Page 71 of Racing Hearts
But it would be worth it. This was a huge moment for Valkyrie—and for me. Finally, we’d be front and center of an international magazine, and the team deserved this, which was the only thing keeping me going at the moment.
Well, that and knowing that in just a few days I’d have Luca all to myself on his family yacht. When he’d asked me after Monaco if I would join him, I was secretly quite pleased. Of all the things I was learning about him, my favorite was that he knew how to have fun and relax. After a stressful first half of the season, I realized I didn’t want to spend my four-week break on the simulator practicing all of the upcoming races. I just wanted torelaxfor once. And if our yacht trip also led me to the possibility of Luca and I having a littlefun, then I wouldn’t mind that either.
When we touched down in London, a glossy black limousine waited for us on the tarmac, complete with a chilled bottle of champagne tucked into the armrest. Luca poured us both a glass, watching me cautiously.
“To suffering through coordinated outfits and incredibly cheesy questions,” he said, raising his glass.
“To pretending to like you for the camera.” I clinked mine against his with a wink. I practically downed the glass. Liquid courage never hurt anyone, right?
Luca mock laughed, pouring me another. “How you wound me with your lies.”
When we arrived, a Maison de Klotho staff member called out to us. “Good morning. I’m Lilah, your coordinator and escort for the day. Now, who is ready to have some fun?”
“Define fun,” I muttered under my breath. Luca squeezed my hand, leading us both inside the building.
Polished marble floors, gowns in glass cases, and enough velvet couches to stage a Regency drama greeted us. The hallways were filled with various outfits that the clothing company had designed for celebrities and royalty.
After introductions with our stylists, Luca and I were shuffled into different changing stations to try on various pieces of clothing. JOULE had sent a writer to hang out with us during the shoot. As we got ready, Mark, our journalist, planned to sit and chat with us, to get to know who we were as people, not just world-class racers. He felt as though he could see the “real Georgia and Luca,” his words, when we were interacting with each other on set.
“An emotional anthropologist.” Also his words.
My first outfit was some soft pink silk number I would never be caught dead wearing on a Tuesday, but when I stepped into the studio, Luca was already lounging in front of the camera like some Italian Bond villain: dark suit, shirt undone just enough to be scandalous.
“Beautiful,” he called out, not bothering to lower his voice. His eyes dragged down the length of my dress and then slowly back up to my face, where his smile went full smirk, probably a little too obviously. But I knew he wanted the journalist and photographer to catch that.
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Rossi.”
Cameras flashed in my face, and I felt a sudden headache coming on, fueled by my growing anxiety. My palms grew clammy, and I wiped them on my dress before tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Focusing on the patterned tile floor, I exhaled a steady breath to ground myself.
I felt a hand interlock with mine. Luca was still chatting away with the photographer, but he continued squeezing my hand just a little bit tighter. My shoulders relaxed, and I glanced up at the camera and smiled, trying to at least pretend to be involved in the conversation, even if I hadn’t said a word.
Eventually, Luca was whisked away for his solo shoot, leaving me alone with Mark, whose “let’s peel back the layers” energy made me want to peel off my skin instead. The gleam in his eye told me he wanted something, and my back stiffened up as I wiped my hands nervously on my dress.
“So, Georgia, that win in Monaco, quite spectacular! For Luca to win his home race, and then you to win yours. Wow, you really are quite the racing power couple right now.” I gave him a polite nod, unsure if there was a question hidden in there.
Mark continued to stare at me like I was a mystery he was determined to solve. His eyes felt like they were piercing my soul, trying to read all my deepest and most private thoughts.
“Tell me, what does Georgia and Luca look like off the track? What’s a boring Wednesday night like for F1’s power couple?”
“We’re like any other couple,” I said simply.
“Oh, come on, I don’t believe that for a second. What do you do for fun?”
What did Luca and I do for fun?
My mind immediately wanted to talk about the karting, but then I thought back to Luca’s media training.Maybe tell them something other than more racing?
“We like to play chess,” I responded finally.
Always bake a lie within a truth. A safe answer. Luca and my brother played chess all the time, and I liked watching Luca wipe the floor with Henri.
“Luca is an amazing player. We often try to sneak away and play in the garages when we have time. As for at home, we really do live simply when we’re together. We like to go on walks or make dinner together.”
“Oh yeah, anything fun?”
I nodded with an air of uncertainty, one I knew Mark would pick up on. Was I really about to say this?
Fuck it. Luca told me to joke with the journalists.
