The Princess and the Prix

by Nell Stark

  “Hi,” she murmured instead, trying to saturate the syllable with all the longing she had felt in Alix’s absence.

  “Hello.” Alix looked up at her and smiled. It was an unfettered expression, without any premeditation. Alix was happy because they were together. Pure and simple. The weight of Thalia’s doubt fell away.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said, praying Alix would believe her. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Alix finally bridged the space between them, embracing Thalia with a fierceness she hadn’t anticipated. Something had happened, but as concerned as she was, Thalia refused to mount an interrogation. Instead, she rested one hand on the back of Alix’s head and curled the other around her waist, holding her in silence until she was ready.

  The seconds ticked into minutes. Gradually, Alix’s swift breaths slowed to match the steady pace of Thalia’s inhales and exhales. When she finally stirred, Thalia loosened her arms enough to allow Alix to lean back and meet her gaze. Her eyes were bright with suppressed tears, and Thalia could no longer keep a lid on her concern.

  “What is it?”

  Alix shook her head and freed one hand to wipe at her eyes. “I’m being silly. It’s nothing serious.”

  “Let’s sit, and you can tell me.”

  Once they were side by side on the sofa, thighs touching lightly, Alix began to speak. The longer she spoke, the stronger her voice became—as if by reliving the confrontation with her father, she steadily gained power over the memory. Thalia listened in supportive silence, forcing herself not to react even when she felt defensive.

  “His hypocrisy is ridiculous,” Alix said. “Our family has been through its fair share of scandals, most of which were embellished by the press. Yet there he sat, believing every piece of slander about you.” She rested one palm on Thalia’s knee and squeezed lightly. “I tried to show him how absurd he was being, but I don’t think he got the message.”

  “Of course not,” Thalia said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Because then he’d have to admit we’re not so different, when all he wants is to paint me as a negative influence.” Her indignation abruptly gave way to guilt. “Though if I’m being honest, he does have a point about my bad reputation. I’ve willingly embraced it—even cultivated it over the years.”

  Alix went very still. “And now?”

  Thalia hadn’t intended to blow open the lid on Alix’s insecurity, but she could see that was exactly what she had done. “Now I’m finally happy. Because of you. From this vantage point, I can look back on my past with clarity.” She shifted on the couch and reached for Alix’s other hand. “I’m not going to apologize for going out and having a good time when I was single. But I let the fame and the parties and the women become more important than they should have been. I got caught up and started acting a part instead of being myself.”

  She leaned closer, praying her words were the right ones. “I know what I want now, Alix. I want you. A relationship with you. The chance to change the world with you.”

  When Alix freed her hands, Thalia experienced a rush of pure terror that she had gone and said the wrong thing, after all. But then Alix’s palms were cupping her face, and then she was pulling her close for a soft, lingering kiss. The sweetness of it was an affirmation that filled her chest with warmth. When, several stuttering heartbeats later, Alix pulled away, Thalia couldn’t suppress the inarticulate whimper of disappointment that left her mouth.

  But Alix didn’t go far. She continued to cup Thalia’s face, sweeping her thumbs back and forth along her cheekbones, smoothing the puffy skin beneath her eyes from nights of restless sleep. Her expression promised passion and tenderness and resolve, all at once.

  “I love you, Thalia,” Alix said softly. “I love you. And once your season is finished, I want to be honest with both my family and the rest of the world. Is that also what you want, or—”

  Thalia didn’t let her finish. She leaned forward to capture Alix’s mouth, and without breaking the contact, threw one leg over hers to straddle her where she sat. Thalia kissed her as thoroughly as she knew how, running her fingers through Alix’s hair while she feasted. Alix’s hands came to her waist, fingertips dipping below her shirt to trace patterns against her skin. She shivered and sat back on her heels, breathing heavily.

  “The past few days have been torture. Please let me take you to my bed.”

  Alix stilled her hands. “I want that,” she said. “And I want you. But…after tonight, we need to be more cautious.”

