Chapter Thirty-Two
Georgia
The last race before summer break, Belgium, had gone better than expected. I had another win under my belt, and a slightly bigger lead in the championship.
As promised, Luca and I had agreed to do a photo shoot with Maison de Klotho and JOULE, a fashion and lifestyle magazine, at the start of summer break, a photo shoot I’d been dreading.
Even if it was nice to finally see the fruits of this fake relationship unfold, I hated knowing that I had to spend all day being interviewed, poked and prodded by strangers.
But it would be worth it. This was a huge moment for Valkyrie—and for me. Finally, we’d be front and center of an international magazine, and the team deserved this, which was the only thing keeping me going at the moment.
Well, that and knowing that in just a few days I’d have Luca all to myself on his family yacht.
When he’d asked me after Monaco if I would join him, I was secretly quite pleased.
Of all the things I was learning about him, my favorite was that he knew how to have fun and relax.
After a stressful first half of the season, I realized I didn’t want to spend my four-week break on the simulator practicing all of the upcoming races.
I just wanted to relax for once. And if our yacht trip also led me to the possibility of Luca and I having a little fun, then I wouldn’t mind that either.
When we touched down in London, a glossy black limousine waited for us on the tarmac, complete with a chilled bottle of champagne tucked into the armrest. Luca poured us both a glass, watching me cautiously.
“To suffering through coordinated outfits and incredibly cheesy questions,” he said, raising his glass.
“To pretending to like you for the camera.” I clinked mine against his with a wink. I practically downed the glass. Liquid courage never hurt anyone, right?
Luca mock laughed, pouring me another. “How you wound me with your lies.”
When we arrived, a Maison de Klotho staff member called out to us. “Good morning. I’m Lilah, your coordinator and escort for the day. Now, who is ready to have some fun?”
“Define fun,” I muttered under my breath. Luca squeezed my hand, leading us both inside the building.
Polished marble floors, gowns in glass cases, and enough velvet couches to stage a Regency drama greeted us. The hallways were filled with various outfits that the clothing company had designed for celebrities and royalty.
After introductions with our stylists, Luca and I were shuffled into different changing stations to try on various pieces of clothing.
JOULE had sent a writer to hang out with us during the shoot.
As we got ready, Mark, our journalist, planned to sit and chat with us, to get to know who we were as people, not just world-class racers.
He felt as though he could see the “real Georgia and Luca,” his words, when we were interacting with each other on set.
“An emotional anthropologist.” Also his words.
My first outfit was some soft pink silk number I would never be caught dead wearing on a Tuesday, but when I stepped into the studio, Luca was already lounging in front of the camera like some Italian Bond villain: dark suit, shirt undone just enough to be scandalous.
“Beautiful,” he called out, not bothering to lower his voice. His eyes dragged down the length of my dress and then slowly back up to my face, where his smile went full smirk, probably a little too obviously. But I knew he wanted the journalist and photographer to catch that.
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Rossi.”
Cameras flashed in my face, and I felt a sudden headache coming on, fueled by my growing anxiety. My palms grew clammy, and I wiped them on my dress before tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Focusing on the patterned tile floor, I exhaled a steady breath to ground myself.
I felt a hand interlock with mine. Luca was still chatting away with the photographer, but he continued squeezing my hand just a little bit tighter.
My shoulders relaxed, and I glanced up at the camera and smiled, trying to at least pretend to be involved in the conversation, even if I hadn’t said a word.
Eventually, Luca was whisked away for his solo shoot, leaving me alone with Mark, whose “let’s peel back the layers” energy made me want to peel off my skin instead. The gleam in his eye told me he wanted something, and my back stiffened up as I wiped my hands nervously on my dress.
“So, Georgia, that win in Monaco, quite spectacular! For Luca to win his home race, and then you to win yours. Wow, you really are quite the racing power couple right now.” I gave him a polite nod, unsure if there was a question hidden in there.
Mark continued to stare at me like I was a mystery he was determined to solve. His eyes felt like they were piercing my soul, trying to read all my deepest and most private thoughts.
“Tell me, what does Georgia and Luca look like off the track? What’s a boring Wednesday night like for F1’s power couple?”
“We’re like any other couple,” I said simply.
“Oh, come on, I don’t believe that for a second. What do you do for fun?”
What did Luca and I do for fun?
My mind immediately wanted to talk about the karting, but then I thought back to Luca’s media training. Maybe tell them something other than more racing?
“We like to play chess,” I responded finally.
Always bake a lie within a truth. A safe answer. Luca and my brother played chess all the time, and I liked watching Luca wipe the floor with Henri.
“Luca is an amazing player. We often try to sneak away and play in the garages when we have time. As for at home, we really do live simply when we’re together. We like to go on walks or make dinner together.”
“Oh yeah, anything fun?”
I nodded with an air of uncertainty, one I knew Mark would pick up on. Was I really about to say this?
Fuck it. Luca told me to joke with the journalists.
“I probably shouldn’t say,” I said, leaning forward like I was about to whisper a scandalous secret. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass Luca.”
