Page 44 of Formula Dreams
Ronan
The Crown Velocityheadquarters looks sterile and perfect in the morning light.Glass gleaming, tarmac unmarred.The building rises against an unusually blue sky, every line sharp and deliberate.
Like everything here is under control.
Unlike me.
I kill the engine and sit in the silence.My hands stay on the wheel, curled tight like if I let go, I’ll crash while sitting still.
A week ago, my life was chaotic enough—balancing the constant grind of an FI career, the politics inside Crown Velocity, and the ever-present mess that is my mother.But at least I knew the rules, even if I hated them.
Then she arrived.Francesca Accardi.
From the start, she’s been a thorn in my side.That first brush-up during qualifying at Suzuka with no rookie hesitation, no give.Just steel, which is impressive, no doubt.And since then?It’s been one thing after another.Forced PR appearances.A ridiculous grocery store shoot.Her sitting across from me in some pub, digging into my life like she had the right.
And then last night.I tried to scare her off with my mother and somehow ended up in Francesca’s bed.
Now my life has the added complication of a beautiful, nosy, kind-hearted, and infuriatingly fiery Italian who refuses to be kept at arm’s length.She’s taken my carefully maintained detachment and crushed it under her smile.
And worse, I let her.
Now the question is—what the fuck am I going to do about it?
I didn’t sleep last night.Maybe an hour at most after our second round under the sheets.We were exhausted, not just physically but because of the mental gymnastics that led us into bed.
Francesca curled up to me, and it was weird… abut also comforting, so much so that I fell right to sleep.I didn’t stay that way long though, waking up in a panic because this isn’t my normal routine, and in my life, consistency is the only way for me to stay sane.
Even if that means my mum being drunk or stoned.If she ever tried to have a conversation with me sober, it would probably freak me out.
I left Francesca’s flat while it was still dark, leaving her naked body asleep in her bed.I didn’t even know where I was going, I just needed space.Needed to put a wall back up before it crumbled entirely.
To ease my guilt of sneaking out in the middle of the night, I told myself I needed to get to my mum’s estate in Woking to shower and change before coming here.I even told myself it would be rude to wake Francesca and ruin her beauty sleep.As if she needs that.
All very sensible.All very logical.
But the truth is, I couldn’t risk being there when she woke up.Couldn’t face her in the soft morning light after what happened.After what we did.After I kissed her like she was mine.
Because she’s not.And I can’t afford to want her like that.I have no room in my life to navigate a creature such as Francesca Accardi, not when I’m barely holding together what I have.
I exhale sharply, grab my badge and get out of the car.
Inside, I head to the sim lab.Lex and I will practice the Silvercrest track several times this week to allow our engineering team to tweak the cars based on feedback.The room that houses the simulator is dim and cool, humming with idle electronics.Screens line the walls with race footage and telemetry data looping on silent reels.Engineers sit at their keyboards, analyzing numbers and using their big brains to translate that into better machines.
I find a certain peace here.One of the few places I can hide.The feeling inside the simulator is almost identical to being in the car on a real circuit, but there’s a safety net here.If I screw it up, if I crash spectacularly, I can reset.No twisted wreckage.No fire.No funeral.
It’s like living a perfect version of my life, allowing me to take risks without the fear of consequences.Which means I can push harder.Try bolder moves.Throw the car into a corner I’d never dare attempt on race day, just to see if it sticks.
And maybe that’s why Francesca’s getting under my skin.With her, I’ve been acting like I’m in the sim—leaning into moments I’d normally avoid, saying things I wouldn’t, kissing her like there’s no price to pay.But outside of here, there’s no reset button.No safe restart if I crash.Out there, a mistake doesn’t just ruin a lap—it wrecks everything.
And I’m not convinced I have the courage to test it out.
The door hisses open and Lex steps inside like he owns the place—team quarter zip, joggers, hair still damp from a morning workout.He offers me a smile and it’s not cocky or taunting.
It’s… genuine.
I’m not sure what we are to each other past teammates.After admitting my regret to him, it definitely changed things, but it’s not defined.It’s more like a truce—still rivals with a polite handshake in the middle.Or maybe the faintest possibility of a repaired friendship.
One could hope but right now, I’m not about to burn mental fuel on it.My focus has to be on the track.
