Page 246 of My French Love Affair

Thisis where I belong.

The world beyond the grid - beyond the roar of these engines and the precision of these machines - fades into irrelevance.

I tighten my grip on the wheel, my gloved fingers flexing against the smooth material.

The engineers have done their job. The setup is exactly where I need it to be. The car feels responsive, sharp, like a predator coiled to strike.

Matthieu’s voice crackles into my ear through the radio.

"Alright, Frederic, you’re starting P2. Front left might need management toward the second stint. Eyes on Turn 1 - keep it clean, keep it tight. We go aggressive on strategy if we have the gap."

"Copy that."

One last deep breath. One last roll of my shoulders.

The lights go red.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Blackout.

Ilaunch.

The rear tires grip perfectly as I shift through the gears, feeling the balance of power, the connection between me and the asphalt. We barrel down towards Sainte-Dévote, the tight right-hand corner that has decided more Monaco races than I care to count.

I’m alongside the pole sitter.

He covers the inside line, but I stay aggressive, forcing him to defend hard into the turn.

We go wheel to wheel, inches apart.

My car twitches as I hit the bump in the road just before the braking zone, but I hold firm.

It’s too narrow to make the move stick -for now.

I slot in behind him, keeping the pressure on.

Monaco isn’t about all-out pace. It’s about perfection.

Every lap. Every millimeter. Every single corner taken with ruthless precision.

Lap after lap, I stalk him. The soft tires feel good - balance is there.

By Lap 12, he’s struggling on traction out of Portier, just before the tunnel; and I see the gap before it’s even there.

I shift down, commit to the throttle early, and get the slipstream as we roar through the tunnel at almost 280.

We burst into daylight, nearing the Nouvelle Chicane.

I dart to the inside.

He sees it too late. He squeezes me, but I hold firm - elbows out, full commitment.

By the time we hit the braking zone, I’ve already won.

I cut across him, slam the car down into second gear, hit the apex, and power out onto the short straight.

"YES, MOREAU! You’re P1!"

---