#eva x carlos | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

somejazzinthemorning · 1 year ago

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tightrope. 11

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content Word Count: ~18K

It takes a lot to understand the truth when it is covered under years of hearing the same words. The word exploded around me, in screams and chants, confetti and champagne, but it all felt dull because when the phone rang the following morning, it was not “Papà” that was written on the screen.

It was not the day before, either. Or the days that followed.

Monday morning. 10 hours past the race, and Dad had not called.

Rio called right after the podium. The words tumbled from my lips, breathless and infused with the rush of adrenaline when I picked up the phone from Rocco’s hands and accepted the call. Racing down the pitlane, phone pressed to my face, I could feel the dampness of champagne against my skin and Rio’s voice erupting from the other end of the line, from the other side of the world.

“Eva! What the hell?!”

I was shaking—every cell in my body reverberating with the thrill of what we’d just accomplished. Time seemed slowed down, every detail around me sharper, more vibrant. My skin was covered in goosebumps, a mix of elation and disbelief coursing through me. My lips tasted of champagne, the sweet fizz lingering on my tongue. As my eyes flickered around the pitlane, taking in the sight of the small crowd of mechanics waiting for us at the end of the pitlane, the flags waving on the stands and the vibrant colours of team gear in the pitlane, a loud chuckle left my trembling lips, my fingers grip stronger on the trophy.

Reality seemed distorted, stretched over whatever material dreams were made of.

“A podium finish, Rio! A fucking podium finish!” My words blended in the cacophony of the team’s cheers, a symphony that echoed through the pitlane, now replacing the sound of the engines that had filled the air for the past six hours.

Ahead, Alexei, Alessandro Bianchi for more official affairs, set the pace. His legs were so long and quick it seemed like he was almost running. He was the one driving the car during the final laps. As for Henrik and me, we spent those last laps in the garage, our attention fixated on the car and the unfolding Corvette narrative. Shifting from that nail-biting tension to becoming drenched in a cascade of champagne, it was the blink of an eye.

Henrik's arm found its way around my neck, playfully pulling me into him. His tall frame towered above mine. “Time to drop the phone, DiMaggio. Let’s join the fiesta!”

“It’s my brother. Give me a minute.” I looked up, meeting his frowning face. “Promise you. Just a minute.”

Henrik was Finnish, had hair as fair as sunlight and eyes as blue as the ocean. He just nodded, and then I freed myself from his pull, walking to the side, finding support in the pit wall.

“I knew you could do it, ‘Vita. Sooner or later!” I pressed the phone against my ear, attempting to amplify my brother’s voice. “Get your head right, and everything else will fall into place. Look at what you just did.”

“I drove for less than 2 hours—”

“And you put the car exactly where it needed to be.” There was a genuine awe in my brother’s voice, something that I wasn’t quite used to listening to. Dad wouldn’t react this way. As a matter of fact, he didn’t react at all. “Those overtakes! That place must be going wild for you right now.”

I laughed, looking ahead. Alexei was climbing a mechanic’s back, his 36 years of age eclipsing as his face went full of joy and he looked like a child.

“Yeah. It’s… pretty insane.”

“The race ended less than half an hour ago and we’re already hearing your name all over the hotel. And we’re just having breakfast. You have no idea.” I’ve never heard Rio speak so fast in my life. A clatter resonated from Rio's end as if he was dragging a chair, and then his voice returned. “By the way, your timing is impeccable.”

“Why? What happened?”

My brother chuckled. “You managed to steal Carlos’ thunder on race day.”

“Shit, he’s starting on pole, right? Wish him luck for me.”

"No need to.” Oh. I was not ready to hear him. "I'm right here." A blend of excitement and wistfulness churned in my chest, a familiar pang of longing to be in two places at once. He wasn’t right there. Not anywhere close. “Man—Eva…” His voice rang again, I pictured the smile on his lips, as my name resonated. “You’re absolutely incredible.”

I leaned against the pitlane wall. Champagne dripped from my hair onto my face, the lingering taste a testament to the euphoria of the moment. I glanced upward, the raucous celebration of the team unfolding before me, champagne bottles raised high, exuberant cheers filling the air. Then, I looked down, at my wet fingers wrapped around the trophy,

“I wish you were here,” I murmured, my voice a soft whisper carried away by the wind. “Both of you.”

“DiMaggio!! Leave the phone!” Alexei called for me. In large, determined strides, he made his way toward me, holding a champagne bottle in his hand.

"I'll make sure to save some of this energy for when we reunite," I mused, my voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and longing.

“Hang up!” Alexei screamed, a playful edge to his tone as he quickened his pace. Henrik was behind him, holding another bottle. Their trophies had been left in the garage, on top of the car.

“Hope it won’t take long.” Carlos's voice, filled with warmth and affection, was the last thing I heard before the joyful chaos consumed me again, drenched in champagne and carried on my two teammates’ shoulders, back to the small crowd.

But then Monday came. With a throbbing headache and a dehydrated body, after a too-over-the-top evening packed with celebrations. My phone rang on the nightstand, and after picking it up, Nicola and Lin's faces filled the screen.

“You’ve got toothpaste on your cheek,” Lin pointed out, her surroundings showing the sturdy brick of her New York flat. She was back home, I didn’t know that. Somehow, I still thought she would be in Europe. “And congratulations on the race, by the way!”

Nicola sat in a dimly lit room, a soft white glow illuminating her face—by background noise that filled the air, I associated that the white glow was probably the glow of her TV. “I hate this time zone thing. Can’t stay long, sorry, hubby’s waiting for me in bed. What are you up to today?”

I glanced at the corner of the phone, noting the time. It was a bit before 7 a.m. It was probably around midnight for Nicola. As for Lin, it was a little past 7 p.m. I wiped away the toothpaste from my cheek and sat back on the bed, too tired to move.

“I have an interview today. At the track. In like, two hours. They’re doing tire testing, and James Anderson thought it would be a nice background for the interview.”

“James Anderson? The James Anderson?” Lin's enthusiasm was palpable as she turned in her chair, getting up from it seconds later and walking to another point in the room. The unsteady movement of the camera made my stomach churn. “Girl!”

Nicola laughed softly. “Eva, on a scale of 1 to 10, how freaked out are you?”

“A big ass 11.”

“You've got this in the bag,” Lin's voice chirped through the phone, her enthusiasm cutting through the fog of fatigue that lingered in my mind. “Unless you’re still a bit drunk from last night.”

“Just a tiny bit,” I admitted, flopping back onto the bed. The sudden motion made me feel queasy. “Yeah. Fuck. Not exactly drunk, but way too hungover for this. I don’t even know why I said yes to the interview. There’s literally nothing to talk about.”

“He did an amazing piece on the race. Well, an amazing piece on you,” Nicola chimed in. “I’ll post it tomorrow on the team’s socials.”

“That’s why Rocco convinced me to say yes.” I rolled over in bed, seeking a hint of comfort from the pillow and the soft comforter. “Why? I don’t know.”

“Get out of bed, or you'll fall asleep,” Nicola urged. “Also, get out of bed so I can go to bed.”

“You can go. I'll keep her company and help with what she should say.”

“She knows it better than you do,” Nicola was right. I was usually the one media training my clients, providing them with a bullet point list of acceptable topics and answers. So, technically, I should be able to do it for myself. But exhaustion from the weekend's efforts, compounded by a hangover, left me feeling drained. “Don’t you?”

“I do. But I’m just tired. I really, really don’t want to do this right now. I have a belly ache.”

“Eva, come on.” Lin moved again, her energy almost overwhelming enough to make me feel nauseated. “If you get nervous, just imagine the man in his underwear. They say it helps.”

I burst into laughter, the absurd mental image of James Anderson in his underwear momentarily banishing the exhaustion that had weighed on me. “Who says?”

Nicola threw her head back, laughing in response.

Lin grunted. “Them. People.”

"Thanks for that mental image, babe. I'll keep it in my back pocket."

As the laughter subsided, my eyes caught the corner of the screen. Time was passing. The interview was getting closer, and the reality of facing the camera was beginning to set in. Lin's expression turned earnest. "Seriously, Eva, you've got this. Stop overthinking. Just be yourself and ride this wave of success. You're on top of the world."

“That’s what scares me.”

And just like that, a frown appeared on both of their faces. Nicola's frown was more pronounced due to the glow of the TV in the background. Then, she clicked her tongue. “Ah, that’s why you wanted us to call.”

“Exactly.”

“And here I thought you were just missing us,” Lin teased. “Seriously, babe. You’ve got this.”

“Tell us what’s wrong.”

"It's just that sometimes…. I don’t feel like I deserve this? Like it should be harder than it is. Yeah, I can race. And yeah, I'm good at it. Pretty good. But the pressure? The questions? The idea that people are looking at me and expecting me to fail… I've been sick to my stomach just wondering what's happening next because that's what all those goddamn reporters kept asking me yesterday. And—I don’t know. I feel like my Dad is right. I'm not fit for this. ”

“What did that jerk say to you, again?”

“Lin, he’s her dad.”

“Yeah, and he was, is, whatever, my boss. Screw him, honestly. Eva, listen.” She paused and slid one of her lock braids to be back of her ear. “I hope you know he’s a loser, and everything he does and says is just a reflection of how much of a loser he is. He needs to control your life in a way he never got to control his—”

“Lin—”

“No, I don’t care. Listen.” She paused. Nicola took a deep breath, and I followed suit. “He’s your dad, I know. But I’ve been there and I’ve heard the stuff he says. I know him. I worked with Rio when we were both fresh out of college, and I've seen the way he treats both of you.” Again, I attempted to stop her, but she raised one finger. “And I've had enough. The fact that he’s your father isn’t a reason for him to be as mean as he is when things don’t go according to his plans. I've seen him blame Rio, in front of the whole team, for a storm on a test day because he should have known—”

“A test day. Yes, well, those are usually…”

“I don’t care. He’s your dad. He parades you around the way he thinks is best. What did he say this time?” Lin had a way of cutting through the noise and getting straight to the heart of the matter.

“A lot of stuff about how this sport isn’t for me and how he can’t understand my change of mentality in the last few weeks… How I fit better in an office. Just—a lot.”

“Of course he can’t. He never understood you at all. He’s not a good man, love.” She paused. “And I’m sorry.”

“But he’s my dad.”

“He is,” Nicola hummed. “But that doesn’t mean you owe him anything. You’re your own person.”

“Actually, I owe him my entire career.”

“Just because he has the money. And—Think: he never did one single thing for you that would risk his money. For heaven's sake, he made you race in The Challenge after you spent a year at home, struggling with anxiety and depression and he didn’t care if you were ready or not. The only thing he knew was that he was going to lose money if he didn’t get a driver in that seat. Rio was completely done with racing and there was no one available to take the remaining spot.”

