Chapter 48
EVANGELINE
Now that I’m here, backstage in one of the massive conference rooms, I’m so much more anxious than I expected to be. I shift my weight from hip to hip, a fidget in each hand, trying to calm my nerves.
“You okay?” Mia nudges me with her elbow as she sidles up to my left. Ren and Shelby are in the corner, talking quietly with their heads down. Flynn and Bea are hovering near the refreshments, and Kenji is late, per usual. I haven’t seen Luca, Alaric, or my sister yet.
“I’m fine.” I link my arm with hers and smile. “Just not used to doing things like this.” It’s one thing to go live in front of a screen. But to be on stage with an in-person audience hanging on my every word? That’s nerve-rattling.
She nods. “I still get anxious before stuff like this, even after dozens of hours in media training. It’s a mental battle every time I go up on that stage.” She sighs. “Especially before or after a race. Most of the media are jonesing for us to slip up and let our emotions show.”
I bet.
The PR admins work tirelessly to prepare their drivers and personnel to field media questions. Entire careers are dedicated to training and prepping them for interviews like this.
Some of the drivers have taken to answering in as few words as possible to avoid the inevitable fallout of misspeaking or saying too much.
Then there are those who like to put their own spin on things.
Saint and Kenji have both mastered the art of flirting their way through interviews without actually answering questions.
Gwen is notoriously candid, but in a no-nonsense way that makes new reporters afraid to even approach her.
Then there are a handful of veterans who are so unserious the reporters don’t even expect them to answer anymore.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” My sister appears, dressed in her standard Kelly polo and trendy linen trousers. Her hair and makeup look beautiful, but she’s wearing her sunglasses inside, and the skin at her temples is pulled tight.
“Hey, you,” I greet quietly, pulling her into a gentle hug.
I resist the urge to ask how she’s feeling, though I can’t not check in on her. So I hold on to her shoulders and level her with what I hope is an empathetic gaze.
“Are you sure you have enough spoons for this?”
She grimaces, then sighs. “I’ll be fine.”
My heart plummets into my stomach. This was a bad idea. I’m a bundle of nerves, and Auri doesn’t feel well.
“We really don’t have to—”
“I’m already here, and I said I’ll be fine,” she says through gritted teeth.
I snap my mouth shut and dip my chin. My sister’s a master of powering through and downplaying her pain, but she’s also smart as hell and really good at advocating for herself. If she says she’s fine, then I owe it to her to take her at her word.
“The fun has arrived,” Flynn announces, striding toward us with his arms stretched wide.
He pulls me into a hug, then claps Mia on the back.
As he turns to my sister, his smile transforms from friendly to over-the-top enthusiastic.
“Aurelia Miller-Bennett,” he says reverently.
“As I live and breathe. You look radiant today, Sunshine.”
Auri plants her hands on her hips and gives Flynn a once-over, smirking. “Shut up and stay out of my way, Fly Boy.”
I press my lips together and side-eye Bea, who padded up a moment after her brother.
She’s also fighting for her life not to react.
Flynn unabashedly flirts with everyone, but he’s extra cheeky when he’s in my sister’s presence.
Like a sweet, chaotic puppy who’s desperate for head scratches.
He’s been trying to get Aurelia to give him the time of day since he started driving for Kelly three years ago.
Either he’s a hopeless romantic or just utterly hopeless.
“Welcome, everyone,” an overly chipper intern shouts across the small backstage area.
While Auri winces, Mia snorts, probably thinking the same thing I am. This intern doesn’t know the fury that’s going to crash down on her if she doesn’t tone it down several notches.
“Uh-oh. I’m only seeing seven of our ten fabulous panelists,” she chirps. “I’m sure the others will turn up soon. Ope.” She perks up, pointing at my sister. “Don’t forget to remove those sunglasses before heading out on stage, Ms. Miller-Bennett.”
I hold my breath, waiting to see how Auri will react. Mercifully, she ignores the intern and heads out onto the stage, sunglasses firmly in place.
