My stomach dropped. Wearing his number felt like crossing a line I couldn’t uncross. Like admitting something I wasn’t ready to name. But the thought of standing in the paddock with his name on my back sent a thrill through me I couldn’t ignore.
“Don’t give me that look!” She tossed it onto the sofa near me. “You’re his person. You’re supposed to wear the merch.”
“I’m just the nanny. Nannies don’t wear the driver’s name like a brand.”
“Save the lies for people who don’t know you.” Imani set her glass down. “Besides, you’re making us look bad. We can’t have the team principal’s daughter refusing to play along.”
“Fine. Give me the t-shirt.” I reached out with my free hand. “But I’m drawing the line at the cap.”
“Deal.” Cleo handed over the t-shirt with a triumphant grin. “Now, about little miss...” She held the romper up again. “Do you want it, cutie?” Hazel reached for it. “See? She approves.”
“She’s grabbing at anything shiny. That’s not approval.”
Imani laughed. “Just think how cute she’ll look in the victory photos.”
“There won’t be victory photos. I’m staying well away from cameras, thank you very much.”
Cleo snorted. “Right, because you’re so forgettable. The gorgeous nanny with the world champion’s secret baby? No one would ever notice you.”
I glared at her, but my resolve was already crumbling. The romper was adorable, and Hazel would look impossibly cute in it. Plus, Griffin would get that soft, melty look he always got when Hazel wore anything related to racing.
Not that his opinion should factor into my decision-making. At all.
“Fine.” I sighed, handing Hazel to Cleo. “But no photos. I mean it. If I see either of you pull out a phone, I’m leaving.”
“So dramatic.” Imani rolled her eyes. “Now put the t-shirt on before you freeze to death.”
I replaced my t-shirt with the team one and pretended the lump in my throat had absolutely nothing to do with it.
It was ridiculously soft. I’d never admit it aloud, but it felt nice.
“Much better.” Cleo nodded approvingly. “Now for the baby makeover.”
She changed Hazel into the team romper, cooing over how adorable she looked. And she did look adorable.
“If she wasn’t already the paddock darling, she will be now.” Imani snapped a quick picture on her phone before I could protest. “For her baby book, calm down.”
“She doesn’t have a baby book.”
“Yet.” Cleo handed Hazel back to me. “Give it time. Griffin seems like the type to document everything once he gets the hang of fatherhood.”
The thought made my chest ache in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely. Griffin, carefully curating photos and memories, creating the childhood album he probably never had himself. The kind of father who’d keep Hazel’s first drawings, build science fair projects with her, teach her to drive on empty country roads.
The kind of father I’d want for my own children.
I swallowed hard and adjusted Hazel’s romper. “The race starts in an hour. We should find our seats.”
“Smooth subject change.” Imani stood, straightening her dress. “Lead the way, Mrs. Michaels.”
“I will murder you.”
“Worth it.” She grinned, linking her arm through mine. “Now, where’s the alcohol in this place? If I’m going to pretend to understand car racing, I need more champagne.”
“This is... mad,” Cleo whispered, staring wide-eyed at the space before us. “Is it always this... full-on?”
She took in the high tables, the glossy buffet, the champagne towers. Outside the windows the main straight shimmered with heat.
I shrugged, scanning the crowd of sponsors, celebrities, and a few faces I half-recognized from glossy magazine spreads. “Depends on the race. Some tracks, you barely notice the people. Most of the US tracks are like this.”