  Thalia did not like the sound of that. Her ribs twinged as she tensed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we shouldn’t see each other again until Abu Dhabi,” Alix said. “You need to prepare for the race, and the best way for me to protect us right now is not to be seen anywhere near you.”

  Thalia struggled not to react defensively. She might not like Alix’s logic, but she had to hear her out. “How can not being together ever be good for us?” she said, wishing the words had emerged less plaintively.

  “Because this is a war we’re fighting,” Alix said, gazing up at her intently. “A war against everyone who wants to keep us apart. Sometimes, you have to let the enemy think they’re winning, when in fact you’re staking out a better position.”

  “And that’s what we’ll be doing?” Thalia hated the insecurity in her voice, but at least Alix would know just how difficult this was for her.

  “Oh yes, my love.” Alix traced her thumbs across the ridges of Thalia’s abdominal muscles in a way that was entirely distracting. “I’m a Monegasque princess, remember? Centuries before our casinos and racecars, we were masters of military strategy.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Alix stood on the terrace of her family’s Presidential Suite at the Yas Viceroy Hotel and looked down at the racetrack. Already swarming with activity as the Yas Marina staff made final preparations for the race, it would soon be the stage on which the Constructors’ Championship would be decided. Aiglon Motors would claim the trophy unless one of the Petrol Macedonia drivers finished first and the other finished no lower than third. Yesterday, Thalia had managed to qualify on pole position, while Roderick had come in at P4. Alix couldn’t have been more proud. It would be a battle until the very end.

  A light breeze tugged at her hair, for which she was thankful. The day was already hot despite the fact that it was not yet ten o’clock in the morning. Her family was brunching on their yacht, and she had told them she would be late, citing a business meeting. She had lied. Again. With each falsehood, Alix felt as though she lost a tiny fragment of her integrity. She had to come out to them, and soon. The longer her subterfuge went on, the more likely it was that she would make a mistake, or that luck would turn against her. If she was going to control the narrative, time was not on her side. But there had been no way to make any kind of statement until after the conclusion of the Formula One season, lest the media uproar distract Thalia from racing.

  Thalia. Alix turned her face into the sea-scented breeze, remembering the last night they had spent together—an interminable fortnight ago, on the eve of the British Grand Prix. She remembered Thalia’s expression of dismay at her suggestion that they keep their distance from one another until Abu Dhabi—made as much for Thalia’s sake as for her own. She remembered kissing away that frown, and she remembered all the other kisses that had followed in her attempt to reassure Thalia that their separation would only be temporary. And she remembered what Thalia said later, as they lay entwined in the bed, each holding the other and being held herself: I need you.

  “I need you.” Her whispered words were caught by the wind and blown out across the expanse of the marina.

  In the past, Thalia had said “I want you” and “I love you,” but never before that night had she spoken of her need. Alix should have been terrified by the prospect of being so important to another person, but exhilaration buoyed her up beyond the grasp of fear. She had instinctually pulled Thalia even closer,
inaugurating a second, less frantic round of lovemaking. And as she slowly teased Thalia into abandon, Alix had put her mouth to Thalia’s ear and confessed her own truth.

  “I need you too.”

  She wanted to shout that truth to the world, but the logistics of how to do it were still tying her brain into knots. Where should she make her declaration? When? In what language, and with what phrasing? Should she call a press conference from the Prince’s Palace? Offer the story to a journalist? Take to social media? She wanted to choose her moment and her medium wisely. Her announcement could change the world in a real, material way for many people. That was a terrible responsibility, but also a gift. She could leave the world better than she found it, simply by proclaiming who she was. And then she could take the next step—to use her wealth and status to campaign on behalf of LGBT rights. Sasha had made a similar move, but her efforts thus far had been focused on the United Kingdom. Alix wanted to extend her reach beyond the European Union, and Rising Sun would be the perfect vehicle for her vision.

  “That’s a beautiful view. I wish I had a camera.”

