Steam billows around us like the ghosts of our spent passion, curling into impossible shapes before vanishing against the cold tile. Ivy's skin glows pink from the scalding water and what we just did against the shower wall, a welcome that made the sixteen-hour flight fade into distant memory.
"That was..." I trail off, watching droplets trace the contours of her body as she steps out of our shared shower. Even after fifteen days together, the sight of her still steals my breath.
She tosses me a towel with a self-satisfied smirk. "I know exactly what it was."
The Zenith headquarters in Cambridge feels like another world compared to the Suzuka paddock. Everything here is sleek, modern, and aggressively purple, from the accent walls to the ergonomic furniture. Our private suite sits just down the hall from the simulator room, a strategic placement that I'm starting to resent.
I dry off quickly, watching as Ivy slips into her team-issued compression gear. Her movements are purposeful, almost mechanical, as she transforms from my passionate lover back into the ruthless champion the world knows.
"Let me guess," I sigh, already knowing the answer. "Straight to the sim?"
"Have to," she says, not meeting my eyes as she pulls her damp hair into a tight ponytail. "Bahrain's less than a week away."
The sixteen-hour flight from Japan was nothing like our private adventure to Suzuka. Instead of Ivy's torturous attention, I spent most of the journey dozing against her shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses when Blair wasn't looking. The team engineers were too busy with their laptops to notice our subtle affection, while Bridgette pretended we didn't exist, a small mercy after her invasive questions about our sex life.
"You literally just stepped off a plane," I protest weakly, knowing it's futile. "Don't you need rest?"
Ivy pauses, her expression softening as she approaches me. Her fingers trace my jawline with surprising tenderness.
"I know," she says, a rare note of apology in her voice. "This sucks."
I force a smile, leaning into her touch. "It's okay. I understand."
But something inside me crumbles a little. The constant cycle of tracks, planes, and simulators leaves precious little time for us to just be together. Since that first explosive weekend, our relationship has existed in stolen moments between practice sessions and strategy meetings.
"I really would love to tell people I was with you for at least one championship, you know?"
Ivy's hands freeze on my shoulders, her purple eyes widening slightly. For a moment, she looks almost surprised, as if I've reminded her of something she'd forgotten.
"I haven't told you what my long-term goal is, have I?" she asks, her voice softening to that intimate tone she reserves just for me.
"No, I don't think you have." I wrap the towel around my waist, curious about this sudden shift in conversation.
She sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. When I join her, she takes my hand, tracing small circles on my palm with her thumb.
"The triple crown, Nick," she says, her eyes blazing with sudden intensity. "That's what I'm after. Formula 1 is just the beginning."
"Triple crown?" I repeat, trying to recall what that means in racing terms.
"Monaco Grand Prix, Indianapolis 500, and Le Mans," she explains, counting them off on her fingers. "I've already got Monaco. Thrice, actually. But I need the other two to cement my legacy."
I watch her face transform as she speaks, a fervent glow lighting her features from within.
"Victoria Zenith and I have an agreement," she continues. "I promised her four world championships, and in return, she's going to give me a winning endurance car for Le Mans." Her lips curl into a predatory smile. "We'll see if she keeps her end of the bargain."
"Wait, this has been your plan all along?" I ask, genuinely surprised by this revelation.
Ivy nods, squeezing my hand. "Victoria set up an endurance team the moment I won my first championship. She realized I wasn't joking about my ambitions." A laugh escapes her, sharp and delighted. "Everyone thought I was just talking big, but she saw the hunger in me."
She stands suddenly, pacing the room with renewed energy. "And this year, Nick, after I secure my fourth title for Zenith, I'm retiring from Formula 1."
"Retiring?" The word hits me like a physical blow. "But you're at the peak of your career!"
"Not retiring from racing," she clarifies, her eyes gleaming with that dangerous fire I've come to adore. "Just from F1. I won't be back until I've conquered that fucking triple crown."
The passion in her voice is magnetic, drawing me in despite my shock. This is the Ivy I fell for, relentlessly focused, burning with ambition that would scorch anyone else from the inside out.
