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When Mason is announced last as the first-place finisher, I cheer along with the rest of the team and the crowd. He waves and steps onto the podium. Soon, caps are removed, the British anthem is played, trophies are presented, and then the best part—the champagne. The guys spray each other, and Mason goes over to douse one of our engineers—the representative for Collings Motors—with champagne as well.

We all head back in front of the garage for the team photo. The sign is already made: “P1 Mason and P4 Caleb.” I go up to greet my brother, who I know is not happy with the result.

“Monza,” I say simply, referring to the race in Italy next week. “You’ll get them both in Monza.”

His blue eyes meet mine. “I intend for that to happen.”

The mood is jubilant as we get into place for the photo. Isla stands off to the side, next to the Collings Motors photographer, who is going to take the official picture. Mason is on one side of the sign and Caleb is on the other, with bottles of champagne next to the Dutch Grand Prix trophy.

The second the photograph is taken, the team goes crazy, spraying champagne everywhere. I shriek and try to run, as I hate the way it burns my eyes, but one of our mechanics, Clay, gets me soaked. My hair is sopping wet, and I’m sure it’s a hot mess as I try to push it away from my face. I decide to make a getaway at that point, trying to run towards the garage, but then I hear my name being called.

“Catherine! Where are you going?”

I freeze. It’s Mason’s voice.

I turn around, and he’s running towards me, a champagne bottle still in his hand. I throw my hand up in a stop motion. “First, congratulations on the win! And no more champagne! I’m already drenched!” I protest.

He grins. “Not nearly enough after a win like that.”

“No!” I begin to laugh.

Mason reaches me and lifts the champagne bottle over my head.

“Stop!” I cry, laughing. “Please don’t!”

He lowers the bottle. I stare up at him, my laughter quickly coming to a stop as I lose myself in his eyes.

“I tell you what,” Mason says. “I won’t dump this champagne over your head on one condition.”

I swear my heart is in my throat. “What would that be?” I somehow find a way to ask.

“Have dinner with me tonight. In Monaco.”

Chapter Five

I stare at Mason, stunned. Shouts of celebration surround us, and the smell of champagne mingles with that of the sea air. His racing suit is soaked with the bubbly, and the strands of hair peeking out of his baseball cap are wet and sticking to his tanned skin.

The question he just asked me plays over and over in my head. Have dinner with me tonight. In Monaco.

His eyes are locked on my face, waiting for an answer. I remain tongue-tied, still trying to process the fact that he just asked me out.

“Catherine. You’re coming over to my flat, and I’m letting you rifle through my wardrobe. I think it will be easier if we have dinner tonight, so we’re more comfortable around each other on Tuesday.”

I come crashing back to reality, everything landing in my stomach with a thud. Oh. Of course. So that’s it. Mason wants to set the groundwork so we can shoot a great video on Tuesday.

I should have known. And really, this is perfect. No misunderstanding on what his motive is. Mason sees this dinner as being helpful for the video.

And nothing more.

“You’re disappointed,” he suddenly says. His gaze is hard and penetrating. My cheeks burn with heat, mortification running through me as he’s not only seen my emotions on my face, but read them perfectly.

“Wh—no! No, what gives you that idea?” I quickly lie. Then I give him a cringey-sounding fake laugh, as if that’s the stupidest thing he could have said.

“So you aren’t disappointed it wasn’t something more?” Mason asks, his voice low. And then I see it.

His eyes challenge me to tell the truth.

Does he WANT me to be disappointed?