Chapter 27
Ava
Top of the Podium magazine
By Damian Larson, columnist
TRIUMPHANT RETURN OR CRASH AND BURN?
With the Singapore Grand Prix this weekend, last season’s horrific crash is at the forefront of all our minds.
As tragic as it is to no longer see a promising talent like Lorenzo Castellucci racing – though, in a recent interview, he revealed that he has regained the ability to walk and drive – it was a relief when Zaid Yousef and Axel Bergmüller declared they would return to the sport this season, having overcome their respective injuries.
However, I can only imagine that coming back to the circuit where they nearly died must be a test of mental fortitude.
Both drivers will go down in the history books as being some of the greatest racing drivers the world has ever seen, but are they strong enough to return to the Singapore circuit and thrive?
More than that, considering there are only seven more races to go – who will take the title of greatest driver this season?
Singapore
As the weeks and the races creep on, I can feel Zaid’s anxiety over the Singapore Grand Prix rising.
We land at Changi Airport on a Monday morning in mid-September, having flown directly from Azerbaijan after Zaid took the top step of the podium.
It’s put him back in the championship lead after Axel had two less-than-stellar races, finishing fifth in Monza – where Reid Coleman pulled off a surprise win in front of Scuderia D’Ambrosi’s home crowd, with Zaid as the runner-up – and second yesterday.
Zaid is antsy as we make the drive from the airport to the hotel, knee bouncing as he stares out the window.
My hand’s been clutched in his since the moment we got off the plane, and even now his thumb brushes back and forth over my knuckles as if the contact is grounding him.
He spent the entire flight checking in on me and making sure I had everything I needed, being borderline overbearing with it, but I think taking care of me was the best distraction he could find.
So I sat back and let him cater to my every whim, including giving me a foot rub and fetching too many snacks to count.
I’ve hit the point in this pregnancy where everything aches and it takes a concerted effort to do .
. . well, anything. As much as I hate that this is the last race I’m attending before the baby’s born, part of me is glad I won’t have to keep squeezing myself into tiny airplane bathrooms every five minutes.
And I really won’t miss having to wear compression socks on every flight, although watching Zaid kneel at my feet to help me put them on has been both mortifying and strangely sexy.
‘Sami will be here soon with a few gowns for you to choose from for tonight,’ Zaid says as he ushers me into our hotel room, the door closing softly behind him. ‘But if there’s nothing you like, I can take you shopping.’
Other than the gala tonight, thrown by the national airline to celebrate the grand prix, I have no interest in leaving this room, especially not after facing the chaos of the crowd waiting for us outside the hotel and on the streets nearby.
It was hard enough to get here, and it will be even worse leaving this evening.
I won’t put myself through that until we absolutely have to.
I’ve been (unfortunately) a little more tuned in to fan opinions and social media lately than I should be.
With the championship battle between Axel and Zaid heating up, I’m back to being in the crosshairs, the center of baseless rumors and speculation as to why the performance of one or the other has soared or soured.
If only they knew the main way Axel and I communicate is via texted memes and that my father has just started emailing me back, asking about how I’m feeling and occasionally sending old family photos of me, him, and Mom at IndyCar races.
It’s more of an effort than he’s made since he fired me, and it’s been nice to be in contact again, but it’s far from the team secrets that the internet at large thinks he’s been sharing with me.
‘I’m sure Sami will find me something nice,’ I say, kicking off my shoes and heading straight for the chaise by the balcony doors overlooking the Singapore skyline. ‘I trust his taste.’
Zaid snorts. ‘Bold choice.’
I roll my eyes but wave him over to sit with me, then snuggle into his side when he drapes an arm around my shoulders. ‘How are you feeling?’ I ask him as we stare out at the city.
He draws in a breath deep enough that it faintly shudders through him. ‘Not . . . great.’
I appreciate his honesty, the vulnerability he’s willing to show me instead of pretending everything is fine. ‘You wanna talk about it?’
Zaid shakes his head and draws me closer, lips finding the corner of my jaw. ‘I just want to sit here with you before the week gets crazy.’
I can’t fault him for that. So I let him hold me and keep my own worries to myself.
