19 England

19

ENGLAND

PHAEDRA

Ordinarily, the sight of Cosmin stalking around my bedroom naked would have me swimming in lust, but this is a code red–level crisis. I jab my arms into a green kimono bathrobe and follow him to the bed.

He perches on the edge, staring for a long time at his phone in grim silence.

“What the fuck do we do?” I prompt.

“I am thinking.”

He turns the phone sideways to type, then sets it on his lap without writing anything, muttering in Romanian under his breath.

“How the hell did she figure it out?” I groan.

“I don’t know.” He stares at the phone. “Scratch that—I might know. I said something to Guillaume this afternoon, and I’m not sure if I made it adequately clear that the information should go no further than his ears.”

“Cos!” I flop back on the bed. “Fuck, Reece has no choice now but to tell Klaus, and this is just the excuse he needs to toss me out the air lock.”

Cosmin scoffs. “He would do no such thing. Why do you—”

“The hell he wouldn’t! This is the perfect excuse to muscle me out. He’ll use this to convince Mo to sell. This whole… entanglement —it doesn’t make me look professional.” I cover my face with both hands. “I want to yell at you for blabbing to Guillaume, but this is really my stupid fault for starting shit with you in the first place.”

I stand and stride to the window, and Cosmin follows, winding his arms around my waist. “This isn’t a disaster. We can fix it. Reece may have gossip, but no proof.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“It is . We deny everything.” He kisses my neck. “ Deny, deny, deny ,” he whispers against my skin, his tone playful in an effort to ease my anxiety.

Despite his attempt at distraction, the reality hits me that this time bomb is going to go off eventually. We might stay under the radar now, but what about next week, month, year?

My shoulders sag. “I should just quit now and have the dignity to jump before I’m pushed. Lars can take over as your race engineer—Emerald doesn’t need me. This all ends with Edward J. Morgan. Not his daughter.”

Saying it out loud hurts more than I expected it to.

“What the shit? No ,” Cosmin insists. “Emerald needs you, as do I.” He turns me in his arms and cradles my face. “Not only as the woman I love, but as my race engineer. Yes, Lars could man the comms during a race if necessary. But you and I have a specific dynamic.”

As Cosmin’s words catch up, my eyes burn with unexpected emotion. “Wait, did you say ‘ love ’?”

“You live in my head on track, and in my heart everywhere. Phaedra Morgan, my beautiful girl. When I get to that podium, we will be there together.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard that smooth, deep voice form my name, in the lilting accent I’ve imprinted on.

“Say it again,” I urge, weaving my fingers into his damp hair. “I’ve never liked my name, but it sounds so right on your lips.”

“Phaedra,” he whispers. “ Phaedra. ”

I devour his mouth in response, and the warmth of him dizzies me. Overwhelmed, I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, savoring our combined scent in a deep breath like I’m waking from sleep.

“Te iubesc atat de mult… ah God, I love you,” he says, picking me up and carrying me to the bed.

I want those fucking words like oxygen.

My heart pounds loud in my ears.

“Cosmin?”

“Don’t ask me to rescind what I’ve said.” He lays me on the bedspread and kisses me hard, as if afraid to free my lips and hear my rejection. “I won’t fucking take it back.”

“Cosmin.”

“ No —we don’t need to speak of it.”

I cradle his jaw. I know every curve and angle, and my heart trips over the crowded landscape of all his details I’ve come to treasure.

“I love you too,” I confess.

The inevitability of our love closes around me like I’ve fallen into a pool of it.

I take a deep breath and let myself sink.

Cos and I agree to confess nothing for now. After our mutual declaration, I think we both see this has become too big to keep under wraps indefinitely. But an admission of contract violation—while Emerald’s upcoming transition is still unstable—could torpedo everything for me.

I wanted a sexy secret, and… yeah, be careful what you wish for.

I feel selfish for being relieved that Nat’s spark with Klaus fizzled, because otherwise I’d worry that she’d let it slip.

Reece demanded to know the next morning why Cosmin never replied, and he claimed he’d been in a game of pub trivia with friends in Milton Keynes until it was too late for a text. He bristled with convincing indignation when he told her he could supply any number of people who would vouch for his presence in the pub.

I advised him to go no-holds-barred shameless flirt all weekend with every ovary-bearing human to throw Reece off our trail.

Out of necessity, Formula Fuckboy is back.

