Page 33 of Flat Out
Cleo gave me a slow, knowing look. “So. For the record... are we still pretending his entrance was just part of a French greeting ritual?”
The audience laughed.
My cheeks flamed as I smoothed my free hand over my blazer. “We are,” I said sweetly, trying not to smirk. “In France, we kiss on the cheek, on the mouth, sometimes with tongue. It’s a very warm country.”
Callum groaned. “She’s unbelievable.”
“French tradition,” I said with a shrug. “Can’t fight culture. Actually, I'm sure everyone is familiar with the termFrench kissing.Goes all the way back to World War I, where other countries admired the passionate French culture. So, like I said, a tradition.”
Cleo beamed. “Well, consider us converted.”
Marco leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So does that mean I get a kiss too, or...?”
Callum didn’t even blink. “Try it again and die.”
The audience burst out laughing. Kimi just lifted his brows. “I think I deserve one. I kept her coffee stocked all week and didn’t even flirt.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “That’s a lie. You flirted twice.”
Callum turned to him slowly. “Twice?”
Kimi shrugged, sipping from a water bottle like he hadn’t just lit a match and tried to walk away. “She’s hot. I’m not blind.”
I reached for my phone. "I think everyone would love to seeExhibit A," I threw out there, an homage to Marco and Kimi's harassment of Callum and me back in Monaco. "In our group chat, where you said while I was on a live interview?—"
Kimi lunged across Marco and Callum to grab my phone. "Absolutely not. That group chat is sacred."
That ridiculous, chaotic group chat had become my anchor. But somewhere along the line I’d been pulled into the inside jokes and bitch sessions. In those long flights and sleepless nights, their constant ragging—on each other, on me, on the sport—kept me afloat. Humor became its own kind of lifeline, the stupid jokes and half-serious debates distracting me when the world outside was loud and ugly.
It was pathetic, really, how much I needed it. But when the headlines were cutting me to pieces, the boys were the only ones who made me laugh until my ribs hurt. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t even always kind, but it wasreal. And it reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in the chaos.
I cackled, letting Kimi confiscate the device that had wreaked havoc on my nerves all week, and leaned back into Callum's shoulder. Closer than before, where I was surrounded by his scent and warmth and reminded of all the time we'd spent apart this last month.
Fuck the PR teams, the FIA, and the rest of the goddamn paddock. There was no way in hell they were keeping us apart now.
Cleo looked like she might pass out from secondhand tension. “This is... a very educational episode.”
Callum, still holding my hand, smirked at the camera. “Just to be clear, I don’t share.” The way he said it, all quiet, certain possessiveness, made my whole body heat. And it was so fucking public?—
I twisted toward him, whispering just loud enough for my mic to catch it, “So what does that make us, then?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I told you I’m not asking over text.”
Then he turned toward me fully, still live, still mic’ed, still holding my hand in front of the entire goddamn world. “Aurélie Dubois, mon cœur... will you be my girlfriend?” His eyes were on me now, captivating me and gluing me to the spot.Fuck. Me.
The crowd erupted.
I blinked, stunned. “Now?!”
He grinned, and his single dimple made a rare appearance.Be still, my heart.“Well, I figured after the French tongue and global audience, we were past the ‘casually dating’ phase.”
I laughed, the ache in my chest easing a little more. “Oui,” I said. “Obviously, yes.”
He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, and suddenly, the world didn’t feel quite so heavy.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because now that it’s official… you’re never getting rid of me.”
Cleo wiped beneath her eye with a laugh. “I’ve never had to follow up a relationship status update with FIA regulation questions, but we’ll try.”
