Chapter Twenty-Five
Henri
I settled into the seat beside Georgia, scanning the podcast studio with mild interest rather than the anxiety I might have felt months ago. The set looked upgraded since I was last here: better lighting, a sleeker couch, and bookshelves.
“Glad you decided to come,” Georgia said quietly, adjusting the bag in her lap. “I know you probably have better things to do the day before a race weekend.”
“Supporting Lily is exactly where I need to be.” I meant it entirely.
Ever since that muddy afternoon in the Beetle, we’d been texting constantly.
Photos of Archie doing something ridiculous at three in the morning.
Her sending screenshots of terrible reality TV moments with commentary that made me laugh until my ribs hurt.
Me sharing terrible French memes that somehow translated perfectly into her sense of humor.
We snuck in calls between training sessions, during the quiet moments most people spent alone.
It felt just as natural and easy as breathing.
We both skirted around the conversation we should actually have, but I was fine with that.
During summer break, we could revisit the conversation, but Lily’s focus needed to be on Silverstone now.
Nothing else mattered. If I couldn’t have my home race, then I at least wanted to make sure she had an opportunity to win hers.
I glanced toward where Lily would be sitting, reassuring myself with the knowledge that this was just fan questions. Nothing Ollie could weaponize. Nothing that would put her in a position to defend herself or me or whatever this thing between us was becoming.
The stage door opened, and Ollie emerged with his usual energy, clipboard in hand. He was halfway through saying something to a production assistant when he spotted me.
He stopped mid-sentence, genuine surprise flickering across his features before he caught himself. “Henri.” My name came out slightly strangled. “I didn’t… I wasn’t expecting you.”
“The studio invited several of the F1 drivers. Figured I’d pop along with Georgia and support Lily.” I kept my tone pleasant, neutral.
“Of course, of course.” He recovered quickly, but I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, recalculating whatever plan he’d had. He started to move toward us, probably to engage in some awkward small talk, but the studio door opened again.
éliott walked in first, then Sebastian and Luca, all in casual clothes. Within minutes, eight more F1 drivers had filled the front-row seats I’d reserved.
“Mate!” éliott waved, exchanging quick greetings with Ollie, whose smile had gone tight.
“Quite the turnout,” Ollie managed.
The energy in the room shifted noticeably. What had probably been intended as his controlled environment now felt decidedly less controlled.
Georgia murmured beside me, “What is everyone doing here?”
éliott chuckled next to Georgia. “Just thought we’d come and support, Lil, that’s all.”
“Henri.” Sebastian leaned over. “How’re you feeling about Silverstone?”
“Good. Ready.” I glanced toward the stage door, where Lily would emerge from shortly. “Should be interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.” Luca grinned. “You should’ve seen Lil on the simulator this week. She was lightning at the office.”
The overhead lights dimmed slightly, and a production assistant called for everyone to take their seats. The casual energy condensed into focused attention as we waited for Lily to appear.
Ollie recovered his composure, settling into his chair across from the empty couch with his notecards arranged just so. But I caught him glancing toward our group with wariness.
Good. Let him be off-balance for once.
The stage door swung open, and Lily emerged wearing dark jeans and a woven Rennen sweater. She spotted our group immediately, surprise and relief flickering across her face. Ollie guided her to the couch with his hand on her lower back, the touch lingering just long enough to be noticed.
“Ready?” he asked, throwing her a wink.
She nodded, crossing one leg over the other with perfect composure. The red recording light blinked on.
“Welcome to Home Stretch,” Ollie began, his voice dropping into that smooth cadence he used for his podcast intro. “Today we have someone very special, our very own Silverstone star, Lily Blackwood!”
Lily’s laugh was flawless. “That’s very generous, Ollie. Although, easy to be the star when you’re the only Brit on the grid this year.”
“Oh, come on now—you’re being far too modest, Lily!” Ollie laughed. “You’ve been a star every year.”
A nice little suck-up before the sucker punching begins, I thought.
Georgia audibly groaned next to me, clearly also feeling the bullshit onstage.
“Now, we have some fan questions for you this evening.” He leaned forward. “And after we get through those, we’ll open it up to some Q&A from our audience here.” He gestured toward us with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Lily nodded, her expression attentive but guarded.
