Page 92 of Red Flagged
“Gave her a full check before I left. Oil is fresh and tires are good,” Étienne said, tossing the rag he’d been holding onto the nearby workbench. His voice was casual, but there was something weighted beneath it—something unspoken. “She drives like a dream.”
“She’s perfect,” I said quietly. I hadn’t driven her since the end of last season. My life had shifted so drastically the moment I signed with Luminis, that I had barely spent any time at home since the start of the year.
“You’d better treat her like it.” He smiled faintly, that same familiar brotherly grin. “You’ve poured your heart into restoring her.”
I turned toward him then, really looking at him. “You helped, remember?”
He shrugged, modest as always. “Maybe a little.”
For a second, it almost felt easy again. Like we were just siblings, teasing each other over engines and torque wrenches. Like we had never turned on each other at all.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I blurted before I could talk myself out of it. I didn’t look at him as I added, “Back in Monaco. I should have waited to tell you when we weren’t arguing. I wasn’t fair to you.”
Étienne stilled beside me, like he was trying to decide whether to nod or brush it off. “You weren’t,” he said finally, but there was no bite in it. Just honesty, and maybe a little relief.
I glanced over, surprised by how gently he said it.
“But,” he went on, turning toward me fully, “I wasn’t exactly a saint, either.”
I scoffed, but couldn’t stop a small smile from forming. “Understatement.”
He huffed a laugh, his gaze dropping to the gravel for a beat. Then he leaned back against the side of the car, folding his arms. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. Watching you go through all this—your first season, the press, the bullshit politics. People comparing you to me like it was some kind of baton pass instead of its own goddamn career.”
He shook his head. “I knew it was going to be hard. But I didn’t realize howisolatingit would be for you. How much you were carrying by yourself.”
“I could’ve said something,” I admitted. “I should’ve. But… I didn’t want to make it worse. You were recovering. And I felt guilty. About everything. About accepting the seat. About the way they—” I stopped, my voice thinning out. “I just didn’t want you to think I took it lightly.”
His head came up sharply, eyes locking on mine. “Aurélie… you’re my sister.My twin.I don’t care if you took my seat. It’s not about that. It’s never been about that.” He paused, something raw flickering across his face. “I should’ve been looking out for you. And not in the ‘I read the headlines’ kind of way. Actually looking.Asking. Instead, I was an asshole because I was angry that I was out of the sport.”
“I know you didn’t mean to…” I paused. “But what you said still hurt. And I didn’t know how to tell you that without making you feel like you owed me something.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said firmly. “Least of all an explanation for doing the thing you were born to do.” His hand landed lightly on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. For not seeing it sooner, and for letting my own ego make me miss all the celebrations that should have been aboutyou.”
I looked up and saw a softness I hadn’t seen in months. Maybe years. It saidI’m still here.The knot in my chest didn’t disappear. We still had a lot to sort through—boundaries to set, truths to admit—but it loosened. And it was enough to let the air in again.
“Alright,” Emilie said lightly. “Now that the reunion’s over, can we go inside? We have to drive back tonight, but I wanted to make us all dinner while Étienne does the heavy lifting.”
I laughed, watery but real. We each grabbed a box and some paper bags and trudged back toward the house. Boxes crowded the entryway and spilled into the kitchen, but neither Emilie nor Étienne seemed fazed.
“I’ll work in here,” Emilie announced, lifting the chilled items out of the basket with quick efficiency. She moved like someone who needed no instructions—already pulling open cabinets and drawers to see what I’d already unpacked.
“Ray, just tell me what goes where,” Étienne offered.
I stood in the middle of it all for a second, useless and unmoving. Watching them move so naturally in my space, as if they’d done this before. Like it wasn’t strange that we hadn’t seen each other in months and now they were here, grounding me with paper towels and local cheese.
“I brought a fresh cut of lavender and verbena for your diffuser,” Emilie said casually as she lined up bottles of wine, preserves, and soft cheeses in the fridge. “From the estate, not the shop.”
“My diffuser?”
“Yeah, the one you left in your room. Don’t worry. I didn’t go snooping. I just wanted this to feel like a home for you. I’ve seen the headlines. Your sex life is on display, like you aren’t already enough of a public figure, and the speculation with the FIA. We’re all clueless as to what’s going on behind closed doors. So I figured that you could use a sense of home here.” She said it all so casually as she rifled through my kitchen boxes.
I sighed, wincing from a deep cramp. “Ah, yes. All that. Don’t worry, my publicist is the best in the game. As for all this…” I gestured to the basket. “You didn’t have to, but it’s much appreciated.”
“I wanted to.” She glanced over her shoulder as she put my knife block on the counter. “It still smells like you when I walk into the cellar.”
That shouldn’t have made me cry, but it almost did. God, the tears were creeping up now. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold them in.
She pivoted toward the island with a bamboo utensil holder in hand, placing it in the drawer to the right of the cooktop before pausing, her voice softer this time. “We’ve kept your room the same at the house. Just in case.”
