Chapter Forty-Four
Georgia
After dinner on Thursday, I’d maybe seen Luca two or three times.
He’d spent practically every waking moment at the Hermes garage or with Rennen for photos.
Based on the unwrinkled bedspread, he hadn’t even slept in our hotel suite last night.
After my chat with Isabelle this morning, I’d picked up my phone over a hundred times, each time typing out a text only to delete it.
This was a conversation I wanted to have in person, and I was going to have it today.
After the Grand Prix, I would lay it all out on the table and tell Luca how I felt. No more avoiding each other. Our relationship was real, the moments we spent together were real.
“Georgia, you ready to hop in? Race is about to start!” Mel called across the garage. I threw her a thumbs up before pulling my helmet over my head and adjusting the microphone.
As soon as I was given the go-ahead, I started the car and made my way around the circuit, doing my best to warm up my tires during the formation lap. When I reached the P1 position, I idled the car, staring up at the familiar five lights that hovered above me.
“Just another day at the office,” Mel cackled into the radio.
“It’s good to be back.”
As soon as the five lights went black, I launched my car forward.
The first corner came fast, and I was too eager, too tight.
I hit the apex late, and in that razor-thin window of error, both Henri and Luca swept past me in perfect synchrony.
A Hermes double strike. I was now sitting in P3, with the fourth-place car creeping up in my mirrors like a predator on the hunt.
“Fuck!”
“G, Hermes cars are pushing, very good pace.” I didn’t need Mel in my ear to tell me that. Luca was in front, and I knew his pace was just slightly quicker than mine.
My pulse was ticking in time with every gear shift, and I could see it happening. Luca was pulling away. Just a tenth. Maybe two. But it was enough to get away from me.
I was about to push, to recalibrate my brake balance and go for it, but then the smell hit me.
Burning.
My eyes darted to the dashboard, searching for any warning lights or indicators, but everything looked normal. My heart began to race as I scanned the road ahead, trying to pinpoint the source of the smell.
“Mel, something is burning.”
“Keep driving, it’s not you.” But I heard it, that tiny shift in her voice. The slight lift at the end. Like she was trying too hard to sound calm.
And then I looked to my side. Suddenly, my eyes were drawn to a terrifying sight.
Luca’s car was off the track and in the gravel, leaving behind a trail of dust and debris.
Smoke—thick, oily, furious—began billowing from the rear of the chassis.
The kind of smoke that stuck to your skin.
The kind that signaled fire before your brain caught up.
In my rearview mirrors, I could see the flames growing larger and more menacing as the car continued downhill.
My whole body went cold. “Mel, it’s Luca!”
This can’t be happening.
“Stay calm and keep driving. Yellow flag.” Mel’s tone was unnervingly calm.
“I’m going back.” Panic crept in. Images of Luca’s car on fire ran through my brain.
“Georgia, do not under any circumstances go to that car. The marshals don’t need to put out two fires.” My head knew that Mel was right, but my heart couldn’t bear to listen.
“I’m not going to leave the man I love in a car that’s fucking burning!” I screamed back into the mic.
There was a pause. A silence heavy enough to drown in.
“Is he out?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, from desperately hoping. Tears streamed down my face, and I was glad to be wearing a helmet so no one could see my despair.
Another beat of silence.
“Not yet.”
I clenched the steering wheel so hard my hands felt numb. “I should have gotten out and helped. What if I lose him?” I choked out another sob. “What if I don’t get to tell him how much I love him? I have to tell him, Mel. I have to.”
The words just kept pouring out of me, spilling into the microphone.
Not a bone in my body cared that the entire world had just heard me confess my love for Luca.
I didn’t care about the press, sponsors, or even what the FIA would think.
All I wanted was to see Luca again. Cared only that he knew how much I loved him and his ridiculously adorable Cheshire cat grin.
“Georgia, this is Isabelle. He knows that you love him. He knows.” Isabelle’s voice was the definition of confidence.
Mel popped back on. “Red flag. Time to come in.”
The moment I pulled into the pit lane, I ignored everyone. I refused to climb out of the car, even as engineers hovered nearby. I stayed strapped in, frozen, staring at the massive garage screens like they were life support monitors.
I just needed one image. One sign.
But the feed dragged on. Camera angles changing. Marshals still gathered. No sign of him.
Why was this taking so long? I closed my eyes. Tried to force in air through clenched teeth. In, out. Count to three. Again. But the panic was winning.
The sound of cheering cracked through the air. The camera was zoomed in on Luca.
He had gotten out.
The roar of applause rolled through the paddock like a wave as Luca was helped toward the ambulance.
“Luca is out, G,” Mel whispered into my earpiece. “He’s safe.”
But the relief didn’t come like a flood. It came like a quiet ache. The kind that lingered in the space left behind after a bomb has gone off.
Averting my gaze from the giant screens that now replayed Luca getting out of the car, I tried to shake off the horror from the last few minutes. The horror would likely stay with me for months, a constant reminder of how dangerous racing could be.
I sat in the pit lane, still strapped in, eyes forward, waiting. The announcement came a few minutes later: standing restart. I’d be in second, thanks to Luca’s DNF.
I was so lost in my thoughts, lost in my breathing exercises, that I almost missed the radio turn on. An unfamiliar—and yet familiar—voice came onto the radio.
“You didn’t have to set my car on fire to get second, amore. I’m sure you would have passed me anyway.” His voice was gravelly, amused. Tired. I let out a strangled laugh, choking on it as fresh tears filled my eyes.
Luca had stolen Mel’s headset.
“Fuck off!” I cackled into my radio, grinning from the flood of emotion.
“Oh, and Georgia,” he said, voice soft. “I love you, too.” Three words. Eight letters.
Finally, after all this time, we’d finally both had the courage to say it.
Suddenly everything around me felt a little more bearable. The race, the impending Maison de Klotho sponsorship. None of it felt quite as scary.
The sound of metal on metal echoed in the background, along with Mel’s distant voice yelling at Luca to stay away from the Valkyrie pit wall.
“Sorry, intruders in our camp,” Mel chuckled into the feed. “Alright, G. Race will begin soon with a standing start. You sure you’re ready?”
“Let’s do this.” With each exhale, my heart rate started to return to normal. My knuckles finally unclenched, shoulders dropping.
It was as if new life had been breathed into me.
And after a successful restart, I was back into second place.