“But I wanted to race.”

“I know you did.” Lin’s voice softened. “But like that, hun? From FRECA to The Challenge? We hoped you'd advance to at least any other regional series. Or that he would push for F3, he did it for Rio and, let’s face it, he’s not half as good as you.” I took a moment to absorb her words. They were raw, unfiltered truths that I had been avoiding. “It felt like you were back to square one. Doesn’t surprise me that you kept yourself busy with that college friend. Amanda, right?”

“Yes. And I still am. Keeps me busy. I can't have too much downtime, or else I go crazy.”

“Exactly. So…” Nicola interjected. “That’s not how it should be. You need breaks. You need downtime. You need to rest. You just had a break, and you had the time and the peace of mind to find your groove again.”

“I was in good company. In a nice place. And was busy with that said company.”

“See? So the issue is your Dad. It’s been what? Two weeks since you came back from Mallorca, and you just got a freaking podium, and now you’re struggling again because your Dad said things that made you overthink everything. You were so happy during the weekend, what happened?”

“He didn’t call. I thought I had proved him wrong and he didn’t even bother to call. And he’s my dad, you know? And now James Anderson is going to ask me stuff about the future my dad is holding in his hands. And I don’t want to answer.”

“Okay, let’s…” Nicola took a deep breath, her hand reaching for her hair and pulling it back. I sat up in bed, realizing it was time to gather myself. “You are holding that said future. Get the fuck out of bed, put on some makeup, and head to the track. Do the interview. It will go well. Don’t overthink the answers. It’s PR and you’re great at that. So just—think you’re one of your clients. And if your mind starts spiralling, Rocco is right there; I know he can keep you occupied if needed.”

Lin burst into laughter. “Oh, he can definitely keep her occupied.”

“Gross. He’s technically an employee.” I retorted. “And I bet he’s taken.”

“I’m sure Pulcini will be around, too,” Lin added, and I finally got out of bed, leaving my phone on the credenza, capturing me as I moved around the room and picked up my sneakers. “Or have we moved on from him?”

“We’re not focused on that because I’m working!”

“Can I finally go to bed? I want to get occupied, too.”

“No one here is getting ‘occupied,’” I remarked, slipping on my sneakers. “But yes, go to bed. I’ll do my makeup and head out.”

“It will go well, baby,” Lin said. “And if it gets weird, well, remember the underwear thing.”

The pit lane buzzed with activity, a hubbub of conversations and the clatter of rattle guns. Standing amidst it all, I found myself at the center of attention. The warmth of the sun kissed my skin, while in the distance, I could hear the sounds of the paddock being packed into trucks.

Before me stood James Anderson, his lanyard hanging casually over his chest, almost masking the fact that he wasn’t just another journalist, but the renowned James Anderson himself. Two chairs were positioned at the heart of the pit lane, a camera strategically placed near the pit wall, and a bustling garage composed the backdrop. Alexei and Henrik occupied the seats on the pit wall, their legs dangling, dressed in relaxed t-shirts and jeans. Matteo was in his race suit, totally recovered from the food poisoning episode, and ready to take on the test day.

The car would leave the garage in 20 minutes, so we had exactly that time. Not one minute more.

Despite the camera, Anderson held a notepad in his hand. His salt-and-pepper hair danced with the wind, uncovering his eyes, and sparking with curiosity. I noticed the subtle lines around them, testimony to the countless years spent witnessing greatness on track.

“Happy we can do this, Eva. I've been trying since your victory at Imola. Exceptional performance at the Challenge, too, by the way.”

I wasn’t aware of this desire to interview me earlier. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t aware he was even aware of my existence until he met me in the garage, after the podium ceremony.

"Well… now, we have more to talk about," I remarked, my smile flowing naturally. Anderson nodded, directing his gaze toward the cameraman, a signal to commence recording. "Be gentle with me," I quipped, playfully brushing aside my anxiety.

His laughter rang out. "No need to worry."

Casting a final glance at Alexei and Henrik, the latter waving at me just before Anderson shifted in his seat, reclaiming my attention, I took a final deep breath. This wasn't within my training regimen. I was nervous. My belly aching.

“Eva, let me start by congratulating you on your remarkable performance this weekend. You stepped in for your teammate Matteo Serra during the practice session. Could you walk us through how you adapted to the situation so quickly and what mindset you had going into the race?”

I nodded. My hands were on my thighs, fingers almost melting with the fabric of my jeans. Jesus. This was hard. On top of that, I could feel Alexei’s coal eyes on me, the intensity of his gaze travelling above Anderson’s shoulder, boring into me.

“Yeah, well. First of all, thank you,” I began, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The sunlight played across my face, warming my skin as I spoke. The journalist's expression seemed to relax, his posture slowly becoming more open. “Ahm—right, honestly, it was a whirlwind. Stepping into Matteo’s shoes so unexpectedly meant a quick mental switch. But that's what we’re trained for and what the team expects from me. I had to quickly familiarize myself with the track and the car's nuances… So, the team support was crucial, really. Alexei and Henrik were amazing the whole weekend,” I glanced towards my teammates, looking at each other, smiling. “We worked together to ensure a seamless transition, and I'm truly grateful for their trust.”

The slight tremor in my fingers betrayed the composed façade I was trying to showcase. I could feel the weight of the race weekend on my shoulders.

“Your performance during the race, particularly your amazing overtakes, drew the attention of many in the paddock.” The reporter went again. “Can you share the strategy and approach you took to navigate through the field and secure that impressive fourth-place finish?”

“Well, thank you again.” I chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mixture of humility and genuine pleasure. “I’m not used to this, I’ll admit.”

“Just being honest.”

“Okay—well… the strategy was a mix of precision and calculated risk. The adrenaline was pumping, and I was fully immersed in the race… And when the command to push came, and I realised the team trusted me, I just went for it. My general approach was to find those windows of opportunity without compromising the overall strategy… I mean, we had more pace than we expected and we had to make something out of it. We didn’t qualify great, what was a boomer, because we had faith we could qualify in the top 10. So, that not being the case, we had to be at 110%. The team did amazing with the pitstops, and the guys did amazing stints as well… And.. Since I was feeling comfortable with the car—thankfully I drive a similar car in another series, so it became a bit easier… I had to go for it. So, yeah—It's quite surreal to think about it now, but… I'm still in awe of how everything came together.”

My gaze drifted to the marks of tire rubber still visible on the asphalt. I could almost feel the energy of the cars rushing through the main straight, my feet vibrating with the phantom energy still running around us.

“You mentioned the team’s trust… DAR Racing's decision to extend your stint turned out to be a wise move since we could clearly see that you were getting gradually more confident in the car and risking more. At your level, with so little experience, how did you manage to maintain your focus and energy during that crucial period of the race? Did doubt quick in or…?”

This time, I couldn’t find comfort in the details on the pitlane. Anderson’s eyes didn’t leave mine. Curiosity glistened through his dark eyes, his passion and interest so clear. Probably he had noticed my state on the radio. The thousand questions I asked, how I pressed from lap times and places of improvement. I was freaking out inside the car. Properly. I wanted to go fast. Faster. I wanted to come out of every corner perfectly.

“Interesting point… Yeah—So…” I took a moment, my hands subtly trembling from a mix of lingering adrenaline and fatigue. My eyes flickered toward the reporter, his expression a mix of interest and empathy. “Maintaining focus and energy during the stint was undoubtedly challenging.” Pause. A small breath. “As the laps went by, I did feel a surge of confidence building within me but the team's strategy and encouragement played a huge role in keeping me on track, both mentally and physically.” I chuckled softly, a glint of self-awareness in my eyes, realizing the play of words. “But yeah—doubt is a natural human response in such a demanding situation. I’d never done anything similar. Or even raced for this much time. What was it? A bit more than an hour and a half?” Pause. He nodded. “Yeah. So. There’s a lot involved and a big part is the mental game. I'm grateful I had the right support system to keep me motivated through the race.”

Alexei's presence stretched through the pitlane, his supportive gaze feeling like a reassuring anchor. Henrik, with his elbow perched on Alexei’s shoulder, sent me a nod of approval. They were witnesses to the doubt, to the lack of sleep on Thursday night when I was notified that Matteo was on his way to the hospital, after throwing up for almost one hour straight and my body and mind couldn’t seem to handle the fact I would be driving that weekend.

They were patient. They made it possible.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Anderson, probably noticing the silent exchange, looked over his shoulder. Turning to me, another question hung on his lips. “You seem really in sync with the team. And all throughout the weekend, I've noticed that many drivers and personnel from rival teams came over to congratulate you, especially yesterday, during the celebrations. Could you speak about the role of… camaraderie and sportsmanship in your approach to motorsports?”

“Absolutely,” I affirmed with a genuine smile. “Those values are essential aspects of motorsports for me. Racing is not just about individual performance—it's being part of a larger community. Every driver—rather, every person on the paddock shares a common passion, and that creates a unique bond. I believe that mutual respect and support make the racing experience richer and more fulfilling. When rivals come over to offer their congratulations, it shows that we're all part of a shared journey. And that helps put things in perspective.” I paused, my gaze returning to the journalist's attentive expression. “I grew up with a lot of good examples of great sportsmen, from different ages and backgrounds. They inspire me to be the athlete I am. And I learn from them. I know and I’ve seen that being in sync with my team and everyone around me is paramount. And about the team… we're like a well-oiled machine, working together to achieve a common goal. The team’s trust in me and my trust in them is the key to achieving an environment where we can perform at our best.”

“What happens now?” Anderson leaned back on his chair, crossing his right leg over the other. “What are the plans for the future? Do you think this race opened a couple more doors your way?”

It’s PR, I remembered myself.

“Right now, I'm still taking in the incredible experience of this race and savouring the team's success,” I began, my voice carrying a blend of satisfaction and excitement. “Looking ahead, the future holds exciting possibilities, that’s for sure. But we still have a few races this year, so we'll continue to analyze our performance, identify areas for improvement, and build on the momentum we've gained. And as for my personal journey… I believe this race has indeed opened a couple more doors for me. It's a validation of the hard work and dedication I've poured into my career. It’s not been easy, and the road has been long and hard, so it’s positive to see how it’s unfolding. I'm truly ready to embrace whatever challenges and opportunities come my way. Whether it's stepping up to compete more regularly, collaborating with other teams, or pursuing new ventures—I can say I'm determined to make the most of the doors that may or may not open and strive for even greater achievements in the future. Whatever they are.”

