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“Come in!” I was surprised to see Isabelle at my door. Typically, she was pulled into a constructors meeting after the race.
“I have something for you,” she said in her thick Italian accent. She handed me a small bag with blue tissue paper. I opened up the bag and pulled out a team polo. I gave Isabelle a confused look, and she just chuckled at me –actuallychuckled.
“Turn it over.”
As I turned the polo over, there it was. The words I had wanted to say since the beginning of my F1 career. Isabelle had taken my team polo and had the words “Triple Crown of Motorsport: 2022” stitched onto it. The words were sewn in beautiful lettering, clearly hand-stitched by someone with incredible detail and care.I looked up at her, my mouth wide open, unsure of what to say. This shirt would have taken weeks to make. The fact that Isabelle had so much belief that I was going to win, going to accomplish my dream, left me speechless.
“Tha- thank you,” I stuttered out.
Isabelle smiled a lovely, pearly white smile. I had never seen her smile that wide before. She had a beautiful smile with just one dimple on her left cheek.
“Wear it to the press conference,” she said simply.With that, she got up and headed towards the exit, but not before adding, “Wear it, and remind the vultures that a lioness has arrived at the paddock, and she has a bone to pick with them.”
* * *
The press conference had been an interesting one, one of the few press conferences that I would be willing to relive. It was as if the press had no idea what to say to me, and that was fine by me. They asked the usual boring questions – about the strategy and tires, but for the first time in my career, not a single person uttered even a slightly personal or offensive question to me.
Good, I thought to myself.Let them stew on that for a while.
The celebrations that evening had been some of my best. Unlike Wednesday, I had elected to drink less. I wanted to remember this day. I wanted to remember everything about it.Luca had also decided to drink less for some inexplicable reason. He had been a bit odd when we got back to my apartment after the race. He was kind, courteous, but, most of all – he wasquiet. Even at the bar, he was attentive when I asked him questions but kept to himself more than expected – as if he was trying to give me some space.
Truth be told, I was kind of annoyed. I had won the Monaco Grand Prix, my home race, and for some reason, Luca had decidedthiswas the time he was going to give me the space I had been craving. I had spent the last several races demanding it, and now, for some blasted reason, I was angry and jealous. Jealous that he had spent a good portion of the evening celebrating with Lily. Jealous that he seemed to talk to everysingle damn personin this club except hisgirlfriend.
Fakegirlfriend, I corrected myself, but Luca’s words rang in my ear, ‘Go and celebrate, Principessa. I’ll give you your real prize later.’ At around midnight, I said goodbye to my friends and grabbed Luca's hand.
“We’re leaving,” I demanded. He quirked up an eyebrow but let me drag him into the cab I hailed outside of the club. The ride to my apartment was silent. Truthfully, I didn’t know what to say.
As soon as the car arrived, we quickly shuffled into my living room. I was starting to feel more and more annoyed with Luca. He padded over to my fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and turned back to me, smiling slightly, “Well, what a good day. Night, Georgie.”
And with that, he waltzed into his room.
I. Was. Fuming.Why was I fuming?Not for anydecentreason I cared to admit.
Before I could stop myself, I marched on over to his room and flung open the door. Inside the room, I saw a startled Luca, who was of course shirtless, just staring back at me. His eyes conveyed a look of shock, but the ever-so-slight curl of his lip told me otherwise.
I decided to ignore that –for now.
“What was that all about?” I demanded.
“Hmm?” he asked casually, setting his water down at his bedside table.
“You!” I yelled back, starting to raise my voice. “You spent the whole night ignoring me… by, like, not ignoring me.” I knew I sounded like an idiot. I knew I should probably stop myself, but I couldn’t.
“I thought you’d want your space,” he responded easily, too easily in my opinion.
“Why would you think I’d want space from myboyfriend,” I gritted back.
“Fakeboyfriend,” he added quickly. I could tell he noticed that my cheeks had gone a bit red. I had let that slip, and I was definitely a little embarrassed.I stuttered a bit, not quite sure how to respond to that. I had been caught.Caught doing what?I wasn’t completely sure.
“What is it you wanted me to do, Georgie?” he asked. Luca stood up from the bed he was sitting on and started to slowly move towards me. As he got closer, I could see his lips start to form into a sly grin.
“Hmmm?” he asked again as if he expected a response.
I took a little step back, still a bit unsure of what to say.What had I wanted Luca to do?Luca kept moving closer. After a few more steps, my back was against the wall, and Luca's face was mere inches from mine. I could feel his breath close to my lips, and his left hand came up and cradled my face ever so gently with just his fingertips. I saw his eyes flicker down to my lips and then back up to my eyes, his brown orbs staring intently into mine.
I bit my bottom lip as I watched him, letting it slowly leave my mouth. God, at this moment, Luca looked so sexy – so kissable. His lips were mere inches from mine, and without a shirt on, he truly was the most handsome man on the grid. His shoulders were on full display, and he was towering over me. I tried to keep my eyes focused on his, but it was next to impossible, not as he snaked his right hand around my waist and pulled my entire body flush with his.
I wanted to say something sassy back. Hell, I wanted to saysomethingback. But I was frozen. What did I want from Luca? Truth was, I hadn’t had sex in a very long time, and with Luca being my fake boyfriend, there wasn’t exactly an opportunity to have sex with other men.Why shouldn’t I try it with Luca?
