Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Ollie’s friendly mask flickered, just for a second, before he recovered with a practiced smile.
“Women supporting women. I love it! Okay, this is our last question. This is from James of Paris, France. ‘There’s been some interesting chatter online about betting patterns this season.’” Ollie looked up, as if he was immediately trying to gauge her reaction, but Lily just kept staring at him, a face of perfect stoicism.
“‘Specifically, people who bet against you and lost significant amounts of money. How does that make you feel?’”
“I don’t follow betting markets, Ollie. I focus on racing.”
“But surely you’re aware that some people have lost quite a bit of money betting against you?”
Lily sat up straighter, repositioning herself in the chair. “What people choose to do with their money isn’t my concern.”
“Even when those people might feel resentful? When they blame you for their losses?”
Lily’s smile turned brittle. “Racing outcomes aren’t guaranteed. This is why I think people should be careful about all this.”
“Of course.” Ollie shuffled his cards. “You don’t sound like a fan of this all?”
“It’s not that I’m not a fan of it. Every team has sports betting sponsors. Some teams probably need the funding just to survive. But…”
I could see the uneasiness in her face.
“But we, as a sport, still have to be careful with how far we let it go, that’s all. Limits probably need to be put in place.”
Georgia leaned close to my ear. “I suspect we’re going to hear that soundbite later.”
“And how far do we let it go?” Ollie had picked up on that one.
“Some fans can take it too far, that’s all.”
“Too far?” Ollie tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Can you elaborate on that? Have you experienced something negative from betting fans?”
Lily’s fingers curled against her thigh. “Let’s just move on.”
“No, no, this is fascinating.” He leaned forward, all false concern. “Have you received threats? Messages from people who lost money on you?”
The silence stretched thin and dangerous. Lily’s face had gone pale, her composure cracking at the edges. She shifted forward as if she might stand; might end this whole charade right here.
Our eyes met across the studio.
I shook my head once, small and deliberate.
Don’t give him what he wants.
Lily settled back into the couch, that mask of perfect professionalism sliding back into place even as her eyes blazed. This felt a bit more like an interrogation than a podcast about her home race.
“The fans who support me do so because they believe in my talent,” she said, voice as steady as steel. “I’m thankful for them every day. Now, speaking of my fans, let’s get to those audience questions, hm?”
I could see Ollie’s eyes searching, looking for a hopeful way to bring that conversation back. But before he could, I stood up.
Ollie’s head snapped toward me, surprise flickering across his face. “Henri? Did you have a—”
I turned to face Lily fully, letting a beat of silence settle. Her eyes met mine, confusion and relief warring in her expression. I could see the question there: What are you doing?
Trust me.
“Lily, you’ve shown exceptional racing this season, particularly your overtake on me in Monaco.
That corner entry required precision and commitment.
” I paused, letting the serious tone settle.
“But I’m curious, when you’re making those split-second decisions at 200 miles per hour, do you ever worry about chipping your nail polish? ”
For a split second, the studio was silent, save for some uncomfortable snickering from people sat behind me.
After another brief pause, Lily’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she dissolved into genuine laughter—the first real, unguarded expression I’d seen from her all night.
There she is. There’s my Lily.
She gave me a shocked, questioning laugh before answering. “Constantly, Henri. It’s my biggest fear out there.” She wiped at her eyes. “That’s why I only use gel. Regular polish can’t handle the g-forces.”
éliott was already on his feet, catching on immediately.
“I’ve got one. Lily, serious question about Silverstone’s high-speed corners.
When you’re pushing through the corners at full speed, do you worry that the g-forces might cause some…
premature aging? And if so, what’s your skincare routine to combat that? ”
“éliott, the only thing causing me premature aging is racing you.” Lily’s face lit up with genuine amusement.
“Follow-up question then. Do you use different products for qualifying versus race day? You know, for optimal aerodynamics?”
Lily promptly spat out the sip of water she’d just taken, laughing. “Race day requires SPF 50, minimum. Can’t have sun damage affecting my downforce.”
éliott nodded. “Excellent, I also use SPF on my skin to protect it from the sun. Turns out, that stuff is for men too.”
