CHAPTER TEN
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Mia
She had decided against flying home to New Zealand.
The long haul felt too daunting, the jet lag too punishing when she had to be back in the office by early January.
Instead, she'd video-called her parents on Christmas Day, their faces filling her screen from the sunny kitchen back in Amberley.
They'd beamed at her, the same proud smiles they'd worn when she'd first told them she'd landed the communications assistant role with the team.
"Look at you, our girl in the big leagues," her mum had said, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. "Tell us everything—the glamour, the parties!"
Mia had laughed and embellished just enough: cocktail evenings in Monaco (she'd actually spent most evenings drafting sponsor quotes), rubbing shoulders with celebrities (a polite nod from Eddie Hale in the paddock counted, right?), champagne toasts under glittering lights (water in a flute during media briefings).
They ate it up, asking for more details, more sparkle.
"And what about that Lucas fellow?" her dad had chimed in, eyebrow raised. "The one you mentioned once or twice. Driver, right? Sounds posh."
Mia had shrugged on screen, keeping her voice light. "He comes from money, yeah. A bit privileged, I guess. But overall... he's okay."
The words felt thin and inadequate the moment they left her mouth.
They were a careful sidestep around memories she still couldn’t bury: the almost-kiss in that dimly lit hotel room, and then the real one—after the lights went out on the Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi.
She didn't mention any of it. How could she?
* * *
The invitation from Dana had come as a surprise—a text on Christmas night: Boxing Day at ours tomorrow? Family's mad but the food's good. No pressure. Mia had hesitated only a moment before typing back yes.
Dana's family home was a rambling Victorian in a quiet Surrey village, all high ceilings, mismatched furniture, and walls covered in eclectic art.
The moment Mia stepped through the door, she was enveloped in chaos that felt oddly comforting.
Dana's mum—warm-eyed, apron dusted with flour—thrust a steaming glass of mulled wine into her hand before she could even take off her coat.
“Here, love, get this down you. You’re the one who keeps the team sounding smart in front of the cameras, aren’t you? Dana won’t shut up about how quick you are on your feet—and how you’re the only one who can make Lucas string two sentences together in press!”
Mia smiled, cradling the warm glass. “Thank you. It smells incredible.”
Dana appeared at her side, already laughing. “Mum, she doesn’t drink—”
“It’s okay,” Mia cut in quickly, cheeks warming. “I do drink. Just… not usually at parties. Or work things. Or anywhere loud. This is perfect, actually.”
Dana’s mum beamed and patted her arm. “Good girl. More where that came from.”
They were eccentric, no question, but warm in a way that made the ache in her chest loosen. For the first time in months Mia felt seen without having to perform.
Later, when the family had migrated to the living room for more wine and board games, Dana pulled her into the quiet kitchen at the back of the house. Rain tapped against the window. The kettle hissed on the stove.
Dana leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying her with that calm, knowing look she usually reserved for drivers hiding pain.
“You’ve been quiet all day,” she said gently. “More than usual. What’s going on?”
Mia set her empty glass down, fingers tracing the rim. She took a breath.
“Lucas… kissed me,” she said finally, voice low, almost like she was testing the words out loud for the first time. “After Abu Dhabi. Well, I kissed him back too. Then we kind of panicked.”
She looked down at the counter, cheeks warm. “I’ve been trying to pretend it didn’t happen. Or that it didn’t mean anything. But it’s still… there.”
Dana stayed quiet for a second, just letting the words settle. Then she reached over and gave Mia’s forearm a quick, steady squeeze.
“That’s… yeah. That’s a fucking lot,” she said, simple and matter-of-fact.
Mia let out a small, breathy laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I keep telling myself it was just the end-of-season adrenaline. One stupid moment. But I don’t know. It doesn’t feel that simple.”
Dana nodded slowly, expression steady. “Did he say anything after? Like, was there any ‘we’ll figure this out’ bullshit or ‘let’s talk when things calm down’?”
Mia shook her head. “Nothing. Just… we both agreed it couldn’t happen again. Then we walked away like nothing had changed.”
Dana gave a dry half-smile, then leaned in a little, voice dropping to that familiar deadpan she used when she was half-joking, half-serious.
“Look,” she said, “worst case? You two just need to fuck each other’s brains out once—properly, no half-arsed snog after a race—and get it out of your systems before one of you bins a two-hundred-million-pound car because you’re too busy thinking about each other’s mouths.”
