Page 40 of Hot Lap
We approach, and she gestures to each woman. "Lina Sutton, Gudrun Vehls, Maria Almodóvar. This is Reece’s wife, Maiken."
I brace for impact. Doubtless they know my brief and sordid history with F1, and have sharpened their knives, claws, and teeth. I’m fresh meat wrapped in useless armor, dove gray cashmere.
Lina is impossible to miss. She’s tall and elegant with sleek dark hair pulled into a glossy low ponytail. She wears tailored white trousers, a pale blue silk blouse, and strappy sandals that in a previous life — like two days ago — I’d’ve shanked a bitch for. She steps forward first, offering her hand with a warm, genuine smile that shocks the shit outa me. "Maiken. It's wonderful to meet you."
I shake her hand, grateful for the calm steadiness she projects, and feel the other two women sizing me up — not unkindly, but with the careful curiosity of women who have seen a lot and trust little at face value. One is tall and striking, with straight platinum blonde hair and a simple structured navy dress. The other is petite, all curves and smile, wearing a black pantsuit with silver flowers embroidered down one side and enormous gold hoop earrings that brush her shoulders.
"Welcome to the madness," Gudrun says, her German accent crisp. She’s the platinum goddess.
The other woman, Maria, clasps my hand. "We are so excited to meet you!" She’s all sunshine and fizz and I swear she’s a human Italian soda, except she’s Argentinian. But you get the idea.
Claudia gives me an encouraging nod before stepping back. "You're in good hands now."
And just like that, I'm swept into their orbit.
I'm hyper-aware of my appearance. My outfit is definitely not me, and standing next to these women, I feel like I wandered into aVogueeditorial by mistake.
Still, years of being naked on stage have taught me how to hide insecurity behind a confident smile. So I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and give them the same charming grin I flash at audiences before I toss a glove or unfasten a stocking.
"Thanks for taking the time to meet me."
"Of course." Lina's smile softens. "I’m glad you’re joining us. We’ve reserved a private dining room."
We pass hushed lounges and an endless parade of designer luggage. As we walk, I pick up little details about my acquaintances.
Lina moves like a queen. She’s serene and poised, fielding quiet greetings from hotel staff with a nod. Gudrun has the cool aloofness of someone who’s used to cameras flashing in her face but secretly hates it. Maria? She's pure joy. Chatty, expressive, tossing her hands when she talks and laughing at her own jokes.
As we settle into a cozy private dining room, Lina studies me. She nods at my sweater set. “This is not you.”
“What?” Oh shit, here come the teeth.
“I saw what you wore off the plane from the States.” She gestures at my outfit. “This was chosen for you.”
Gudrun nods and echoes, “They’re not your clothes.”
Maria rolls her eyes. “Branca asked the concierge to select anappropriatewardrobe, right?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Are they eviscerating me? I can’t tell.
Gudrun makes a dismissive gesture. “She means well, but she has more important things to do than educate Reece’s naïve wife.”
Maria rests her hand on mine, reassuring. “That’s why we’re here.”
Lina smiles. “You looked amazing when you arrived at the airport.”
"Thank you." My cheeks heat up. I didn’t expect these glamorous women to admire retro freak.
"I love your vintage style," Gudrun adds. "It suits you and makes you unique."
"So charming," Lina agrees. "Owning your style is important in the paddock. We’re under a microscope and judged for everything we wear, say, and do. If you’re going to survive and thrive in this world, Maiken, you have to know who you are andnotcompromise."
Maria pipes up, "Definitely. People will talk shit anyway, so you might as well give them something fabulous to talk about."
I laugh, relaxing a little. Maybe I can survive this after all. “Considering what I do for a living? Shit talk is something I’m skilled at ignoring.”
They laugh, but Lina’s gaze narrows and she leans close. “You do know what’s being written about you, right?”
