Chapter Twenty-Five
Luca
Even though Georgia was deathly quiet, she couldn’t hide the tears that started to fall down her face.
The press conference had been a disaster, and my idea to joke through the conference had done nothing to sway the journalists’ ire.
I reached over and gently rested my hand over hers on the steering wheel.
At my touch, she broke, shoulders trembling as a sob escaped her lips.
“Pull over, Georgia,” I demanded softly.
She shook her head no, and I made the request again.
“I mean it. Stop the car.” This time, she complied, pulling over to the side of the road in front of a cafe.
Hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, she stared out of the windscreen, refusing to look at me.
I clasped her hands in mine. Unbuckling her seat belt, I pulled her out of the driver’s seat and across the gearstick, glad that we’d opted to take my SUV instead of the sports car today. Georgia settled into my lap and I softly rubbed circles up and down her back.
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered into her ear.
“It’ll be okay.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I continued to soothe her.
It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was about more than the press conference.
There was still the rest of the season to drive for, and coming in second place was hardly a crying matter.
Henri hadn’t scored any points today, giving Georgia a small lead in the championship.
“No, it won’t. I’m going to lose my seat,” she whimpered, trying to get a hold of her heavy breathing.
“Isabelle fire a World Champion? I doubt it.”
“I won’t be a World Champion. The press made that clear.
You and Henri are better drivers, and once the teams fix the reliability of your cars, I won’t be on podiums. I won’t win the Driver’s Championship.
If we lose this Maison de Klotho sponsorship because of me, the team won’t forgive me.
They won’t have to because we’ll be out of money.
” The reality was, Hermes could give me a literal rocket ship, and I was still convinced Georgia would beat me.
“One outburst doesn’t erase a season of top finishes,” I said, brushing the hair from her cheek. “And you and Lily? Come on. No brand is walking away from that much brilliance and beauty.”
That earned a choked laugh. She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re a terrible liar, Luca Rossi.”
“And you’re an ugly crier,” I teased, gently poking her in the side. “A face as beautiful as yours shouldn’t have tears on it.” Cupping her chin, I forced her to look up at me.
There was an easy silence between us as I continued to stroke her back, watching her wipe away her tears.
I knew I shouldn’t have enjoyed holding her when she was in this state, shouldn’t have enjoyed how perfectly she fit on my lap, but I couldn’t help how good it felt to be there for her.
Comforting Georgia filled a piece of my heart that I didn’t know was missing.
She liked to make snide remarks here and there about me dating models or influencers, but the truth was, none of them compared to her.
With her wavy dirty-blonde hair and sapphire eyes, she took my breath away.
Throw in her hilarious wit, contagious laugh, and undeniable intelligence—Georgia Dubois was a catch.
It’s why I had asked her out all those years ago.
But then I’d let my pride, and anger, get in the way. I summoned up some bravery and asked her out, only to let my deflated ego win in the end. I’d accidentally overheard my father’s conversation with her agent the morning before our date as he offered to be her racing coach in F2.
Truthfully, the pain of that conversation still haunted me, and the more I thought about it, the more I considered how that was the beginning of the breakdown in my relationship with my father.
Even back then my dad was enamored by Georgia.
Listening to him offer his services away to a potential rival cut deep, and while she’d surprisingly ended up turning him down, a small part of me hadn’t let that jealousy go.
Over the past few years, I’d grumbled about how similar Georgia was to my dad, comparing her fierce ambition and aggressiveness on the track, but the more I got to know her, the more I saw that, unlike my father, Georgia’s ambition was rooted in her mission.
It wasn’t at the expense of not caring for others.
In fact, sometimes it felt like the opposite.
Lily, Henri, even éliott—they all came to her for advice and comfort, comfort that she provided to them without question, myself included.
My stomach soured as I considered how I’d judged her with the same lens that I judged my father.
My father always dove straight into planning, had always been one to bulldoze over me when I just needed him to listen.
But Georgia had done nothing but surprise me.
I hadn’t expected her to be so open with me this morning.
Hadn’t expected her to just sit and listen to me complain and vent.
But she listened diligently, and with the sort of patience one could only expect from a saint.
“I should get us back to the hotel. We’ve got your winner’s celebration tonight.” She hopped back into her seat, buckling her seat belt without looking at me. “Sorry I ruined your winner’s press conference.”
I leaned forward and touched her hand, wrapping mine around it before she could shift into gear. “Never apologize for standing up for yourself, amore. Never.”
She gave me a small, tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but I held on to it anyway. The rest of the drive back to the hotel passed in silence, but the kind that felt warm, steady. The kind where words weren’t needed.
And in the quiet, I knew something had shifted between us.
Something important.
Something real.