I shake my head, trying to process this bombshell while admiring her unwavering determination. "The Indy 500 though? That's a whole different beast. You can't just show up and race without a team backing you."
Ivy's eyes flash with that predatory gleam. She stops pacing and plants her hands on her hips.
"You don't need a permanent team for Indianapolis," she explains, her voice vibrating with confidence. "Special qualification entries happen every year. One-offs for the 500." She kneels in front of me, taking both my hands in hers. "Besides, any IndyCar team would sacrifice their firstborn to have me in their car for the greatest spectacle in racing."
I can't help but smile at her absolute certainty. The scary part is, she's right. "True enough," I concede, squeezing her fingers. "Your name alone would guarantee sponsorship money."
"Exactly." She rises in one fluid motion, returning to her pre-sim preparations with renewed purpose. "I've already had preliminary talks with Penske and Ganassi. They're practically salivating at the possibility."
I watch her move around the room, mesmerized by the way she seamlessly shifts between planning career domination and pulling on her socks. The contrast is almost comical, this woman plotting global motorsport conquest while doing such mundane things.
"So where does that leave us?" I ask quietly, the question that's been lurking beneath the surface finally breaking through.
Ivy freezes mid-motion, one arm halfway into her Zenith jacket. Her purple eyes find mine, sharp with sudden intensity.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..." I gesture vaguely between us. "If you're jumping between continents chasing different championships, where do I fit in?"
Ivy's expression softens immediately. She crosses the room in three quick strides and sits beside me on the bed, her racing preparations momentarily forgotten. Her warm palm cups my cheek, thumb gently stroking across my skin.
"Wherever you want to fit in, Nick," she says, her voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "I really love you and your company. I want you with me through all of it."
The tenderness in her touch makes my chest ache. I lean into her hand, savoring the warmth of her skin against mine.
"Let's say you get it all, right?" I ask, voicing the question that's been gnawing at me. "The triple crown, the legacy, everything. Is there ever a point where you'd want to slow down? Maybe have a family?" I pause, searching her eyes. "Or are you more like Fernanda Alonso, planning to race for twenty-plus years until they have to pry the steering wheel from your hands?"
A slow smile spreads across Ivy's face, her purple eyes sparkling.
"Are you asking if I want to raise a family with you someday, Nick Woods?" she asks, her voice teasing but soft around the edges.
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how much her answer means to me. "I guess I'd just like to know if there's a future where I don't have to share the person I love with racing. Where I get to be first priority sometimes."
A flicker of surprise crosses Ivy's face, her eyebrows lifting slightly as understanding dawns in those hypnotic purple eyes. It's as if she's seeing a part of me that's been visible all along but somehow escaped her notice, this quiet longing for primacy in someone's life that's followed me since childhood.
"Nick," she says softly, squeezing my hands. "You're already my whole world. Everything I do, everything I will do, you're right there at the center of it." Her gaze intensifies, burning with conviction. "But I promise you this, the minute I reach my goal, the second that triple crown is mine, you will be my only focus. No more chasing, no more proving myself to the world."
The sincerity in her voice makes my chest tighten. I manage a small smile, trying to ignore the flutter of hope her words ignite.
"That's really nice to hear," I tell her, though "nice" feels woefully inadequate for the wave of emotion washing through me.
She leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine. "I mean it, Nick. I've never wanted a future with anyone before you. I've never even considered slowing down." Her voice drops to a whisper. "But with you? I can actually see it. A life after racing."
My throat tightens with sudden emotion. The words tumble out before I can stop them.
"But what if... what if my essence or whatever you call it when you race suddenly stops working? You wouldn't just get rid of me, right?"
The question hangs between us, raw and vulnerable. I hadn't meant to voice my deepest fear so bluntly, but there it is.
Ivy's expression shifts from surprise to something softer. Without a word, she rises and crosses to her travel bag in the corner of the room. She rummages inside for a moment, her back to me, before turning with something clutched in her palm.
