“Yeah, of course. And I mean, you said yourself last night I’m not your boyfriend,” I say, knowing it isn’t the right thing to say, and I hate myself instantly for it, but I keep going. Because I have to. “We’re just casual. Like I was with Ava.”
Oh my God, I fucking hate myself. Frankie’s face is passive. She’s an expert at maintaining a game face in a public situation. But I can see the hurt in her eyes. I feel fucking horrible. “Frankie, I didn’t mean—”
“Green Smash?” The guys calls out the order. “Where’s the lady that ordered the Green Smash?”
“It’s for me, thank you,” I say and reach out to grab the drink Clara had ordered for me before I waltzed in here to blow up my life. I turn back, and the hurt in Frankie’s eyes is gone and has been replaced by a cold, blank stare.
“Melon Madness please. With a shot of wheat grass,” Frankie tells the server. He nods, and then she turns back to me. “You should go get ready.”
“I just don’t—”
“James, there’s nothing more to discuss.” Frankie interrupts. “Not here.”
“Right. Okay.” I sulk off like the miserable idiot I am. I want to say this day can’t get worse, but it can. So I need to refocus and try and get my head in the right place so I can win this fucking race. Frankie hates me, and I deserve it, but maybe I can apologize by getting her team, our team, some points.
And I do. I drive like it’s my whole world, because it is. It has to be. Unfortunately, I also channel all my anger and frustration into my race, and I get dinged by the stewards for an over-aggressive overtake of Samuels. Later, he gets too aggressive himself and spins out in the gravel, hitting the barrier in a way that damages the car but not him. And even with the time penalty, I manage to win. Antonio is fourth, missing the podium after his own penalty for not slowing down under a yellow flag.
The victory doesn’t feel the same as any of my others. It’s hollow. Frankie didn’t come on the radio once, it was all Rocco, which isn’t totally abnormal… but it felt it. And she isn’t there to congratulate me with the rest of the team. I don’t see her as I scan the crowd from the podium as my national anthem plays.
I dedicate my entire race to Lucia, making a point to say it in every interview. It’s not bullshit P.R., I truly want this win to be for her and the Casteras. The Sky Sports guy, my last interview of the day, confirms what I already knew in the back of my head. “With this win, you are now officially in the lead for the World Championship. And Mirabella is tied in points for the Constructors’ Championship.”
“That’s amazing news,” I say.
“You must be excited, so close to matching your dad’s total for Championships,” he says and points the microphone at me.
I run a hand through my hair and let my emotions get the better of me for the last time. “Actually, I think I’m more excited about Mirabella potentially winning. Frankie Castera and the whole Mirabella team has been instrumental in every win I’ve had since she came onboard. She deserves the Constructors’ Championship. If my win helps her,them, that’s what makes me happiest.”
I walk away, but there is no missing the look of shock on the reporter’s face. I am the king of cocky. I’ve always been respectful and grateful to my team when asked about any of my wins, but I’ve also always made it clear that there is no chicken-versus-egg debate here. My success comes first, Mirabella’s second. Only now, I just said the opposite. And I meant it, because I’m in love with my Team Principal. Since I’m going to have to leave her, I am going to try like hell in every race left this season to leave her on top.
