Read Chapter 34: Future Plans

The Monaco harbor in January was a different beast entirely. No screaming engines, no television crews, no grid girls. Just the slap of water against ancient stone and a sky the color of cold steel. Elise pulled her coat tighter and watched the yachts bob in their winter berths, their owners long gone to warmer climates.

Julien stood beside her at the exact spot where, eleven months ago, he'd told a journalist she was "too green" to understand the car's behavior. The same low wall, the same view of the hairpin climbing into the hills. She'd replayed that moment a thousand times—the sting of his words broadcast across every paddock, the way she'd forced herself to nod when the cameras found her.

"You brought me here to gloat?" she asked, a smile tugging at her mouth.

"Maybe." He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "Or maybe I wanted to stand where I was the biggest idiot in motorsport and remind myself how lucky I am that you didn't quit that day."

She turned to face him. The wind off the water had reddened his cheeks, and there was something nervous in the set of his jaw that she hadn't seen since the Abu Dhabi grid. Julien Lacoste, world champion, nervous.

"I thought about quitting," she admitted. "For about thirty seconds. Then I decided I'd rather prove you wrong than let you be right."

"That's the Elise I fell in love with." He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne beneath the salt air. "Stubborn. Brilliant. Absolutely unwilling to let anyone else write her story."

"Julien—"

He dropped to one knee.

The harbor went very quiet. Elise's hand flew to her mouth as he produced a small velvet box from his coat, the kind of box that made her stomach drop because she knew exactly what was inside.

"I've been planning this speech for three weeks," he said, opening the box to reveal a solitaire that caught what little January light there was. "I wrote it down. Memorized it. It was beautiful—lots of metaphors about racing lines and downforce and crossing the finish line together."

"And?"

"And then I realized you'd hate it." He grinned up at her, the grin that had graced a thousand magazine covers, the grin she'd seen crack through his helmet visor after the title was secured. "So I'm just going to say this. You're the best engineer I've ever worked with. You're the reason I have that trophy on my mantel. And you're the only person in the world who can call me a idiot to my face and make me grateful for it."

"An idiot," she corrected softly.

"An idiot." His voice roughened. "Elise Moreau, will you marry me?"

The question hung in the cold air. A gull cried somewhere overhead. Elise looked at the man kneeling before her—the same man who'd once dismissed her in front of the world, who'd clawed his way back to trust her with his career, his life, his heart. The blueprint for their team was still tacked to her apartment wall, covered in annotations from a dozen late-night conversations about aero packages and driver development programs and whether they could really pull it off.

"Yes."

The word came out before she'd fully decided to say it, but the moment it left her lips, she knew it was the truest thing she'd said in years. Julien's face split into a smile so wide it seemed to crack something open in her chest. He slid the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, because of course he'd known her size, because of course he'd paid attention—and stood to kiss her.

The harbor didn't applaud. No cameras flashed. But when he pulled back, his hands cupping her face, she felt the weight of the moment settle around them like a championship trophy.

"I have conditions," she said.

"Name them."

"I'm not changing my name. Professionally or otherwise."

"Didn't ask you to."

"And when we build this team—" She held up her left hand, watching the diamond catch light. "I'm head of engineering. Not co-head. Not 'advisory role until you find a real director.' Head. Full stop."

Julien laughed, the sound echoing off the water. "Elise, I've seen you out-think every engineer I've ever worked with. I've watched you turn a car that wanted to kill me into a title winner. You think I'd let anyone else run my operation?"

"I think you'd try to take over when things got stressful."

"I would absolutely try." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "And you'd absolutely tell me to shut up and sit down."

"Because I'd be right."

"Because you'd be right." He pressed his forehead to hers. "We're going to build something incredible, you know. The two of us."

"I know."

They stood there for a long moment, the Mediterranean stretching gray and patient before them. Somewhere up in the hills, the Monaco circuit wound through the streets where they'd won and lost and found each other again. In a few months, the cars would return, the noise and color and chaos of race weekend swallowing this quiet stretch of harbor whole.

But for now, it was just them. And a future that suddenly felt as real as the ring on her finger.

---

The office in Nice wasn't much to look at—a converted warehouse with exposed beams and a concrete floor, the air still carrying the faint smell of whoever had stored furniture there before. But Elise could see it. Through the dust-covered windows, past the peeling paint, she could see the drawing board where she'd sketch her first suspension concept. The glass-walled meeting room where she'd walk sponsors through simulation data. The garage space out back where the first car would take shape under her hands.

"You're doing the thing," Julien said from the doorway.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you stare at nothing and your eyes go all far away." He walked in, carrying two paper cups of coffee—a skill he'd developed only after she'd threatened to stop making him breakfast if he couldn't remember she took hers black. "You're designing the whole facility in your head, aren't you?"

