They eased into the rhythm of the place effortlessly. The next day was lazy: a light meal of niçoise salad and chilled rosé on the terrace, then an afternoon exploring the grounds. They wandered the olive paths, Lucas pointing out the trees his grandfather had planted decades ago. Conversation flowed light at first—racing anecdotes, favourite off-season spots—but deepened as the sun dipped.
“You're different here,” Mia observed, as they paused at a viewpoint overlooking Nice. “Relaxed. No walls up.”
He shrugged, leaning on the stone wall. “No expectations. At home, it's always 'when's the championship coming?' Here... it's just me.”
She nodded, feeling the echo of that pressure in her own bones.I know exactly what that feels like.“I get that. Back in Amberley, I can breathe. No one cares about press releases or social metrics.”
Lucas smiled—small, almost wistful—and leaned his forearms on the stone balustrade, looking out at the darkening sea. “You know, I’ve actually been to New Zealand once. Summer after I turned eighteen. Dad flew us down—said it was time I raced somewhere that wasn’t crawling with European scouts and family expectations. He acted as my manager for the whole trip. No team, no sponsors, just us and a rented trailer.”
Mia turned toward him, surprised and oddly touched. “You raced in New Zealand?”
“Yeah.” He glanced sideways at her, eyes catching the last of the sunset. “Ruapuna, Teretonga, Hampton Downs. Then we entered the New Zealand Grand Prix. Won it, actually. Not quite the glamour of Monaco, but still… crossing the line first felt massive. Dad was screaming from the pit wall like a kid. I remember thinking, ‘This is what it’s supposed to feel like—no pressure, just the track and the wheel.’”
He paused, voice softening. “You know New Zealand is one of only two places in the world allowed to call a race the ‘Grand Prix’ outside of Formula 1? That’s pretty special. The other’s Macau, and even they don’t get the same weight. It’s like the country quietly earned the right to keep the name alive.”
Mia watched him, the way the fading light gilded the edges of his profile. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not many people do.” He turned fully toward her then, elbows still braced on the railing, close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off him. His gaze held hers—steady, unguarded—and his voice dropped just a fraction softer, deliberate. “But New Zealand is pretty special. Beautiful place… beautiful people.”
The last two words landed gently, weighted with meaning. Mia felt heat bloom under her skin, soft and sudden.She looked down at her glass, lips curving despite herself, then back up at him. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
* * *
That evening, they cooked together—simple pasta with fresh tomatoes and basil from the garden. Music played softly, a playlist Mia had curated during the flight. Conversation meandered—favourite books, worst race memories—until Mia asked, grinning:
“Okay, serious question. What’s your hype song? The one you’ve got blasting in your headphones on the grid, waiting for lights out?”
Lucas looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Promise.”
He leaned in, voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “Everyone thinks it’s Kanye—‘Stronger.’ That’s what I tell the team. Keeps the image intact.”
Mia raised an eyebrow. “But it’s not.”
He winced. “It’s Spice Girls. ‘Stop.’”
She burst out laughing—loud, unrestrained, head tipping back. “Spice Girls?!”
“Shh!” He laughed too, cheeks flushing. “Look, my mum played their CDs nonstop when I was a kid. I was the third boy—Dad always saw me as the next F1 champion, but Mum… I think she secretly wanted a girl. We’d dance in the kitchen while Dad was at work. She’d spin me around to ‘Wannabe,’ ‘Stop,’ all of it. Even now, when I need to shake nerves before a race, I put it on quietly. It’s ridiculous, but it works. Plus… they’re fucking hot.”
Mia wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “I love that. No judgment. It’s sweet.”
“Your turn,” he said, grinning. “Something embarrassing. Fair’s fair.”
She bit her lip, then confessed. “My first crush was Lightning McQueen.”
Lucas stared. Then he laughed—deep, delighted. “The car? From Cars?”
“He was fast and dangerous,” she defended, cheeks pink. “Funny. Self-confident. Red. What’s not to love?”
Lucas leaned closer, teasing. “And he’s a car.”
Mia shrugged, eyes sparkling. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
They dissolved into laughter again, the sound carrying over the quiet pool.
The mood shifted gently as the fire crackled lower. Lucas stared into the flames for a long moment.
