Page 2 of Racing Hearts
Formula 1 champions didn’t give up, and come hell or high water, I was going to be this year’s F1 champion.
Isabelle’s voice came on the radio like a thunderclap. “Georgia, only one and a half laps to go. Fuck the tires. Punch it.”
Had my team principal just told me tofuck the tires? A staunch variation from the tough, determined,take-no-shitapproach that she was known for, but I knew there wasn’t another option, not if I wanted to be on the podium’s top step.
If we’d all been thinking straight, Isabelle would have told me to play this safe. We shouldn’t be risking a puncture on used-up tires, not when P2 was full of valuable points. Points we desperately needed.
But we hadn’t come to Barcelona to placesecond. After dominating free practice and qualifying, we knew this was our race to win, and no man was taking this from me, especially not my brother, F1’s beloved golden boy.
I increased my pace, and after another turn, my window of opportunity appeared. Henri had made a mistake on the apex in front of me, his tires sliding slightly off the racing line, causing him to lose time.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I screamed. Half a second stood between me and Henri, and all I needed was to reach a passing zone where I could gain an advantage on his car. I flew past another corner and saw the next passing area come into view.
It was now or never. The flap on the wing of my car opened, and to my surprise, I easily flew past my brother’s Hermes car. The sheer speed of my Valkyrie in a straight line was unmatched, and the race lead was mine again.
“Final lap, G.” Mel’s voice was almost a whisper over the radio, and I knew the entire team was holding their breath while they watched. With no more laps remaining, there was nothing they could do but silently cheer me on.
I started the last lap, hitting the racing line with such ease I almost didn’t recognize myself while I defended another lunge from my brother’s car. As I rounded the final corner, the long-awaited checkered flag came into view.
“Come on, Georgia,” I whispered to myself, “you can do this.”
Focusing on the black and white cloth straight ahead of me, everything else faded away. The roaring of the crowd, the small hum of the radio feed—the world around me fell silent as I felt that familiar rush of adrenaline surge through my veins the moment the flag was behind me.
But this time was different. This time I had crossed the linefirst.
My radio was full of joyful yelling, but their words were fuzzy and muffled. I took a moment to look up at the large screens, watching my bright blue car on the grandstand TVs.
“Wh–what was th–that?” was all I could utter back as I heard distant screaming and cheering through the radio, the sound of the crowd roaring so overpowering that I couldn’t hear Mel’s voice.
Warm tears formed in my eyes, and I knew my body was registering my win, even if my brain was struggling to catch up. Mel’s voice popped back on, and I finally felt the pent-up rush of tears trickle down my face, like a dam that had been blown wide open. The sadness, the excitement, thefearthat I had bottled up inside me came pouring out as all of the emotions that I had forced myself to hide since Valkyrie F1 Racing had signed me as their lead driver could finally be released.
I was the first woman to win a Formula 1 race in forty years.
Pulling into the pit lane, I turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, my knees sinking to the ground as I hugged my front left tire with all my might. My brother’s hand landed on my shoulder, and I could feel it vibrating from his excitement.
“Congrats, Peaches, I’m so damn proud of you!” my brother yelled over the roaring crowd, his voice almost completely drowned out by their deafening cheers. At hearing the affectionate nickname he’d given me when were young kids, I smiled back up at him.
Even though I had passed Henri on track in what I’m sure the media would deem a “tense battle between siblings,” I could see the look of love and happiness for me in his eyes as he grabbed me and pulled me towards him. Henri knew what this meant for me, and when I’d joined F1 we’d made a deal: when the race ended, so did our rivalry.
Behind Henri I saw a familiar body emerge from the group of parked F1 cars. As soon as my brother saw his teammate, Luca Rossi, he let me go.
“Luca!” Henri frantically pointed at me. “We got another member of the F1 winners’ group!” Henri ignored the slight pinch I gave him.
Luca walked towards us, taking off his helmet before running his hands through his dark, wavy hair. His large brown eyes were red and full of exhaustion, but that didn’t stop a sly grin from inching onto his face.
“Congrats, Dubois.” He leaned in, the smell of his pine tree cologne was overwhelming. His soft eyes and beaming grin might have fooled my brother, but I knew there wasn’t a bone in Luca’s body that was happy for me. “See,” Luca motioned his arm towards the roaring crowd, “looks like youcanwin a race without bullying someone off the track.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice like poison from a fairy tale’s apple.
The nerve of this man. “For the last time—” I spat out, stepping into Luca’s space. Henri slipped between us, giving us both a wide-eyed, panicked look, a reminder that some discussions should be kept out of the public’s eye.
“For fuck’s sake, keep it together,” he hissed. Luca looked down at my brother, and then back at me, slapping on his infamous Cheshire cat grin as he patted me on the back in a move that felt more patronizing than praising.
Fucking prick.
“Ignore him. Let’s go celebrate,” Henri whispered, before leading me to the post-race weigh-in. Looking back, Luca was still standing there, his gaze locked on to mine with a silent glare that spoke volumes, and I knew this battle between us was far from over.
After a quick stop in the cooldown room, Henri and I were ushered to the podium celebration where bottle upon bottle of champagne was sprayed over both me and my race engineer, Mel, who had joined me as the winning team’s representative. She was the first female racing engineer to stand on the podium, and I knew this was equally as special for her. Mel had fought to be here just as much as I had, and for the first time in Formula 1 history, there weretwowomen on the podium. Drenched in champagne and smelling of sweat, I smiled back at Henri, giving him one last hug before running down the paddock and back to my team, who were waiting for me with more popped bottles of champagne and open arms.
“Congrats, Georgie. That’s P1, first place! Well deserved!” Nora called out as she practically strangled the upper part of my body. My media manager undoubtedly had the toughest job on the team, and yet she wore her assignment with the world’s bravest face. The Formula 1 paddock could be on fire and Nora would still announce, “At least it’s warm in here!”
