“Oh, Alex,” she said in an exaggerated, too-high, breathy voice, batting her lashes dramatically. “You’re just so dreamy.”
“That’s terrible. If that’s what you’re bringing to the table, we’re doomed.”
“Hey, I’m just getting into character,” she shot back, her grin widening.
“Maybe leave the acting to me.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. And for a brief moment, it felt…easy. Natural, even.
This was going to work.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
But as I watched her get up and head toward the door, the playful smile still lingering on her lips, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole plan might be more dangerous than I’d realized.
* * *
Time passed in a blur when we were in season. The fast-paced lifestyle of Formula One seeped back into my bones, adrenaline coursing through me. I loved it, loved the pressure and high stakes. With the last win under my belt, I felt the adrenaline racing through my bones already. I was sitting in first place in the Drivers’ World Championship standings, but only ten points behind was Theo Bauer, I couldn’t afford any mistakes.
The Italian Grand Prix was its own kind of chaos. Monza wasn’t just another race, it was a cathedral of speed, where mistakes were unforgiving and victories immortalized. Even now, as the morning sun poured golden light over the paddock, the atmosphere thrummed with energy. Fans already chanted in the grandstands, their cheers rising like waves crashing against the walls of my concentration.
I made my way to the garage, helmet in hand, sidestepping the cameras that tried to catch every flicker of emotion on my face. Today, there was no room for emotion. Not for nerves. Not for doubt. And definitely not for the thoughts of Lucia DeLuca that had crept into my head at the worst possible times this weekend.
I tightened my grip on the helmet as I crossed into the calm, orderly chaos of the garage. The mechanics were already at work, checking tire pressure, monitoring telemetry, and preparing for the grueling hours ahead. They didn’t look up; they didn’t have to. We all knew what was at stake.
“Morning, Wright,” came the clipped voice of my race engineer, Simon. He handed me the day’s strategy sheet.
“Morning.” I skimmed the paper, I needed it etched into my instincts.
“Feeling good about the setup?” Simon asked, his sharp eyes scanning me like I was another component of the car.
“Car’s strong. It’ll be all about the start and managing the tires in sector two.” My voice was even, but my brain itched to get on track and feel the balance under me. Words only went so far in a sport where the difference between glory and disaster came down to fractions of a second.
But as I tried to picture turn one, the braking point at Variante del Rettifilo, my thoughts veered off-course. To her. To Lucia.
She’d come to the paddock yesterday, a little wide-eyed but trying to hide it under her usual quiet composure. When I’d stepped in to stand by her side, the tension in her shoulders had eased, and damn it, if that hadn’t felt like a win. Gianna was with her grandparents, who were in town for the race, and Lucia looked a little lost without her. I nodded at Anna and she seemed to understand my silent plea.Make sure Lucia isn’t alone.
The fake-dating arrangement was supposed to make everythingsimpler. A barrier for the media, a shield against the inevitable questions about why she was here. Instead, it felt like the start of a slow, impossible spiral. We had decided to start the charade after this race since her parents were in town. When we last talked about it, she had pressed her body up to mine, batted her lashes, and been silly, but having her that close, breaking past that invisible line of personal space. Between that and the night at the club, I was one step away from losing restraint. I wanted her there. I wanted to breathe in her berry-scented perfume, or hair product, or whatever it was.Fuck, I sound like a lovesick fool.I’ll admit the extra time with Lucia was nice. I loved seeing Gianna and having them here in the circuit. Enjoying the company of someone is fine, that is totally fine. But breathing in their scent, Jesus.Get it together, Wright.
I shook my head, forcing the memory away.
“Something wrong?” Simon asked.
“Nothing.” I handed the strategy sheet back to him. “Just ready to get out there.” The pre-race routines came next: the engineering brief, the driver’s meeting, a final stretch to shake out the nerves. I stayed quiet through most of it, letting myself get in the zone. This morning I had already started to zone out the world, getting race ready. Matteo carried the conversation when we saw each other at the hotel this morning; his parents were getting in soon, but not before we needed to be on the track. His easy charm kept the conversation light as we traveled to the circuit together, but I knew him well enough to spot the slight edge in his voice. Racing at home always did that to him, to anyone, really. Home races were another level entirely.
Out on the grid, the crowd was deafening. Italian flags whipped in the breeze, and fans called Morretti’s name louder than anyone else’s. The Italian team was a powerhouse, and Matteo had been buzzing with the same energy as we partied this morning. As I walked down past each team’s lounges and club rooms, I tried to visualize the team strategies on the track, where everyone would be starting, and how to implement the plans based on final formation.
Until, a familiar laugh cut through the noise. I glanced up, and there she was, standing with Matteo near the barrier of the Moretti team space. I had walked the length of the area to get my mind refocused before I was needed in the garage, but here I was, sucked in by the voice I had come to search out.
Lucia’s parents were beside her, I could see how she fit in this world that felt so foreign to her. The same warm smile as her mother, the same fierce light in her eyes as Matteo. She caught me looking, and instead of shying away, she gave me a small, almost mischievous wave.
There goes my focus.
I send an easy smile their way, waving to her and her parents, before turning back toward the Belen area. I worked through my mental routine, headphones in as I waited for go time. After a few final checks with the engineers, it was time.
I climbed into the cockpit, pulling the helmet down to seal myself in. The roar of the crowd dulled, replaced by the steady thrum of my heartbeat.
“Radio check,” Simon’s voice crackled in my ear.
“Loud and clear,” I replied, gripping the steering wheel. The formation lap was a blur of instinct and preparation, each corner a reminder of what was coming. As we lined up on the grid, the world seemed to hold its breath.
