‘Thank you for your time.’
Cut.
Chapter 47
TIAGO
We crushed Mexico – the whole team was literally in flow state – but all I could think about was a certain pretty girl back in London. Despite the tricoloured outpouring of Mexican support for the only Latin driver on the grid, I felt like a part of me was missing. No secret meetings, no hidden lunches, no gif updates on our respective goals. Every time I saw a tiny fluffy mic I felt a pang of sadness. Every time I neared Martinelli’s hospitality unit, I scanned the crowds reflexively.
Is this how it’s going to be next year? I’ve had a lifetime of seasons without Jules but now I’ve had one, I can’t imagine anything else. Work would feel totally empty. My life would feel totally empty. The thought of going back to picking girls up at clubs makes my skin crawl.
As my taxi heads to her house from Heathrow, I scroll through Instagram. Her admission video’s still everywhere almost a week on. She aced it, I knew she would, and Jules’ Jewels are supporting her in their droves – of course spearheaded by my sister. Matter of fact, all my siblings have rallied around her. Maleja shared a post asking people to comment the worst things an ex did to them, and it went viral.I think it’s now got over 60k comments. Even JC called Logan a‘estúpido de mierda’, which I count as progress. I guess Jules has a first-class ticket to realising how fiercely Colombians care.
Logan’s livestream is doing the rounds too, but in clips and edits that make him look like the malicious, ignorant, prejudiced dickface he is. There’s a lot of hate, rightfully, on that Autism comment, and since Jules’ next podcast series is based on living with OCD, the OCD campaigners are taking up arms. Logan’s currently injured and on the bench, but I think it’s all for show. He gets booed whenever he steps onto the field.
As we pull up to Jules’ house, I’m not worried about what I’m walking into like last time. My heart was in my throat; I could barely breathe as I hurried up the short path. But Jules just sent me aCheetah Girlsmeme so I think we’re good.
She opens the door in a sombrero, and before I can ask, she blows a party popper.
‘P8!’ Her smile stops my heart.‘Felicitaciones, campeón.’
I didn’t think there was anything sexier than her speaking with a British accent, but I was wrong. Very, very wrong.
I clear my throat. ‘Gracias.’
‘I have something to show you.’ She takes my hand and pulls me through the door. She’s not the touchy-feely type so my heart threatens all kinds of gymnastics and I have to give myself a hard mental shake. I manage to kick my boots off somewhere on the stairs as we head up to her study. There’s barely any time to hope it’s a sex swing.
She presents an email on her Mac – not as fun as a sex swing – but my attention piques when I see who it’s from.
F1 Academy.
‘They want a closer, long-term partnership,’ Jules says, too impatient to let me read it. ‘They talk about female-led leadership, agency, strength, identity. They want me for me, Tiago. Tom doesn’t come into it anymore. I’ve alwaysbeen associated with brands either connected to my boyfriend or aesthetics, like beauty, fashion, skincare, fitness. This is completely unprecedented.
‘AndI’ve had emails from female investment brands, female sports brands, global wellbeing brands – eventhemeditation and mindfulness app! They all wantme, Tiago.’
That’s no surprise, of course they do. ‘That’s really amazing.’
She doesn’t need proximity to power anymore – she is the power. She doesn’t need to be chosen or associated. Her eyes are shining; it’s the happiest she’s looked in weeks. I can’t help smiling with her.
But as stoked as I am, that doesn’t leave much room for someone like me. Jumping headlong from a relationship with one driver to another doesn’t exactly align with the whole empowered woman thing. I can’t see her wanting to be with any athlete period, let alone a P8.
She’s practically glowing so I force my smile to widen and try to focus on being together in the paddock next year, which is more than I thought I’d have when I walked in here. I’ll make it enough. What choice do I have?
‘I can really do this,’ she says. ‘I’m so relieved it actually hurts.’ She gives an airy laugh and it kills me she ever questioned that. She’s the smartest, sharpest, most hard-working person I know. An empire like that can’t crumble over some loser ex who probably thought DRS stood for Defence Reaction Strategy, and wondered where the endzone was on the track.
I’m itching to hold her but I don’t want to make it harder for myself. I tuck my hands in my pockets so they don’t reach out in a moment of weakness. ‘Psyched that you’re going to be at races next year.’
‘Not as many, but definitely some. It’ll be awkward seeing Tom?—’
‘Oh you won’t see Tom.’
She cocks her head.
‘Tom’s retiring at the end of this season.’
‘What?’It takes long seconds for that to sink in and I try not to look too smug.‘How do you know and I don’t?’
I give a noncommittal shrug. ‘Because Martinelli offered me his seat.’