“Let’s start with Miami,” Ollie said, all sympathetic concern. “Erin from Austin, Texas, says, ‘Was that crash in Miami on purpose so you could ensure Henri didn’t score more points than you?’”
Lily’s eyes widened fractionally, a subtle twitch—barely noticeable unless you knew her tells.
“That’s absurd. The data showed clear mechanical failure. I mean, in what world would I purposely risk wrecking my car so that Henri might not get some points? Who’s to say I wouldn’t have won that weekend in Miami?” Lily’s voice stayed level, professional, but I caught the slight rise in pitch.
Her chest lifted and fell, and I could tell she was debating with herself on how angry to get. These were supposed to be fan questions, after all.
“Well, it’s good to see you guys can still be friends.” His forehead creased as he squinted at Lily, like he was trying to peer deeply for a different answer. He’d certainly seen that photo of us racing the Beetles.
“There’s only twenty of us on the grid,” Lily said, her voice clipped. “I consider us all friends off the track.”
“Speaking of ‘off the track’…” Ollie glanced down at his notecards with theatrical casualness. “Rachel from Germany asks, ‘You and Henri were spotted at a Valkyrie event together and then racing Beetles. Are you two dating?’”
Ollie looked expectantly at her, but Lily didn’t avoid his gaze. She’d mentioned they hadn’t spoken since Racing in Heels dropped. She’d expertly avoided him, and I guessed this question had been selected as a way for him to pry.
“Well, unfortunately, Rachel, this isn’t a Love Island podcast. There is no story or tea to share. We’re friends.” She winked out into the audience, who spared her a few laughs.
He flipped to a card at the back. “All right, this is from the UK. John from Manchester asks, ‘You’ve had some bad luck at Silverstone in the past. The Silverstone curse, as some of us fans call it. Does that leave you a bit hesitant for this year?’”
“I don’t believe in curses,” Lily said evenly, her posture straightening slightly in the chair. “Just like I don’t believe in luck. What I do believe in is preparation and execution. Everything else is just noise.”
There were a few claps from the audience, which Ollie allowed with a small smile before continuing.
“But you have to admit, you haven’t had the best performances on this track. Is there something about this pressure that makes it different compared to other races? Your face is practically all over the crowd on fans’ posters.”
Georgia leaned over, whispering, “Think anyone actually believes these are fan questions?”
I snorted in response. “If they are, he definitely hand-selected his favorites.”
Georgia lightly snickered at the air quotes around “favorites.”
“I’ll let my driving speak for itself this weekend,” Lily said coolly.
“Let’s hope so.” Ollie’s smile turned sympathetic. “All right, next one, and this is a good one. Came up several times in our survey. Your move from Valkyrie to Rennen raised some eyebrows. Some people say Rennen hired you as a symbol for inclusivity. What are your thoughts on that?”
“I was hired because I’m fast, and because I earned my seat through years of results in junior categories.” Lily’s voice was sharp, even, not a smile on her face.
“But did sponsors push for your seat? I’ve heard rumors that sponsors at Rennen wanted a woman on the grid for marketing purposes.”
Lily leaned forward, her green eyes blazing as she looked Ollie directly in the eye. “Ollie, are you asking if I’m a diversity hire? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“I’m just asking what people are wondering.” He waved the cards at her.
“Then let me be clear. I earned my seat the same way every other driver on the grid earned theirs. Through talent, hard work, and results. If sponsors like the fact that I’m a woman, then great. But it’s not why I’m here, and my results this season speak for themselves.”
The audience applauded again, more claps this time, but Ollie wasn’t done.
“Of course, of course. You’re incredibly talented—there’s no doubting that. Though it must be hard sometimes, being compared to Georgia constantly. She’s had such an incredible career, such a presence in the sport. Do you ever feel overshadowed by her?”
My sister sank a little more into her seat, trying to hide her face.
“Georgia is an exceptional driver and an even better person. I don’t feel overshadowed. I feel inspired.”
“But was it hard to live in her shadow while you were at Valkyrie?” Ollie was quick with that one.
“Georgia and I support each other. We’re not competing for some imaginary title of ‘token woman in F1.’ We’re both competing for race wins and championships.” She put up her hand, adding, “And above all else, we’re proud to support each other. Women supporting women is important.”