what she thinks she needs, because I get the feeling that what she needs is closure. Still, I can’t stop from grabbing the handle of her suitcase when she moves for the door, stopping her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask quietly.

It’s a last-ditch effort to stay with her. Even if we can’t stay here, we can stay together.

Her hesitation buoys my heart, but it’s quick to drown under a crashing wave when she shakes her head and stares at the floor.

“I have to do this on my own.” It’s a firm statement. “And you have work to focus on. I won’t ever ask you to put me before it.”

I do have work, but I’d toss it all aside if she said she needed me. “I can—”

“Thomas.” She shakes her head, telling me not to finish that sentence. “I need to go.”

Please don’t say goodbye. Please don’t tell me this is the end.

I get my wish when she leaves without another word.