Chapter Twenty-Four
Lily
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my hotel suite. Silverstone had finally arrived. My home race. My dream. The race I’d been dying to win since I was a little girl karting in the Merseyside circuit.
I wanted this badly.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand with another message from my mother. I ignored it. The memory of last week crashed over me. Henri’s hands panic-gripping the wheel. The rain streaming down the windshield. His body against mine in that ridiculous orange Beetle.
We’d promised to talk after the Beetle racing, but that conversation had never come, probably because we were both too scared.
Not to mention, I’d been so busy dealing with the Racing in Heels fallout.
Instead we’d spent the entire week exchanging texts and memes and talking about all the TV shows we needed to catch up on.
Anything but discussing the big, fat elephant in the room.
The circumstances hadn’t changed, and Henri Dubois was still off-limits.
My phone lit up with a text from Henri. Archie misses you. Three words that made my chest tight. They’d been together a little over a week now, and Georgia had said she’d noticed something in Henri.
I stared at the text, remembering Georgia’s call yesterday. She was practically giddy, going on about how Henri had actually belly-laughed during their dinner Tuesday night.
Georgia had sent photos of Henri sprawled on his couch with Archie draped across his chest, both fast asleep.
And then another of them at Monaco’s harbor, Henri throwing a tennis ball while Archie bounded after it.
The tension that usually lived in Henri’s shoulders had melted away in those pictures.
When I walked out of the shower, a knock rattled my door.
“Room service.” My mother’s voice cut through the wooden door.
I snorted. After a lifetime of knowing each other, she still thought she could fool me.
Upon opening the door, Victoria Blackwood made a beeline to the cream sofa, her designer suit impeccable despite the early hour, tablet in hand.
“You’re not dressed.” More of a statement than a question. My mother’s eyes swept over my towel-wrapped form with the kind of disapproval she had mastered over the course of my childhood. “Media day starts in two hours.”
“Hello. Good morning.” I grabbed clothes from my suitcase, waving them at her.
“Oh, Lillian, wear the chrome tennis dress.”
Always an opinion.
I quickly got changed in the bathroom before coming back out. My mother had settled on the couch, and she was holding her tablet out like a weapon.
“Do you want to explain this?”
On the screen sat my social-media post from yesterday. A blurry shot of the orange Beetle mid-slide through mud, Henri’s laughter visible even through the dirty windscreen. I’d captioned it simply:
Got buggy with it.
“It’s a photo of a car.”
“With Henri Dubois in the background.” Each syllable dripped venom. “Do you know what this looks like?”
“Like we’re friends.” I yanked on my team polo with more force than necessary. “There’s nothing that says I can’t socialize with other drivers.”
“Socialize?” She scrolled furiously through her tablet. “This isn’t socializing, Lily. This is… What even is this? Racing Beetles in some field like teenagers?”
“It was a track day. With multiple people present.” I kept my voice level, professional. The same tone I used with race stewards. “Lots of people were there, and I figured it would make for some fun social-media content. Plus, it was fun!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She stood, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she paced. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I don’t see what’s happening here?”
I focused on rummaging through my makeup bag, ignoring her glare. “It’s good PR. Shows personality, relatability.”
“It shows poor judgment.” She thrust the tablet at me again. “47,000 likes. Every single comment speculating about you two. This is exactly what Rennen and your sponsors don’t want.”
I checked my reflection in the mirror. “I’m allowed to have a life outside of what Rennen wants.”
“Not when that life threatens everything I’ve worked for.” She gathered her things, her disappointment filling the room like exhaust fumes.
“We’ve worked for,” I corrected.
“We?” My mother’s laugh was nothing short of amused. “Did you negotiate your first sponsorship at fourteen? Did you convince Valkyrie to give an unknown British girl a chance?”
I didn’t bother looking at her, just continued to apply my makeup. This was an argument we’d had over and over again, and there was no winning it.
“Speaking of putting in work,” she continued. “Ollie’s live taping for the Home Stretch podcast is tonight. Eight o’clock at the studio.”
My stomach felt sick. I’d managed to forget about that commitment; pushed it so far back in my mind it had almost disappeared entirely. But there was no getting out of this one. Home Stretch had become a staple in the paddock, and the fans loved it.
“Hopefully he doesn’t ask me about my beauty routine this time,” I said sarcastically, capping my mascara with more force than necessary. “The Racing in Heels segment was a disaster.”
“You’re being overly dramatic.” My mother waved her hand dismissively. “Tons of people loved that segment.”
“Have you actually read the comments?” I turned from the mirror to face her. “Because they’re calling it sexist. There’s a petition with thousands of signatures demanding the segment be canceled.”
“Those are just people looking for something to be offended about.”
“Those are racing fans who wanted to hear about my driving, not my makeup choices.” I grabbed my paddock pass and bag, slinging it over my shoulder. “Ollie made me look like I care more about fashion than Formula 1. I’m tired of being treated like a novelty act instead of a championship contender.”