Lily just snorted at that.
Luca stood next, not bothering to wait for permission.
“My turn. Lily, you mentioned earlier about preparation and execution. Can you walk us through your mental preparation process before a qualifying session? And more importantly, does racing in heels affect your brake pedal pressure, or do you switch to flats for that?”
The entire front row of drivers erupted into laughter. Georgia buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Ollie’s face had almost gone white. At least I knew he’d got the point, as had the audience members in the room.
“I find stilettos give me better feel through the pedals, actually,” Lily deadpanned. “The extra three inches helps me see over the halo.”
“Brilliant strategy.” Luca nodded sagely. “I should try that.”
“I think you’d look excellent in heels, Luca. I believe your fiancée can loan you a pair.”
“Fat chance!” Georgia snickered.
After that, Ollie reeled the questions back in, making sure to pick out fans sitting way in the back.
Once the final question was answered, Ollie thanked everyone for coming and then promptly left the stage, not pausing to bid farewell to Lily or anyone else in the room. The door swung shut behind him with a loud thud, leaving an awkward silence.
Lily glanced over, a playful smirk in her eyes. “Well, that went differently than planned. Thanks for the assist.”
I chuckled. “Anytime. Maybe next time they’ll think before cramming a bunch of silly questions into an interview with another female driver.”
After another ten minutes with the group, I noticed Lily yawning. “Hey, you want an escort back to your hotel?”
Lily nodded, and we stepped out into the cool evening. The streets were quieter than I expected, most people already home for dinner. We walked in comfortable silence for a block, our shoulders occasionally brushing.
“You know, Max hasn’t shut up about you. Says you drive like someone stole your lunch money.”
“High praise from someone who took out three hay bales.”
“Four, actually. He went back and counted.”
I paused like I was waiting for an opportune moment to ask my real question. “Those betting questions tonight bothered you,” I said finally. Not a question.
She wrapped her arms around herself despite the jacket. “I shouldn’t have given Ollie that last quote. My sponsor is going to be pissed—I just know it.”
“I wish you’d tell someone—”
“We’ve been over this, Henri. I can’t stir the pot, be the one driver who complains about some of our biggest sponsors.”
“I’m not asking you to hold a press conference. Just tell Georgia. Or your team principal. Someone who can actually help.”
Lily stopped walking. The streetlight caught the shadows under her eyes, the fatigue she’d been hiding all evening behind that polished mask. “Not yet.”
“Lily—”
“After summer break.” She held up a hand. “Let me get through Silverstone and the next few races without this hanging over everything. Then I’ll figure out the right way to handle it.”
I studied her face, searching for any sign she was stalling indefinitely. Her jaw was set, her eyes clear. This wasn’t avoidance. It was strategy.
“Fine.” I stepped closer, holding her gaze. “But I need you to promise me. By summer break, you’ll tell someone. Not just me. Someone with actual power to do something about it.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek for a long moment. “I promise.”
“I’ll keep your secret until then.” I extended my hand between us. “Deal?”
She looked at my outstretched hand and laughed softly, shaking it with a firm grip. “Deal.”
Her fingers lingered in mine a beat longer than necessary before she let go.
We reached the hotel entrance, the glass doors spilling warm light onto the sidewalk. Lily turned to face me, her bag sliding off her shoulder.
“Thanks for walking me back. And for the silly questions. That was—”
“Do you want to do something crazy?” I blurted out.
She blinked. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. A laugh escaped her, half-nervous, half-curious, the kind that came out when someone wasn’t sure if they were being pranked.
“Maybe?” The word pitched up at the end, a question wrapped inside an answer.
“Follow me.”
I turned and walked toward the parking garage across the street without waiting for a response. My car sat on the second level—a silver Audi, nothing flashy, just functional. I heard her footsteps behind me, quick and uncertain on the concrete, her bag bouncing against her hip.
“Henri, I have free practice tomorrow morning.”
I pulled open the driver’s door. “So do I.”
She stood on the passenger side, fingers resting on the handle, still unsure if this was a good idea.
“If this ends with me in a ditch somewhere—”
“Get in the car, Lily.”