“I remember seeing you in FRECA, and it was a shame you didn't have a chance to end your amazing 2019 campaign.” My teeth sunk into my bottom lip. I was not expecting to go so deep into the past. “Did the unexpected end to the season, with you not taking part in the last races of the season, have anything to do with the break you took in 2020 and the new route you took last year?”

“Yes, well—” I moved in my chair. “The end of the 2019 season didn't go as planned, and it did play a role in the decisions I made afterwards. However, the break I took in 2020 was primarily a result of some personal issues and the need to focus on my overall well-being. With the pandemic, that forced me to slow down, I realized that I needed to take a step back, regroup, and come back stronger.”

As I spoke, the memories of that challenging period flickered in my mind—the uncertainties, the doubts, and the eventual realization that prioritizing my mental and emotional health was essential. 2019 was supposed to be my big year, the breakout. Yet, it was an utter nightmare. Losing a seat over team politics and small-minded men, especially when I was a championship contender, felt worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Can you elaborate a bit more on those personal issues?” Anderson tilted his head.

“I understand the curiosity, but I'd prefer to keep the specifics to myself.” Once again, the reported nodded.

"It's known you took a different route and you've not been driving full-time since then. Do you see racing as a hobby? It’s a very expensive one to have.” He chuckled. I moved in my seat.

Well, you would never say that to a man, I thought to myself.

“It’s certainly far more than a hobby for me. While it's true that my journey has taken a unique path in recent years, it's important to note that every step I've taken has been with a specific purpose.” I paused, not sure if I was truly conveying the message I aimed for.

2020 had been tough. Mom and Dad quarantining in Verona, with my grandparents. Rio focused on his heavily pregnant wife and, later, their newborn twins. Carlos was… doing his thing. And I was at home, being consumed by a monster that fed on my own sadness and self-doubt. I didn’t want to project that image. The world couldn’t know that person.

“As you know, the commitment, dedication, and effort required in motorsports are immense and it's not a pursuit I take lightly.” I continued. “As with any other driver, there are challenges outside racing. Some can handle them better than others. I felt the need to stop for a while and take it easy on myself. That doesn’t make me less of a driver.”

“Is this hybrid mode, if I can call it that, helping with those issues?”

“It helped, until now. A lot of other drivers have a business on the side, that’s just a small percentage of what I do. Did.” I corrected myself. “I intend to be 100% focused on racing next year.”

“What made you take that decision?”

“The timing feels right, both personally and professionally.”

“You’re on a high, that’s for sure,” Anderson said, his hand meddling with his pen. “Considering those challenges you've mentioned, how do you feel your experiences outside the track have influenced your approach to racing now?”

"A lot has been happening these last two years. To be honest, I’m still in the process of looking back, reflecting on my journey and reevaluating my goals. Especially these last weeks… I’ve reencountered some people from the past and it helped me to look behind… It helped me gain a deeper understanding of myself, my strengths, and the areas I wanted to work on. As a result, I'm feeling more like myself. Every good or bad thing that happens is a part of us. And it’s not a setback, it’s just a… detour. A part of the comeback, too.” Anderson smiled at my worlds, I smiled too. “This weekend showed me exactly that—that I’m still the girl I was a few years ago. All the setbacks I’ve found… All my experiences, really, have taught me the importance of balance, resilience, and essentially mental well-being, which I believe are essential not only for success on the track but also for overall fulfilment.”

“And as for the future? Could you tell us a bit more about the specific goals you're aiming to achieve with DAR Racing and in your motorsport career moving forward?”

“And as to the future…” I paused. “My focus is on continuous improvement and pushing my limits. And working on myself. I'm fortunate to be part of a team that believes in my potential and supports my growth. Right now, my goal is to contribute to the team's success, while also aiming to achieve personal milestones, of course. It’s all very in the open, to be honest. As I said, I'm dedicated to making the most of every opportunity and showcasing my abilities. Ultimately? I aspire to compete at the highest level, as any other athlete."

"Highest level?” His eyebrow pointed up. “What do you exactly mean?”

"Competing against the best. Motorsport offers various tiers of competition, and my ultimate goal is to eventually reach the pinnacle of motorsport, whether it's in Formula 1, endurance racing, or any other top-tier championship.” Anderson seemed surprised. I cracked a laugh and he followed. “Doesn’t hurt to dream, does it? I’m aware this journey requires consistent dedication, hard work, and especially the right opportunities. I’m just leaving it in the open." I shrugged.

"So, the single-seaters aren’t out of the question?"

"Absolutely not! Formula 1 remains a dream—more than that, a goal. While my current focus is on endurance racing, I wouldn't rule out the possibility of pursuing a career in single-seaters if the right opportunity arises.”

“That’s bold.”

“Can’t settle for less.”

Anderson laughed and extended his hand in my direction. “That’s the spirit.”

Amanda rented a small Airbnb in Berlin, paid for the company, of course, and located less than 5 minutes away from her client’s new store. The floor of the entrance hall was all boxes and shopping bags, greeting me as I arrived. On the corner, there was a small space for my shoes, the only free space, actually, which meant that I had to grab my suitcase and hover it over the boxes, to make my way to my room.

She had texted me just as I landed, telling me she would be at the store all morning and that I could use some time to sleep and rest and join her at the store in the afternoon. And despite being massively jet-lagged, I couldn’t phantom the idea of going to bed at noon. My body was completely disoriented after a twenty-hour flight that had departed from Japan on Monday night and landed in Berlin on Tuesday morning.

The concept of time didn’t make sense at all.

During the flight, I immersed myself in a sea of and stories about myself. The spotlight was glaring down on me, the expectations and anticipation weighing down my shoulders. “WHAT COMES NEXT?” plastered across every other tweet or headline. And, of course, I asked myself the same question.

Little did I realize that my little pastime was nurturing the little monster hidden in a corner of my mind, that I so desperately tried to ignore by eating cookies and Doritos and drinking whatever beverage they had available on the flight.

I’d said more than I should in the interview with Anderson, I realized.

In every other tweet, my name was linked to Carlos, to his dad and to a potential seat in F3 that I knew nothing about. On every social media post, a lot more comments than usual, especially after Marjorie’s Mallorca dump, where I was pictured with Carlos behind me, on the boat, his hand over my shoulder—what quickly became “proof” to our connection.

Too much happening in such little time.

And time didn’t make sense.

And my body ached.

And Even Amanda, whom I thought would be focused at work, was swept up in the buzz of the moment. There was a bottle of Ferrari champagne on the dinning table. “We will open it at dinner”, a small note said.

I couldn’t make tea because I couldn’t find the teapot, and heating up water in the microwave was just too low. I was tired. I needed coffee or tea, or just anything with a strong flavour and enough caffeine, and then I remembered there was a small coffee shop downstairs.

But I was just so tired, and so in need of a break, that my feet took me to the empty room at the end of the hallway and I collapsed in bed. Not to sleep. But just to take a break. To exist and listen to the silence, and to life happening outside, in some random street of Berlin.

The grip of jet lag tightened as Berlin’s heat added to my discomfort.

I rolled in bed.

And then I remembered that for the first time in more than a week, Carlos and I were in the same time zone. And life seemed a bit better. I stretched my hand to the phone. There was a message from him hanging in my inbox. “Call me when you land.”

“Oh, you were quick to pick up,” I said, my voice laced with traces of tiredness.

He chuckled on the other side of the line. “Yeah, it seems I can’t go too long without hearing from you. Is the flat nice?”

“It's cozy. Going to be an interesting experience sharing the place with Amanda for a few days. I had to perform some serious parkour moves just to get through the entrance because the hallway is packed with boxes. She’s not exactly the tidiest person.”

Carlos laughed softly. “As if you could talk.”

I playfully sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Virgo, if I don’t live up to your standards.”

He chuckled again, the sound soothing and familiar. "Well, just make sure you don't trip over any of those boxes. I need you whole when you get back."

"I'll do my best," I replied, a grin sneaking onto my face despite the fatigue that still clung to me. "How's your day been so far?"

We fell into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. His words were like a balm, easing away the remnants of jet lag and anxiety and replacing them with a sense of connection that stretched across the miles. He was still in Italy, getting ready to fly for Zandvoort. It would be a packed week, apparently. Starting on Wednesday, all the way to Sunday. And then repeat all of that for Monza, the next week. At a certain point, he started complaining about Rio and his insistence on taking Team 55 to dinner to celebrate Carlos’ birthday, and then spending midnight together, have a drink and toast to another year.

I would be at said dinner, but that surprise was something Carlos didn't need to know just yet.

Between stories of Amsterdam and Zandvoort and how Spa had gone for him, we finally reached the topic. Japan. The podium.

“About that,” Carlos's voice echoed warmly through the phone's speaker. I settled deeper into the comfy pillows, his words soothing away the fatigue that had clung to me since landing. "You won't believe it, but he couldn’t shut up about you. I've never seen Rio so damn proud as he was on Sunday," he confessed.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. "That's a first," I replied, my voice laced with amusement. "I think he'd sooner admit to believing in unicorns than admit to praising me.”

Carlos chuckled softly, and I could almost picture the affectionate smile on his face. “I barely saw him at the garage. He was around… networking, as he put it. Even took some notes from Caco.”

“He better take lessons from the master. Guess I'll have to rely on him since I don't have Dad to do it for me anymore.” Carlos cleared his throat, and it sounded like a gentle reprimand. “What was that for?”

“You would do it even if you were alone.”

“I don’t have the people skills for that.”

“You do,” he quickly interjected. His words hung in the air, and I scrunched my nose, the silence between us perhaps conveying more than words ever could. “Are you having doubts?”

I pondered for a moment, my body shifting in bed as if searching for a more comfortable posture to handle the subject. “Hm. It’s too late for that,” I began. “I mean, it's all done now, you know? I've adjudicated all my clients to other colleagues. My agenda is clean. I've sent my resignation letter. I’m just tying up some loose ends now.”

“That’s good,” Carlos said, and then a heavy silence enveloped us once more. It felt like a looming shadow, draping itself over me, heavy and dark. “Isn’t it?”

“It is. It just…” I hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Yes?”

“I’m… apprehensive.”

“Okay…” I heard him take a deep breath, and I closed my eyes, yearning for his comforting presence. “Why? What’s going on inside?”

A warmth spread through me, knowing that he cared enough to ask these questions. “Do we really need to have this talk?”

“Yes.” His response was firm, yet there was an undeniable gentleness in his voice. I felt a rush of emotions, a mixture of vulnerability and relief. God. How much I needed him right there at that moment. “I don’t want you to carry the weight of this change alone.”

Something shifted inside me, a sense of support that I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. I let out a sigh, feeling a strange weight lifting off my shoulders. The liberty to be human, and act like myself. To have fears, and doubts and to have the liberty to be vulnerable and share them.