“Oh, wait. Oh. Okay. Yes, that’s right,” the clueless woman babbles. “Everyone, follow Ms. Miller-Bennett. And note the seating assignments, please.”
Shelby and Ren wander over, both stifling laughter. The intern here is clearly the only one who doesn’t understand that Aurelia doesn’t take orders from anyone. Whoever sent this poor woman to wrangle us is truly diabolical.
As the drivers file past, I peer back, hoping to spot Alaric.
He’s still not here, but neither is Luca, and because I don’t want to risk running into my ex by waiting around in hopes of stealing a moment alone with his dad, I follow the others onto the stage.
Anxiety floods my veins once more, the precarious nature of this event overwhelming me as I step forward, ignoring all the cameras and people lined up in the first few rows of chairs.
Rather than long tables, the stage has been equipped with couches, and we’ve been grouped by team rather than by family.
I scan the nametags, sucking in a sharp breath when I finally find my name.
I’m on the far right couch, assigned to the middle cushion between Ren and Alaric.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“This is cozy,” Ren murmurs as we take our seats. “How’s your week been?” They sling one arm over the back of the couch easily while we wait for the sound tech to make his way over to us.
“It’s—uh, well, I’ve…” I stammer.
My brain glitches. Ren is only making polite conversation, but I can’t seem to think of a damn thing to say that doesn’t include words like magical, unforgettable, and orgasmic, all of which would prompt far too many questions about what I’ve been up to over the last several days.
Thankfully, the three missing panelists file in then, garnering attention from all of us.
“Ah, assigned seating. Cute.” Kenji saunters over, clapping Ren on the back in greeting, then heads for his seat, ruffling my hair playfully. “Hello, gorgeous.”
I swat at his hand, hissing, “No way.” We’re about to be on camera, and I spent an embarrassing amount of time primping this morning.
“Evangeline. Is he bothering you?”
Heart lurching, I zero in on Alaric, who’s hovering behind my mischievous friend, glaring at the back of his head like he’s prepared to intervene on my behalf.
“I’m fine,” I rush out. The last thing we need is Alaric making a scene that hints at a connection any deeper than company executive and lowly employee.
While he knows I’m close with many of the drivers on the grid, I suppose this is the first time he’s seen me interact with them.
I’m not about to let him accidentally reveal our relationship to unnecessarily defend my honor.
Ren looks over, frowning. Kenji smirks, looking from me to Alaric, then back to me again.
Oh shit.
Standing, I give my ridiculous friend a pointed look, silently begging him to walk away.
Then I smooth over my hair a few times and offer Alaric a casual smile.
“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Steele. It looks like they’ve got us arranged by team.
” I nod at his name scrawled on a piece of paper that’s been taped to the couch.
With one final knowing look, Kenji walks away. And Alaric shoots daggers at him the whole way.
“Kenji’s one of my closest friends,” I mutter as we take our seats and get situated.
His only response is a cocked brow.
I shake my head. And here I was worried I’d be the one to overreact and blow our cover.
“This is going to be painful,” he murmurs as the sound guy makes his way over to place our mics.
I blow out a breath and straighten. As I do, Luca takes his seat on the couch across the stage, wearing a closed-off look.
Painful may be an understatement. What have we gotten ourselves into?
The next fifty-five minutes are an excruciating exercise in masking and self-restraint. My proximity to Alaric is almost impossible to handle when my body is so attuned to his. I’m high-key panicked that every person in the room can tell the Granata team principal ate me out this morning.
I squeeze my thighs together at the memory. God, I can’t think about that right now. We’re almost done. In a matter of minutes, I can drop this facade, find a quiet place to work, and hide away until it’s time to head back to the condo.
As if he can sense how horny I am, Alaric shifts, his leg brushing mine.
Fielding questions has been easy compared to keeping my heart rate regulated and my focus tuned in to the moderator while sitting inches away from the man I was riding last night.
Mercifully, I’ve only had to answer three questions, and every one of them was a lowball, requiring little thought or wordsmithing.
Most of the more intrusive questions are directed at the drivers, so Alaric and Beatrix haven’t had much time with the mic either.
