“You give them nothing,” Ruth said firmly.“Your sister asked you to return something to Lily, and since you were staying at the same hotel, you agreed.That’s all.”
I nodded, my throat tight.I didn’t trust my voice to say anything that wouldn’t make this worse, so I decided not to wait for dismissal.The chair scraped against the floor as I pushed back, my legs unsteady underneath me.I offered a curt nod to Verhoeven before leaving.
“Henri,” Verhoeven called out just as I reached the door.
I turned back.
“We will win Monaco,” he said, his voice flat with certainty.“Nothing else matters this weekend.Understood?”
“Understood.”
By the time I’d reached my room, Michael caught up to me.“They’re right about one thing.”
I opened the door, then turned just enough to be polite.“Which is?”
“You have been off.”
The words landed because they were the only ones spoken without performance.“You think I’m distracted because ofher?”
Michael’s gaze held mine.“I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out, Henri.”
He then disappeared down the hallway, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets.I entered my room and sank onto the plush couch in the corner, pulling out my phone.The headlines were still there, waiting for me.I should’ve put it down, but instead, my thumb fell into doom-filled scrolling.Post after post.
Rennen’s Sweetheart Corrupts Hermes’ Star
Dubois Distracted.Can He Recover Before Monaco?
But it was the comments that frustrated me.
She’s ruining him.
Women don’t belong in F1 if they can’t keep their legs shut.
She’ll crash into him again next week just to stay relevant.
My jaw felt tight as I went through each one.I closed the app before pulling up my contacts.Her smiling face stared back at me, her name in block letters above it with the jet emoji she’d demanded I add.A symbol from our first vacation together, back when our friendship was new and uncomplicated.
You okay?
I typed out the two words, staring at them until the letters blurred, then deleted them.Typed them again.Deleted them harder.
What could I possibly say to make this better?
A text popped up from my sister, but I turned off my phone altogether.There wasn’t anything Georgia could say to make today any better.There was only one thing that could shut out all the noise.
Winning the Monaco Grand Prix.
My car was lightning-fast this year, but that would fade over the next few seasons when other teams caught up.And then, in three years, a new set of rules would change the makeup of the car again.In F1, when your team gave you the fastest car on track, your only option was to take advantage of that immediately.
I drove home on autopilot and felt incredibly relieved to finally pull up to my apartment.I didn’t bother with lights as I walked straight to the room where my personal simulator lived.
I sat, tightened the pretend belt out of habit, and booted the system.Fans whirred awake as the screens turned on.Monaco loaded, and the first thing I saw was the white barriers that had ended my race last year.Now I hunched over the simulator, running the circuit until my fingers numbed.
“Come on,” I muttered.“You can be faster in that corner.”
I restarted the lap, running it over and over again, each time focusing on the turns.
And then a voice caught me by surprise.
