Page 59 of Awakening
I stared at him, jaw slack. “You know it’s Grand Prix weekend, right?”
He raised a brow, “You think I don’t know that?”
The shock twisted into disbelief, “We’re going to the Monaco Grand Prix?”
Knox grinned like he was waiting for me to catch up. “Yeah, baby. Front row seats, Paddock Club access, the works.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “How did you even know I liked F1?”
He came over, sliding his arms around my waist. “Because it’s my job to know what my woman likes outside of me pleasing you physically. I watch you, Ajaih. You get this little crease in your forehead every time adriver takes a sharp turn. You yell at the TV like you're in the pit lane. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you drag us to go-kart racing and suddenly become Lewis Hamilton with hips.”
Laughing loudly, I buried my face in his chest, overwhelmed, “You’re unreal, Mr. Fairfax.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Nah, baby. Just yours, future Mrs. Carter-Fairfax.”
My body froze. I’d never envisioned myself as a Mrs., let alone a wife to two amazing men, but if there were a way for it to be a reality, I’d say ‘I Do’ times two with no hesitation.
“OH. MY. GOD. Knox, Monaco!? FREAKING MONACO!?” I yelled, not caring that we were in the airport and people were looking right at us in the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport.
I thought I was prepared. I mean, Knox always went all in, but nothing, and I mean abso-fuckin-lutely nothing, could have prepared me for the sheer opulence of Monaco Grand Prix weekend.
From the moment we touched down, it felt like we were dropped into the pages of a billionaire’s dream. Knox had secured the Monaco Ultimate Package 2025, VIP everything. Helicopter transfers, a luxury suite at the Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo, and the best race viewing spots money could buy. From rooftop terraces with sweeping views of the circuit, champagne flowing like water, and thekind of people you only ever see on magazine covers.
But none of that compared to the moment he led me toward the paddock area, his hand warm at the small of my back, that secretive grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I need you to breathe,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because in about thirty seconds, your fantasy’s about to become reality.”
That’s when I saw her. Stephanie Travers. The Stephanie Travers. The first Black woman to ever stand on the F1 podium.
She turned to me, extended a hand, and said, “Heard you’ve got a thing for speed,” her British accent like music to my ears.
I was breathless as she walked me over to an F1 car, my name stenciled on the side.
“You’re riding passenger during the practice lap,” Causing my knees to damn near buckle.
The world blurred into the sounds of engine growls and the metallic scent of track rubber. And when that car flew down the circuit with me inside, my heart soared in a way no non-human thing had ever made it soar.
After I peeled myself out of the car, laughing and shaking, Stephanie pulled me into a hug. “You handled that like a natural.”
“OMG, you are fucking incredible behind the wheel! Thank you so much! If you ever want to get in the sky, as an Air Force veteran, I can get you there!”
“You’re gushing over me, and I should be gushing over you, a true hero. Thank you for your dedication and service—”
“Lt. General Jeffries,” I blushed as her team took some pics of us. We exchanged numbers before her team whisked her away for more press runs.
When I didn’t think the day could get better, Brielle Banks strolled over. She was an up-and-coming F1 rookie and former military. She was the epitome of a chocolate-skinned goddess, with a smile that said, ‘I break records and hearts.’
“We’ve got a lot in common,” she said with a wink, “You might be my lucky charm.”
After getting her autograph and taking pics together, we exchanged information before she headed out. The whole trip was a dream. Days filled with speed and thrill, nights dripping in decadence.
We hit yacht parties where the champagne never stopped and the music kissed your skin. I wore the kind of dresses that were meant to be removed. During our last night in Monaco, I opted for a sheer mesh, wrap gown in Emerald green that left little to the imagination, as my toned midsection and sculpted back were also on display. I opted for gold Roberto Cavalli shoes with bejeweled tigers on the ankle strap and gold jewelry to complement the dress. My hair was swept to one side with big cascading curls, and my makeup said, “Come fuck me, NOW.” My glistening skin smelled like my favorite skin care line from Unwind, Cocoa Breeze, and every time my eyes met Knox, he was staring like I was both dessert and the main course.
As the yacht anchored under stars, Knox backed me against the deck’s railing, the sea breeze toying with my hair.
