Chapter Forty
Georgia
As expected, on the Thursday before the Austrian Grand Prix, the first race post summer break, the Daily Reporter released their article.
Nora had explicitly instructed me not to read it, which I had listened to for all of one hour, if only because I was too terrified that if I read it, then this nightmare would actually be real.
Some irrational part of me still believed that if I didn’t acknowledge the article’s existence, it wouldn’t exist—would never haunt my dreams.
But as I sat down on my driver’s room couch, staring at my face on the home page of the Daily Reporter’s website, I knew that wasn’t the case.
This nightmare was real.
To make matters worse, it had now been two weeks since Luca and I had gotten back from Mallorca. Two weeks since I had seen or heard from him. Between our two midseason training camps, I knew we’d have very little time to speak after the vacation, but I hadn’t expected such glaring silence.
Watching the notifications from friends and family pour in, I just continued to stare blankly at my phone screen, hesitant to tap the link.
Every piece of me wished that Luca was here in our room to help me face my fears.
Each notification built up a new panic, a new anxiety, and by the number of texts that were flooding through, I knew I couldn’t let this sit unread anymore.
SHOWMANCE? F1 star Georgia Dubois accused of “PR stunt” with
fellow driver Luca Rossi
Despite public displays of affection, leading female F1 driver Georgia
Dubois and alleged boyfriend Luca Rossi’s relationship is a “PR stunt”
according to sources close to the pair.
Documents shared with the Daily Reporter claim the relationship was
set up by Valkyrie F1 Racing to help “boost Georgia’s sponsorship
prospects.” According to the insider, Dubois is using fellow F1 driver
Rossi’s famous racing family to get funding for her Valkyrie seat.
It was similarly claimed during her IndyCar days that Dubois
participated in the same stunt with fellow driver Anthony Walker. A
review of Dubois’ sponsorship records proved she accepted money from her
now ex-boyfriend’s father’s company, Walker Industries.
Avid viewers have equally speculated that during recent races Dubois
had been allowing Rossi to pass her on track, a move seen when she
“spun” in Monza that allowed him to win his home race. According to
expert engineers close to the F1 leadership, the spin was “clearly
intentional.”
The insider said: “It’s really a shame because the F1 community
believed that they were finally getting a female driver that deserved to
be in this sport, not one that slept their way into it.
“We all want a female driver, but not if it’s achieved by cheating,”
they commented.
Dubois and Rossi are due to appear at the Austrian Grand Prix this
upcoming weekend. What will the FIA do about this incident?
Check back for more updates and click here for our in-depth
investigation.
By the time I finished the article, I was gripping my phone so tightly that my knuckles were white.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out activity in the garage.
The words on the screen blurred together, forming a sickening concoction of disbelief and anger.
I tried to manage my shallow breathing as I processed the magnitude of what I had just read.
They had accused me of cheating.
Because how could a woman ever be successful in a man’s world without help?
“Hey, Georgia, you got a moment?” Lily’s gentle voice drifted through the door, barely audible over the ringing in my ears.
She hesitated before knocking again. The door creaked open, and I didn’t bother looking up.
She didn’t wait for permission, just came in and sat beside me, reaching for my trembling hand. Her palm was warm against my cold skin.
“Georgia, what’s going on?” Panic was laced in her voice.
“These journalists…” I finally whispered, “I’m done with them. All of them. They’re going to rue the day they decided to mess with Georgia Dubois.” My hands shook as I clenched the phone.
“Fuck, Georgia. Nora told you not to read the article!”
“Have you read it?” I shot back.
Obviously, she had.
Hell, I knew by the end of today, everyone in the paddock would have read it. Lily said nothing. Her gaze drifted to the window, her silence answering for her.
“I knew it would be bad, but I never thought it would be this bad.”
“It’s not that bad,” Lily offered weakly.
My face might as well have said fuck you.
“They accused me of cheating! What could be worse than that? Luca has only finished ahead of me twice this season. Twice! I win my races fair and square.”
Lily opened her mouth again, but I held up a hand, shaking my head.
“And for them to bring in IndyCar. Just ridiculous. I earned that spot. Saying I bought my seat with sponsorship money? That’s how racing works!