On Thursday, Cosmin told a reporter she looked “delicious.” After Friday practice, he told Francesca—the baker who works in Emerald’s dining room—that her muffins were the best he’d ever put in his mouth, with a rakish wink that made her blush. After Saturday quali, a fan asked Cos to autograph her hand, and he suggested her thigh.

Classic.

The day of the grand prix, the weather is pleasant but overcast at sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Due to an unavoidable gearbox replacement on Cosmin’s car, he’s got a five-place grid penalty and has gone from starting in third to eighth.

Jakob’s in fifth, so Cos is behind him. He was surprisingly sanguine about that fact when I saw him earlier in the garage. The thing that chafes him is Jo?o Valle in seventh.

I’m sitting on the pit wall—all seven of us hunched over the monitors with our headsets—and my stomach feels flat against my spine with anxious anticipation as we watch the red lights over the grid flick on in sequence, then fall dark to signal the start.

I never speak to Cosmin in the initial moments of a race while he navigates the chaos of the field, the cars spreading out and finding their early placement.

“Very clean,” Lars murmurs in approval through our channel, scrutinizing the pack as it breaks away.

Seconds later, I see the same thing he does on the monitor—catastrophe striking so quickly I’m only intaking a breath to speak when all hell breaks loose on track.

As Valle blatantly crowds out Cosmin approaching Abbey corner, their wheels make contact. I gasp, the instinctive knowledge hitting me that this one is going to be bad . A stuttering cry escapes me.

Cosmin’s car spins and flips, sliding upside down before careening into the gravel and executing another three-sixty-degree barrel roll, launching over the tyre barrier, and coming to rest wedged between it and the catch fencing.

I’m on my feet instantly.

“Cosmin?” My fingers pinch the mouthpiece of my headset hard. “Cosmin, report.”

Silence.

I look over at Klaus, whose lips are compressed into a line.

“Cosmin. Report , please,” I try again, attempting to keep my tone pragmatic.

My gaze is riveted to the monitor where cable-camera footage offers a clearer angle. There’s no way Cosmin can exit the car, and I’m scanning for signs of impending fire. It feels like I’ve spent a lifetime waiting to hear his reply, though it’s been only seconds.

The FIA medical car is already on track, speeding to evaluate the situation. Jo?o Valle continued unscathed, and a vicious part of me wishes for that inept moron’s car to vaporize. How fucking dare he keep driving?

“Cos? Babe, I need you to answer me. Please? Oh, God…”

Shit. Did I actually say that into the radio, or just in my head?

Moments later, the race is red-flagged.

I don’t realize my face is running tears until Klaus turns my shoulders away from a nearby cameraman, who’s so close he might as well be X-raying my teeth. Klaus waves the man off with a scowl.

What the hell am I doing? “Race Engineer Crying” will be the next viral F1 meme for sure, with amusing things photoshopped onto the monitor—I know how this shit works. I wish I could care, but all I want is to hear Cosmin’s voice.

“ Klaus ,” I falter.

“He’s protected by the halo and roll hoop—you know this, Schatzi,” he tells me sternly. “Pull yourself together.”

“Why isn’t he answering?” My voice is strangled with panic.

“Likely because he is unconscious.”

“Or—”

“Stop,” he interrupts with a glower. His voice softens. “Look at the glove biometrics.”

I inspect the monitor, and of course he’s right: the biometric reading from sensors in Cosmin’s glove shows his heart is beating. When I look back at Klaus, he makes the gesture I know so well: chest tap, palm raise, forehead tap. Your head is above your heart.

The pit wall team unblinkingly watch the feed from the crash site as cars return to the pits. Things are oddly quiet, aside from the ever-present ambient crowd sound and the chuckling bawl of a helicopter.

Then I hear him.

“I’m… I’m all right.” Cosmin’s shaken voice in my ears makes me light up inside like New Year’s fireworks.

Oh fucking thankyouthankyouthankyou , my brain blathers.

“Copy. Good to know, Legs,” I reply, businesslike.

There are a hundred other things I want to say. His living, breathing voice is like water, and I needed it so desperately that I now sag onto my seat with relief as I’m quenched. I watch as track marshals move the car enough for Cosmin to climb from the wreckage. He’s a little unsteady as the medical coordinator walks him to the medical car for assessment.

I dig at my irritated eyes, focused on what’s happening, wondering if an ambulance will be called. They decide he’s stable enough to ride to the circuit medical center in the car he’s sitting in and take off.

