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“I’ll live,” she replied simply. She turned to Isabelle and opened her mouth, but it was as if Isabelle knew exactly what she was going to ask.
“Yes, you are going to do press. You are on pole, and you are racing tomorrow as far as Valkyrie is concerned. Now, let’s get you out of this racing suit and into your jeans and a team polo. You’re expected at the conference in fifteen. Once that conference is done, I want Luca to take you home, and you are to go straight to sleep. I need you at your very best tomorrow.”
Georgia nodded and stood up from the bed, stumbling a bit before catching herself. I grabbed her helmet for her, and she gave me a small smile. I motioned for her to go before me, and as we began to leave the tent, Fiona approached us.
“Georgie, I know you are upset with your brother,” Fiona said, taking a moment to pause before she continued with her thought, “and you have every right to be. I saw the recording. Henri was driving too aggressively, and you never left the racing line. His race engineer did not give him enough space to complete the lap at the pace he needed to get pole, and that is on Hermes.
However, the press are going to desperately want to see you both fighting. They’re going to want to turn you guys against each other because that will sell their papers. Don’t give in to that. As mad as you are, don’t give the media what they want. When you win tomorrow, you’ll get the justice you deserve. I promise.”
Georgia stilled for a moment, and I heard her release a huge sigh next to me. I’m not sure what compelled me to do this, maybe it was the look of devastation on her face, but I reached my hand down to hers and laced our fingers together, giving her hand a tight squeeze. Surprisingly, she squeezed back.
I leaned down and whispered, “She’s right, you know. Don’t feed the bears – they’ll only come begging for more.”
* * *
Georgia
As Luca took my hand and squeezed it, I looked at him. For the first time, I could see that his face was laced with concern. Was he concerned I was going to beat up my brother?Maybe.
I hated to admit it to myself, but Luca staying with me and holding my hand made me feel immensely better. As I looked up into his beautiful brown eyes, my anger started to dissipate.
Henri was having a tough season with Hermes, and I didn’t doubt that they had screwed up his qualifying strategy. Still, it was no reason to ruin my race. Henri was known for his competitiveness and impulsive behaviors, and now I was on the receiving end of those.I decided to listen to Fiona and kept my thoughts to myself. No matter how much the journalist community tried to poke and prod at my anger towards Henri, I sat there and smiled – a nice, big Cheshire cat smile.
Wonder who I learned that from?
* * *
The next morning I woke up at six a.m. to a text from Isabelle and Fiona saying that the car had been repaired. The team had spent the entire night rebuilding the car and scrounging parts, and they had been successful. I had asked –no, begged– to be allowed to stay up with the team and help, but no one would hear of it. Apparently, I needed all the sleep I could get after that impact. To be fair, they weren’t wrong; I had gotten twelve hours of sleep, and I felt almost 100%.
I asked Luca if he would be okay getting to the paddock early. My race nerves were on edge, and I felt like I just needed to be there with my team. I had training with Chris in the morning. My reactions needed to be perfect in Monaco. Mistakes were easy – and common.
Unlike most mornings, Luca was quiet. I suspected he knew that I was not in the mood for chit-chat, and while he usually ignored my pleading requests, this time I knew he understood. As a race champion of his home race, he understood what I was going through. For the first time in a long time, Luca and I truly had something in common, and it made our silence refreshing and almost comforting.
My arrival at the paddock was truly madness. I thought it would be empty at 8 a.m., but I couldn’t have been more wrong. There were fans everywhere – waving the Monaco flag and the Valkyrie and Hermes team flags. I was shocked at the number of Valkyrie flags waving in the wind. No words could describe how I felt about the turnout from my country.
The next several hours were probably the slowest of my life. The rain had been off and on all morning, but it looked like we were going to have ‘cloudy’ sunshine for the actual race. I still hadn’t spoken to Henri, and while I was still incredibly mad at him, something in my heart told me I needed to wish my brother luck. We had never gone into a race angry with one another. It was a rule we had. Formula 1 was dangerous; too dangerous to go into a race angry at someone you loved so dearly. Henri truly was my best friend, my twin. I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.
Georgia: Car was repaired. Just wanted to wish you luck. Whoever wins, I’m proud of you.
Henri: Francesco told me. Relieved to hear. Love ya, sis, may the best Dubois win.
I smiled at his response. I meant what I said – if Henri came out on top, I would be happy for him. The only thing more important than winning the World Driver’s Championship was my family. That wouldn’t change today.
As 2:50 p.m. rolled around, we were shuffled into our cars. The rain had cleared, and it looked like we would race with cloudy but rain-free skies. As the formulation lap finished, I heard Mel come on the radio.
“Good luck, GG. Let’s bring the bitch home.” I smirked at that one; the F1 commentators always groaned when we cursed on our radios. Sometimes I did it just to piss them off, much to Isabelle’s annoyance.
As soon as the five lights went out, I launched into the start of the race. Being pole in Monaco meant one thing – the race was yours to fuck up, and it was somehow easy to do. Hermes F1 had managed to screw it up several times for my brother. But this year I had something Henri didn’t have – an all-female team with an undying desire to take home the race trophy all of the constructors wanted the most. This race wasn’t just about me showing off my driving talent. Truthfully, Monaco was a boring track compared to other races in the season. I didn’t need to be the best driver on the grid with the best car to win – many drivers had won with luck alone.The race wasn’t won simply on the driver’s ability to mind the narrow streets – in Monaco, the pit stop strategy mattered.
Something which became very evident by lap forty-five. More than halfway through the race, and I was still leading after a pitstop. My tires were feeling good, although I could feel they were wearing. As I came into the pits for a second set of tires, the front wing became stuck, causing an extra two seconds to be added to my pit stop time.
“Fuck. What happened?” I demanded into the mic.
“Wing failure. Just keep driving. We’ll make up the time,” Mel responded.
“We’ll need a fucking miracle,” I deadpanned back. Mel proceeded to respond to me, but I ignored her. I could see Henri in front, and at this point, I knew it was Hermes' race to lose.Still, I pressed on. Every lap of this race meant Hermes had an opportunity to screw up, and I was on fresher tires, gaining speed on the back of Henri. Fortunately, Noah in P3 was too far behind, so I was able to nurse my tires. Another twenty laps went by, and it was now lap sixty-five, just thirteen laps to go.
And then, like lightning in a thunderstorm, luck struck.