That’s how it has to work. Cars don’t run on magic and fairy dust. It’s why I’m in this mess to begin with.
Cars aren’t free! The idea that I dated Anthony for clout is laughable.
He was a loser. I had more fans than he did. ”
With each passing second the growing pit in my stomach churned even deeper into anger.
“You know, Lily, I’m going to be this year’s Formula 1 champion. And no journalist, or executive, or steward is going to take that away from me.”
The sobs came without warning, hot and silent at first, then louder, the kind that wrack your shoulders and make you feel like you’re coming undone. Lily pulled me into a crushing hug, arms wrapped around me like a life raft in a storm.
I clung to her, letting myself fall apart for just a moment.
When the silence finally returned, I exhaled shakily and looked up, my face blotchy and wet.
“Feel better?” she asked softly.
“… sort of.” I sunk my head into my hands.
“You can’t let these journalists win, Georgia.
You know the truth. The women on this team know the truth.
And most importantly, all the little girls who watch us race?
They know the truth. Men are never going to stop trying to take away our success.
Our wins. It’s up to us to not let them have that power.
You’re going to win this race. And the next one, and then?
Then you’re going to win this championship.
We set out with a mission, and articles like the one published today? That’s why we’re here.”
I put my head in my hands, rubbing my face in frustration, before whispering, “When did you get so wise?”
Lily flashed me a bright smile, before finally standing up, lending me her hand so I could do the same.
“We signed up to achieve the Valkyrie mission, Georgia,” she announced. “They’re only attacking us because the mission is succeeding, but it doesn’t matter because we’re here to stay.”
My phone buzzed violently in my hand, startling both of us. A text from Isabelle lit up the screen, followed immediately by an incoming call.
“Hi, Georgia,” Isabelle said softly. Hearing my sniffles, she didn’t wait for me to respond. “I assume you didn’t listen to our instructions and that you’ve read the article?”
What did she think I was going to do?
“Yes,” I mumbled.
“Oh, Georgia, they aren’t worth your time.” There was a long pause on the other line before Isabelle continued, “I need you to meet me at the FIA offices in an hour. I know you have strategy meetings, but I had them rescheduled. Giovanni wants to see us.”
Well, fuck.
Before I could respond she added, “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
No chance she believed that. I certainly didn’t. As much as Isabelle wanted to dissuade my worry, the moment I read the cheating accusation, a trip to the FIA leadership offices was inevitable.
After a quick lunch and another pep talk, Lily left, and I made my way to the director offices where Isabelle was sitting outside Giovanni’s door, a stern expression on her face.
I dropped into the seat beside her and lowered my voice to a whisper.
“You used to work for Giovanni, back when you were an engineer at Hermes, right? Maybe that’ll help?
” I tried to sound casual, but the tension made it come out brittle.
Before becoming President of the FIA, Giovanni had been the Hermes team principal for many years.
And it showed. Objectivity was not his strong suit.
She snorted under her breath. “Just let me do the talking. We’ll be a calm, united front. He may look scary, but he’s nothing more than a wet blanket.”
The receptionist stood up, motioning for us to join the FIA President in his office.
Giovanni was a staunch Italian man with large round glasses that made him look a bit more like a cartoon character than the leader of the governing body of motorsport.
As he watched us, he wore a frown on his face, although Isabelle had told me he was always like that—including at his own wedding.
“Good morning.” Once we were seated, he cleared his throat and began.
“So, in light of the article that came out this morning, the FIA wanted to touch base with Valkyrie to make sure we are on the same page.” A heavy silence hung in the air as he paused, no doubt preparing himself for our reactions.
“To be clear, the FIA does not condone two teams conspiring to get more sponsors. Or to get ahead, for that matter.”
“Valkyrie—” Isabelle started.
But Giovanni cut her off with a single raised hand. It wasn’t a gesture of deference; it was a command. One meant to silence.
The change in Isabelle’s face was instant. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she balled her fists at her sides, and she looked like she might lunge forward to slap him across the face. Before this meeting, she’d coached me on staying calm, composed.
But now? Now she looked ready to burn the entire building to the ground.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rooting for it.
“Most importantly,” he added. “The FIA does not allow drivers to collaborate in any way.”