“Oh, come on,” Mark groaned. “You have to tell me.”
“Well,” I paused for dramatic effect. “My Italian boyfriend loves mac and cheese.”
Mark gasped in horror, and I just nodded enthusiastically at him, enjoying the moment a little too much.
“From a box,” I added in a whisper.
Luca approached, a mock-betrayed look on his face. “Amore, please tell me I didn’t just overhear you telling Mark that I love mac and cheese.” Giggling, I lifted my cheek up for a kiss, which he aptly provided.
“Your girlfriend was just telling us about how you guys make homemade pasta together in your free time,” Mark added, no doubt looking for Luca’s reaction to see if he would be surprised at that comment.
“Well, let’s hope she told you off the record. I don’t think my Italian fans would appreciate knowing I think boxed pasta is homemade,” he quipped, winking at the journalist.
“A couple who cooks together, stays together, my mum used to say,” Mark said cheerfully. “So, Luca, how is it dating your teammate’s sister? Any arguments yet?”
Luca’s lips twitched—just for a second—before he masked it with a charming smile. But I caught it, caught the slight uncomfortableness in his posture.
Had Henri said something?
“Honestly, no,” he said with a refreshing laugh. “I’m almost surprised at how supportive he is of our relationship. Sometimes it seems suspicious.”
“Oh?” Mark asked, his interest clearly piqued by Luca’s last statement.
“He’s just always asking about what dates we’ll go on next and telling me about all the cute things Georgia sends him about me.
” I felt myself dying a bit inside, but I batted my eyelashes at him playfully, keeping the bit alive.
“I once joked that Georgia must have a ton of skeletons in her closet, because why else is her brother pushing her on me?”
Mark snorted, scribbling that gem down. I tried not to look horrified.
“Henri didn’t find it quite as funny,” Luca added innocently.
“Alright, kids, let’s finish strong. Time to get into the last rounds of clothing!” Lilah called out.
A stylist handed me the final look of the day, a tiny black evening dress with a plunging back. Luca was in another crisp designer suit, this one with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down, revealing his obnoxiously tan, sculpted chest.
“Lovely, lovely,” Lilah called out, “but let’s try something a little different. Have a little fun. Georgia, show us your back. Luca, hand on her lower back. Eyes on each other. Intimate. Romantic.”
I felt Luca grip my lower back tightly and look down at me with those gorgeous brown eyes.
He pulled me closer to him, my body now flush with his front, my hands on his chest. Suddenly, this photo shoot felt a lot more intimate than I had anticipated.
I caught his eye, and instead of the smug grin I expected, he gave me the softest smile.
Then he leaned down, voice low and sinfully smug. “Why so shy, amore? You weren’t this shy Sunday night.”
I nearly swallowed my tongue while my brain short-circuited just long enough for the photographer to call out, “Lovely, Georgia. Much better, you look so relaxed.”
My face flushed, my shoulders loosened. Luca Rossi, master of mind games. Luca knew exactly what he was doing. He’d seen the tension in my shoulders, the nerves in my fingers, and he cut straight through them with one devastating line.
Well, two could play that game.
I’m not sure what came over me, but all I wanted was to wipe that satisfied smirk off his face, and there was only one way I could think of doing that.
Luca froze for half a second. Then, he kissed me back like he’d been waiting all damn day for me to do it. His hands slipped lower, grazing the top of my ass, and the room erupted into delighted chaos. Cheering, clapping, camera shutters firing like fireworks. So much for subtlety.
And then, because Luca Rossi is incapable of acting normal for more than five seconds, he picked me up. Bridal style.
I screeched, grabbing at his lapels and praying to every deity that my dress hadn’t ridden halfway up my back. He kissed me again, slower now, deeper. The kind of kiss that made time bend a little, that made the lights dim and the sound fade, like we were the only two people in the world.
“Alright, you two lovebirds!” Lilah called out. “That’s a wrap!”
Luca set me back down, and I toppled as I tried to steady myself. My cheeks were undoubtedly flushed from the long make-out session—and the embarrassment of how public it was.
Had I just made out with Luca in front of all these people?
During the kiss, it didn’t seem so terrible, but now I felt mortified. Luca smiled as he grabbed my hands, pulling them up to his chest.
“Sorry, Lilah, can’t help myself sometimes. As Georgia likes to say, it’s in my nature.” He grinned, pulling my hand to his lips and giving it a kiss.
“You two are too much!” Lilah exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I cannot wait to see how these photos look.”
Mark, who’d been sitting by the photographer the entire time, stood slowly. He had the kind of look people get when they realize they’ve struck gold. His notebook was practically glowing in his hand.
“You know, I came in, trying to see if the chemistry was there between the two of you, you seem like such an odd pairing, but after today, I can really see that this is the real deal. Good luck, you two. I’ll be sure to have several copies sent to your offices.”
Had we actually survived that? I glanced at Luca, and he winked back, a triumphant look in his eyes. Our biggest test and we’d passed with flying colors.
Although the more I thought about, somewhere between the teasing, the champagne, and the camera flashes, I suspected Mark wasn’t the only one buying into this relationship.