"I was going to wait," she says, her voice uncharacteristically nervous. "I had this whole plan for Bahrain."
My heart stutters as she approaches and, in one fluid motion, drops to one knee before me. Between her fingers gleams a ring with a diamond so massive it catches the light from every angle.
"I was hoping to do this when I had you in a skirt on the podium in Bahrain with me," she confesses, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "In front of all those cameras, so you couldn't possibly say no. But since I lost at Suzuka, the skirt bet is off the table."
I stare at her, completely dumbfounded, my mouth opening and closing without sound.
"Nick Woods," she continues, her purple eyes locked on mine with an intensity that steals my breath, "I don't give a damn about your 'essence' or whatever magical racing boost you think you give me. I love you. Every anxious, self-deprecating, stupidly loyal part of you." She takes a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"
The room spins around me. This can't be happening. Not to me. Not with her. Not after everything we've been through in such a short time.
"Are you serious?" I manage to croak, staring at the glittering ring. "We've only been together for, what, two weeks?"
Ivy doesn't flinch. "When you know, you know. And I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
Every logical part of my brain is screaming at me that this is wrong, that it's stupid, that it's absolutely insane. Two weeks. We've been together for just two weeks.
And yet...
"Yes," I hear myself say, the word escaping before my rational mind can catch it.
Ivy's face transforms, her expression shifting from nervous anticipation to radiant joy. "Yes?" she repeats, as if she can't quite believe it.
"Yes," I confirm, more firmly this time.
As I look at her kneeling before me, I realize these past two weeks have been the most intense, chaotic, and beautiful days of my life. Never have I felt so cherished, so desired, so completely and utterly loved by another human being. Ivy Hunt, three-time world champion, the most feared woman on the racing grid, looks at me like I'm her entire universe.
She takes my left hand with trembling fingers, Ivy Hunt, trembling! And slides the enormous ring onto my finger. The weight of it is immediately noticeable, the diamond catching light from every angle.
I can't help the slight grimace that crosses my face as I stare at the massive stone. It sits on my hand like a glittering beacon, impossible to miss. Despite living in this world for almost half my life, a giant diamond ring doesn't feel like a thing a boy should have to me.
"What's wrong?" Ivy asks, her euphoria faltering as she catches my expression.
"The ring is just..." I hesitate, turning my hand to examine it from different angles. "It's so huge."
Her eyebrows draw together, that competitive fire instantly rekindling in her purple eyes. "And?" she challenges, her tone suggesting I've somehow insulted her.
"I was thinking maybe something simpler might suit me better?" I suggest carefully. "Like a band without a diamond?"
"No." The word is final, brooking no argument. Her jaw sets in that familiar stubborn line I've come to recognize when she's absolutely unmovable.
She takes my hand between both of hers, her thumbs caressing the ring. "I want anyone who sees you when I'm not around to know immediately that you are owned by someone with the funds to stop anyone who tries to snatch you up." Her voice drops lower, possessive and fierce. "This isn't just jewelry, Nick. It's a warning to others."
I look from her intense expression to the ring and back again, suddenly realizing I can't win this argument. Not against someone who treats every disagreement like it's the final lap of a championship race.
"I love it," I say quickly, forcing my lips into a smile. The diamond catches the light, almost blinding me with its sparkle. I might not actually like how ostentatious it is, but the fact that Ivy chose it for me, that she wants the world to know I'm hers, that part I do love. "It's perfect because it came from you."
Her expression softens immediately, that predatory intensity melting into something warmer, more vulnerable. Before I can say anything else, she surges forward, capturing my lips in a kiss so passionate it steals my breath. Her hands cradle my face like I'm something precious, something irreplaceable. The contrast between her fierce possessiveness and this tender worship makes my head spin.
When she finally pulls away, her purple eyes are shining not just with desire or triumph, but something deeper, almost reverent.
"You have no idea what you do to me," she whispers, her thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "Every time I think I couldn't possibly love you more, you prove me wrong."
"I love you too. But we're fucking cooked."