Chapter Fourteen
Lily
The bulbs around the vanity were so bright I felt like I was in an interrogation cell rather than a dressing room.
I squinted at my reflection, watching my makeup artist apply what had to be the third layer of foundation, and wondered if there was enough concealer in the world to hide the exhaustion carved into my face.
I’d barely slept since Monaco. My mind bounced between what had now become several threatening messages, my podium, and Henri’s lips on mine before he’d unceremoniously kicked me out.
Visiting Henri’s room had been a massive mistake.
If I’d stayed, we probably would have ended up in bed together, and then I’d just be back where I was in Las Vegas.
With the championship battle being so tense between us, neither of us had time for a relationship with the other.
Even if it had felt wrong when he’d said that exact sentiment in Las Vegas, he wasn’t wrong.
And I couldn’t fault Henri for that, even if a small piece of my heart kept forgetting when I was with him.
Starting now, I needed to stay soundly away from Henri.
Mum materialized in the mirror’s reflection. Blue suit without a single wrinkle, phone clutched in her hands like a weapon, and an expression that told me everything I needed to know about her current mood.
“You’re on in ten, Lily.” She didn’t look up from her phone, fingers flying across the screen.
I gave her a thumbs-up with my most winning smile—the one I’d been practicing since childhood. “Good morning to you too.”
She ignored that, of course. My mother had perfected the art of selective hearing years ago.
“The producers are very excited about this new segment. It’s specifically focused on the women of Formula 1—drivers, team principals, and engineers.
Really highlighting female voices in the sport through a female lens.
And with Ollie as the host, no less! He’s really championing women’s voices in the paddock. ”
The irony of a man hosting a female segment was not lost on me. “Because what women in F1 really need is a man to ask us questions specifically about being women.”
She finally looked up from her phone, meeting my eye in the mirror with that calculating expression I knew too well. “Having a reputable journalist focus on the women of the paddock is exactly what we need. And to start with you? What an honor!”
The door creaking caught us both off-guard. “Speak of the devil,” my mother said, brightening in a way she never quite did for me. “Ollie, darling!”
Ollie stepped into the doorway, camera-ready in a crisp white shirt with a stylish checkered blazer and black jeans. It was impressive how he always managed to look like he’d walked out of a photoshoot.
“Victoria, always a pleasure.” He kissed her cheek then turned that smile on me. “Lily, you look incredible.”
“Five minutes, darling,” my mother said, squeezing my shoulder in what might pass for affection if I didn’t know better. “Make us proud.”
She slipped past Ollie, phone already back at her ear before she cleared the doorway.
Ollie waited until her footsteps had faded, then he crossed the room to lean against the vanity beside me.
“I was not kidding when I said you look amazing, Lil. I’m so excited to be hosting this segment.
We’ve been working hard to bring some female-focused content to F1.
It’s exactly the kind of journalism I want to be known for. ”
“Happy to help,” I lied, my smile feeling more plastic by the second.
He shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe his luck.
“You have no idea how much it means that you agreed to do this. With you as the first interview, the championship leader and Monaco winner, it’s going to set the whole tone for the series.
Now, just remember, for this format, I’m going to ask you some questions, and then you’ll answer as honestly as you can.
Don’t worry if you make a mistake or ramble on—we’re not live or anything.
It’ll all be edited down for mini social-media shorts. ”
Then he paused, raising his finger as if he had one last thought.
“I should probably warn you, production had the final say on questions for this first episode, and some of them are… well, a bit cheesy. Maybe more than a bit.” He made an apologetic face.
“They want to play it safe, test the waters. But still, I’m so excited for this.
Definitely more fun than Henri’s interview later. ”
My spine straightened at hearing his name. “Henri’s interview?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re also doing a documentary on Hermes. We’ve got a couple of new projects going on this week, actually.” Ollie smiled widely. “But this segment? This one truly matters. Not talking about some stuffy old F1 team.”
Of course Hermes got another documentary about themselves. The most established team in F1 history, dripping in sponsorship money. They probably had more documentaries than championship wins at this point.
My shoulders dropped, tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying easing out. “Very on brand for them.”
