Page 45 of Racing Hearts
Georgia didn’t answer right away. Her lips were pursed, her eyes focused on the road ahead. “I’ll give it a shot.”
Better response than I was expecting. “That’s the spirit.”
A moment of silence passed. “So, Luca,” she said suddenly, finally turning her gaze back to me. “I just wanted to thank you… for Miami.” Her voice was soft and low, almost a bit unsure of itself.
“You don’t have to thank me,amore.”
Georgia took a sip from her water bottle. “No, I do. I don’t know how you noticed that about me. Truth is, I don’t think I’ve actually noticed that about myself…” Her voice trailed off.
In the moment, I hadn’t realized why I knew Georgia wasn’t feeling better. It wasn’t until later, when I saw her doing the dance with Lily after a decent press interaction, that I realized why. I’d always thought it was so cute, and I found myself each race looking towards her car first to see her doing the dance.
Before I could respond, she sat up straighter, pointing to the gates ahead. “We’re here,” she half-whispered.
The entrance to the drivers’ parking lot was already teeming with a bustling crowd of guests. Pulling up to the gate, I flashed my Hermes pass as all feelings of relaxation vanished.
“And so it begins…” I wasn’t sure if Georgia caught my almost silent whisper, but she nodded, and I wondered if she was also too scared to leave the safety of my car. The moment we stepped out and into the Monza spectacle, this relationship was solidified. More than Miami. More than Barcelona. Here, we were officially a couple.
“The fans love you, Luca,” Georgia said finally. “You’re going to do incredible this weekend.” Her confidence shouldn’t have surprised me. Georgia never showed weakness.
Putting on the biggest smile I could muster, I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car to the sound of deafening cheers, screaming and applause. The crowd had grown around the barricades, craning their necks to get a glimpse of us. Georgia swung open the passenger side door and gracefully stepped out onto the sidewalk, her dark blonde hair swaying in the wind as she waved at the fans.
“Ready to walk down?”
She nodded. Her eyes focused on the growing crowd as I took her hand in mine. Our fingers intertwined effortlessly, and for a few split seconds, everything felt right with the world. The walk to the paddock entrance looked like a movie premiere, with fans clamoring over barricades to get selfies and our signatures.
“Georgia! Can you sign my hat?” A small, outstretched hand held out a blue Valkyrie cap. Georgia crouched, took a selfie, and added her signature to the hat.
“You know, I love to paint, too,” the little girl whispered shyly.
“Oh, yeah?”
The girl nodded enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing with each nod. “I told my mum that if I can’t be a racer like you, then I wanna be the person who paints the cars!”
Georgia chuckled warmly, adjusting the oversized racing cap back onto the girl’s head.
Once we reached the end of the cobblestone walkway, I leaned closer, whispering, “So, turns out the fans sort of like this artist side of you, huh?”
Georgia let out a soft scoff, but she begrudgingly nodded.
“You’re a woman of many talents,amore. Don’t hide that.”
Georgia just shook her head, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, curling into an undeniable grin.
“I know we’ve got a lot to do today, but thanks for giving me some time to chat with the Valkyrie fans. One of my favorite things about being a driver is interacting with the young female fans. Watching their eyes glow up when I speak to them reminds me why Valkyrie’s mission is so special. As women in motorsports, we can be more than grid girls—we’re drivers, engineers, and team principals. I want little girls to know that.”
“They do, Georgia,” I insisted. “Every day you get in that car, you prove to the world that women can race with just as much determination and speed as anyone else.”
Chapter Twenty
Georgia
As soon as I walked into my garage, Nora’s nails were dug deep into my arm as she dragged me into the makeshift office hallway. “Georgie! How was the podcast taping last night?” she asked cheerfully, but I just gave her a look of disbelief that said, “As if you didn’t spend all night checking social media.”
Before I could respond, Isabelle popped her head out of her office, waving us both in. There was no smile on her face, but the gleam in her eyes told me she was pleased.
“Good morning. Georgia, looks like you had a productive evening last night,” Isabelle announced.
If she only knew how I’d ended it.
