He chuckles, holding me by the waist a little tighter. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The live band that our foundation hired for the night starts playing another song that Travis takes the lead on. My feet float on a bed of clouds as he leads me, our eyes never leaving one another’s.
We’re in sync on a level that I never imagined possible. As a young girl, I sometimes saw my parents dancing together in the kitchen or living room. Mom would laugh and say she was a terrible dance partner, but Dad would say ‘but you'remydance partner’ and she’d accidentally step on his toe again, and they’d laugh.
But there’s no toe stepping between Travis and me. Simply an ease of movement between us that could last an eternity.
It takes practically the entire room to begin applauding that we realize the music stopped. The leader of the band is speaking.
Travis glances over as we also applaud and frowns. “What the hell?”
I look past his shoulder. “What?”
He juts his head toward a corner of the room. The two men there are barely visible, but I can make them out. One is Drake Horner, his team principal, and the other is Max Ferreira.
“What are they doing—” Travis starts to walk in that direction, but stops short when a tall, blond guy approaches with a smile.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Travis’ expression changes on a dime. “Gunther,” Travis says with renewed energy.
“I saw you earlier,” Gunther says, “but didn’t get a chance to say hello.”
“I didn’t know you were back in town.” Travis turns to me. “Babe, this is Gunther Bachman. We were teammates for all of five minutes. Gunther, this is Alyssia Scott,” he pauses. “But we’re going to change that last name soon.”
My eyes bulge as I look over at him. There’s not a pinch of joking in his expression.
Gunther chuckles. “Still as direct as before. As a German, I appreciate that,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Scott.”
He extends his hand.
I shake it, nearly losing my composure as I feel the ridges of the scarred skin on his hand.
“Please call me Alyssia,” I say, hoping I hide the surprise in my voice well.
“Are you going to be around for a while tonight?” Travis asks.
“Yes, of course,” Gunther replies.
He and Travis exchange a look, one I can’t quite discern.
“That’s great news.” He and Travis slap fives, but I have no idea what just happened.
“What was that?” I ask Travis in a low voice when it’s just he and I again.
“Gunther’s been out of F1 for a few years now. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him,” he explains.
I’m not certain that quite answers my question, though. It feels like there’s something he’s not telling me.
I don’t have time to ask him anything more about it because Éléanor approaches to tell me that I’m needed at the front of the room with the rest of my colleagues.
Travis gives me a kiss on the cheek before I leave him.
Warm tingles from his kiss linger on my skin as I move toward the group of colleagues and other FIA management that are a part of tonight’s event.
The first person to speak, once we have the attention of all of the guests, is the president of the FIA himself. He thanks everyone for attending and then gives a speech about the importance of giving back and how motorsports impacted him as a child and young racer himself.
Next up is Éléanor who personally names tonight’s donors and all of those who made this entire evening possible, including all of us behind her who worked to put it all together.