“It’s been a lot, you know?” My voice cracked as my throat seemed to become small. I paused for a second, just to hear him hum on the other side, encouraging me to continue. “I can’t visualize it. I can’t see myself there, because I don’t feel like there is. I feel lost. And tired. People expect me to know what I want. To know the way. To be fierce and decisive, but I'm not that person. At least not now. I'm seeing her again, but I'm still... lost. I have this… thing. An anxiety that lives here, that I can’t put on hold.”

“Eva—”

“No, let me finish. I have more than enough reasons to know I’m kind of good, to know I’m good. But there’s something screaming that I’m not great. That I’m not enough. That I should have never stopped, that I should have started racing sooner… I mean, take my interview with Andeson.” I paused. “I said too much, people are talking and going deeper into my life, and stalking my socials and making theories about everything. I have people liking photos from 2015, for heaven's sake. And I’m refusing to go on Twitter because I don’t want to read what they’re saying.”

Carlos chuckled, his voice soothing. “That's how it goes, love. It shouldn't be that way, but it's unfortunately part of the package. Remember that’s not what matters.”

“What happens on the track is what matters,” I asserted.

“Exactly,” Carlos took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you like being in your bubble, Eva. I do too. But unfortunately, I'll have to share you with the world if we want a chance to keep your name in their mouths. And we need that chance because you deserve a great seat for next year."

I sighed, understanding the weight of his words. "Share me, huh?"

He let out a playful sigh. "Let me be a bit selfish here. I just got you back, and now I'll have to share you with the world? Unfair."

"Is it really that hard to bear?"

Carlos replied in a teasing tone, "You have no idea. Sharing you with the world? Torture."

I chuckled, his playful tone bringing a sense of lightness to our conversation. "Well, I'll try to make it as painless as possible for you. Besides, you'll always have a special VIP pass to my bubble."

He chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "I'll hold you to that. Now…” he hesitated. "I have to leave in… 20-ish minutes. Nap time for you?"

I sighed dramatically. "Yeah, I guess I can squeeze in a bit of sleep."

"Good,” He paused. “You need rest"

"And you're not mad about me missing the GP?"

There was a short pause before he answered, his voice sincere. "I won't lie and say I'm thrilled, but I understand. Work's work, love. And I’ll have you in Monza. We'll have our celebration whenever is possible."

I smiled, warmth flooding through me. "Thank you for understanding, even when I'm disappointing your birthday plans."

He chuckled. "It’s okay, bebé. I'll survive the birthday blues. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. And get enough rest."

"I promise," I said softly, gratitude filling my voice.

“I’ll call you tonight.”

“Counting on it.”

I nestled back into the pillows, my mind finally quieting down as I let sleep claim me once more. Our conversation replayed in my thoughts, a reminder that no matter the miles between us or the challenges we faced, our bond remained.

“Carlos’ birthday is tomorrow,” I said. On the other side of the line, Marjorie's affirming hum tickled my ear. “What do you give a man that has everything?”

Marjorie's voice crackled through, a touch raspy and warm. “Really good head.”

I haltered, trying to muffle a chuckle and glanced discreetly at the man on the opposite side of the counter. I couldn't help but wonder if he overheard her audacious suggestion; it was practically impossible, but his stern expression made me second-guess.

“Let’s keep it a little more PG, shall we?” I whispered, my words barely escaping my lips. “I was thinking more along the lines of a watch. You know, like a normal person.”

She giggled, unapologetic. “Yeah, your denial game is strong.”

“You wouldn’t buy it even if I tried.” I think I sounded more annoyed than I expected, and Marjorie’s quick reply and tone did indeed confirm it.

“True. So, why deny it anyway?”

I shifted my gaze to the abstract painting on the wall, and then to the display filled with bracelets and watches. The light refracted on the screens, glistening and tempting me to pick one of them up. I approached one of the displays. One of the Rolex watches seemed to smile at me.

“It’s complicated,” I murmured.

“That’s your favourite word.” She paused, the silence a bit dull, but I wasn’t sure of what to say. “But you don’t need to say a thing, you know? It’s pretty darn obvious what’s going on between you two. Seriously, even standing five meters away, it’s nauseating.”

“Marge, don’t—”

“Eva, I get it. You want to take things slow, bla bla bla, I know your speech, already. It’s the same for every boy. Nut come on! It’s Carlos! I know you always liked him. And even if he was a stranger… I mean he’s still Carlos Sainz.” She sighed.

“You won’t shut up, will you?”

“Never.” She paused for a second, and when I thought I could speak, she started again. "We all were in Mallorca, and I've seen enough walks of shame to spot one. And it was almost suffocating near you during Blanca’s dinner. The tension was absurd.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. At least stop being weird about it.”

“I’m not weird about anything. I called you just want your help to choose a gift for his birthday and you didn’t even let me talk yet. Are you and Rio giving him something?”

“Yes. Your brother is giving him something, not sure what, honestly.”

“You’re really trusting him with that?”

“It’s his best friend. If he fucks up, it's his responsibility.” She quipped and then cracked a laugh. I chuckled silently, my eyes drifting through the small collection.

“Going back to my gift…” I brought the conversation back on track.

“Yes…”

“I left the store to go pick up some food for lunch and I found a cute little shop on the way,” I started. It was much more than "cute"—it was truly a hidden gem in the heart of Berlin. “I was thinking of something vintage, you know? A watch… with a leather bracelet, maybe. And I don’t have much time to waste because I’m leaving today to Zandvoort and I can’t get there with anything.”

“He has a collection of watches, Eva.”

“He has literally a collection of everything,” I sighed. “Hence the challenge. I want to stand out.”

“Well, I told you one way to stand out.”

"I'm trying to be a little more sophisticated here," I retorted.

"Oh, do you need suggestions for a no-smudge red lipstick?" Marjorie countered, her suggestion dripping with mischievous wit. “I can help with that.”

“Fuck off.”

“Babe, you showing up there will be nicer than any watch.”

I hummed, my feet tracing the store floors, walking the steps I’d already walked twice or thrice that evening. before calling Marjorie, I’d spent ten minutes in there, staring at the watches, and despite loving the atmosphere and the feeling of all my senses being captivated by the allure of history, I was in need of going back outside and getting some food.

Every piece was a good pick.

Each one with a story of its own, sparkling under the soft glow of the display lights, their gears whispering secrets of forgotten eras, waiting to be unveiled by its new owner.

I picked up a beautiful antique Rolex with a leather strap, the rich aroma of aged leather mingling with the fragrance of nostalgia that permeated the air. It exuded an air of sophistication, and I could already picture him wearing it under the brim of his race suit.

“I’m sending you a pic on WhatsApp.”

And after I did, Marjorie's voice came through the phone, breaking my reverie. "That one is lovely.”

“But it’s so… normal.” I sighed, feeling torn between the classic elegance of the leather bracelet and the desire to find something truly unique for Carlos.

"It’s a Rolex.” She deadpanned. “I swear to God, it’s been years since I married into this family and I still can’t relate to you all. But yeah, somehow I get what you mean. But it's Carlos. He doesn't care about extravagant."

“But I do.”

“Miss,” the shop owner's voice interrupted our conversation, and I turned to face him with a polite smile. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, but we’re about to close.”

I nodded apologetically at the shop owner, realizing that I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Marjorie that I hadn't noticed the time. "Of course, I'm sorry. I got carried away… Marge,” I talked into the phone. “I’ll call you later, ok?"

"No need to apologize," he said kindly, gesturing towards the watch in my hand. "You seem to have a good eye for these kind of pieces. Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

"Well," I hesitated, glancing back at the watch and the man before it put it down in its place. "I'm trying to find a birthday gift.?"

The old man smiled understandingly, his eyes glistening under his round glasses. "Well,” he looked at his watch. “I can spare a few more minutes to help you, miss. Is it for a friend? A family member?"

"A friend. He travels a lot, he’s a racing driver… So I was thinking of something like a watch or a bracelet, something practical that he can carry around or just… something to have at home…? I mean…” I paused, my eyes wandering through the counter, my iris meeting the shiny screens of the watch under the store lights. “He has tons of watches, and now that I’m thinking about it, he’s not a guy to wear bracelets. It’s… a challenge.”

The old man's face lit up, a raspy smoker's chuckle leaving his wrinkly lips. "Ja, I know how difficult it can be. What does that friend value? What does he like?" The man leaned against the counter, his wrinkly hand holding onto the sturdy wood, while the other one traveled to the pocket of his cardigan.

"Meaning, I think," I replied, my fingers tracing the edge of the polished wooden counter. "He has basically everything already, so it's difficult to find something. Not that he's hard to please. Not at all. I'm just very picky, even when it comes to gifts for other people."

"Meaning," the old man mused, his eyes scanning the shop's interior. "You mentioned he's a driver, right?" I nodded in confirmation. "How about something that combines his love for racing with a touch of nostalgia?"

I furrowed my brows, intrigued by his suggestion. "What do you suggest?"

The old man's eyes gleamed with excitement as he led me toward a large leather album, slightly bigger than A3 paper, resting on a wooden display stand. "I was a big motorsport fan back in the day," he began, his voice carrying the weight of cherished memories. "I even traveled to America to watch some good old NASCAR races. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to meet many drivers and collected a few things people find valuable now."

With his permission, I opened the album to reveal a treasure trove of race posters, each one meticulously preserved and adorned with signatures from drivers and team owners. The pages were filled with a rich tapestry of racing history from various series.

"Oh, are these race posters?" I asked in awe.

The old man nodded proudly. "They are all signed, by drivers and team owners, from a variety of racing series. Perhaps a poster from Le Mans from his birth year? Or... what does he drive? What does he enjoy?"

"Formula 1," I replied. And then I looked up to him. "Maybe a poster from the Spanish Grand Prix of '94, if it's available?"

The old man's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Ah, the Spanish Grand Prix of '94. That was a memorable one. I think it’s in there somewhere."

As I stepped out of the shop, the poster and a frame we picked after were inside a carton box, with a lot of tape around it. It would survive the flight, I hoped. I couldn't help but notice how picturesque Berlin looked that afternoon. The sun cast a warm golden hue on the architecture, turning even the most ordinary scenes into works of art. I adjusted my sunglasses, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling city. Cobblestone streets wound through neighbourhoods that seemed to have their own stories to tell.

With each step, I felt a little more grounded, the rhythm of my strides syncing with the beat of the city. People passed by, their conversations forming a melodic backdrop. Laughter spilt out from sidewalk cafes, and the aroma of various cuisines filled the air.

