Chapter Nine #3
éliott leaned in, poking his friend’s ribs. Henri’s eyes met mine for the briefest moment, a small flash of understanding passing between us.
I held his gaze, unflinching, for a moment longer.
I need to focus on the championship next year. On winning. There can’t be any distractions.
Those were his exact words right before he walked out of my hotel room, leaving me alone to process what just happened. If racing was his only love, he had no one to blame but himself.
I turned back to Ollie. The safe choice. “So, Ollie, I hear the podcast’s smashing records this week.”
“Yes, it’s been great. Henri, have you had a chance to listen? I think you’d find it quite interesting.”
Henri blinked as if coming out of a trance. “No.”
“Episode four covered mental resilience in motorsport,” Ollie said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.
“I interviewed a sports psychologist who works with several F1 drivers. Fascinating stuff about performance anxiety, the weight of expectations.” His gaze shifted meaningfully to Henri.
“I’d love to have you on as a guest speaker.
It’d be great to get something out of a championship contender. ”
Henri shifted his weight, his hand going to the back of his neck. “I don’t think so.” His voice came out clipped. “I don’t have time for that sort of thing right now.”
“Of course, of course. Just thought it might be—”
“No.” Henri’s face went deathly still.
The rejection hung awkwardly in the air. Ollie smiled, unbothered, and turned his attention back to éliott, but I caught the satisfied glint in his eye. He got exactly what he wanted: Henri rattled, off-balance, that careful composure cracking just enough to show.
I watched Henri retreat further into himself, his shoulders drawing in, that same haunted look settling back over his features.
The one that had been there all season. The one Georgia had noticed.
The one that made him look like he was carrying the weight of something far heavier than just a championship fight.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
By midnight, the party had thinned to soft laughter and half-empty glasses. Outside, the harbor lights had dulled to a slow shimmer, and the noise of the bar below lulled into nothingness.
Georgia had kicked off her heels hours ago. Her hair had fallen from its elegant updo and now framed her face in happy, lazy curls. She clinked her empty flute against mine.
“You know, there’s still time to change your mind,” I teased.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” She nudged my knee. “I hope everyone can find their Luca. Especially you, Lily. You deserve someone special.”
I snorted. “Well, until then, I’ll just have to settle for my car. We have a toxic relationship, but at least it’s exclusive.”
That made her laugh, and it hit me how rare it was to see her this calm. No cameras, no interviews, no pressure. We rarely got these moments during the season.
Luca came in holding two cups of chamomile tea. “Now that’s what I call a successful party.”
Georgia reached for him, taking a mug as he set another one next to me. “It was perfect. Thank you.”
He bent to kiss Georgia’s forehead, the gesture so easy it ached a little to watch. “Wouldn’t have been without you.” He then turned to me. “Both of you.”
I gestured to the empty canapé plate. “I only helped by showing up and eating most of your food.”
“Exactly,” Luca said, eyes crinkling. “And what an excellent job you did.”
Georgia’s phone lit up the dim room, buzzing harshly against the glass coffee table. She glanced at it, then away. Luca’s phone followed with its own insistent hum. He sighed, shoulders dropping as he reached for it.
“Probably the team again.”
My phone flashed next, screen illuminating my lap. Then again. And again. I watched the notifications stack one after another, each buzz like a tiny warning bell. My thumb hovered over the screen, not quite ready to swipe.
It was Luca who broke the silence first. “Uh… Lily?”
“What?” I asked, too slow, dread already pooling in my stomach.
He turned his screen toward me. Even upside down, I recognized it.
A grainy hotel hallway. Time stamp: 11:47 p.m. Henri, in his bright purple Hermes racing polo, his hand on a door handle. My door handle. The angle suggested security footage, or someone with a phone at the end of the corridor.
The headline screamed across every feed:
RENNEN’S LILY BLACKWOOD SPOTTED WITH RIVAL HENRI DUBOIS IN
LATE-NIGHT HOTEL RENDEZVOUS.
“Shit.” The word came out strangled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Georgia was already scrolling, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “When was this?”
“Montreal. After the race.” My hands had gone numb. “He followed me to my room. We were… arguing.”
Among other things.
In that moment, I thanked whoever was watching above that the press had caught Henri leaving my room, and not us getting into it.
“About what?” Luca asked carefully.
I couldn’t answer that. How it had evolved from a kiss in the elevator and the hallway to a fight about the note that wouldn’t stop haunting me. I couldn’t tell them about the note, about Henri demanding I report it, about how quickly everything spiraled.
Or the kiss. I definitely couldn’t tell them about that.
Georgia kept reading, her voice quiet. “‘Sources close to the situation confirm that Blackwood’s late-night rendezvous with rival driver Dubois raises serious questions about her commitment to racing. The first female driver for Rennen was brought on with the understanding that she would maintain complete focus on her championship campaign, not engage in romantic entanglements compromising team dynamics and competitive integrity.’”
The words hit like physical blows.
“This is insane.” I stood, my legs unsteady. “I mean… that was me kicking him out!”
“Lily.” Georgia’s voice was gentle but firm. “I’m sure it will resolve itself.” She stood, crossing to where I’d frozen by the window. Her hand found my shoulder, warm and steady. “Lily, look at me.”
Her eyes were all kind and sympathetic. The same ones that had talked me through countless bad races, terrible press conferences, every moment I’d wanted to quit.
“This will blow over,” she said firmly. “You know how these things work. Tomorrow there’ll be some new scandal, some other driver caught doing something worth headlines. By Thursday, this’ll be buried under practice times and strategy talk.”
“The team is going to be so annoyed. They basically hate Henri and Hermes. Not to mention that morality clause I told you about… Ugh, my mother is going to have a field day with this.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she cut in, her voice sharp enough to make Luca glance up. “One photo of you and Henri? That’s a weak story at best. It could be anything. Like arguing.” Her emphasis on the word told me she didn’t exactly believe that was all we were doing.
“Right,” I managed, though my throat felt tight.
Georgia eyed me cautiously for a moment. “So, why was my brother there so late anyway?” There was almost an edge of eagerness in her eyes.
“We were just bickering about the race.” Not entirely false.
Last season, Georgia had made subtle—or not so subtle—jokes about me and Henri dating. But judging by her slightly disappointed face, Henri still hadn’t told her about Las Vegas.
“Come on.” She took my phone from my hands, powering it down before I could protest. “You’re staying here tonight anyway. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
“Georgia.”
“In the morning,” she repeated, gentler now. “Right now, we’re going to bed. And tomorrow, when you wake up, this will already feel smaller than it does right now.”
Luca appeared with a glass of water, setting it on the side table. “She’s right. Rennen’s PR team will handle it. That’s what they’re paid to do.”
I took the water, more for something to do with my shaking hands than actual thirst. “Okay,” I heard myself say. “Okay.”
Georgia guided me toward the guest room, her arm around my waist. “Well,”—she paused at the guest-room door with a wicked grin—“with any luck, hopefully the size of this ring will distract everyone from that shitty article.”
Despite everything, I choked out a snort. “You’d better flash that thing around tomorrow!”
She threw her arms in the air. “I fully intend to!”