Page 54 of Racing Hearts
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” I stood, mic clutched tight in my hand. “What do you want me to say? That I plan on making a small mistake every weekend? That I can’t wait to lose the championship?” I threw my hands up in the air, my frustration growing with each word. “Or do you want me to say,Of course I’m going to let my emotions dominate my driving.I have a reliable car. I have talent.” I started listing off items, pointedly showing the journalist each finger. “I get on podiums—”
A hand touched my shoulder, warm, grounding. I turned to see Luca’s eyes steady on mine, quiet pride softening his features.
Pausing, I took a moment to scan the room. The flurry of reporters stared back wide-eyed, their notepads clutched, cameras pointed, and Dictaphones aimed directly at me.
“You know why I’m going to win the championship? Because you’ve all spent the last several races pissing me off. So, thank you, truly, for giving me another reason to win each week.”
I dropped back into my seat, pulse thundering. Not a single journalist dared ask me another question. Isabelle was going to be pissed, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
Outside, the rush of media buzz still swirled around us, but I barely noticed. Nora met me with a look that was half disappointment, half restraint. I just stormed past her, knowing I couldn’t say anything to make this mess better. We made our way to the Valkyrie garage where Isabelle was waiting in her office.
She didn’t say hello, instead motioning for me to come inside. Her furrowed brows and deep frown just about said it all.
“What is wrong with you?” Isabelle hissed. “Seriously, Georgia?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
She rubbed her temples. An uncomfortable silence engulfed the room, like dark clouds before a storm. “When are you going to learn to ignore the journalists? They are rubbish. Youknowthis. Why give them what they want?”
“When are the journalists going to learn to treat me like a respectable racer?” I snapped.
“When you show them that you are one.”
Isabelle was definitely a believer inWhen they go low, we go high. I rather preferredRevenge is a dish best served cold.
She sighed. “This is working, Georgia! We have an important meeting with Maison de Klotho next week. They’re keen to talk about a bigger promotion, maybe even a three-year deal. But we need to keep up the good appearances. Something I need you to remember whenever you get yourself plastered onto a headline.”
“When do I get todefendmyself?” I felt incredibly small and defeated.
“When we have enough money,” she stated.
“It’s not fai—” I stopped myself before I could even finish the words.
Since when was being a female athlete ever fair?
Isabelle was right. Every time I stood up in front of the journalists and said something snarky, I did more than give myself a bad name; I gave the team a bad name. It didn’t help our vision of getting more women into Formula 1.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. After today’s second place, I was now leading the championship, and yet I felt more dejected than ever.
“I thought Luca was supposed to be helping you with these press conferences,” Isabelle grumbled. Luca had been helping me, but I was too embarrassed to admit that to Isabelle.
“We’ll have him do some more training in Monaco,” Nora said, taking out her phone to check her texts. “Matteo just told me that Luca will be waiting for you by his car. Do us all a favor and drive him back to the hotel. He’s had quite a bit of celebratory champagne.” I glanced at Isabelle, who still had a blank look on her face, and nodded before exiting the office.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Luca
Even though Georgia was deathly quiet, she couldn’t hide the tears that started to fall down her face. The press conference had been a disaster, and my idea to joke through the conference had done nothing to sway the journalists’ ire. I reached over and gently rested my hand over hers on the steering wheel. At my touch, she broke, shoulders trembling as a sob escaped her lips.
“Pull over, Georgia,” I demanded softly. She shook her head no, and I made the request again. “I mean it. Stop the car.” This time, she complied, pulling over to the side of the road in front of a cafe. Hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, she stared out of the windscreen, refusing to look at me.
I clasped her hands in mine. Unbuckling her seat belt, I pulled her out of the driver’s seat and across the gearstick, glad that we’d opted to take my SUV instead of the sports car today. Georgia settled into my lap and I softly rubbed circles up and down her back.
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered into her ear. “It’ll be okay.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I continued to soothe her. It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was about more than the press conference. There was still the rest of the season to drive for, and coming in second place was hardly a crying matter. Henri hadn’t scored any points today, giving Georgia a small lead in the championship.
“No, it won’t. I’m going to lose my seat,” she whimpered, trying to get a hold of her heavy breathing.
“Isabelle fire a World Champion? I doubt it.”
