Page 30 of Racing Hearts
Of course it does. Lucky me.
When fighting for the podium celebration, I knew that it meant I’d have to show up for the post-race press conference. Hell, I suspected even if I didn’t make the podium celebration, they’d still have dragged my unconscious body to the stage just to show all of the journalists that they were right.
Isabelle grabbed my hand, as if she sensed the war going on within me. “You earned third place, Georgia. P8 to P3 is something to be proud of. Make sure the lions know that.”
The press conference room was buzzing with reporters, cameras flashing and voices discussing the race. I strode into the crowded room, spotting Luca sitting at the table up front, his hands clasped tightly together as he chatted to Henri.
“Thank you for today,” I said softly, handing him his water bottle. Luca grabbed it, his fingers gently brushing against mine before twisting off the cap and peering inside.
“You should finish what’s in here.”
Nodding my thanks, I took a seat next to my brother as I took another sip from the bottle.
Henri leaned over, whispering, “Hermes water bottle looks good in your hand.”
“Oh yeah? Are you going to give me your seat next year?” I winked, earning me a light chuckle from Luca.
Before Henri could fire back, the lead press officer, Michael Clifton, jumped in with his introductions. The journalists started with typical, safe questions. Tire management, pit stop strategies, temperature regulation. All the greatest hits.
When the conversation shifted to temperature, one of the broadcasters turned his attention to me, and I knew it was time to pay penance for today’s performance.
“How’s it feel, Georgia, to be on the podium with your brother?” Always a soft question before they delved into the humiliation.
“Truthfully, it doesn’t matter who is on the higher step, being on the podium with my brother is a dream come true.” Henri gave me an enthusiastic high five, which I awkwardly returned.
“You looked pretty rough at the end there—how are you feeling now?”
Ah, there it was.I knew the media were all itching to dig into this, like a bunch of grave robbers, they couldn’t let this stay buried. Turning to Luca, he flashed me an encouraging, toothy smile, and I knew what I had to do.
Divert. Make them laugh.
“Yeah, you know, I probably shouldn’t have indulged myself in all of that delicious, spicy Cuban food this week,” I joked with as much lightheartedness one could muster after passing out in front of thousands of people. “There’s only so much heat a girl can handle.”
Can’t believe I just said that.
Henri gave me a slow side-eye. Luca, however, let out a real chuckle, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back slightly in his chair.
“All jokes aside, it was a tough one today. The water device broke in the car, and the lack of water definitely got to me.”
Nice and easy, Georgia.
“Well, we’re glad you’re okay.” The journalist paused, and I did another breathing count, trying to soothe the tension in my shoulders. “But I have to ask, since there’s a big push to get more women in F1, do you think your heat sensitivity has anything to do with your body not being able to handle the pressure in the same way?”
He forgot to add “as the men,” but I knew it was what he meant. I stared at the reporter blankly. Angered, yet unsurprised.
So much for the joke idea. Just as I was about to throw Luca’s suggestion out the window and give the guy a piece of my mind, a thick Italian accent caught me off guard.
“Did you not just hear Georgia? It was the lack of water. What does that have to do with being a woman?” The voice was rough and laced with frustration. I turned to the right, and saw Luca leaning back in his chair, arms crossed with a pointed glare.
“You know, we all struggle with water consumption in the cars. Our water contraptions break, but we have to press on.” Henri spoke up, attempting to clear the tension that had settled into the room.
I cleared my throat and locked eyes with the reporter. “It feels worth mentioning that Lily was able to complete 98 per cent of the race without passing out, so I would say no, it has nothing to do with my gender.”
A reminder to the vultures that another woman sat on this grid. Lily had been phenomenal today, and she so rarely got the credit she deserved.
“I learned about my limits this weekend, but even with the lack of water, I still came in third. That’s what matters. But I can assure you, next race I’ll be back better than ever. I mean, after eight years of missing out on the Monza podium,” I said, shooting Luca a sideways glance, “someone has to show Luca how to win at his home race.”
The room chuckled, a few even applauded, but Luca didn’t take his eyes off me. That Cheshire cat smile was back—dangerous, effortless, infuriatingly attractive.
