Page 5 of Racing Hearts
I spared a glance at Nora, who was standing at the back of the room, motioning with her left hand for me to continue as her right hand massaged her forehead in silent frustration.
More words, Georgia.I chastised myself.You’ve got a whole dictionary full of them.
But for some reason, getting them out was a near impossible task.
“Yeah, umm, it was… great.” More silence surrounded me. “Very… cool?” Hearing a low laugh next to me, a poorly hidden grin stretched across Henri’s face.
“Just cool?” the press officer prodded, his voice filled with amusement. “Howluckydo you feel to finally have a race win?”
“Not lucky at all,” I said flatly. “I earned this win.” The journalist’s scrunched face told me he didn’t appreciate my dry tone, which was fine since I didn’t appreciate him implying that I’d won out ofluck.
Deep down I knew what everyone wanted from me, from this press conference. They wanted a fairy tale. A teary monologue about how shocked and surprised I was that I’d finally won— that awomanhad finally won in thisman’ssport.
But I wasn’t shocked or surprised, and I definitely wasn’tlucky. It was hard work from me and the team that pushed me over the finish line first. Night after night, I studied every inch of the circuit until I could drive it in my sleep. I memorized every corner, every braking point, every curb down to the millimeter. While Henri and the other drivers were out grabbing dinner or pranking each other, I was on my simulator at home or the office.
Thinking back to my pathetic media training, I swallowed the urge to scream, throwing on a big smile to help ease the awkwardness, but Nora’s wrenched face told me I’d failed. She was standing at the back of the conference, her expression willing me to continue, but before I could muster another word, the journalist had already moved on.
“So, Henri, I saw you and Georgia had quite the battle at the end. How did it feel to be beat out by your sister?”
“It was great! Sorry… it was verycool!” Henri winked at me. “My sister is an incredible driver, and that Valkyrie F1 car is fast as lightning, especially in a straight line. Disappointed I couldn’t keep up with her, but it’s hard to fight with that kind of talent. Plus, I knew if Georgia beat me, I could guilt her into buying the drinks tonight, so it’s not all a loss.” Henri smiled, earning himself a few laughs from the crowd.
Show-off. Press had always come easy to Henri.
After a few more engineering and strategy questions for my brother and the third-place driver, another hand shot up.
“We noticed after the race, Georgia, there was some tension with you and Luca Rossi. Are there still hard feelings after last week’s race?”
Of course they’d noticed.Just fucking great.
Taking a deep breath, I stared at the back of the room, willing myself not to say what I actually thought about Luca Rossi—that he was a sore loser with more excuses than podiums. That he’d blamed his failure on my “bullying” overtakes instead of owning the fact that he’d driven like a jackass.
But I didn’t have a legacy to fall back on. No famous father. No powerful name. No one was there to save my seat if I slipped up.
“We’re both professionals racing in the world’s most competitive motorsports championship.” My voice was astoundingly level for how heavily my blood pressure was racing. “Tensions can be high, but I’d like to think we can leave our track disputes on the track.”
A subtle dig. Sharp, but safe, and just under the threshold of what would have Isabelle hauling me into her office for one of her infamous lectures. While Luca could sling around his complaints no problem, the one time I opened my mouth about his aggressive lunges, I had no less than five articles about my “whining”.
The big thumbs up from Nora gave my confidence a boost.
Another journalist cleared their throat. “Georgia, I hear Valkyrie aren’t leaving for Miami until Tuesday. Do you have any shopping plans for your day off tomorrow?” I fought hard not to roll my eyes. Henri had spent ten minutes answering questions on suspension upgrades, but I’d managed to snag me a tried-and-true classic: a question about shopping.
“This is a race week, which means I’ll be back on the simulator tomorrow and studying the track all week.” I resisted the urge to add, “You know, professional athlete stuff.”
“Practicingallweek? No minibreak after yourwell-deservedwin?” The incredulous way he saidwell-deservedassured me he didn’t believe it. If this were a race, the yellow flag would have just turned into a red one. “I figured you would have a shopping spree organized or a photo shoot with a makeup brand?”
“Seriously?” I snapped. “Did you ask mymalecounterparts if they intend to spend their few precious days off before a Grand Prix shopping?” Heat bloomed on my cheeks. After five races, I could count how many engineering questions I’d been asked on both hands with fingers to spare.
“Well, you know—” Before Henri could finish his attempt to save me from myself, I cut him off.
“I’ve never raced in Miami. In fact, no one has raced this new track layout. I need to focus every spare moment on learning it if we’re going to win next week. If Valkyrie wants to win the championship, there’s no time for a day off. Today’s win doesn’t mean that the championship fight is over; it means it’s just begun.”
The journalist’s face looked as if I had just told him pigs could fly. Then, finally, he sat down. A wave of relief swept through me.
Almost done, Georgia.
Another hand shot up, and Michael Clifton, the F1 commentator, nodded for Frank, an Upland Media press officer, to ask his question.
“Georgia, congrats. So, tell me, now that you’re a race winner, I bet you’re beginning to see the World Driver’s Championship in your view. Must be nice to be the first woman to win in several decades.” My body immediately tensed, and I cautiously nodded, already knowing what was about to be thrown my way. This was the intro I fucking hated before the question that I despised.
