"Thank you for having me," Oliver politely replies. "William invited me. I hope that's not an imposition."
"Nonsense!" Belforte booms, waving away the concern. "Five-time World Drivers’ Champion at my opening? It’s an honor." He leans closer to Oliver, lowering his voice to what he probably thinks is a whisper but could still be heard in neighboring postal codes. "Your last overtake in Baku? Magnificent! Everyone I know was impressed."
Oliver's eyes widen slightly, but his smile never falters. "High praise indeed."
I catch sight of EJ across the room, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's dressed in a sleek charcoal suit that's clearly been selected for him by someone with taste, but he wears it like medieval armor rather than clothing. His fingers keep drifting to his collar, adjusting it for what must be the thousandth time. When he spots us looking, he offers a tight smile and a wave that's more plea for rescue than greeting.
I weave through the crowd toward EJ, stopping twice for selfies with guests who recognize me. Last year, these interruptions would have irritated me—just another demand on my time, another performance required. Now, with Monza's win under my belt, and a sense of belonging I've never had before, I find I don't mind. These people aren't just using me; they're celebrating what our team has accomplished.
"You look like you're being slowly strangled," I tell EJ when I reach him.
He tugs at his tie again. "I think I am. Who designed these torture devices?" Despite the complaint, he stands a little straighter. "This is... a lot."
"Just wait until they call us up on stage," I say, enjoying the flash of panic across his face. "Relax. Smile. Pretend you're comfortable, and eventually, you might be."
"That your secret?" he asks with surprising perception.
"That and whiskey," I admit, snagging two glasses from a passing server and handing him one.
Across the room, Felix holds court with at least a dozen women in a semicircle around him, hanging on his every word. He's wearing a cream knitted shirt and perfectly tailored suit trousers, looking like he stepped directly from a fashion magazine. His blond hair is artfully tousled, his laugh perfectly calibrated between genuine and mysterious. Even from here, I can practically see the heart-eyes emojis floating above the women's heads. He and Oliver arebona fideheartthrobs to the point that it’s unfair.
"How does he do that?" EJ asks, following my gaze.
"Be born looking like an Adonis, I guess." I shrug, glancing down at my own simple outfit—Mom's hand-knitted jacket, white tee, and black suit pants. Basic. Functional. Comfortable. "Good thing I'm not trying to impress anyone here."
"Except Violet," EJ says with newfound boldness.Cheeky bastard.
I grin, taking a sip of whiskey. "Except Violet," I agree.
A chime rings through the ballroom, and Belforte's PR director steps to the microphone at the front of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention. We'd like to invite our special guests to the stage for the official ribbon cutting of the Belforte Resort Singapore."
EJ's face pales. "That's us, isn't it?"
"Afraid so, star rookie," I confirm, downing the rest of my drink and setting the glass aside. "Just follow my lead and try not to trip. We don’t want any photos of your handsome face meeting the marbled floor."
Felix joins us as we make our way to the stage, somehow looking even more perfect up close.
"Having fun?" I ask him.
"Business," he corrects with a wink. "Never know when you might need a job modeling knitwear during hot weather. Thank god for the air conditioning or I’d be lying on the floor by now."
We climb the three steps to the stage where Belforte awaits us, beaming with pride as he surveys his kingdom of opulence. A massive red ribbon stretches across the stage, with ceremonial golden scissors resting on a velvet cushion.
"My friends," Belforte begins, his accent thickening with emotion. "Today is special. Not just because we open the finest resort in Singapore, but because we share this moment with champions on and off track."
He gestures to us with theatrical flair.
"Colton Racing—the comeback story of Formula 1. Like my own journey from humble beginnings in Sicily to this"—he sweeps his arm to indicate the ballroom—"we rise together through hard work and belief."
I scan the crowd as Belforte continues his speech. Oliver stands near the front, a genuine smile playing on his lips as he watches our obvious awkwardness. Several rows back, Blake and James are seated at a reserved table, deep in conversation but occasionally glancing our way. James catches my eye and offers an encouraging thumbs-up.
"And now," Belforte announces, "we officially open Belforte Resort Singapore!"
He hands the massive scissors to me first. I hesitate, looking to the others.
"Team effort?" I suggest, holding the scissors out.
"God yes, don't make me do this alone," EJ mutters, grabbing one handle.
