Page 5
The vaulted ceiling is filled with skylights that let sun slice down to decorate the marble floor. Benches line the perimeter, and a few students occupy them. The walls are decorated with memorabilia and televisions with video feeds from past races.
On a pedestal in the middle sits an F1 car. I don’t need to look at the plaque beneath it to know it’s Ashford Racing’s first world-championship-winning car. Even motionless, it steals my breath. Although the technology and chassis design have changed in the past two decades, it feels unnatural to see it contained like this, on display instead of on the track.
A huge image on one screen shows this year’s team standing around their race cars. Front and center is driver turned CEO Luca Ashford, an arm each around two men in fire suits.
“I’m sure you know ARI’s drivers,” Megan prompts.
I nod. “Navarro is first in the driver’s championship standings. Dekker’s fallen back.”
Of the twenty total drivers across ten teams in F1, ARI’s are top shelf. Between the two, I prefer Dekker. While he’s not the flashiest driver, he consistently scores points and podiums, and always brings his family on the road with him.
“It’s the worst numbers game of any pro sport. Thousands of potential drivers competing for twenty seats. Most of them will never see the inside of an F1 car.”
“And the Ashford brothers will?” I think of Theo and Jameson.
“No guarantees, but they have a head start.”
We end our tour in the dining hall, where students are pouring through the doors. A glance up at the clock tells me the first class has let out.
“Those are the drivers.” Megan points to tables opposite us, occupied by attractive, intense-looking students. “F1 is supposedly a team sport—drivers working with the engineers and mechanics and strategists—but if you ask them, they don’t need us.”
My attention is pulled to the far entrance as the Ashford brothers stride in with the kind of slow-motion confidence that needs its own soundtrack.
Theo is ahead, running a hand through his blond hair. Looking every bit the dark prince, Jameson follows. They take seats on the far side of the dining hall with other drivers.
Some people are talked about like possibilities, others as certainties. No one needs to tell me what category I fall into, or that the Ashfords are the chosen ones. You don’t end up in the driver’s seat of a multimillion-dollar car by accident.
Megan shows us to a table with two other technical students, who introduce themselves as Raj and Zane.
“I trust everyone’s up on the Ashford summer holiday drama,” Megan starts.
“Theo partying in the Riviera again?” Raj leans in.
“A pregnancy scare. Twins,” Megan confirms.
“He got a girl pregnant with twins.” Zane sounds doubtful.
“No, I heard he got twins pregnant. It’s been taken care of, and no one will ever be the wiser.”
“Jameson punched a paparazzo in Monaco.”
I try to keep up as gossip flies around the table, feeling as if I’m on the outside looking in. My gaze drags toward the oldest Ashford. He’s taller. Cooler. Utterly confident. It must feel good to have your future all but promised.
“What’s he like?” I can’t resist asking. “Jameson, I mean.”
“He’s twenty-two, just over a year older than Theo.” Zane plays with the collar of his shirt. “Impeccable record ever since he raced karts. Never makes a mistake behind the wheel.”
Except he did this morning.
Jameson Ashford’s eyes land on me from across the room and I feel it. The scorching cold. A pretty girl next to him tries to get his attention, finally pulling at his arm before he acknowledges her.
“They couldn’t be more different.” I force my attention back to our table.
“Well. You know what they say,” Megan goes on. “They’re only half brothers. One of them is…”
“Illegitimate?” Raj offers helpfully.
Curiosity tugs at me.