Neither has Auri. She did take her sunglasses off just before the Q&A started, but by the tightness of her jaw, it’s clear she’s struggling with the bright lights and the volume of the microphones.
As I expected, the spirit of the event is fun. Not even Luca’s surly scowl or pompous attitude has detracted from the entertainment since there are so many of us on stage.
At one point the moderator put a picture of Auri and me as kids up on the screen. In it, she’s a teen, and from her race suit, I’m pretty sure it’s from her time in Formula 3. I’m wearing a hand-drawn T-shirt with her number on it, my blond hair a mess, grinning up at my big sister.
Alaric emitted a quiet hum under his breath, shifting incrementally closer in a way that made it almost impossible for me to stay focused.
His reaction warmed me from the inside—then quickly reminded me that I had to keep my shit together.
“We only have a few more questions for our gracious panelists,” the moderator says. “This next one is for Luca.”
My spine goes rigid like it has every time the focus has turned to my ex.
“Unlike the Young sisters and the Diallo siblings,” she says, “your family member around the paddock isn’t another driver. But he is still direct competition as the team principal of Granata. Does your competitive spirit ever affect your personal relationship with your father?”
Alaric stiffens beside me.
Internally, I brace myself.
“My father and I aren’t close,” Luca deadpans. He glances at Alaric before quickly glossing over me. “Competition doesn’t affect our relationship, because we don’t have much of one these days.”
My stomach rolls. What the hell is he doing?
“Honestly,” he goes on, a sneer in his tone, “I’d like to think I’ve made a name for myself that’s completely separate from my father. Not many people even knew who he was until Granata’s big scandal last year.”
My lungs seize up. Really, Luca?
It’s in very poor taste to bring up another team’s business like that, especially at an official Formula 1 media event designed to be surface-level fun.
Murmurs rise around the room. I swear the entirety of the media cohort shifts closer, desperate for him to keep stirring the pot.
And stir, he does.
With a cruel chuckle, he continues. “I’d wager that Evangeline is closer with him than I am. The two of them look chummy over there together, don’t they?”
Dozens of eyes bore into me with renewed interest. My cheeks flame, signaling that they’re likely bright red, the reaction humiliating me further. I bite hard on the inside of my cheek, staving off the angry tears threatening to spill out.
The urge to run claws at my chest and clogs my throat. I don’t want to be here. It takes everything in me to maintain my composure and stay seated, my face neutral.
When I’m sure I’m not going to cry, I lift my gaze and glare at my ex.
He’s already watching me, his expression callus.
I hate him. I hate him so much.
Alaric clears his throat, shifting to the edge of the couch. “What my son means to say—”
“I said what I said,” Luca grits out. “I have no interest in pretending we’re best buds or that you’re a doting father, Ric. Our teams compete on the grid, and that’s all we have in common. Allegedly,” he adds with a wicked smirk, his focus on me.
“It seems that’s all we have time for today, folks,” the moderator announces.
Cameras flash and the reporters murmur among themselves, but it’s all drowned out by the whooshing in my ears.
Luca is first to rise, storming off stage without uttering another word the moment the media has been ushered out.
The rest of us sit stock-still, stunned by his outburst.
Alaric stands slowly, then turns around and holds out his hand.
With an imperceptible shake of my head, I reject the offer.
The gesture is innocent enough, but I refuse to give any credence to Luca’s hurtful claims.
Thankfully, Kenji shoulders past Alaric, eager to come to my aid, and yanks me to my feet. “What the actual fuck was that?” he hisses.
Ren stands at my other side, the two of them flanking me. “That boy is out of his goddamn mind. Just wait until Saint hears about this.”
I’m slow to react, but I dutifully let the siblings guide me off stage.
Still reeling, I peek over my shoulder at Alaric.
He’s keenly focused on where Kenji’s hand rests on my low back.
Thankfully, his earlier glowers have been replaced by grateful tolerance.
We both know he can’t be the one at my side right now.
“I’m going to find my son,” he calls out casually, disappointment dripping from him. “I’ll see you back at the motorhome.”