Eva: “weird to think that i once thought germans were the prettiest europeans”

Marjorie: “a loooot of layers to debunk there”

Eva: “they were mostly football players and sebastian vettel. not that many layers.”

Marjorie: “vettel? wow, that’s soooo surprising” Marjorie: ”no one would EVER guess your taste in men”

Eva: “yeah? what’s my taste in men then?”

Marjorie: “former red bull athletes that raced/race for ferrari?” Marjorie: ”duh”

Eva: “you’re so annoying”

Marjorie: “did you get the gift?”

Eva: “yes”

Marjorie: “what did you get?”

Eva: “ill show you later”

Marjorie: “ok, now you can stop overthinking and focus on the handsome spaniard waiting for you and the amazing birthday sex he's in for”

Eva: "omg” Eva: "can’t believe you’re a MOM”

Helping Amanda at the store helped me more than I wanted to admit. I liked being busy. I needed to be busy. Spreadsheets and checklists were the perfect escape from the stress accumulating in my mind. I needed that, the sense of being in control. And if I felt like I was not totally controlling my career, still being discussed online, at least I could be in control of numbers and store openings.

"Last project as a team?" Amanda's voice reached me, her back turned as she meticulously arranged fake flowers in a jar. "I finally saw your interview last night. Full dedication to racing, starting next year."

I leaned against an unopened box, half my size, my fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the cardboard's surface. "Yeah, I've mentioned this to you before.” I took a break, using the seconds to take a breath. “I mean, I gave you like 70% of my clients."

She finally turned around, a plastic sunflower hanging from her fingers. "Yeah. I know. But I gotta admit, I half-expected you to stick around. Keep a client or two... Just in case."

A bead of sweat trickled down my back, my palms slightly sweaty as I wiped them against the cool fabric of my shorts.

"To be honest," I began, my gaze meeting hers. "No, I'm not entirely sure. But I don't think I ever will be. It just feels like something I need to do, you know? Stop doubting and take the leap."

She continued to observe me, her expression thoughtful. "And if it goes wrong?"

"Then I start over, just like I did a few years ago.” I settled onto an ottoman chair, taking a deep breath and picking my bottle of water from the side table. “Difference is: I have my own resources now. I have money. My money. I can travel, I can afford to try. I won't be relying on anyone else, this time."

"At all?" Her question carried a weight that made me frown. "I've seen the news. I've seen Twitter."

I rolled my eyes. "Ah, Twitter."

Her gaze remained steady on mine, unwavering. "So, are you two together or not?"

I sighed, a mixture of frustration and exasperation bubbling up. "Amanda, for once, I want to be my own person. To pursue my own dreams on my own terms." Stepping forward, I brushed my hands on my shorts, attempting to get rid of the sweat. "He's my friend, a really good one. But we’re talking work, not personal life."

She persisted, her tone unwavering. "Let's delve into the personal, then."

Turning away, I picked up a couple of the already empty cardboard boxes. "Honestly, I'd prefer if we didn't," I mumbled, carrying them towards the trash.

After ensuring Amanda wouldn't spontaneously combust from store-opening nerves, and after hearing her apologies for the intrusion, I bid farewell to Berlin. Every checklist and spreadsheet was printed and laminated, ready to be used for the inauguration. The gift boxes for the guests were carefully arranged on the counter and all the frames and backdrops for photos were set.

The airport buzzed with its customary end-of-August throng, yet, the line at security wasn’t so long.

As I dumped my belongings into the tray, the soft clinking of metal snagged my focus. My gaze drifted down, catching the glint of a tiny golden steering wheel illuminated by the airport's harsh lights.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips, swallowed by the surrounding crowd.

I’d been carrying it around since I’d left the track, half-drunk and drenched in champagne. I recalled being wearied by the day's events, too tipsy to recall the basics of Japanese and to walk in a straight line. I also remembered stumbling upon a souvenir stand near the track, my eyes fixating on those sparkling keychains. They had looked so delicate and golden, so artfully crafted that one might mistake them for actual gold if not for the 3000 yen price tag dangling from them—just shy of 20€.

Purchasing it had stirred up memories of our old tradition, those times when we'd strive to find the quirkiest gifts for each other. Snowglobes, magnets, postcards—each trinket carrying memories of the places we'd visited without each other.

"have fun at your dinner, soon to be birthday boy," I sent him a text as I settled into one of the seats by my gate.

Upon landing, a mirror selfie greeted me. There he was—a playful rogue, fresh out of the shower and sporting nothing but a strategically draped towel around his waist. A pout adorned his lips.

And as the caption: “i’ll try, but i’m feeling pretty lonely out here”

A one-shoulder black top draped over my frame, the asymmetrical neckline cutting the line of my chest. The wide linen pants I wore flowed gracefully with each of my steps, their relaxed fit exuding a laid-back vibe. My pants were cinched at the waist with a black leather belt, adding a subtle touch of edginess to the outfit. I reapplied my make-up in the Uber, after dropping my suitcases and the frame at the hotel lobby. Rio had arranged everything—a schedule so meticulously programmed that I couldn’t believe it was programmed by him.

I soon found myself standing outside the restaurant, my phone in hand as I dialled his number. Amsterdam was bursting with fans and tourists, nothing out of the ordinary for a night at the end of August, nearing the Grand Prix. Lost while observing the small crowds tracing the streets, I only noticed my brother’s familiar grin when he was close enough to trap me in a hug.

"Eva!" he held all the pride of the world in that hug.

"Hi," I laughed lightly. "Hey! I kinda need to breathe, you know?"

He released me with a sheepish grin, eyes sparkling with affection. He kissed my cheek before taking a step back. "Sorry, I’ve been saving this hug for a while now. And wow… The lipstick. Suits you.”

I put my hand on his chest, over the buttons of his dark green polo. “You're not looking too shabby yourself.”

His laughter echoed, genuine and carefree, as he linked his arm with mine. “Well, I do try to keep up appearances once or twice a year.”

“For birthdays and Christmas?”

“Yeah. Something like it.”

We strolled into the restaurant together. The anticipation of the evening hung in the air, tugging in my belly. God, what’s this feeling?

“What did you tell them?”

“Oh, you know—” Rio scratched the back of his neck. “Something about needing to take a call?”

I burst into laughter. "You literally managed to secretly arrange a flight and extra hotel room but couldn't come up with a more believable excuse for this?"

Rio joined in my laughter. "Hey, it worked! No one asked too many questions."

"Fair enough. Where’s the table?”

“At the back,” he pointed at an arch in the brick wall of the restaurant. “Have you spoken to Dad?”

“Not tonight, Rio,” I replied, pausing for a moment and turning slightly to face him. “Can we talk about all that tomorrow? It’s been a lot. I just want to eat something decent, rather, drink something decent and have a good time.”

He kissed my cheek. “Sure. I’m proud of you. Just remember that.”

Carlos was seated facing the archway, and my gaze was drawn to him the instant Rio and I stepped through it. It took Carlos a brief moment longer to register our presence. He was engrossed in conversation, his brows knit together as he spoke animatedly, his hands dancing with fervour as he talked. The room seemed to grow silent as my eyes focused on him. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, his gaze met mine.

And the world went completely silent.

His lips curved into a smile that transformed his features, smoothing away any tension. He seemed to be filled with light and I felt so weightless, I felt I could have floated through the air like a feather—it wasn't the sensation of falling for him; or falling for each other, but rather the exhilarating feeling of ascending together, drawn irresistibly toward each other's orbit.

And I felt at ease.

Rio playfully tugged at my arm, drawing me further into the restaurant. "He's so ridiculously in love," he teased with a knowing grin, watching his best friend, already getting up from his chair.

A wistful smile touched my lips, my heart echoing with silent questions. The words hung unspoken in the air, a gentle whisper carried by the currents of emotion that flowed between us.

It was warm and cold at the same time. Too much happening and nothing at all.

“Fuck off,” I whispered. My brother just laughed.

My steps quickened with each heartbeat, a subtle urgency pushing me forward, almost outpacing my brother’s pace. I had to consciously force myself to walk slowly and not betray my haste to reach the table. All the way, my eyes didn’t leave Carlos, already on his feet, his hand resting casually on the back of his char. Effortless attire—whitewashed jeans and a simple T-shirt. His hair was a charming mess, tempting me to run my fingers through the tousled strands.

Around the table, faces were beginning to light up with recognition and surprise, the gathering of friends and acquaintances slowly rising to greet us. I waved at them, “Hi! Good night,” and a soft giggle bubbled from my lips as I caught the shared amusement on Carlos' friends' faces.

“Hey,” Carlos said.

As he leaned in to press a warm kiss to my cheek, the familiarity of his touch ignited a sense of comfort. He smelled nice. His hands found their way around me, wrapping me in a hug that felt both familiar and intoxicatingly new. I reciprocated the embrace, savouring the closeness while maintaining an air of casualness as if this were an ordinary occurrence.

“You’re here.” He whispered, the small sound cutting through the noise echoing in the room.

“I am,” I murmured softly, my voice carrying a warmth that was reserved for him alone. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Carlos chuckled, his breath tickling my ear as he pulled away. "What are you doing here? You must be exhausted."

"Just a little jet-lagged," I admitted with a sheepish smile, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten in his presence. “Nothing a good night of sleep and some Red Bull tomorrow won’t solve.”

"Red Bull, huh? Giving the opponents some business, are we?" Caco playfully remarked, dragging his chair to the side, to create space to add another seat to the table.

I chuckled, playing along. "Well, a little cross-team support never hurt anyone, right?"

"Alright, everyone," Rio's voice cut through our moment; by his side, two waitresses, one of them carrying a chair and the other one a set of plates and a glass. "We need another seat here, please." He motioned to the place between his and Carlos’ seats. “And bring back the menu, please, so she can pick something to eat.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, short moments after, taking my seat. “And I’ll just have some carbonara. No need for the menu.”

“Welcome back, Eva,” Caco said, before picking up the bottle of wine and filling my glass. “We missed you around here.”

The night was alive with energy, laughter, and the warmth of connection.

It felt nice to be back in the midst of a Team 55 dinner, just like it used to happen years ago when Carlos still wore yellow or orange and we were too blind to actually read through the lines. The familiarity of faces, the shared jokes and the easy camaraderie were a comforting reminder of the bonds that had formed over time, and that he was in good hands those last years.

It had been three years since the last Grand Prix I attended by Carlos' side. He was a man, now. A Grand Prix race winner. A Ferrari driver. He wore red, burning red. The Italian anthem had played for him. Not many had that honour.

The low hum of conversation blended seamlessly with the clinking of glasses and the occasional bursts of laughter. I let myself observe the group, the connection between them all, the aura around the table. It was like stepping into the past and finding home, once again.

