I swallowed. “Jonathan…”
He took a step closer. “I’m tired of pretending we’re strangers in hallways. I’m tired of wondering if you’re awake three floors above me in some hotel while I’m lying there wishing you were next to me.”
I tried to breathe. It didn’t work.
He went on, softly, “Move in with me.”
I blinked. “You mean tonight?”
“I mean for the rest of the season,” he said. “Why are we going back to separate rooms just to prove to people we don’t care?”
“And Meridian? And Apex?”
“We’ll deal with them. Together.” He turned to look directly at me. “I know what this could cost me,” he said quietly. “There are sponsors who won’t love it. People who’ll say I’m distracted, that I’ve lost focus. Meridian might decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth if the noise doesn’t die down. Even if I keep winning. And if I start driving like I’m carrying something extra in my head, that’s on me.”
He took a deep breath. “They pulled us into the light,” he murmured. “Let’s decide how we stand in it.”
The water touched our shoes, cold and clean.
“What if standing in it makes things worse?” I whispered. “For your reputation. For my career.”
He reached forward, brushing his fingers against mine — not a grab, just an invitation. “What if it makes both of us honest?”
Behind us, someone on the boardwalk shouted something in Dutch. The wind carried the scent of fried fish and salt. The world kept moving, indifferent to the axis my life felt like it was tilting on.
“If we’re openly a couple,” I said slowly, “this doesn’t fade. It becomes permanent. You stop being just a Formula 1 driver. Everything you do gets read as a statement. Every bad weekend gets blamed on distraction. Every good one gets explained away.”
I swallowed, watching the tide curl around our feet.
“And for me it stops being a complication and becomes my professional identity. I’m not just covering Formula 1. I’m the journalist in a relationship with one of the drivers. Every piece I write about you gets read through that lens. Editors hedge. Sources get careful. The guardrails Thea built are the only thing standing between me and a career footnote. Living together doesn’t erase those lines. It puts pressure on them.”
I lifted my eyes to his.
“That’s the price,” I said. “For both of us. Are you sure you want to pay it?”
He stepped closer. His fingers were warm against mine now.
“I’m sure I don’t want to build my life around pretending you’re optional,” he said quietly. “The rest of it… we handle as it comes. Together.”
I knew, even as he said it, that the risk wasn’t symmetrical. If Jonathan drove well, the noise would fade. Lap times were still his currency. Results would absolve him. For me, the story might never stop being personal. The appearance of impropriety didn’t clear with a good weekend; it lingered, followed you, turned into shorthand.
I wasn’t choosing ignorance.
I was choosing to live inside the tension and see if I could hold it.
I looked at him — really looked — and in that moment I knew the truth: I didn’t want to go back to an empty room. For as long as I didn’t have to.
The sea breathed in.
And out.
“Okay,” I said, breath leaving me like I’d been holding it all season. “Yes.”
His exhale was almost a laugh. His forehead touched mine for half a second, like a prayer no one else got to hear.
“Room 417,” he said softly. “I’ll have them leave a keycard at the desk. Bring your luggage. Don’t forget that gift I sent you in London.”
I felt heat rise to my face. “You’re impossible,” I said.
