Page 21 of Racing Hearts
Painting had always been a stress relief for me. Even as a racer in F2, I’d kept up my private art lessons, not wanting to let that creative part of me go. But for some reason, sharing that with everyone else felt impossible. Not only was it the one private part of my life I had left to myself, sharing it with the world felt like I’d give them one more reason to judge me. One more reason to say I wasn’t focused on the championship.
Sensing the awkward silence between us, Luca grabbed my phone, opting to read another question. “Oh, come on,” I heard him mutter before clearing his throat. “Your favorite color?”
“Gold.”
“To symbolize all your winning?” he sneered.
“Jealous?”
Luca didn’t even bat an eye at my response. “Mine’s purple.” He raked his eyes over my dress. “And I have to say, I like it even more after tonight.” Winking, he gave my dress a pointed look.
I was going to murder Nora after this dinner.
“Your favorite color… is the color of your team car?” I asked incredulously, doing my best to ignore his cocky grin.
“Like yours isn’tactuallyValkyrie blue.”
The air quotes he’d put around “Valkyrie blue” irked me to no end, but I kept my face neutral. Quite frankly, I suspected I’d soundstupidadmitting that my favorite color was the color of my team car and after hearing Luca say purple, it turned out I was right. Before I could continue to pat myself on my back for my pettiness, Luca slid the phone back to me.
Searching for one that wouldn’t give me heartburn, I finally whispered, “Favorite movie?”
“Who wrote these stupid questions?” Luca groaned. “No one is going to ask us about our favorite movies or favorite pasta or favorite song. We aren’t children.”
“My favorite movie isPride & Prejudice,” I said nonchalantly.
“Never seen it.” Not surprising. Luca didn’t strike me as someone who watched romantic movies about two enemies whose love was an uphill battle. He struck me as aTerminator,Transformers,Godzillasort of guy. Lots of action, pretty girls, little plot.
Luca grabbed the phone, frantically scrolling through the questions before shoving it back into my hands. “Forget the list. Here’s something Idowant to know.” His tone shifted just enough to make me wary. “Every time Henri talks about you, he goes on and on about how funny and ‘darling’ you are.” I did my best, once again, to ignore the air quotes. “Why can’t you be like that in front of the media?”
All at once, I had a million things cross my mind, a million things that I wanted to say. I should have said that when I went into press conferences, it felt like the wind was being kicked out of me. Or, when I approached the media pen, my palms got so sweaty that I struggled to focus on anything but the drops of sweat dripping down my face. How my quick remarks weren’t meant to be snippy, all I wanted was for the interview to be over so I could retreat to the ease of my garage.
How I had suffered from anxiety since I was a child, but because my brother was so outgoing, my incredibly loving parents didn’t know how to deal with my emotions. How it took me turning twenty before I was able to seek professional help. But I couldn’t let Luca know any of that.
Show the enemy no weakness.
“The same way you can’t stop yourself from partying or stealing yachts,” I said cooly. “It’s in my nature.”
Georgia: 1. Luca: 1.
Chapter Nine
Luca
Like all Formula 1 races, Friday in Miami was dedicated to free practice sessions, which consisted of rigorous testing at the start of the Grand Prix weekend. After a grueling couple of sessions and several engineering meetings, I traipsed back to my driver’s room filled with exhaustion, disappointment, and quite frankly a shit ton of embarrassment.
Another horrible practice session.
Just as my head hit my sofa’s pillow, my manager popped his head in. “So, how was it?” Matteo had a large, expectant grin on his face.
“Free practice was fine.”
He narrowed his eyes, giving me a disapproving grunt. Considering he’d never asked me about my free practice sessions before, I knew what he was really asking about.
“Dinner was fine.” Fine was a nice way of putting it. Every offhand jab about my party habits or inherited privilege had been on a loop in my head all day. Somehow, her opinion mattered more than any headline ever could. And I hated that.
Matteo stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Well, the photos of yourfinedate look phenomenal.” Before I could protest, he thrust his phone into my hands with a look of triumph. “Look at this photo of the two of you!”
The image that greeted me wasn’t what I expected. A candid shot of Georgia and me at the restaurant, mid-laugh. Her head was tilted slightly toward mine, her eyes scrunched with genuine amusement. And there I was, mirroring her expression, looking more carefree and happier than I had in ages. In the picture, we looked like a couple deeply in love.
