“She recommended a stronger work ethic,” Reese continued. “Fewer selfies. Cutting back on brand deals when I could. More sim time. More gym time. Basically: grow the fuck up. Get serious.”
“And that’s all it is?” Delaney asked. “Just her helping you become a better driver?”
“Delaney …” Reese warned, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “What exactly are you asking?”
Delaney stepped closer, lowering her voice like they were discussing state secrets. “We know you hit on her. Has it progressed from there?”
Reese stared at her, contemplating whether to go there or not. This felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.
“Are you sleeping with her? Confirm or deny.”
“No,” Reese said immediately.
“But you want to.”
“Well, who wouldn’t?”
“Valid.” Delaney nodded. “She’s beautiful and amazing and so out of your league I feel like I should prepare a PowerPoint about it.”
Reese threw up her hands. “Everyone keeps saying that. Constantly. Relentlessly.” She hesitated, then shrugged. Her chest tightened, the thrill tangling with something more vulnerable. “But … yeah. I think there’s a spark. A sizzle. Something. We kissed once.”
Delaney froze. Squinted. The world just exploded. “Are you kidding me? When? You—no. No. I refuse. You buried the lead entirely. You have no future in journalism, and I am filing a formal friendship complaint.”
Reese turned and started walking toward the quieter stretch of pit lane, knowing Delaney would follow. F2 drivers swarmed around their cars, preparing for their own qualifying, the air buzzing with energy but blessedly free of anyone listening too closely. The space gave Reese room to breathe, to let the moment settle instead of ricocheting away from it.
“You’re telling Marissa and Cassidy,” Delaney said, hot on her heels. “Immediately. I’m not carrying this burden alone.”
“Who said I haven’t told them?”
Delaney’s eyes went wide. “You told them and not me? I’m your friend. Your only teammate. We go back to childhood. I don’t even know?—”
“Relax. I was fucking with you. You’re the first.”
Delaney went still. “I’m going to have to murder you a second time.”
“That’s not even a thing,” Reese said, leading the way back to Ravensport’s suite. “You can’t die twice.”
“Youwill. It will set a record.”
“At least I’ll finally hold one.” She smiled as she said it, but the truth lingered underneath: pole position, records, wins. They were starting to matter differently now. Not just as proof she was fast, but as proof she was becoming someone worth believing in. And for the first time, that felt like an ending she wanted to stand inside, not outrun.
CHAPTER 14
NO MORE PRETENDING
The sun had barely dipped behind the trees when Reese and Delaney followed the winding path through Parco di Monza toward Villa Mirabello. The Pirelli reception was already underway, with soft music drifting on the warm evening air, the faint clink of glasses, and a low hum of multilingual conversation. Reese slowed without meaning to, taking it in the way she always did, like she needed a second to recalibrate. It all felt impossibly elegant for something happening a stone’s throw from the deafening chaos of the racetrack.
Pirelli supplied all the tires for Formula Next and was well respected in the racing world. With their corporate headquarters in Italy, they rolled out the red carpet for an industry party most wouldn’t forget. Reese had learned by now that “industry party” was code for breathtaking excess. The budget could probably bankroll Reese’s living expenses for a year or two. Maybe more, if she were smart about it.
She’d grown up counting things. Hours, dollars, favors. She still did, out of habit if nothing else. There was always a moment at events like this when she felt it acutely—the quiet awareness that she hadn’t come from money or connections or a last name anyone recognized. She’d come from grit and borrowed gearand sleeping on couches, from believing hard enough that talent might eventually tip the scales.
She glanced sideways at Delaney, who was taking in the villa with the same careful fascination, like she was mentally cataloging exits and snack tables all at once. That helped. Delaney never pretended this world was normal, either. They were both visitors here, standing at the edge of luxury, belonging and not belonging in equal measure.
And yet. The invitation had her name on it. She’d earned the right to walk this path, to step into this space, even if part of her still expected someone to stop her and ask for proof.
Cassidy and Marissa waited near the entrance, both looking unfairly polished for people who’d spent the afternoon sweating through practice sessions. Cassidy, in a navy jumpsuit that looked tailored to her form, lifted her glass in greeting.
“There she is,” Cassidy announced. “The woman of the hour. The prodigy. The future tire poster child of Italy.”
