Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
By the time he lowers me to the cushions, I’m not thinking about luxury apartments or glittering harbors or whether I belong in Monaco. I’m thinking about the way his gaze finds mine, how careful his touch is, how real this all suddenly feels.
And then the rest of the world slips away.
CHAPTER 18
Reid
Monaco looks like it’s been dipped in gold tonight. The marina sparkles with lights from a hundred yachts and the rooftop of the Hotel Hermitage pulses with music, laughter and high-octane glamour. This isn’t some casual get-together. It’s a full-blown spectacle—the kind of night where deals get made in dark corners and everyone’s selling something—even if it’s just the illusion of importance.
None of that’s important though because I’ve got Lara on my arm.
She looks like sin in a deep green silk dress I bought for her. She has her red hair pinned in a way that shows off the long, bare line of her neck. I know she doesn’t think she belongs, but every damn step she takes is elegant and poised. Still, tension radiates from her through the grip of her hand in mine. She’s smiling, but it’s the kind of smile that’s more for armor than ease.
“You okay?” I murmur as we approach the roped VIP entrance, paparazzi cameras flashing.
“Just… trying to take it all in,” she says, her voice low, her head turning down and away from the bulbs. “This isn’t exactly your average Friday night of beers and pizza on the beach.”
“No,” I admit with a reassuring squeeze to her hand. “But you look like you belong here more than any of us.”
That earns me a soft laugh, and I watch her exhale, shoulders loosening somewhat as we make our way to the rooftop. The moon is full, proudly glinting off the Mediterranean beyond. If it weren’t for the thumping music and dozens of people around us, it could be romantic. Regardless, I’ll get more than one slow dance with Lara before night’s end.
Tonight’s event—the Lemarc Foundation Gala for Global Youth Initiatives—is hosted by French billionaire and shipping magnate Étienne Lemarc, a man who collects art, islands and influence in equal measure. The gala is both charity and spectacle, drawing royalty, CEOs, celebrities and yes—Formula International drivers. Brienne Norcross is a strategic partner through the Norcross Foundation, and the guest list reads like a Forbes spread. I wonder if she’ll be here with her husband, Drake. I wouldn’t mind talking to him some more as he seemed like a cool guy, all bearded and tattooed next to Ms. Norcross’s sophisticated elegance.
Hand in hand, we navigate the crowd. Soft jazz mingles with the hum of conversation. Waitstaff in black vests float by with trays of champagne, diamonds glitter in every direction, and Lara’s eyes are wide with awe.
I spot Carlos first, wearing a navy tux with no tie, shirt open just enough to broadcast that he’s unconventional. I see a few of the other drivers—Gunner, Sebastian Wolff and Ronan Barnes talking to two men I don’t recognize, but they’re most likely team sponsors. They’re all flanking Carlos, deep in conversation that has them all laughing.
Carlos is the first to clock me. He raises his glass and lifts his chin in greeting, flashing the same disarming grin he uses to charm pit crews, reporters, and the occasional race official out of a penalty.
Carlos’s eyes dance as we approach. “¡Hermano! You clean up well.”
We clasp hands and slap backs. Carlos takes Lara’s hand with exaggerated reverence. “Señorita Candlish. Hermosa. Monaco has officially been upstaged.”
Lara laughs, genuine this time, and she relaxes a little more. I’m glad Carlos is here as she’s got one other genuine friend to help her feel at ease.
The other guys check out Lara in open curiosity, respectful enough my hackles keep flat. Gunner is dressed down compared to the others—no jacket, shirt sleeves rolled—and his easygoing vibe is pure Southern California. Sebastian Wolff is all sleek tailoring and sharp jawlines, like he walked off the pages of GQ. Ronan Barnes? Predictably, he’s holding court, one hand tucked into his designer blazer pocket, the other gesturing mid-story like he’s narrating a movie trailer in real time. I’ve always found the dude pompous.
“Mates,” I say with a nod. “This is Lara Candlish.”
Sebastian steps forward first. “It’s a pleasure,” he says warmly in a German accent lightened by years of international travel. He takes her hand and presses a light kiss to her knuckles. “You’re the one keeping Reid from getting too cocky?”
Lara laughs nervously. “I mean… I try.”
“Try harder,” Gunner deadpans, then grins. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same,” Lara replies, clearly charmed by his laid-back energy.
And then Ronan turns toward us, making it obvious he was paying attention as we joined the group, despite the fact he was talking to someone else.
“Lara,” he says with an exaggerated drawl, his posh British accent lacking warmth. “I’ve been hearing whispers. They said you were beautiful, but I see they were underselling it.”