Mia choked on air, eyes going wide as a startled laugh burst out of her.
Dana’s grin turned pure mischief. “What? I’ve seen worse neck tension than whatever weird fucking energy you two have going on. Sometimes the fix is dead simple: let the pressure off. Literally. One good shag and half the paddock drama sorts itself.”
Mia pressed a hand to her mouth, still laughing, the absurdity of it cracking something open in her chest. “You’re shocking.”
“I’m fucking right,” Dana shot back, but her eyes stayed soft. “Or… it could turn into something real. Something that makes everything messier and more complicated than it already is. Either way—you don’t have to sort it out tonight. Just… breathe. Let it sit for a bit.”
Mia exhaled, the laughter easing into something quieter, steadier. “Thanks. For saying it like that. It helps.”
“Anytime.” Dana gave her arm one last squeeze.
Mia glanced toward the living room, where laughter and the clatter of game pieces drifted through. “Your family’s great, you know. I can’t believe how… cool they are. Warm. Loud in the best way. It’s like stepping into a different planet.”
Dana chuckled, but there was something quieter in it. She tilted her head. “And I bet you’re wondering why we don’t quite look the same.”
Mia flushed. “I wasn’t—I mean—”
“It’s fine.” Dana waved it off, easy. “I’m adopted. Mum and Dad brought me home when I was three weeks old. Birth mum was… well, a mess. Crack addiction, died not long after I was born. No idea who my dad was. Could’ve been anyone. Social services didn’t have much to go on.”
She shrugged, like it was just another fact, and poured hot water into the mugs.
“I grew up in Birmingham—big family noise, everyone shouting over each other. Mum and Dad are Brummies through and through. Then when I was seventeen they moved us down here to Surrey so I could go to uni in London without it being a nightmare commute. Said they wanted me to have options.”
Mia listened, chest tight in a different way now.
Dana handed her a mug, steam curling between them.
“This lot—they’re mad, yeah. Dad still fixes everything with duct tape, Mum collects vintage typewriters she can’t type on, and my brother once tried to build a hoverboard in the garage and nearly set the house on fire.
But they gave me everything. Every chance.
School, uni, the ridiculous confidence to walk into an F1 garage and tell grown men how to stretch. I feel so lucky it hurts sometimes.”
She met Mia’s eyes, steady. “Doesn’t mean it’s not complicated.
I still wonder sometimes—what if I turn out like her?
What if I pass on something I don’t even understand?
I’m almost thirty now, and I still don’t know if I want kids.
A family. A little baby depending on me completely…
that’s a lot. A lot that could go wrong.
I patch drivers up every weekend—fix what’s broken in front of me.
Building something from scratch? That’s scarier. ”
Mia reached out this time, covering Dana’s hand with her own. “You’d be an amazing mum. If you ever wanted it.”
Dana’s laugh was soft, a little wry. “Maybe. We’ll see. For now, I’ve got this madhouse, a job that keeps me on planes half the year, and friends like you. That’s enough.”
Mia squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Dana. For this. For listening. For… everything.”
Dana squeezed back—gentle, steady. “Anytime. Now come back to the madness before my mum starts another round of charades.”
They walked back to the living room together, the loneliness easing just enough that, hours later, on the dark train back to London, it no longer felt quite so heavy.
* * *
The factory felt sharper in early January—pre-season energy crackling: media schedules to lock, briefing notes to draft, social calendars to align.
The first big comms-strategy meeting of the year was set for 10 a.m. in the main conference room—department heads, Marcus Lang, and the drivers when they eventually arrived.
Mia walked in with her tablet and notebook, ready for the controlled frenzy. As she took her seat, her phone buzzed once—Dana’s name on the screen.
Coffee after the meeting? Let me know when you are free. We need to talk.
Mia frowned, thumb hovering. Cryptic. Urgent. But Claire was already clapping once at the head of the table, voice cutting through the low chatter.
“Settle, everyone. Quick season overview, then driver updates.”
No time to reply. Mia silenced the phone, slid it face-down, and forced her focus forward.
Claire tapped her screen, smile bright.
“First news: our golden boy is officially off the market.”
A ripple of chuckles and murmurs went around the table. Mia’s eyebrows lifted slightly. She felt a flicker of genuine curiosity—Jax dating someone sounded juicy. Who’d finally pinned down the Aussie charmer?
She leaned forward just a fraction, interested despite herself.