“Right?” Ollie grinned, encouraged by my reaction. “Meanwhile, we’re actually doing something meaningful here. Highlighting female voices that deserve to be heard. Your story, what you’ve overcome to get here, that’s what people need to hear.”
“All right, we’re ready for you both!” The coordinator popped his head in.
Ollie pushed off the vanity, straightening his blazer. “Ready to make history?”
“Always.”
He offered his hand, helping me up from the chair with a gentlemanly flourish that would probably look great on camera. Which, I suspected, was entirely the point.
The studio was smaller than I expected, set up in a corner of the media center with soft lighting and that generic gray loveseat that appeared in every F1 behind-the-scenes video.
A small crew bustled around—camera operators, sound techs, producers with clipboards and headsets.
I sat down on the sofa, careful to maintain my posture, and watched Ollie settle across from me.
A producer appeared to clip a microphone to my collar.
“Ready?”
I nodded, trying to find some confidence.
The camera operator counted down silently—five, four, three, two—and then the red light was blinking, and Ollie’s entire demeanor shifted into presenter mode.
“Welcome to Racing in Heels,” he began.
I nearly choked. Racing in Heels? Had my mother mentioned this name to me?
“We’re excited for our new segment celebrating the women who make Formula 1 incredible. Today I have the absolute pleasure of sitting down with championship leader and female powerhouse, Lily Blackwood.”
I smiled into the camera, trying to recover from nearly choking on the name.
“Lily, thanks so much for joining me.” Ollie’s smile was warm and genuine. “Let’s start with something fun. You’re always so put-together in the paddock. What’s your secret? Do you have a pre-race beauty routine?”
Was this the question Ollie had mentioned?
I forced my smile wider, channeling every media training session Bertha had ever subjected me to. When you’re one of a handful of women in the paddock, you try to avoid answering questions that typically wouldn’t be asked of the men. Still, I’d told Ollie I’d keep an open mind.
“You know, I just try to stay hydrated and get enough sleep when I can. Racing takes a lot out of you physically, so recovery is key.”
A solid answer.
Ollie nodded enthusiastically, like I’d just revealed the secrets of the universe instead of basic athlete maintenance.
“Absolutely.” He leaned in, giving me a thumbs-up. “All right, Lil, here’s the next one. F1 is such a male-dominated sport, as we know. Tell us, how do you cope with being a woman in this environment?”
Let’s hope they’re not all like this.
My smile felt plastered on. “I try not to think about it that way. Each year, more and more women are on the grid. We’re drivers, engineers, part of leadership teams. So, you know, I’m just focused on driving the car as fast as possible, same as anyone else on the grid.”
“Of course, of course.” He leaned forward, all earnest concern.
“But you must face unique challenges as a woman.” He motioned, and I could tell he was trying to get more out of me.
“Like, how do you handle the physical demands? F1 cars require significant upper-body strength. Do you have to train differently than the male drivers?”
“Like all the drivers, I have a personalized training plan put out by my team. No driver’s training plan matches,” I said, keeping my voice even.
“It’s all very individualized across the entire sport.
I don’t think you’ll find any driver has an exact routine that matches another, so it’s less about me being a woman, and more about me being an individual. ”
Something flickered across Ollie’s face—confusion, maybe, or the first hint that this wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. But I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say. Admit that as a woman I wasn’t as physically capable? Because that almost felt like what the question was implying.
“Now, tell me, how do you deal with the emotional side of racing? Women are naturally more in touch with their emotions. Does that help or hurt you in high-pressure situations?”
Women are naturally more in touch with their emotions? Ollie, to his credit, did give me a quick apologetic side-eye. Even he knew this one was purely for clickbait.
But I could do this. I’d been trained my entire life to answer sexist questions. “Everyone experiences pressure differently, regardless of gender. What matters is how you channel it.”
“And speaking of pressure,”—Ollie flipped to another page on his notes—“do you feel pressure to dress up all the time? To represent women in motorsport in a certain way?”
“I wear what the team or sponsors give me, just like everyone else.” For that one, I couldn’t smile. “Truthfully, I’m probably one of the least fashionable drivers on the grid. Luca definitely has better style than me.”