As the clock neared midnight, Rio leaned in with a sly smile. "I think it's time for some champagne, don't you think?"

“Oh, no, I—We have work tomorrow,” Carlos’ voice was interrupted by a chorus of boos that echoed around the table. From the archway, a waitress appeared with a tray of mini burgers adorned with candles in her hands. “Oh, you didn’t!”

His laughter blended perfectly with the melody of “Happy Birthday” being echoed from everyone in the room, not only from our table but from the other ones, too. I focused my eyes on him, only to find out he was already looking at me, grin wide and eyes glistening.

“Mate, you’re getting old!” Rupert exclaimed before hugging him. “Speech!!" He called out, his strong British accent ringing through the cheers and applause, raising his glass and prompting others to follow suit.

“No, no!” Carlos shook his head, a playful protest on his lips, as the chant grew in volume. "Oh, come on, guys."

“Stop being a chicken, mate. Come on,” my brother whispered.

With a good-natured sigh, Carlos finally stood up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He surveyed the faces around the table, and then around the room, his gaze lingering on each person before settling on me, his eyes warm and sincere.

"Alright, alright," he began, moving his hands in an attempt to hush the commotion around him. "Well, uh… Another one, right? 28!” The room grew quiet, the attention of every person fixed on Carlos as he spoke from the heart. One of the waiters passed him a flute filled with champagne. He took it in his hands and nodded, before whispering a thank you. "Birthdays have always been a time of reflection for me. A time to look back on the journey, the ups and downs and whatnot, and, of course, the people who have been by my side through it all. These guys right here.” He pointed to the table with the flute. “And I can honestly say that I am so incredibly lucky to have each and every one of you with me." He raised his glass and everyone mirrored his gesture, a sense of camaraderie filling the air. "To the team, to friendship, and to the memories we've created and the ones we're yet to make."

As the glasses clinked together in a toast, the atmosphere was charged with emotion and shared celebration. Carlos took a moment to catch my gaze, a twinkle in his eyes as he added, "And to Eva, who has been a constant source of support and inspiration. Here's to you, to your podium at WEC, and to many more victories."

I felt my cheeks burning and I tried to conceal my smile by having a sip of the champagne.

“To Eva!” My brother exclaimed, his glass raised in the air, prompting the others to follow.

“To Eva!” The room chanted, as Carlos approached me and planted a kiss on my cheek.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered.

“I hate you,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

The combination of jetlag, wine, champagne and the events of the night had left me feeling simultaneously exhilarated and tired. As we walked back, the city lights casting a soft glow around us, I leaned into Carlos, my head resting against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around me.

“Tired?” he inquired, his voice a gentle caress against the night breeze.

I nodded against his shoulder, my gaze trailing to the figures of our friends walking ahead of us. “And a bit tipsy, I think. The day just went by so quickly.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against my arm in a soothing gesture. With a warmth that seeped into my skin, he said, “We’re almost there. 10 minutes and you'll be in bed.”

“No rush, really. I still need to give you your gift and get ready for bed. Lot more than 10 minutes.”

“Okay, then…” He pondered. I looked up, noticing the way his brow furrowed playfully. A small chuckle left my lips. “Let’s say… 40, then.”

“Ugh,” I unfed, wrapping my arm around his waist, under his leather jacket. “That’s a lot of time for someone who slept like… 5 hours today.”

“You needed to rest,” his voice had that tone of concern I was not yet quite used to hearing. “Rest. Not add another fight to the list.”

“And I will rest this weekend. Just hope your driver’s room has a good couch.”

His laughter resonated in the air, the sound a welcome companion in the quiet of the night. “The best in the Ferrari hospitality.”

“I’m in good hands, then.”

We walked in silence for a little while, casually observing the surroundings. Everyone was just too busy living their lives to notice or to care he was there. It was a 5-minute walk from the restaurant to the hotel, our friends had already disappeared from view when we entered through a side door, free from the small crowd that could potentially be waiting at the main entrance.

“How was Japan?” He asked when we were racing the elevators.

I smiled, my head turning from the closed doors to his face. “Wild.” The memories of the race weekend flooded my thoughts. A chuckle escaped me as I recalled some of them. “Insane, really… I mean... The Challenge was great, and everything. But this was serious, you know? Like… WEC is serious. People saw me there. Saw what I did, you know?” He nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “And this might sound super cocky, but… it was amazing.”

“Oh, you bet the world saw you. Your name rang in the paddock the whole day. And that interview you did with Anderson?”

“What about it?”

“I’m just jealous. I never looked that good on camera,” he teased, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. I laughed and followed the ping of the elevator, that now opened its doors to us. With his back turned to me, while he pressed one of the buttons, he questioned, “Am I one of those people?” Then, he turned back to me, a smug smile in his mouth. “The ones you mentioned. Do I inspire you?”

The corner of my lips lifted in a playful grin. “Do you really need to ask?" I watched as he shrugged, a nonchalant expression on his face. I rolled my eyes, “Well, you know… every time I see your face on TV, I think, ‘Wow, I have to learn something from that guy’.”

His laughter rang out, a sound that was as comforting as it was infectious. “That’s it? My handsome face is just a reminder to work harder?”

I matched his playful tone. “Well, either that or the fear of becoming the least interesting person on TV.” As he leaned against the wall, his body language inviting me closer, I complied without hesitation. I stepped into his space, still at a distance. ”I’ll let you pick whichever makes you feel better.”

He rolled his eyes before his gaze locked onto mine, a whole different haze around those orbs. The quiet hum of the elevator seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of us in our own world. His index finger hooked on the belt hoop of my pants, a subtle gesture that pulled me toward him. His voice, soft yet filled with longing, wrapped around me like a velvet ribbon.

“I miss you,” he confessed. “I was dying for a moment alone with you.”

“I’m all yours, now.”

His lopsided grin transformed into a mischievous smirk as he closed the distance between us. A pair of tender, delicate lips met mine, and I could feel the hint of his smile as I melted into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping my lips.

I lost myself in him, in the touch of his hands touching me everywhere, reclaiming my body and pressing me against him. The urgency grew. My fingers instinctively curled around the leather of his jacket, pulling him closer with a determined grip. His hands ventured to my lower back, drawing me nearer. We could have transcended into another dimension.

As the elevator doors finally opened on his floor, we reluctantly pulled away from each other, our lips lingering for a moment before breaking apart. The hunger in his gaze mirrored my own. With a silent understanding, we rushed through the hallway—stupid teenagers in a rom-com.

I felt the weight of the door click shut behind us as he pushed me against it, his lips already on my neck. Our perfumes mixed together, a scent already familiar, yet to which I had no resistance. I felt drunk on it. His hands left my waist to pull my top down and reveal my bare skin beneath. There was urgency in his touch, in his eyes, in the way he exhaled when he took a step back and took me in.

Under his eyes, goosebumps ran across my chest. Thingles shot up from my nipples.

Carlos ran his thumb over one of them, eyes studying the rose buds, his tongue peering between his lips. “No bra?” He teased, his eyes glinting.

“Though I might save us some time,” I whispered back.

“I like the way you think,” he replied with a low growl. The warmth of his breath touched my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably before his lips reached my breast.

To that, I would never get used. The velvet touch of his tongue, the particular way his lips seem to perfectly fit each crevice of my body. My hands came up to his hair, tangling myself in the silky locks as he suckled on my nipple, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak. I gasped, my head falling backwards.

Electricity shot through my body, pooling between my legs.

“I want to do something for you, today," I said.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, his eyes darkening with desire. "What?" The husky timbre of his voice sent a chill down my spine, as he undid the belt of my pants. From then, to the moment they fell on the floor, was a couple of seconds.

I descended from my heels and guided him to bed, where he sat at the edge. Then sat down, gently, on his lap, my legs spreading naturally. Slightly hesitating, he reached out, and glided his palm over my back and my ass, before tracing a path down the back of my thighs. With a more urgent touch, his fingertips burning in curiosity and anticipation, he continued until his hand reached the back of my knees and with a strong motion, pulled me nearer to him. Fuck. I quivered in his lap, a broken moan escaping my lips.

He smiled. "You like that?"

I nodded, biting my lip as I felt the heat in his eyes. Tentatively, I placed my hands on his shoulders and moved again, shamelessly grinding against his jeans. Again, a low, husky moan left my mouth and his fingers dug into my ass. He was completely dressed and I was soaking through my panties.

Cupping my face in his hands, he brought his mouth back to mine. Fierce and wet. Possessive and savage. I moaned against his mouth as his hands came up to my breasts, kneading them as I rode him harder. His touch was overwhelming, and I could feel myself getting close to the edge.

"No. Wait. I—” My hand rested on his chest. “You’re making me lose focus."

My chin was locked between his fingers, as he held my face close.

"Hm?" He groaned against my mouth. "On what, baby?"

"On you," I said, between breaths, my voice almost breaking. I forced myself to stop moving, even when I felt every inch of my body under a spell. My clit was throbbing, crying for attention. "Your shirt," I commanded, and in seconds, it was flying to the floor.

The cool floor stimulated my heated skin, as I knelt in front of him. My eyes couldn't leave his face—the strands falling over his forehead, his slightly flushed cheeks, his swollen lips. I reached out, my fingers deftly working on his belt buckle, my every movement deliberate and tantalizing. Dark orbs stared at me from behind sleep-tousled eyes, desire taking them whole. Unzipping him, I let the jeans fall to his feet before touching him over his white Calvin Kleins. I could feel my mouth watering at the imprint of his erection on the fabric.

Looking up again, there was a grin on his lips.

His thumb gently traced the contour of my bottom lip, urging it to part. Without hesitation, I complied, welcoming his finger into my mouth. My lips closed around it, gently sucking as my hands explored him through the fabric of his boxers. His response was immediate; he bit his lower lip, a guttural groan escaping as I slid the elastic waistband down, releasing him into the open.

Carlos pulled himself up in bed, pulling off his boxers on his way. His eyes wandered briefly to a spot just beyond me, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Panties off, baby," he commanded. With ease, he positioned himself at the centre of the bed, his legs parted invitingly.

Glancing swiftly behind me, my eyes landed on a mirror. Without hesitation, I followed his command, sliding my panties down, ensuring my reflection in the mirror granted him the view he deserved. Then, I gracefully crawled towards him, positioning myself between his legs with my knees slightly apart, my ass elevated in the air.

His cock rested against my lips. I moved in, sucking gently, as I looked up. He didn’t know where to look: his eyes flickered from the mirror down to my face to the mirror again. I moved my tongue up and down his shaft and then he finally looked away from the mirror and at me.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and throaty. I blinked up at him, confused by his words. "So beautiful," he repeated. "The way you're looking at me, the way you're sucking me off. It's fucking beautiful."

