Page 46 of Formula Dreams
I could tell him.Could say that I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t—let someone in.That I let her see the cracked, ugly parts of me, and instead of running, she stayed.That I don’t know what to do with the fact she stayed.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Instead, I say, “I’m good.Just frustrated at the sim.”
His steady gaze burrows into my soul.“You seem… off.Even before the run.I figured maybe it was your mum.You’ve never been good at hiding when she’s rattled you.”
I meet his eyes, holding them.Lex knows a little about Vivienne’s problems, but not the details I shared with Francesca.He’s certainly never met the woman who birthed me.
“It’s not her.Not exactly.”Not a lie, but not the full truth either.
Lex nods once, like he’ll let it go—for now.
There’s a moment where I almost leave it there, but the thought pushes forward.“Hey… about Posey,” I say.He shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t speak.“Let her know I regret it too.”
A slow smile curves his lips followed by a slow shake of his head.“No, mate.That’s on you.You track her down and say it yourself.”
My gut tightens.Apologies aren’t something I’m familiar with.But in my core, where the engine always runs too hot, I know he’s right.
“She’ll be at the FI charity gala in London,” Lex adds.“Plenty of time for you to make nice if you’ve got the stones for it.I assume you’re going?”
I give a short nod, though the idea of cornering Posey in a crowded ballroom knots my stomach.My gut hurts worse thinking about running into Francesca there because she’s not going to be happy when she sees me.
“All right,” he says, stepping back.“Later, man.”
CHAPTER 13
Francesca
The flashbulbs startbefore the car even rolls to a full stop, strobing through the tinted glass.Outside, the red carpet cuts a bold stripe toward the sweeping marble steps of the Royal Albert Hall, its iconic redbrick facade and domed roof glowing under the London lights.
Tonight’s the annual Drive for Life Charity Gala—an FI tradition as old as some of the circuits we race—raising millions for children’s hospitals in every country on the map.Attendance isn’t optional and every driver is expected to show up, smile for the cameras, and play the part of glamorous goodwill ambassador before the new season hits full speed.Oh, and we’re expected to donate too, but that’s not a hardship for any of us.
Nash slides out first, polished and easy in a midnight-blue tux that looks like it was made for him—which it probably was.He turns, offers Bex a hand, and she steps onto the red carpet in a wash of flashing light.They were gracious enough to offer me a ride, and I eagerly accepted.This is my first big event as an FI driver and I’m so nervous, I couldn’t even eat today.I slide along the seat to exit, and I’m surprised when Nash turns to help me also.He winks as we lock digits, and I step out in my impossibly high heels.
The shouts from the photographers are disorienting as we start up the sweep of crimson.Inside the open doors, I see people in tuxedos and expensive gowns milling about the lobby with drinks in hand.It’s one of many black-tie events meant to kick off the week leading to Silvercrest.
I’m not usually the bombshell type, but tonight I glammed up in all the ways a woman can.I’m wearing a slinky, curve-hugging gown, made of deep emerald silk that clings in all the right places and drapes low in the back.My hair is in a glossy wave over one shoulder, my makeup smoky and sharp.As an athlete, most of my days are spent with a fresh face and my hair in a ponytail, so it’s always a bit of a shock when I see the made-up version of myself in a mirror.I swear I look like someone else entirely.
Hopefully, someone who belongs here.
Bex leans forward to look at me.“Smile for the cameras, rookie.”
I lift my chin, managing a cross between a smirk and a pose.“Feels like a firing squad.”
“You get used to it,” Nash says, and like a true gentleman tucks my hand into the arm opposite Bex as we walk the carpet.“Or you fake it well enough that people think you have.”
Inside, the noise dulls to a low hum of cultured conversation.I should be thinking about sponsors and small talk, but instead, my mind drifts to Ronan—specifically, to the way he slipped out of my bed in the dead of night without so much as a note.
It shouldn’t sting.We agreed—no strings, just sex.And yet… here I am, pretending that my heart didn’t notice the empty space beside me this morning.
So tonight, I’ll be cordial.Aloof, even.Best way to keep him from getting any deeper under my skin.And if my sexy gown just happens to drive him slightly crazy, that’s a bonus.
The first familiar face we spot is Carlos, already nursing a whiskey and checking out the scene.He’s in a charcoal suit with a black shirt, no tie, looking as if he stepped off a magazine cover.
Nash and Carlos give backslaps and he kisses Bex’s cheek.They move off with the promise to return after they get cocktails at the bar.
