“Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lily
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my hotel suite.Silverstone had finally arrived.My home race.My dream.The race I’d been dying to win since I was a little girl karting in the Merseyside circuit.
I wanted this badly.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand with another message from my mother.I ignored it.The memory of last week crashed over me.Henri’s hands panic-gripping the wheel.The rain streaming down the windshield.His body against mine in that ridiculous orange Beetle.
We’d promised to talk after the Beetle racing, but that conversation had never come, probably because we were both too scared.Not to mention, I’d been so busy dealing with theRacing in Heelsfallout.Instead we’d spent the entire week exchanging texts and memes and talking about all the TV shows we needed to catch up on.Anything but discussing the big, fat elephant in the room.
The circumstances hadn’t changed, and Henri Dubois was still off-limits.
My phone lit up with a text from Henri.Archie misses you.Three words that made my chest tight.They’d been together a little over a week now, and Georgia had said she’d noticed something in Henri.
I stared at the text, remembering Georgia’s call yesterday.She was practically giddy, going on about how Henri had actually belly-laughed during their dinner Tuesday night.
Georgia had sent photos of Henri sprawled on his couch with Archie draped across his chest, both fast asleep.And then another of them at Monaco’s harbor, Henri throwing a tennis ball while Archie bounded after it.The tension that usually lived in Henri’s shoulders had melted away in those pictures.
When I walked out of the shower, a knock rattled my door.
“Room service.”My mother’s voice cut through the wooden door.
I snorted.After a lifetime of knowing each other, she still thought she could fool me.
Upon opening the door, Victoria Blackwood made a beeline to the cream sofa, her designer suit impeccable despite the early hour, tablet in hand.
“You’re not dressed.”More of a statement than a question.My mother’s eyes swept over my towel-wrapped form with the kind of disapproval she had mastered over the course of my childhood.“Media day starts in two hours.”
“Hello.Good morning.”I grabbed clothes from my suitcase, waving them at her.
“Oh, Lillian, wear the chrome tennis dress.”
Always an opinion.
I quickly got changed in the bathroom before coming back out.My mother had settled on the couch, and she was holding her tablet out like a weapon.
“Do you want to explain this?”
On the screen sat my social-media post from yesterday.A blurry shot of the orange Beetle mid-slide through mud, Henri’s laughter visible even through the dirty windscreen.I’d captioned it simply:
Got buggy with it.
“It’s a photo of a car.”
“With Henri Dubois in the background.”Each syllable dripped venom.“Do you know what this looks like?”
“Like we’re friends.”I yanked on my team polo with more force than necessary.“There’s nothing that says I can’tsocializewith other drivers.”
“Socialize?”She scrolled furiously through her tablet.“This isn’t socializing, Lily.This is… What even is this?Racing Beetles in some field like teenagers?”
“It was a track day.With multiple people present.”I kept my voice level, professional.The same tone I used with race stewards.“Lots of people were there, and I figured it would make for some fun social-media content.Plus, it wasfun!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”She stood, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she paced.“Do you think I’m stupid?That I don’t see what’s happening here?”
I focused on rummaging through my makeup bag, ignoring her glare.“It’s good PR.Shows personality, relatability.”
