I Took Back the Wheel

Chapter 4 Shift Gears

I left the silks and pastel cashmeres Arthur chose for me in the closet. They belonged to the wife who had let him decide where she went and what she wore.

I pushed aside the black-and-silver suit he had laid out and took out the one I had ordered in secret. Midnight blue, custom-fitted, fire-retardant. It covered me and let me move. I had chosen it for racing.

In the car, Jaxon stopped testing how much I would tolerate. He coached. His instructions came hard and fast, without innuendo.

“Later on the brakes. Harder on the apex. Your rage is making you sloppy, Ashford. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and use it.”

His hand still brushed my leg sometimes, now to brace me through a high-G turn. I noticed every contact. Then the next braking point arrived, and I asked him for another lap.

On the day of the Grand Prix qualifier, the pits were full of the same polo-shirted heirs and trust-fund boys who had laughed from the viewing box. When I climbed out of the car, they nudged one another and started whispering.

I met their eyes one by one until they looked elsewhere.

The green lights flashed. At the third turn, a tight hairpin, the heir in the garish yellow Porsche moved across my line and tried to squeeze me into the wall. A month earlier, I would have hit the brakes and let him have it.

I held the line.

My front wing came within inches of his rear tire. At the last second, I braked, dropped a gear, and took the inside line he had left open. The car bucked through the turn. I came out ahead of him, then worked through the rest of the field one driver at a time.

I crossed the finish line in first place. In the pit lane, nobody laughed. One of the boys still had his mouth open.

On the eve of the Grand Prix, Arthur played the proud husband. He ignored the way I had driven and the suit I had chosen, and handed me a small velvet box.

A diamond necklace lay on black silk inside. The stones formed a thick band, heavy and showy enough to make my neck ache before I put it on.

“To my champion.” He fastened it around my neck, and the stones lay cold against my skin. “I always knew you could do it.” He stepped back to inspect it.

The floor-to-ceiling windows reflected a triumphant racer and her wealthy, adoring husband. It was the picture Arthur wanted everyone to see.

The necklace sat too tight and too heavy. I slipped two fingers under it, but Arthur had fastened it on the last link.

The Grand Prix was tomorrow. Arthur had never looked happier.