My mother crossed her arms, letting her fingers tap in slow progression. “Then maybe you should start acting like one instead of joyriding with Henri Dubois.”
That one hit hard, and my mother took advantage of the silence.
“I’ll send a car at seven fifteen.” She scrolled through her tablet, all business now. “Please wear the black Rennen polo dress I packed in your suitcase. It photographs well under studio lights. And for God’s sake, do something with your hair. That ponytail makes you look twelve.”
The closed softly behind her, leaving me alone with the weight of tonight’s podcast. Usually I was excited for the Home Stretch live taping, as it signified the start of Silverstone, but this time I was dreading it. I picked up my phone, Henri’s text still glowing on the screen.
Henri:
Archie misses you.
Lily:
Tell him I miss him too.
Henri:
Can’t wait to see you tonight. Got the whole crew coming, you’re
going to kill it.
I smiled at that.
A knock interrupted my thoughts. Andy entered with two protein shakes and his usual easy grin, his presence immediately making the room feel warmer.
“Saw your mother in the hallway,” he snorted. “Always a pleasure.”
I rolled my eyes, taking the protein shake from his hand.
“Just visiting to remind me about my duties.”
He let out a short huff. “Wish she remembered her duty as a mother.”
I gave him a look that said, “Don’t start,” and he put his hands up.
“Just saying, we can always find you another manager.”
He took a seat on the edge of the bed, sipping his protein shake.
“All right, I saw the Instagram post. I’m going to need you to fill me in here.
How did we go from Austria to racing Beetles in the English countryside with Henri?
” He crossed his legs, but I could tell from his face that he was enjoying this as he eagerly waited for the gossip.
“I don’t know…”
Andy raised an eyebrow, that knowing look he got when he could see through my bullshit. “You don’t know how you ended up in that orange Beetle with him.” He leaned forward, a playful grin on his face. “Kidnapping?”
I scoffed out a laugh. “After Austria, back at the hotel bar, Henri and I talked. He—” I stopped, not sure where to go, but Andy leaned forward.
“He…?”
“He told me he missed me. In Austria. At the hotel bar, after the race.”
“And you said…?”
“Nothing.” I busied myself with my makeup, avoiding his stare in the mirror. “I just sat there like an idiot and said absolutely nothing.”
“Lily.”
“I know.” I slammed down the mascara a tad too hard, causing my other items to shake. “But what was I supposed to say, Andy? ‘Thanks, that’s lovely, but my contract explicitly forbids me from dating you—you know, the whole reason you didn’t want to date me in the first place?’”
Andy stood, crossing to lean against the bathroom doorframe. “I mean… you could’ve just said you missed him too.”
“That would’ve made it worse.” I turned to face him properly. “Henri isn’t wrong—I’m not supposed to want him. I can’t want him.”
His expression softened. Andy always had a way of getting the truth out of me. “But you went to the Beetle racing anyway.”
“Well, we’re friends… or something like that.” Even saying it felt like swallowing glass.
“Friends who have sex in the back seat of vintage race cars?”
“How did you—”
“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “You came back looking thoroughly debauched and couldn’t stop smiling during our training session.” He paused, studying my face. “Does your mum know?”
“God, no.” I grabbed my team jacket from the chair. “And she’s not going to. Neither is Felix or anyone else at Rennen.”
Andy’s jaw tightened. “And what about Ollie? You know, the journalist who’s been actively pursuing you and who’s interviewing you tonight?”
Ollie. He’d definitely seen the photo—there was no way around that. His texts had been colder the past few days, and I was going to have to talk to him. It was the right thing to do.
“He’s probably not loving that post,” Andy said, straightening from the doorframe.
“I know.” I zipped my jacket, avoiding his eye.
“You need to be careful tonight. A pissed-off, scorned journalist isn’t good for anyone, especially one who’s already proven he’s willing to stoop low for a story.”
“He’s not scorned,” I said, though the words rang hollow even to my own ears. “We’ve only been to dinner a few times, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m not sure he’ll see it that way. Don’t get me wrong, Lil. You don’t owe him, or any man for that matter, your time. Especially not a liar. But still, it behooves us to be cautious.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when something worried him.
“I know, I know,” I groaned. “I’ve got to say something, but after Silverstone.”
“Well,” Andy said with a sigh, “I just hope he sticks to his usual script during the podcast tonight.”
I laughed bitterly. “I don’t think even Ollie is that stupid. Plus, it’s all fan questions tonight. He doesn’t really get to ask anything.”
Andy caught my arm, stopping me. “Let’s hope tonight doesn’t turn into payback.”
I pulled free, straightening my shoulders as I tsked. “Even Ollie has some professional standards.”
“Does he?” Andy’s voice followed me to the door.