Until my Last Breath

Final

United Arab Emirates
3 Years later...

The first thing I feel is warmth. Not the desert sun yet - that's still hiding behind the curtains - but the slow, featherlight press of lips on my forehead. Over and over, gentle, insistent. I stir, half-smiling before I even open my eyes.

When I do, he's there.

Pablo. His hair is messy, sticking out in every direction, his eyes still heavy from the late-night flight, but the way he's looking at me... God, it makes my stomach flip even after all this time. Four years, countless memories , hundreds of sleepless nights apart, and still, he stares at me like I'm the only miracle that ever happened to him.

"Buenos días, mi campeona," he whispers, voice husky.

"Not yet," I mumble, though the corners of my mouth betray me. "Today could be a disaster."

His brows pinch together, almost offended, and before I can say anything more, his lips find mine, slow and sure, silencing every doubt. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing along my jawline like he's memorizing me all over again.

"You're going to win today," he murmurs against my mouth, so certain it almost makes me believe it too. "Even if you start last, even if you spin three times, you'll still find a way. That's who you are, Rita. You don't quit."

I laugh softly, though it's tight with nerves. "You sound like my PR rep."

"No," he grins, dipping down to kiss my neck now, my shoulder. "I just love you."

I roll my eyes, but my chest feels lighter. Then, in one sudden motion, he scoops me up from the bed.

"Pablo!" I squeal, smacking his shoulder. "My back, my ribs, put me down!"

"Nope," he smirks, carrying me bridal style into the bathroom. "If I leave you in bed, you'll stay there all morning worrying. You need a clear head. And a shower."

The spray is hot, grounding, his hands steadying me as the steam curls around us. It's strangely quiet in here, no engines, no noise - just us. For a brief moment, I let myself forget what today means, sinking into his touch.

When we step out, wrapped in towels, the nerves creep back. I take a long breath, tugging on the Ferrari jacket with steady hands. The weight of it never feels lighter, even after years. Today, it feels heavier than ever.

Pablo's already dressed when I turn around - black jeans, sneakers, and a crisp white Ferrari t-shirt with BIANCHI printed proudly across the back in bold letters. My throat tightens at the sight. It's not just support. It's legacy. It's me, my uncle, my family, carried on his shoulders like he's always promised.

"You're ridiculous," I say, shaking my head as I adjust the collar of his shirt.

"Ridiculously in love with you," he shoots back without hesitation, and I groan, smacking his chest lightly before leaning in to kiss him again.

Breakfast is waiting downstairs in the hotel suite, where the Leclercs have already gathered. Pascale is fussing with the fruit platters, Lorenzo is stirring sugar into his coffee, and Arthur waves me over the second I appear in red.

"Voilà, our champion!" he says with a grin that makes my cheeks burn.

"Not yet," I murmur, but Pascale tuts, pulling me into a hug so warm it makes my eyes sting.

"You already are, ma chérie. Today is only the coronation."

I sit between Pablo and Arthur, Maverick curled under the table at my feet, tail wagging lazily. The room buzzes with soft chatter - Charles scrolling through his phone, Pascale insisting I eat more croissants.