“Right,” I muttered, crossing my arms and staring out the window. But my reflection in the glass betrayed me, showing the stupid grin I couldn’t quite suppress.
Alexander just chuckled softly beside me. I was either in a trance, or we were closer to the racetrack than I had previously thought, but soon the car pulled up and I looked outside, seeing the front entrance, the grand signs, and where we scanned our passes. I also saw the sheer amount of photographers present. Anna must have worked her magic, making sure our appearance would be well documented. She had sent us a message earlier wishing us good luck and that she would be in the Belen garage when we got in.
“Hey.” Alexander’s voice was low, his accent curling around the word like velvet. His hand brushed my exposed thigh as he leaned closer, his touch featherlight but electric, sending a ripple of chills up my spine.
“We got this,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the edge of my knee now, grounding me in the moment. “I’ll get out first and open your door. Then we walk in together, nice and easy.”
He smiled, a real one, the kind that could light up an entire room, or in this case, calm the onslaught of chaos in my brain. It was maddening how effortlessly he could make the storm in my chest quiet with one look.
I exhaled slowly, nodding as I met his steady gaze. “All right,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
His lips quirked in a teasing grin as his eyes roved over me for the briefest moment. “Plus,” he added, his tone dropping slightly, “you look stunning.”
And just like that, he slipped out of the car, leaving me to sit there like a deer caught in headlights, my cheeks heating faster than a Formula One engine.
The door swung open moments later, and the sounds of the outside world hit me all at once, fans shouting, cameras flashing, voices calling out Alexander’s name.
“Alexander! Who’s this?”
“Alexander, over here!”
“Alexander, is that Matteo DeLuca’s sister?”
That last one sent the crowd into overdrive, and I swore my stomach dropped somewhere near my knees. Alexander didn’t falter. He bent slightly, his hand extended toward me, his signature smile firmly in place. “Ready?” he asked, the word just loud enough for me to hear over the din.
I nodded, taking his hand as if it were a lifeline. His palm was warm and steady, his grip firm but not overwhelming, and the moment our skin touched, some of the tension in my shoulders eased.
The crowd roared louder as I stepped out, but I focused on him.Just him.
He kept his gaze forward, waving casually with his free hand while his other stayed wrapped protectively around mine. Then he dipped his head down to me, his breath warm against my ear, sending another wave of goose bumps across my skin.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured.
The words were like a balm, and I let them sink in. I forced a wide smile, tipping my head up toward him as if he’d just told me the funniest joke in the world. My laugh was soft but deliberate, a signal to the cameras. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his expression soft and encouraging, and I knew I could do this.
We walked hand in hand through the crowd, the questions and camera flashes fading into white noise. I kept my grip on him firm, matching his pace as we passed through the security checkpoint. Even then, he didn’t let go, his hand staying intertwined with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
As we moved deeper into the circuit, past the teams’ lounges and toward the Belen Racing tent, the chaos of the crowd gave way to a more controlled buzz. But Alexander’s hand? It stayed with me, his thumb occasionally brushing against mine in a way that felt deliberate. Comforting.
I couldn’t help but glance up at him. He was calm and collected, a walking portrait of confidence and charm, but there was something grounding in the way he stayed connected to me, in how he made it feel like we were in this together. I felt steady.
The energy in the Belen Racing tent was electric, a buzzing mix of adrenaline, nerves, and excitement. Alexander stood in front of me, his arms crossed, but his expression was soft, his lips pulled into a small, teasing smile.
“So,” he began, his voice casual but with a curious edge. “Do you want to stay here or head over to the Moretti tent with Matteo?”
I knew he was giving me an out, an escape to be with my brother, my safe zone, to start easy and not dive in head first. But I was ready to dive. I squared my shoulders and tilted my head at him.
“I think,” I said, dragging the words out as if giving it serious consideration, “that if I’m going to be your fake girlfriend, I should probably stay and, you know, support my fake boyfriend. Commitment to the bit and all.”
Alexander chuckled, the sound warm and low. “That’s very selfless of you.”
“I’m nothing if not dedicated.”
He leaned in slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious, though his eyes still danced with humor. “And here I thought you just wanted better snacks. We have the good espresso machine, after all.”
I feigned shock, placing a hand on my chest. “How dare you? As if I would be bribed by snacks and non-Italian coffee.”
He smirked. “Not even a little?”
