“You’ve seen a doctor?” he asks. “Are you well?”
“It’s… I’m fine. It’s called a ‘geriatric pregnancy’ at thirty-five, which is kind of insulting,” I say with a wry look. “Things are great so far, but caution isn’t a bad idea. By the halfway point, I’ll breathe easier. I’m getting some tests just before the end of the F1 season. Hopefully we’ll have lots to celebrate—Emerald might bag second in the constructors’ championship.”
When he pulls me into an embrace, I stiffen momentarily before melting against him.
He exhales into my hair. “Nothing work related seems to matter right now, I confess. Onlythis.”
I wonder how long I can get away with staying in his arms. Is it just a relieved hug, or… are we holding each other? If I looked at him from this close, our lips would be inches apart. It’s the thought of my heart betraying me, of making that move to invite a kiss, that prompts me to push him gently away and sit back.
I clear my throat. “Just so we can put the subject to bed,” I say, immediately feeling heat rush to my face at the thought of something beingput to bed, “I don’t want a flat in London and a nanny. I’m staying here. When the baby is older—like a traveling-age child—we can arrange visits.”
“Perhaps he or she can stay with me during the offseason,” he ventures, “and summer break in August?”
“The offseason is right in the middle of the school year.”
He rakes his hands through his hair and turns away. Restinghis elbows on his knees, he steeples his hands, and the posture reminds me of prayer. He scowls in thought, then quietly asks, “What if you lived in Santorini full-time… at the cottage?”
My heart trips. I’m afraid to reply, unsure what he’s suggesting. “I… uh, I don’t—”
“There are enough rooms for everyone,” he hurries to add. “Please don’t say no until you’ve thought about it. Elena can help, and… you could write books. Or work part-time with the magazine, freelancing.”
When he mentions freelancing, a shimmer of euphoria goes through me. I examine the feeling. I’ve been so focused on the book project and the family stuff, I’ve ignored the things I love about my job: the travel, the excitement, hanging out with Phae, seeing everyone around the paddock, chatting with drivers and TPs and engineers.
I thought I was just missing Klaus, but in this moment, I know I’ve also missed a part of myself these past few months.
As quickly as I light up inside with the temptation of what he’s offering, I accept that it wouldn’t work. I’d be away on assignments, Klaus would be gone most of the time, and our child would wander a Greek island with the world’s grouchiest housekeeper as their chief companion.
My current plan may not be perfect, but it’s still the best fit.
“I don’t need to think about it,” I say, hoping he can’t detect the ambivalence in my voice. “It’s just not possible. We’ll visit when school is out.”
He’s so clearly crestfallen that I reach to touch his leg, but he doesn’t take my hand as I expect—only glances down at my fingers, like I’m an insect that’s landed on him.
“August in Greece?” I go on with a winning smile. “It’ll belovely. And there are the US races—you can come here then and visit.”
We’re both silent for a long time. Klaus finally drops his hand over mine, but it feels obligatory.
“You’ll come to Santorini too?” he asks.
I can’t read his tone; I’m not sure if he’s implying I’m not invited, or hoping I’ll be there. It occurs to me how much will change in our lives in the next few years. At the point when we have a child old enough for transatlantic flights, Klaus and I might both be with other partners. Maybe his girlfriend—wife?—won’t be comfortable with me at the cottage.
An image jumps into my mind of his hypothetical future partner. She’s intense, gorgeous. A French artist. I see her in a black beret, smoking, her flashing eyes narrowed.That ’orrible American woman expects to come tomyhouse?she rants at Klaus, erupting into a noir-film-dramatic tantrum and throwing things at him.
Her name is something like Celeste or Sabine, and she’s amazing in bed…
I shake off the image and reply, hoping I don’t sound timid. “I mean, yeah, I guess I’d come too? It’s a long flight for a kid of any age. And you work so much, even in the offseason. I’d need to be there.”
“I wish my damned job weren’t so all-consuming,” he muses. “I would of course try to take time off and prioritize family. Work remotely whenever possible during visits.”
“Team principal of a hundred-twenty-million-dollar racing team isn’t exactly a ‘work-from-home’ gig. Emerald could surpassAllonby and become number one in a few years. But they’ll need a firm hand on the rudder to get them there.”
There’s a resigned pause before his crisp “Yes.”
As I study his grim expression, I realize the one question I never asked him during those months of interviews:Do you love your job?I just assumed he did.
I hear Auntie Min’s car pull up and leap guiltily to my feet, like a teenager who’s “studying” with her crush. Klaus stands as well. As the door opens, we glance at each other, as if there’s something we were both waiting to say, but the opportunity is gone.
Minnie comes in with two bags, one from the grocery store and another from a craft store. She sets the latter on the coffee table and extends a hand to shake with Klaus.