——
Maybe Zaid was right about my trust in Sami’s taste being a bold choice, because if there’s any way to describe the dresses sent up for me, it’s bold.
All five options are stunning and fit like a dream, but I’m almost certain he forgot to take into account how pregnancy has affected certain .
. . assets of mine. In other words, I hope no one minds a little bit of – okay, try a whole lot of – cleavage.
‘I need your opinion on this dress,’ I call through the bathroom door as I finish adjusting the knot of the shimmering silver silk halter-neck gown. ‘And you can’t laugh.’
‘Why would I laugh?’ Zaid questions from the bedroom. ‘Did he buy you a clown costume? Is there a rainbow wig involved?’
No, but there’s a chance I look just as silly. I fling open the door and step out, turning in a small circle for him to see the full look. ‘So?’ I prompt. ‘What do you think?’
There’s a heavy beat of quiet when I face him, and my eyes drag down to where he’s sitting on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, already dressed in his tux for tonight.
‘Fucking hell, Ava,’ he says, voice strained, gaze slowly drifting over my body.
My face heats at his appraisal. ‘It’s too much, right?’ I turn back for the bathroom, determined to change. ‘I thought this might be my best bet but I can try something—’
‘No.’ The firmness of the word stops me. ‘It’s perfect. You’re perfect.’
When I dare to glance over my shoulder, he’s looking at me like there’s nothing worthier of his attention. And when he stands, hands already reaching for me, I’m certain that I’m the only thing that exists to him right now.
‘No matter what you have on, I will always think you’re the most beautiful woman in the room,’ he murmurs as he slides his hands over my hips.
‘The most beautiful woman in the building. In the country. In the world.’ He grips me possessively, just tight enough that he won’t wrinkle my dress. ‘Nothing will ever change that, Ava.’
I exhale a shaky breath as I stare up at him, heart speeding behind my ribs. I can’t speak, but even if I could, he would have stolen my words with the sweet, aching pressure of his lips moving over mine.
‘And right now?’ he says when he pulls back ever so slightly.
‘I want to bunch that dress around your waist and worship your pussy the way you deserve.’ I make a sound of displeasure when he disengages fully, hands falling from my hips again.
‘But I don’t want to ruin your dress before everyone else has a chance to see you in it, so that will have to wait.
’ He then offers me his elbow, smirking as I attempt to get the world to stop spinning so fast. ‘Now, shall we go?’
——
By the time we’re in the back seat of the SUV headed to the event, I’ve mostly recovered from the minor cardiac event Zaid inspired.
As he takes a call from his manager, I keep my face glued to the window as the sights of Singapore stream by.
It’s dark enough that everything has come to life, colorful lights illuminating landmarks and dancing across the sky.
It really is the perfect place for a night race, one of the few of the season, and while I’ve seen most of the city before, like the grand Marina Bay Sands hotel looming in the distance or the Singapore Flyer slowly turning, it’s extra special this time around.
I once thought I’d never travel like this again, that I’d never find myself back in the circus of F1.
My goodbye two years ago was unceremonious and incomplete, but now I get to do it right, to take it in and store it carefully away in my mind for when it all ends.
With this baby coming and Zaid retiring, I’ll be distancing myself once again from the world of motorsport, and yet I won’t grieve it as much as I did before.
Zaid ends his call as the SUV rolls to a stop behind a line of cars releasing their passengers onto a red carpet.
Ahead of us, Thomas and Stella step out, pausing for a kiss before they start their slow trek down the carpet, posing regally for photos along the way.
According to the texts she’s been sending me for the past half hour, Edith is already inside and waiting for the rest of us to show up, so at least her brother and sister-in-law can keep her company before I make it in.
The car inches forward as our turn arrives, and as I brace myself for the onslaught of photographers, Zaid grabs my hand.
‘We can sneak in through the back if you want,’ he offers, and for a moment I consider taking him up on it.
Instead, I shake my head. As much as I don’t love having my photo taken or having random men shout at me, I’m willing to put myself out there for his benefit. ‘No, we should do this. I know your team will enjoy the PR moment.’
I shoot him a look that I hope he interprets as Give them what they want now because they’ll never get it again. Thankfully, he seems to understand, and gives my hand a supportive squeeze before letting go.