“Like you keep your penthouses at subzero temperatures, and you won’t stay up late enough to DJ at a club.”
He bursts out laughing. “What?”
“Xavier said he could never DJ with you because you keep grandpa hours.”
“Maybe I just don’t want a picture of me celebrating in a club splashed all over the internet,” Caleb challenges.
“Fair. But if you win the Drivers’ Championship, promise me we’ll go out and celebrate,” I say. “And stay out past midnight.”
His mouth curves up in a happy smile. “For you? If that’s what you want? Yes.”
I love him so much.
And I can’t wait for the day I feel confident enough to tell him that, too.
* * *
“I want you to be honest,” Caleb says. “How do you feel about all of this?”
I take a sip of my wine and look back at him. I’m staying in his suite in a luxury boutique hotel in Austria, and we’re having dinner together before the race tomorrow. This hotel was once a small castle, situated in the picturesque Murtal Valley, surrounded by the Styrian mountains. There’s a lot of unspoiledlandscape here—beautiful forests and hills, with everything lush and green this time of year.
It’s breathtaking.
As is the man sitting across the table from me.
I meet his gaze, his eyes intense and concerned as he stares at me. This is the weekend we soft launched. I accompanied him to the paddock on Thursday morning. I had breakfast with him at Collings Motors. Pictures circulated on social media, but nobody thought it was too strange until I showed up for qualifying in the garage today. Hadleigh and Catherine have been monitoring it, and speculation and comments are now flying.
Which will only intensify tomorrow when I’m in his garage for the race itself.
“Caleb, I know what is being said,” I reassure him. “I don’t care. My job is secure with The Downforce Network, no matter if a portion of the population thinks I’m in this to bang you and nothing else.”
His jaw clenches. “I hate this.”
“But we knew it would be this way. I’m not looking at my comments. Hadleigh is commenting on things that I would normally comment on, like if someone asks me what lipstick I’m wearing or who made my pants. I’m not even looking because I don’t care.”
“But it’s the first few days,” Caleb counters. “It’s going to get worse.”
“I know. And then it will be the norm, and they’ll move on.”
“How can you be so calm about this?” he asks.
“Part of it is weplannedit,” I say thoughtfully. “What happened with your parents was a shock. Your mum got caught, and your dad was blindsided. Then a firestorm followed it. But we’ve planned for this. I’m not jumping out there and holding your hand or kissing you. There’s still speculation about what we even are. You have Catherine monitoring your socials, so youdon’t have to read anything. I have the same with Hadleigh. I post my content and move on. This isn’t going to be the same as what you went through as a kid. Just like what you talked about with Jason during your therapy session.”
He absently rubs his finger up and down the side of his glass of water, considering my words. Caleb told me he’s been working through his feelings about the media with Jason, and how to reconcile his past with the present. It’s been good for him. Not that I expect him to suddenly love interacting with the media, but he’s moving toward a better relationship with them, and that will be better for him in the long run.
“Fair,” he says.
“It’s more than fair. It’s the truth. And again, it’s all in the early stages of speculation. We’re not giving them the money shot, so to speak.”
Caleb leans back in his chair and exhales. “I’m glad about that. I feel better knowing there’s that bit of protection around you.”
I don’t need it, Caleb, I think. I work in the media. I know I can handle this.
All because I get to love him.
“So tomorrow I will be getting up earlier than you,” I say, blotting my lips with my napkin and putting it aside. “I have my F2 grid walk. But I don’t want to disrupt your race-day routine, so I’ll just slip into the garage before you go out.”
“You wouldn’t bother me,” Caleb insists.