Finally, I breathe.

I look up at Klaus and remove my headset. “I’m gonna head over.”

There’s a pause before he nods, and I jog to an Aprilia scooter we have nearby and hop on, latching the helmet and then wending my way toward the medical center. When I pull up, Reece is arriving, riding on the back of a scooter driven by a garage mechanic. She jumps off as I set my helmet aside, and we converge at the doors.

“We’ll talk later about your public outburst,” she says stiffly, holding the door open for me.

I trip to a halt. “We have bigger things to worry about. Let’s focus on Cosmin.”

“I wonder what Mo thought when he got an eyeful of your little display.”

“He’d think I’m a human being! Why are you losing your mind over my business?” I demand.

“You and Cosmin clearly lied to me ,” she snaps. “I had no desire to be saddled with your tawdry secret, but you two made it my concern. And here we are! No one bloody listened to me, and now you’re compromised .”

A bitter shred of laughter escapes. “‘Compromised’? What is this, a Cold War spy movie?” I stride away, headed to where I hear voices.

Cosmin sits on an exam table and is being attended by a doctor and nurse. His race suit is peeled down to the waist, draped behind him. He sees me and lifts a hand. His eyes are tired, but he’s wearing a faint smile.

“Draga mea,” he sighs out. “Vino aici ?i s?rut?-m?.”

This one I know— come here and kiss me —and I suspect it’s freely rolling off his tongue because he doesn’t think anyone else in the room will understand. Which is why his eyebrows jerk high when Reece walks in after me.

Ignoring her, I open my arms and go to Cosmin, hugging him hard.

“Holy shit am I glad to see you,” I say against his neck.

When I pull back, he cradles my cheek with one hand, feathering the thumb under my lashes. His eyes move from my face to a point behind me where I know Reece is standing. With obvious reluctance his hand drops, forgoing the kiss.

She knows , I mouth at him.

Reece’s phone chimes and she swipes it open. “Track is nearly clear—restart in a few minutes. Valle got a ten-second penalty for causing a collision.”

“Ten seconds?” I snarl, suddenly furious as I’m reminded of Valle’s existence. “I’ve got a ‘penalty’ for that incompetent pipsqueak—how about ten seconds in a room with me and a baseball bat?”

“ Control yourself. ” The words carry a subtext, and Reece’s eyes narrow as she delivers them. She addresses the tall man with a thick walrus mustache. “Doctor, might I get a video of Cos to post for fans?”

He steps back with a wave of one arm, and poor Cosmin ruffles a weary hand through his hair like the twenty-four-seven show pony he is. His expression is resignation, clearly knowing he’s a product that needs to appear undamaged.

“Can we give him a fucking minute?” I ask Reece as she’s lifting her phone.

She cuts a stern glare at me. “Oh, let’s do wait. Meanwhile half the world’s women are collapsing on fainting couches. There’s already an ‘RIP Cosmin’ hashtag, and it’s not been a half hour.”

I turn to him, combing my fingers through his hair and smoothing his eyebrows. On impulse, I drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. He captures my face with both hands, brushing my lips with his own.

So much for discretion.

I step back so Reece can shoot the video. She taps the screen and nods. Cosmin affects a bright smile.

“Hello, all,” he says. “Thank you for your concern and kind wishes. Owing to the skilled marshals and medical team here at Silverstone, I’m in good nick and looking forward to the GP at Hockenheim in two weeks. Cheers!”

His expression flattens immediately, and he rubs a hand over his face. He’s trembling, and I look at the doctor with a question in my expression.

“He’s fine,” the man assures me. “It’s the adrenaline rush coming down. Causes a drop in blood sugar.”

The nurse hands Cosmin a pouch of glucose gel.

Reece looks up from her phone when I say her name, and I nod sideways toward the hallway in a suggestion for us to go. Clearing my throat, I try for a veneer of professionalism as I walk backward.

“Glad you’re okay,” I tell Cosmin.

“I will see you at home, draga mea. Te iubesc.”

He knows full well that Reece just heard him say he loves me. As I turn away, a private smile creeps over my lips. My heart lifts, feeling for the first time as if this is real. I always seem to forget: the anticipation of a thing you’re dreading is far worse than the reality once it actually happens.

Reece is silent as we make our way to the exit.

I’m both elated and terrified, wondering what will happen now that the cat’s out of the bag.