Page 55 of Formula Freedom
“You don’t play the piano,” I say, confident in that assessment.
“No, but it came with the place when I bought it. Makes me look more sophisticated than I am.”
I snort in amusement, trailing a finger across the granite countertop as I ponder this wealth that is part of Reid’s life.
“This is… incredible,” I breathe. “But… it’s shocking. I know you so well, and while I know in my mind that you make an ungodly amount of money, the fact that this is your lifestyle now is a bit hard to wrap my brain around.”
Reid leans an elbow on the counter. “I’m still the same me.” He watches me for a beat, then adds, “The views are phenomenal, and everything here is very expensive. But I still eat too much cereal and forget to buy new socks until I’m down to the ones with holes.”
I laugh softly, but the feeling doesn’t quite reach all the way through me. I wander to the window through which the Mediterranean glimmers like it’s been staged for effect.
“You say you’re still the same,” I murmur, “but everything about this world is… different. Big. Intimidating, even.”
He steps up behind me, not quite touching. “It’s just life. Mine happened to go in this direction because I was good at something and lucky enough to make it work. But I still think about the same stuff. Still worry about my parents. Still get nervous before a race. Still crave fish-and-chips from that dodgy place near Bells Beach.”
I smile faintly, then turn to face him. “I guess I don’t know what it means for me… being here. In this.”
Reid studies me. “It doesn’t have to mean anything yet. You’re here for a few days. You’ll get a taste of it. If it’s still foreign after that, we’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong,” I admit, the words escaping before I can edit them.
His expression softens. “Lara… you’ve always belonged. With me. Doesn’t matter what the backdrop is.”
It’s a beautiful sentiment, one that sits somewhere between comfort and pressure. I nod slowly, knowing I need to let myself experience this before I decide how I draw any conclusions. For now, I’ll breathe it in—the sun-warmed balcony, the sound of the sea outside, and the man who somehow fits both the beach and the penthouse.
At least for the next few days… this is our world.
Reid closes the small space between us. His hand slides around the back of my neck, his touch so gentle it makes my breath hitch.
“I mean it,” he says. “You belong.”
I nod, but before I can respond, his lips brush mine—light at first, almost questioning. When I respond, deepening the kiss, he answers without hesitation. His hands come to my waist, anchoring me as he draws me closer, and it washes over me all at once—need and comfort, the wild rush of desire mixing with something softer and more dangerous. Something that resembles the start of true love.
The kiss turns hotter and I melt into him. The world narrows to the taste of his mouth and the steady heat of his hands as they slide to my hips. When he lifts the hem of my top, his fingers graze my skin, sending a shiver up my spine.
He walks me backward toward the plush white couch, his lips never leaving mine, and I go willingly, my heart pounding for a thousand reasons. The quiet ache of wanting, yes—but also something warmer that’s taken root and is starting to grow bigger than either of us.
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 likeit’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.