I blushed, feeling shy and exposed under his gaze. I loved the way he looked at me, with such certainty and admiration. I loved that he saw me as something beautiful. Something worth saving. I parted my lips and slid my mouth around his shaft then pulled back, taking him as slowly as I could. He tilted his head and cried out, the vibration of his voice sending a shock of heat into my core.

I smiled up at him as I shifted, angling him so he was hitting the back of my throat.

"You like this?" He asked, a grin spreading across his face. I nodded, my head moving faster. "You're going to make me come in your mouth, aren't you?" I nodded again, my eyes locked onto his. His voice was low and commanding, his grip tight in my hair. I moaned around him, pleasure radiating through me as I felt him pulsating in my mouth.

My tights moved in the air, my pussy pulsating, crying for attention.

"Baby," he called. I looked up. "Touch yourself. But don't stop. You're doing so well."

I couldn't focus on anything else but what he was telling me to do. I reached down, feeling my wetness seep through my fingers. A moan slipped past my lips as I started stroking myself, faster and faster. My clit was throbbing, begging for attention. I glanced at Carlos, watching him struggle to keep control. He looked so strained, his body tense, his torso glistening with tiny droplets of sweat. He looked so fucking good.

"You're going to make me come, baby." He groaned, thrusting deeper into my mouth. I increased the speed of my movements, my head bobbing up and down on his shaft. I could feel him getting closer, the pulse in his cock growing faster and faster.

He came quickly, his cum filling my mouth and down my throat. I swallowed, my stomach muscles contracting as I drank down every last drop. He released my hair and lay in bed, his breathing erratic. "Come here."

"He—Where?"

"Here," he said like it was obvious. "Sit on my face."

For a second, I hesitated. But then he looked at me, his eyebrow pointing up, his tongue wandering between his lips and God, how, better, why would I say no? I complied, sinking down on top of him. His hands came up to my ass, spreading me open as he took my aching pussy into his mouth. And that was another thing I could never get used to. I gasped, my hands coming down to grip his hair, now tousled and sweaty. His tongue was wet and velvety as it flicked over my clit. I ground against him, my breathing becoming ragged.

"Come for me, baby," he murmured. He was a starved man. I was his precious meal. And how good it felt to me worshipped like that. "Come on my fucking tongue."

My body shook as I came hard, my pussy clenching tightly around his tongue. He kept going, licking and sucking until I was crying out in sheer ecstasy, my hands gripping the headrest, my knuckles turning white as the sensations overwhelmed me.

I lay sprawled on the bed, my legs still jerking, tingling with aftershocks of delight, my naked form glistening with a light sheen of sweat, utterly spent and exhilarated.

Carlos approached me, his nose touching mine, making me smile. “You were so good,” he whispered just before he pressed a slow, tender kiss against my lips. My mouth parted in anticipation of his, like always. My eyes drifted closed as I kissed him back.

“Happy birthday,” I said with drunken delight.

A small humm from him was the only response I got until I felt his hands pulling me to him, holding me close to his chest. A kiss on the forehead followed that, then another, this time on the top of my head.

His hands were warm where they trailed down my back.

And then I drifted to sleep.

There was a strange weight over my belly.

A warm stream of air against my skin, rhythmically kissing my ribs. The room was dark and warm, and my head hurt. A few morning sun rays seeped through the binds, wrapping the room in a warm yet slow yellow tint. I tried to move my leg, but it was wrapped in another body. And a smile emerged on my lips.

Slowly, I stretched my hand, the touch of his hair sending shivers down my spine. Heat flushed through me when my sleepy gaze fell on him. His back rose up in perfect curves, taut muscles rolling along his spine with every breath, like waves coming ashore. My tan glowed under his brown hair, which fell in soft strands against my chest. The curve of his torso disappeared at his waist, revealing a small hollow where he had curled up against me as if he belonged there—as if that moment was what life was all about.

Hearts beating so slowly.

A silence so full of a promise of peace and security in the uncertainty.

The previous days had been so full, so messy, so… scary.

And I was never a fan of sleeping like this, especially in the summer, but if it meant to wake up to that view, my mind could change.

I blinked awake, feeling disoriented and confused. Memories from last night swirled around in my head, jumbled and hazy, until my mind slowly pieced together what happened. A long dinner, a lot of wine. Messy kisses on the elevator, even messier in bed. Slowly, the memories coalesced into a coherent whole, and I realized that I was in Carlos' hotel room, our bodies naked and intertwined. I could feel the sheets beneath me, the weight of his body against me, the scent of sex and him, in an intoxicating mixture, pulling me back to sleep.

Silence stretched around.

The sound of his breath evened out, deep asleep.

It was hot, and the logical part of my mind urged me to get up, take a shower and remind Carlos of his commitments, but against reason, I resisted the urge. Instead, I lay there, gently tracing the short waves of his hair and basking in the sight of him peacefully sleeping on my chest.

And perhaps that is what life is all about, after all.

Our intimacy reverberated in the depths of that silence that didn’t need to be fulfilled. Felt right. The weight of his body shifted, relieving mine from the warmth and when my eyes met his, he was looking up at me, a soft lazy curve on his lips.

“You’re awake,” he murmured at some point, his voice barely audible.

“I am.”

Carlos leaned in, and our lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Each brush of our lips, a moment of pure vulnerability and adoration. The brush of his fingers on my cheeks, our legs intertwined, our bodies finding comfort against each other. Wafting through the atmosphere, the deep understanding that there was no better place we could be.

“You have to go get ready.”

Carlos hummed against my jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare skin. "I set an alarm," he murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “Why you’re up so early? It’s like…” He stretched his arm to check the time on the nightstand. “6.30.”

“Time doesn’t make sense,” I hummed, a tired smile on my face. He chuckled softy. My fingers danced across his skin, the warmth and softness of it inviting my touch. They came to a rest at the nape of his neck, where delicate strands of hair brushed against my fingertips, silently urging me to thread them between my fingers. “And someone was crushing me.”

Carlos nuzzled closer, a playful smile gracing his lips. "I plead innocent. It's not my fault if you turned out to be irresistibly cuddly."

Feigning mock indignation, I swatted his arm gently. “Excuse me? Turned out? ”

His laughter bubbled forth, warm and rich, filling the room with its infectious energy. He then rolled to his side, and as my eyes fell on his barely disturbed pillow, I pondered whether we had drifted off like that or if he had moved during the night. Adjusting my position, I turned to face him.

“It’s quite nice to wake up like this, you know?” I admitted with a soft smile, my gaze locked onto his. Carlos’ chuckle danced in the air, playful and affectionate.

“Now… Excuse me! Actually nice? Were you doubting it?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes that mirrored the lightness of our banter. “Have you seen me?”

“Oh, yes. I have.”

“So, why is it actually nice?”

“Because I thought it would be different. That I wouldn’t be so comfortable to be naked in bed with you. I mean, I saw you eat worms as a child—” A giggle left my lips. “And now I let those same lips kiss me.”

“Oh, baby, you let them do so much more. I can still taste you,” he said with a smirk, his hand travelling down to my ass and pushing me to him.

A soft laughter escaped my lips, a mixture of surprise and amusement. Carlos' playful response was exactly what I had come to expect from him. "Oh, now we're getting cheeky, are we?"

His smirk deepened, his fingers tracing a teasing pattern along the back of my thigh. My leg was now wrapped around his. "Well, you know me."

I shifted closer to him, my fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "You're incorrigible."

The air between us was light, infused with a sense of ease that came so naturally when we were together. It was moments like these that I cherished the most—the unfiltered exchanges, the unspoken understanding, the unbreakable connection. His fingers traced patterns in my skin, mine stood still in his chest, the beating of his heart under my digits—a language of touch and glances that we had grown accustomed to without even noticing. The warmth of his body against mine, the intimacy of our shared space—it all felt so right, so beautifully intimate.

Carlos propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze tender yet searching. "You know, for what it's worth,” he began.

“Yes?”

“Waking up next to you feels... right," he admitted, his tone softening, his gaze holding mine. And then, as a contemplative expression crossed his features, he shifted his gaze to the window. "You know, I never expected this,” his voice tinged with a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. "I never thought we would ever fall on the same page. Either because I thought I didn’t deserve to be seen this way by you or because… I don’t know. I was so afraid of fucking up and losing you…"

His words settled like a gentle wave, each syllable a touch on my soul. The rawness in his voice stirred something within me, a connection that seemed to reach beyond words. His touch was warm on my skin, his words so low and his voice so rough, the timbre a caress that sorted through the depths of my emotions. I laid back in bed, my hands resting over my belly, in the spot where he had been asleep moments before. It was still warm.

"I couldn’t stop thinking about losing you. Until I did. And then I couldn’t stop dreaming about having you back. And then I saw you in the garage, at Mugello, and… it all came back, you know?” His eyes dropped to my chest, and then to my eyes. “The fear of letting you go," he confessed softly, his gaze unwavering.

The vulnerability in his words was a mirror to my own heart, an echo of the fears and doubts that had once haunted both of us. It almost felt too much.

"But then… The second you allowed me to get close enough, to look at you and truly see you…” He stretched his fingers and let his hand find the skin of my chest. Over my stern, he let his index wander, from my neck to my hands. “To feel you… This is not about losing. Is it?”

“It is not,” I replied, a small smile curving my lips.

His hand wandered to my side, his thumb tracing a gentle path over my breast. I looked down, admiring the way my body reacted to him—eager shivers, a symphony of sensations awakening in its trail. With every touch, it felt like being discovered anew. Each time he touched me, it felt like being touched for the very first time all over again.

“You have no idea how much I understand that,” I murmured, lifting my head from the pillow, my lips seeking his. He met me halfway, his head tilting to close the distance between us.

So mellow and slow. Warm and comforting. And lazy. Our kisses unfolded in unhurried movements, a languid exploration of each other's emotions. Time seemed to stretch and bend, because in that space, within the circle of his arms, we could afford to be lazy. Outside, the world was put on hold.

Carlos moved to hover over me, his frame settling in between my legs, shielding me from the sunlight rays seeping through the curtains. It was all him. And the lines of his stupidly handsome body and face, enhanced by the light hitting his back.

“I have a question,” I said, looking up at him.

The corner of his lips tugged up in a smirk, as he lowered himself to kiss my chin. “Not now, baby.”

“Yes, now, baby.”

He looked up. The lines of his face were disguised in the dark room. “I really would like to start this day inside you.” He ran his hand on my side, stopping at the back of my leg and guiding it around his waist. “Can we do that?”

“But that won’t answer my question.”

