He did—teeth and all—but his mind was elsewhere, replaying Mia’s quiet laugh in the prep room, the way her eyes had softened just for a second before the text shattered it.
Sienna set her phone down, satisfied, then leaned over suddenly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He heard the subtle click—another photo, well-placed, her hand on his arm for the shot. “You’re the best accessory,” she teased, posting it immediately with a flurry of taps.
Lucas chuckled, the sound hollow even to him. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
He picked at his food, pretending interest in her story about Milan’s runways. Pretending he wasn’t bored out of his mind. Pretending the ache in his chest was just fatigue from the day, not the silence from a phone that stayed dark.
A convenient distraction.
But the appeal was fading fast.
???
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mia
The Barcelona circuit hummed with testing activity—engines rumbling like distant thunder, data streams flowing across screens, the first real taste of the new car under proper track conditions. It was unusually warm for February, the winter sun high and bright enough to soften the chill in the air and bake the asphalt into a faint haze of heat and fuel vapour, but the breeze still carried a sharp, wintry edge that made jackets necessary.
Mia moved through the garage with her usual clipped efficiency, tablet in hand, earpiece buzzing with Claire’s voice directing traffic. She was here for media support: live social updates, post-session driver interviews, coordinating photo ops and quick clips for the team channels. Routine. Safe. Exactly what she needed.
Lucas emerged from the car after his morning stint, helmet off, sweat-damp hair sticking up in spikes. His race suit was half-unzipped, the fireproof base layer clinging to his chest. He looked alive—eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the G-forces and adrenaline.
“Good run?” she asked, stepping up with her tablet already open to the social schedule.
“Solid.” He wiped his face with a towel, grin breaking wide. “The aero package feels sharper—less understeer in Turn 3 and 9. I could actually carry speed through the esses without the rear stepping out.”
She smiled—genuine this time, the professional mask slippingjust enough to show real interest. “You sound excited. Can you show me? For the posts, I mean. Fans lose it over the tech overlays.”
He hesitated for half a second—surprised she’d asked—then nodded. “Yeah. Come on.”
They huddled over a monitor in the engineering bay. The space was dimmer here, cooled by industrial fans, the air thick with the smell of hot brakes and rubber. Lucas pulled up the telemetry charts, zooming in on the throttle traces and steering inputs.
“See here?” He pointed at the graph, voice low and animated. “That’s where I reached full throttle out of Turn 10—response time’s down by almost three tenths compared to last year’s package. The car’s actually listening.”
Mia leaned in closer, shoulder brushing his accidentally. She didn’t pull away immediately. “That’s insane. Makes my job easier—‘LUCAS TAMES THE BEAST IN BARCELONA’or something equally cheesy.”
He laughed—quiet, surprised. “You’re good at that. Turning numbers into stories.”
She glanced at him sideways. “You give me good material.”
A beat. The hum of the fans filled the silence.
Lucas turned slightly, facing her more directly. “Thanks for this, Mia. Last season I felt like I was just a face for the cameras—say the lines, smile, move on. You make it… real. Like someone actually cares what’s happening under the skin of the car.”
She met his gaze, the barriers from the pre-season meeting softened by the shared focus, the heat, the quiet of the bay. “Well, you’re a guy who actually cares about the drive, not just the win. That’s rare.”
He looked surprised by her candour, then something softer crossed his face. “And you? What’s driving you, Mia? Besides keeping the rest of us in line.”
She hesitated, fingers tightening on the edge of the monitor. “Proving I belong, I guess. Growing up in a small town in New Zealand—everyone knew everyone’s business, and I wasalways the quiet one who had to work twice as hard to be heard. Oxford was my escape. Now this is my world. I don’t want anyone to ever question if I earned my spot.”
Lucas’s brows lifted slightly, genuine surprise and respect flickering across his face. “Oxford? That’s… pretty impressive. You got a scholarship there, right? Full ride, if I remember the team bio correctly.”
Mia gave a small nod, gaze still on the screen. “Yeah. English Literature. I’ve always loved a good story—the kind that pulls you in, makes you forget where you are for a while.”
He smiled, soft and a little wistful. “I can see that. You’ve got a way with words—turning our telemetry nonsense into something people actually want to read. Must’ve been incredible, though. Oxford on a scholarship? What was it like? The whole thing—tutorials, punting on the river, late-night essays in some ancient library? I never got near a university. Racing since I was twelve, so that path just… didn’t exist for me. Always wondered what I missed.”
Mia’s smile faded, polite but distant. She straightened a fraction, crossing her arms loosely. “It was… fine. Old buildings. Rain. A lot of reading.” Her voice stayed even, but the warmth from earlier had cooled noticeably. “Nothing special. I got what I needed from it and left.”
