Page 65 of Formula Dreams
“How was pit stop practice this week?”Carlos asks, tearing into a piece of bread and dragging it through the olive oil like he’s starving.
Francesca perks up instantly.“Better than last week.No one tripped over the air hose, and Nash managed not to knock the front jack man on his ass, so I’d call that a win.”
Carlos chuckles, then tips his chin toward me.“And you, Barnes?Anyone on Crown try to set fire to the garage yet?”
“Not this week,” I say, tearing my own piece of bread.“But there’s still time before Silvercrest.”
They both laugh, and Carlos leans back, glass of wine in hand.“That new curb in Sector 2 is a bit nasty if you’re not paying attention.I bit it in the sim a few times this week.”
Francesca smirks.“Nasty’s one word for it.You take it wrong and you’ll be on highlight reels for all the wrong reasons.”
Carlos grins, glancing between us.“So, which one of you is going to be the first idiot to test it?”
“I’ll let her go first,” I say smoothly.“Ladies’ privilege.”
“Coward,” she fires back, and there’s enough warmth in it to soften Carlos’s smile.
He takes a sip of wine, still looking amused.“See, this is why dinner with drivers is always entertaining.You lot can’t help turning everything into a competition—even imaginary crashes.”
Francesca rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.“We can’t help it.It’s in the job description.”
I find myself almost smiling too, because it’s not me versus him.It’s all of us in on the joke.
Then Carlos says, “How are your mamma and papà?I assume they’re coming to the race.”
That perks my attention.It never dawned on me that Francesca’s parents would be here.I sort of assumed I’d have her all to myself until… well, until whatever this is ran its course or settled in.If her parents are going to stay with her, that means I’m not in her bed.
“They’re good.Mamma’s still running the kitchen like a military operation, Papà’s working on another batch of his ‘famous’ arrabiata.”She smiles into her wineglass like it’s a secret.“He’s turned it into a three-day process, and he guards it like it’s classified.If you try to peek in the pot before he says it’s ready, you risk losing a hand.They’ll want to see you, of course.”
That’s where things turn green.A bolt of jealousy toward Carlos hits hard and it has nothing to do with the fact that he might have designs on Francesca and everything to do with the fact that he’s more in her inner circle than I am.
Carlos laughs.“I remember you bringing it to the paddock once in FI2.Whole hospitality tent smelled like heaven.”
Her eyes go distant with fondness.“That was after Monza.He said the only thing better than a home win was feeding the people who made it happen.”
My molars grind.It’s not the question about her parents that has me riled.It’s that Carlos knew to ask.That he’s seen her life in soft focus—parents, kitchens, red sauce in the paddock—while mine’s always been shot in high contrast, every flaw lit up until it burns.
I stab a piece of bread and drag it through oil.“How’s prep at Union Jack?”I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“Good,” Carlos says easily.“Sim work this morning.Chassis tweaks.”
He and Francesca banter back and forth, a friendly teasing.It’s all fluff, not too deep.
Our mains arrive, steam ghosting from the plates.Francesca splits her pasta with Carlos without asking, like they’ve done it a hundred times, and once again, there is an ugly sensation that tugs low in my gut.I cut my veal too precisely and listen to them trade an old Bahrain story that ends with her snorting into her napkin.
I am not jealous, I tell myself.
Carlos pours himself another inch of wine, then tips the bottle toward me.“Sure you won’t?”
“Positive.”
He studies me over the rim of his glass, eyes bright with something that isn’t unkind.“You’re terrible at this, you know.”
“At what?”I keep my fork moving.
“Pretending.”His smile edges wry.“Every time she laughs, you look like you’ve been handed pole and a penalty on the same sheet of paper.”
Francesca goes very still beside me.The restaurant hums on—cutlery, low talk, a waiter’s baritone apology from somewhere near the door.