  Alix whirled at the sound of Thalia’s voice. Claude must have let her in. Dressed to be incognito, she wore jeans, a plain T-shirt, and her Cardinals cap. Her hands were jammed into her pockets, and she rocked back and forth on her heels in a clear display of eagerness. Even so, she stayed put, waiting to be invited closer. Part of Alix wanted to run to her, but another part wanted to savor the anticipation.

  “It’s quite a striking perspective, isn’t it?” she said, certain her face was belying her reserve. She watched the flicker of muscle in Thalia’s forearms and wondered just how long she would suffer the distance between them.

  “I wasn’t talking about what’s outside that window. I was talking about you.”

  The grittiness of her voice destroyed what was left of Alix’s desire to tease. “I missed you so much,” she confessed. “Please come here.”

  Thalia crossed the space between them, trapped Alix between her body and the railing, and kissed her. This wasn’t a quick peck to bid her a good morning, but a deep, devouring, soul-stirring kiss that conveyed need and craving and passion.

  Alix threaded her arms around Thalia’s neck, fitting their bodies together. She loved this—the flame that smoldered quietly at the heart of their relationship, only to flare up at intimate moments like these. She wished there was time to channel that fire—to drag Thalia into her bedroom and claim her all over again. But today, Alix had to let her go. As much as Thalia belonged in her arms, she also belonged on that track. Gentling the kiss, she stroked the nape of Thalia’s neck before finally pulling away.

  “Good morning.”

  “I want that every morning,” Thalia said. It wasn’t an offhand remark or joke. She wasn’t smiling or laughing—she was staring down at Alix with the kind of intensity that had marked all of their watershed moments. “The past two weeks have been torture. Move in with me. Into the flat I have now, or one we choose together.” She swallowed audibly. “Please say yes.”

  Alix felt her own smile break free, and in a rush of exhilaration, she rose onto her tiptoes to kiss both corners of Thalia’s mouth. The prospect of living together in London was appealing on so many levels, not the least of which was its healthy distance from Monaco and its proximity to their allies in the British royal circle. She wasn’t about to give in to cowardice when it came to facing her family, but having a safe space that she and Thalia could call their own would make her feel stronger.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and joined their lips again.

  This time, it was Thalia who eventually pulled back. “I have to go soon. For what it’s worth, I don’t want to.”

  A stab of fear brought Alix back to earth. Tamping it down, she cupped Thalia’s face in her palms and said what she knew Thalia needed to hear. “Yes, you do. You were born to do this. You love to do this. It’s part of who you are, and I love who you are.”

  Thalia stared into her eyes for a long moment before pulling her close. Beneath her cheek, Alix could feel Thalia’s heart beating, strong and steady. Silently, she offered up a prayer for safekeeping.

  *

  Thalia furiously blinked back tears as she came out of the hairpin and throttled hard to make the most of the straightaway that followed. At the apex of every corner, her ribs felt as though they were being pulverized from the inside out—and the race was only half over.

  “Terrence is three seconds behind you and closing in fast,” Carl said into her ear. “Box on the next lap.”

  Thalia grit her teeth. Her father’s decision to start the Ferrari cars on the medium tires instead of the softs—which everyone else had chosen—was proving to be the correct one. Terrence had passed Lucas a few laps ago, and now he had his sights set on her. This would have felt like déjà vu, except that today they were battling for first instead of for sixth.

  And because now, she could hear Alix’s voice in her head: You were born to do this. It’s part of who you are, and I love who you are.

  Thalia hadn’t been born to let all hope of the Constructors’ Cup slip away because of a memory and a grudge. She wasn’t going to let Terrence rattle her into making a mistake. The persistent pain receded slightly as a fresh surge of adrenaline sharpened her vision and reflexes. She drove as aggressively as she knew how, fighting for every second of daylight even as she prepared for the rapid deceleration of the pit lane.

