Page 67 of Formula Freedom
He looks over at me. “Could you live here?”
I glance around—the cobbled streets, the tidy balconies, the rows of pale stone buildings with their shuttered windows and sloped, red-tile roofs against the sky darkening over the distant hills. “Yeah… I could.”
He’s quiet for a moment as his eyes roam around. “I could too. It’s honestly more my speed than Monaco.”
I look at him, surprised. “But you’d give up the tax benefits?”
He chuckles. “I make twenty million a year. I think I can afford to pay taxes.”
My jaw drops slightly, but I don’t say anything. He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal.
“I just want somewhere that feels like a life. Not a performance. We could make a nice home here.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, breathing him in, reveling in the chocolate and the city night, more grounded than I’ve felt in a long time.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “We really could.”
We return to the apartment just after ten, hands cold but fingers still entwined as we enter. Reid kicks off his shoes by the door and disappears into the kitchen. I hear the clink of mugs and when I round the corner, he’s already pulling out my favorite tea. “Sound good?” he asks, shaking the box.
“Sounds divine. Want me to do it?”
“Nope, I’ve got it.”
We chat as Reid gets the water boiling and we take steaming mugs into the living room where we sink down into an olive-colored couch. I wrap my hands around the cup gratefully, letting the steam warm my face as I settle. The soft throw draped across the back smells like him and I tug it over my legs. Reid sits beside me, close but not crowding, his own mug perched on one thigh.
For a while, we don’t talk. Just enjoy the comfortable silence of being with one another.
He glances at me. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming with me. For this.” He gestures vaguely at the apartment, the tea, the space between us. “I know it’s a lot. All of it. But you being here… it makes it something as opposed to just another stop between races.”
I press my shoulder against his. “I don’t know exactly where I fit in your world yet,” I admit. “But this part? This I like.”
His hand finds mine beneath the blanket and he laces our fingers together.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Because I want you in all of it. Even the messy parts.”
I don’t say anything in return. I just lean my head on his shoulder and let the weight of the day fall away, knowing that—for the first time in a long while—I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
CHAPTER 22
Reid
Sunday mornings inZurich are slower than anywhere else I’ve ever been. Maybe it’s the way the church bells ring gently from the hilltops or how the markets bloom with fresh-cut flowers along the cobblestone edges of the Limmat. Or maybe it’s the rare sense of stillness before the noise of race week sets in.
Lara and I step out of the apartment just past eight. She’s bundled in one of my sweaters, sleeves rolled over her hands, her hair twisted into a messy knot she probably did without a mirror. And still, she looks more beautiful than is even imaginable.
We walk quietly for a few blocks, stopping at a bakery that’s just propped open its front door. She orders a cappuccino and a croissant. I go for an espresso and a warm buttered roll. We eat on a nearby bench while the city comes alive around us—couples walking dogs, kids chasing pigeons, a man unloading a case of beer outside a pub. It’s Easter morning and there are fewer people out than usual.
“This seems normal,” Lara says quietly, eyes tracking a family crossing the bridge with chocolate bunnies poking out of their shopping bag.
“It is normal,” I reply. “Or at least as close as I ever get.”
She smiles at that, but there’s a thoughtfulness in her expression I can’t quite read.
When we finish, I toss our trash and drape her hand through the crook of my elbow. “Want to see the team’s headquarters?”
