I nodded.“My mother said a few sponsors insisted on it when they signed me.Rennen seemed to be pleased with the idea, too.”
Éliott grabbed Henri, pulling him in by the shoulders.“Well, Hermes don’t need to with this one.”
“Ha, because his only love is racing?”I added, trying—and failing—not to sound too bitter.
Éliott leaned in, poking his friend’s ribs.Henri’s eyes met mine for the briefest moment, a small flash of understanding passing between us.
I held his gaze, unflinching, for a moment longer.
I need to focus on the championship next year.On winning.There can’t be any distractions.
Those were his exact words right before he walked out of my hotel room, leaving me alone to process what just happened.If racing was his only love, he had no one to blame but himself.
I turned back to Ollie.The safe choice.“So, Ollie, I hear the podcast’s smashing records this week.”
“Yes, it’s been great.Henri, have you had a chance to listen?I think you’d find it quite interesting.”
Henri blinked as if coming out of a trance.“No.”
“Episode four covered mental resilience in motorsport,” Ollie said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.“I interviewed a sports psychologist who works with several F1 drivers.Fascinating stuff about performance anxiety, the weight of expectations.”His gaze shifted meaningfully to Henri.“I’d love to have you on as a guest speaker.It’d be great to get something out of a championship contender.”
Henri shifted his weight, his hand going to the back of his neck.“I don’t think so.”His voice came out clipped.“I don’t have time for that sort of thing right now.”
“Of course, of course.Just thought it might be—”
“No.”Henri’s face went deathly still.
The rejection hung awkwardly in the air.Ollie smiled, unbothered, and turned his attention back to Éliott, but I caught the satisfied glint in his eye.He got exactly what he wanted: Henri rattled, off-balance, that careful composure cracking just enough to show.
I watched Henri retreat further into himself, his shoulders drawing in, that same haunted look settling back over his features.The one that had been there all season.The one Georgia had noticed.The one that made him look like he was carrying the weight of something far heavier than just a championship fight.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
By midnight, the party had thinned to soft laughter and half-empty glasses.Outside, the harbor lights had dulled to a slow shimmer, and the noise of the bar below lulled into nothingness.
Georgia had kicked off her heels hours ago.Her hair had fallen from its elegant updo and now framed her face in happy, lazy curls.She clinked her empty flute against mine.
“You know, there’s still time to change your mind,” I teased.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!”She nudged my knee.“I hope everyone can find their Luca.Especially you, Lily.You deserve someone special.”
I snorted.“Well, until then, I’ll just have to settle for my car.We have a toxic relationship, but at least it’s exclusive.”
That made her laugh, and it hit me how rare it was to see her this calm.No cameras, no interviews, no pressure.We rarely got these moments during the season.
Luca came in holding two cups of chamomile tea.“Now that’s what I call a successful party.”
Georgia reached for him, taking a mug as he set another one next to me.“It was perfect.Thank you.”
He bent to kiss Georgia’s forehead, the gesture so easy it ached a little to watch.“Wouldn’t have been without you.”He then turned to me.“Both of you.”
I gestured to the empty canapé plate.“I only helped by showing up and eating most of your food.”
“Exactly,” Luca said, eyes crinkling.“And what an excellent job you did.”
Georgia’s phone lit up the dim room, buzzing harshly against the glass coffee table.She glanced at it, then away.Luca’s phone followed with its own insistent hum.He sighed, shoulders dropping as he reached for it.