"I'm evaluating the electrical load capacity." She took the cup from him. "The existing wiring won't support the simulation rigs we need."

"The wiring exists?"

"Barely." She sipped her coffee. "We're going to need to redo the entire infrastructure. That's going to eat into the budget."

Julien leaned against a support beam, looking around the empty space with an expression she couldn't quite read. "We could find somewhere else. Something move-in ready."

"And pay triple the rent for someone else's mistakes?" She shook her head. "No. This is the place. I can feel it."

"You can feel it."

"I'm an engineer. I don't feel things." She gestured with her coffee cup. "I make evidence-based assessments. And my assessment is that this building has good bones, good location, and a landlord who's desperate enough to give us a three-year lease with an option to buy."

"Three years." Julien pushed off the beam, crossing to stand beside her. "Three years from now, we'll have a car on the grid. A competitive one."

"Two years minimum to design and build," she corrected. "If we start hiring now. First season will be about learning, gathering data. Second season we push for points. Third—"

"We win."

She looked at him. There it was again, that absolute certainty she'd seen in his eyes a hundred times before a race. The belief that shaped itself into reality through sheer force of will.

"Third season," she agreed, "we make noise."

He kissed her temple. "I love that you never say 'we might.' You always say 'we will.'"

"That's because I've already done the math." She turned to face him, feeling the ring warm against her finger. "But there's something else we need to discuss. Before we sign anything."

Julien's expression shifted, the playful edge fading. "The sponsor situation."

"You know about that?"

"Elise." He said her name gently. "I've known since Austin. You think Visser's people didn't make sure I heard about it? That some director from the title sponsor didn't have a 'casual conversation' with my manager about my 'commitment to the team's future'?"

She felt the blood drain from her face. "Julien, I—"

"You kept it from me because you were protecting me." He set down his coffee, taking both her hands in his. "I know. I was angry at first, when I figured it out. Felt like you didn't trust me. But then I thought about all the things you carry that I never see. All the weight you shoulder so I can just drive the damn car."

"I was going to tell you," she said. "After Monaco. I was going to tell you everything."

"Everything about the sponsor? Or everything about your sister?"

The air left her lungs. She pulled her hands free, turning away to stare at the blank concrete wall. "Pierre told you."

"Pierre didn't have to tell me anything." Julien's voice was soft behind her. "I put it together. The way you went quiet whenever anyone mentioned Austin. The way you flinched at the word 'sister.' And then when Marta was arrested, and the investigation came out, I saw the file they'd compiled on you. The background check the FIA did."

"My sister is none of your business." The words came out sharper than she'd intended. "That's not something I share."

"I know." He didn't reach for her. "And I've waited. Every time you've almost told me, I've waited. Because you said you'd tell me when you were ready, and I believe in giving you the space to make that choice."

She closed her eyes. The warehouse echoed around them, empty and raw. Just like she felt sometimes, when the night got too quiet and the memories crept in.

"My sister died in a crash," she said. "Not a racing crash. A road crash. She was seventeen. I was fifteen. We were on our way home from my first karting race, and she was talking about how proud she was of me, how I was going to be the first woman to win Le Mans, and then—"

Her voice cracked. She felt Julien move closer, felt his warmth at her back.

"A drunk driver ran a red light," she continued. "She died on impact. I walked away with a broken arm and a guilt I've been carrying ever since. Because I was the reason we were in that car. Because she was celebrating me."

"That's not your fault."

"I know that." She turned to face him. "Intellectually, I know that. But every time I step into a garage, there's a part of me that thinks—she died because of my dream. And now here I am, living it. Standing in a warehouse in Nice planning a race team with the world champion. And she never got to see any of it."

Julien pulled her into his arms, and she let herself go, let herself feel the weight of the confession she'd carried for half her life. He didn't say anything. He just held her, steady and warm, until the trembling in her shoulders subsided.

"She saw it," he said finally, his voice rough. "Somewhere. She saw you become Elise Moreau, the engineer who took apart my ego and rebuilt my career. She saw you stand on that podium in Abu Dhabi and prove every person who ever doubted you wrong. She saw all of it."

"You don't know that."

"I know you." He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "And I know that the woman who loves me, who's going to marry me, who's going to build a world-class racing team from nothing—she carries her sister with her every single day. That's not a weight, Elise. That's a fuel. That's what pushes you harder than anyone else in that paddock."

She laughed, a wet, broken sound. "When did you get so wise?"

"The moment I realized I was going to lose you if I didn't become worthy of you." He kissed her forehead. "Now. Are we signing this lease, or are we going to stand here feeling feelings all day?"

"Feeling feelings is exhausting."

"It is." He grinned. "Let's go find a landlord and negotiate him into bankruptcy."