  At the apex of the final turn, as her lungs froze and her vision telescoped, her car unexpectedly lurched toward the inner barricade. Every nerve in her back and chest screamed in agony as she fought to wrestle it off the collision course. Juddering, the car responded sluggishly, but it did respond. She missed the barrier by a fraction of an inch and swung back out into the center of the track, gasping for breath as the g-forces eased. The red haze of pain clouded her mind, but instinct demanded she open the throttle. Her car surged forward.

  “Can you make it in, Thalia?” Alistair’s voice was uncharacteristically agitated.

  “Think…so.” Speaking against the force of her acceleration required a Herculean effort. What—”

  “Terrence made contact. He may have damaged your rear wing.”

  Thalia’s disbelief turned to a white-hot fury that was eclipsed only by her need to get to her mechanics as soon as possible. As she continued to accelerate, the car began to shudder more dramatically. Cursing, she eased off the throttle. At least she wouldn’t lose too much time. The entrance to the pit lane was just ahead.

  The yellow flag indicator on her dashboard lit up at the same moment that Carl’s voice vibrated through her headpiece. “Yellow, yellow, yellow. Terrence spun out and went into the barrier after clipping you.”

  “Serves him right.” Mentally leaving her anger in the dust, she focused on thinking through the repercussions of his actions. Lucas would take the lead. Hopefully, whatever was wrong with her car could be fixed quickly and she would find herself in second place. “Get me back out there, boys,” she said as she slipped into place before the garage. “Please.”

  There was the familiar sensation of rising as the jack lifted the car into the air. But instead of falling just as quickly after the customary whirlwind change of tires, Thalia hung suspended while her team troubleshot the damage. Meanwhile, she prayed. In these fraught moments where every thump of her heart measured the time she would have to make up, she had only a wordless, silent plea to offer up to the universe.

  And then, miraculously, she was descending. As her wheels touched the ground, Carl gave her a thumbs-up and jumped out of the way. Thalia roared out of the pit, careful to remain just below the lane’s speed limit even as she catalogued the car’s behavior. So far, so good: everything seemed tight.

  “We replaced the rear wing,” Carl said breathlessly. “But there doesn’t seem to be any damage to the axle.”

  “Lucas is now five seconds ahead of you,” Alistair chimed in. “And Roderick is three seconds behind.”
>
  Thalia wanted to tell them they were the princes of engineering, and that she would buy them all a round of very expensive scotch later. But she had to save her breath. She refused to lose this race. With Roderick in P3, she could make Petrol Macedonia’s Cup dreams come true by overtaking Lucas.

  When he pitted on the next lap, she hoped for an error from the Aiglon crew that would work in her favor—but she must have used all her available luck in avoiding more serious damage during the collision. Lucas roared out of the lane four seconds ahead, and she settled in for a long duel to the finish. He was protecting the inside line on every corner as though his life depended on it, and she knew she would have to go outside if she wanted to pass. She also knew that he was forcing her to contemplate the same kind of action that had, a few weeks earlier, resulted in her accident. But that time, the track had been slightly slick and her brakes had been faulty. Today, thanks to the heroic efforts of her team, her car remained competitive. She was not going to let Lucas Mountjoy get under her skin or into her head. He had already won the title of world champion. She wouldn’t let him have the Constructors’ Cup as well.

  For lap after lap, she observed how he took each corner—in particular the ones where he seemed to leave the most space. Finally, in the penultimate lap, she made her move. As he braked, she slingshotted around him before decelerating. Her chest was on fire as her newly healed ribs took the brunt of the g-force, but she managed to hold on to the turn and speed away with nothing but daylight before her.

  Carl hollered congratulations in her ear, but she didn’t dare to smile. Not yet. Not until she saw the checkered flag. She could feel Lucas behind her, menacing, testing her resolve at every possible overtaking point. Grimly, she held him off.

  The last lap was an eternity, and when she finally crossed the line, her first sensation was that of tears trickling down her face. The exultation from the engineers made her smile in joy through her relief, and when the news came in that Roderick had successfully defended P3, she extended her hand to flash a thumbs-up to the crowd as she began her victory lap.