“That will make me very very very happy.” He kissed my chin, again. And then my cheek, my jaw, just below my ear. I exhaled, a stupid smile on my lips. Yeah, I had no chance against his tactics. My fingers moved on his biceps, tautening under my touch as he pressed his waist against me. “Can you feel how happy you make me?” he asked, his voice low and velvet smooth.

"Hmhm," I acknowledged. And he did it again, eyes locked on mine. A small moan escaped between my pressed lips and he chuckled, amused.

I shut my eyes as he moved his hips again, this time sliding against my slick folds. So close, yet so agonizing far. I could feel my own desire and the knowledge of it made my blood boil in my veins. I wanted him more than anything, and my body needed him just the same.

"Carlos," I begged, arching my back as he teased me mercilessly. "Please."

He chuckled softly, pushing himself up a little so that his lips could find mine. "Please what?" he asked, his voice a soft tease.

Make love to me. The words erupted from a very hidden corner of my mind, still lost in sleep and trapped in the fabric of dreams.

"Please," I repeated, this time a little louder. "I need you."

"I can see that," he replied, his voice low and serious. I opened my eyes to find him looking down, guiding his cock with one hand and using the other to move some strands of hair away from his face. "How are you so wet already, baby?"

How couldn’t I be?

I couldn't answer. All I could do was whimper as he teased me again, his tip sliding all the way through my slit, poking the entrance.

"You like being teased, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and sinful. "You like it so much that it’s a shame I can’t spend the whole day making you go crazy with it."

"Yes," I gasped, arching my back to get closer to him. He circled the entrance and I pressed my feet to the mattress, my head going back to the pillow as my body ached for him. "Please, Carlos."

"Okay, baby. I'm here," he said lowly, his voice a throaty whisper. He kissed me again, slowly but deeply. His tongue brushed against mine, my lips trapped between his teeth. "I'll make love to you."

The words were like a balm to my achy heart, a balm that soothed and healed. Carlos eased himself in slowly, a slow, torturous movement that made my entire body cry for him. And then out. Even more slowly. My hands moved to his shoulders, and then to his hair, urging him back. And when he was finally inside me again, I let out a long, trembling breath.

The slick, wet heat of us was heaven. His movements were slow and deliberate, a delicious torture that made me writhe uncontrollably beneath him.

"Austria," he breathed, his head hovering above mine as he moved his hips against me, burying himself deeper inside. I opened my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. "That's what made me go to Mugello."

A moan escaped my lips as he pushed even further, my back arching in response to the pleasure coursing through me. His eyes, filled with a burning desire, remained locked onto mine. "How? Why?" I managed to ask, my voice trembling with need.

"The fire," he confessed, his movements deliberate and sensual. His fingers slid through mine, our hands intertwining as he raised them above my head and thrust into me once more, the sensation more intense than before. "I didn't think about dying or getting hurt. All I could think about was you.” He moaned lowly, a fucking melody in my ears. “Your voice in my head."

I furrowed my brow, his words slowly registering in my desire-clouded mind. Sensations of pleasure and love pulsed through me as he continued to move, his gaze never leaving mine. He was taking his time, savouring every moment of our connection.

“Me?”

His grip on my fingers got stronger. “You.”

And then, in my cloudy mind, in the midst of all things I was feeling and desiring, the endless goodbyes we exchanged. His cologne mixed with rubber and oil, the sound of engines and rattle guns. The hugs at the airport, at home, before leaving and after arriving.

"Go race but don't die in there," I whispered, the words escaping my lips like a fervent prayer. He cracked a small, affectionate smile.

"Exactly that," he murmured against my lips. "And then, for a fraction of a second, I thought of dying. And how I wouldn't see you ever again."

I swallowed hard, the ache in my chest intensifying. My feelings seemed bigger than myself.

"I want to be with you."

Carlos's face softened at my words. "I want that, too, baby," he whispered, his voice full of love and tenderness, his chest pressing against mine as he caught my lips in a slow kiss, burying himself inside me once more.

And then he was moving faster, harder, and I was lost, lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over me and the idea of how I had found home. I was falling. No safety net, yet the wind in my face was greater than any safety I had ever known.

Minutes after climax, both of us still lost in post-sex bliss and in each other, Carlos’ alarm rang on the nightstand. The room was now more brightly lit, but our bodies were still languid and sated, lost in the cocoon of our intimate connection. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the strident symphony of the alarm.

"Think I've got time for a quick nap?" I inquired with a playful raise of my eyebrow.

Carlos let out a soft chuckle as he silenced the alarm. "You can sleep while I hit the shower," he suggested, his voice still husky. "And then you'll need to get up and start getting ready, or else we’ll be late."

Feeling the weight of exhaustion creeping in, I sighed deeply while sitting up in bed. I looked around. Last night was still a confusing puzzle in my mind. And then, it all came to clarity. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing, "Rio has my key card."

"Why—How did that happen?"

"What do you mean, 'how'? He did the check-in, and I just dropped my bags here at the hotel and ran to the restaurant. I—Fuck. This is on you," I threw him a pillow.

Despite my efforts, he caught it quite easily. “How is this my fault?”

“You… seduced me in the elevator,” he laughed at my words, taking a hand to his belly.

Getting up, he threw me the pillow and walked to the closet, taking a robe out of there. To be honest, half my worries disappeared while he walked naked through the room, the view being distraction enough.

"Well,” he passed me the robe. “Rio's room is just across the hall. You can pop over there, grab the key card, and sort your stuff out. I can even go for you, if you want."

My anxiety spiked at the thought of such a direct confrontation. "You want me to just knock on my brother's door and say, 'Hi, I just spent the night with your best friend. Nice night overall, but now I need my stuff to get ready.’?"

Carlos pondered the situation for a moment before responding. “Yes.”

With a sigh and a reluctant nod, I accepted the robe. I wrapped it around me, the rush of nerves tugging around at the same time. Talking to my brother about last night wasn't something I was eager to do. If there was something good about having him moving soon out of the house, was the fact that never, in my whole life, had he encountered a guy leaving my room. But there was no avoiding it now, was it?

"Alright," I muttered, summoning my resolve. "I'll go get the key card and then I’ll get ready. We meet at breakfast. But if this turns into an awkward family moment, I'm blaming you."

Carlos chuckled, his voice a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. "I'll take full responsibility.” He picked up the second robe and dressed it. “It's not the end of the world, Eva. He’s done worse."

I gave him a wry smile, appreciating his attempt to ease my tension. "Easy for you to say," I quipped, heading towards the door.

I mustered up the courage to walk across the hall and knock on Rio's door. Barefoot and with my hair tied in a terrible bun. It didn't take long before my brother answered, and the smirk on his face was undeniable.

"Eva, my dear sister," he said, his tone teasing. "Can’t say I wasn’t waiting for you."

"Cut it out, Fabrizio,” I moved in my feet. “Can I just get my key card?”

He feigned innocence. "Key card?”

“Come on, I need to go get ready.”

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Oh, I'm sure you do.”

“Rio, I swear to God—” he interrupted me with a laugh while taking a step back and opening the door. My bags rested against his closet. I frowned. “How? Why?”

Rio's laughter rang through the room as I walked in to retrieve my bags. He leaned against the door frame, still chuckling. "Well, sis," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I figured, why waste the money on a separate room for you when I knew you'd end up there anyway? Plus, it's been ages since I had a chance to tease you properly."

I shook my head in disbelief, simultaneously amused and annoyed by his antics. "I should've known you'd pull something like this."

He gave me an unapologetic grin. "What can I say? It's in my big brother's job description to embarrass you whenever possible.”

I rolled my eyes, but a fond smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Alright, alright," I relented, grabbing my suitcase, purse and Carlos’ gift. "I'll see you at breakfast. And for the record, Carlos is a way better roommate than you."

Rio laughed heartily, waving me off as I headed back to Carlos' room. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but shake my head at my brother's antics. On the other side of the hall, the door was closed. I knocked, hoping Carlos hadn’t yet stepped into the shower.

When he opened the door, his face broke into a grin, which quickly escalated into hearty laughter. “Guess it’s a sleepover, now,” I said.

He shrugged. “Good thing we get along well.”

I'll review the chapter again in a day or two, so I'm sorry if there are a few typos, but I just finished it. Happy birthday, Carlito. Hope Monza is good for him, this weekend. post weekend edit: MONZA WAS GOOD FOR HIM, IM CRYING HAPPY TEARS taglist: @alesainz @juliantheupsidedown @dreamsarebig (i forgot to tag people when i posted the chapter because i was just so nervous about posting this (we love anxiety) so sorry, but ill try to not forget next time) thank you all for the messages and the replies and especially the reblogs! i love you all SO much. thank you so much for the support. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. See you around. All the love, Bru 🤍

#Tightrope #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #fanf1ction #f1 fanfic #driver x you #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #driver x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz angst

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somejazzinthemorning · 1 year ago

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tightrope. 10

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content Word Count: ~14K

My dad had two frames on his desk.

On the left side, nearest to the computer screen, a photo frame showcased Nani, our beloved late Saint Bernard. Bless her soul. And across from Nani's frame, on the right side of the desk, was a photograph of Rio, standing with a smile so big it almost covered his bright green eyes. He stood on the second step of his first and only podium in F3.

It made me smile each time I laid my eyes on it.

The desk itself was a sturdy mahogany, polished to a glossy sheen that reflected the soft illumination of the room. Tall bookshelves adorned the walls, filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes and meticulously arranged files. Dad was a perfectionist.

Everything was perfectly aligned, always.

Against the far wall, a large floor-to-ceiling window bathed the office in natural light, filtered gently by thin, cream-coloured curtains that swayed gracefully in the breeze. The window offered a lovely view of the garden, and even a portion of the pool if we were standing close enough and just at the right angle.

It was a serene backdrop, suited to calm my nerves as I waited for Dad.

He was on the other side of the stainless glass door, pacing the hallway busy with a call. I tried desperately to not focus on his silhouette, a dancing blur of all colours, going left and right, never stopping. Every couple of minutes, he would wave at me, as if saying sorry and asking for one more minute. And every couple of minutes, I would nod and try to find interest in the mutted carrousel of colours of the tomes or the boxes of the files aligned on the shelves.

Even when he entered, his attention didn’t leave his phone. Sitting down on the other side of the desk, he offered me a glance and a quick nod. Seemed so mechanic I wondered how many times he had done the same gesture that day. At my silence, he raised his head.

"Forgive me, Evita. I really needed to sort this out before dinner," our eyes briefly met before his returned to the screen. "But go on, dear. How was your flight?"

"The usual," I replied, trying to hide my growing impatience. I waited for him to shift his attention fully to me, but his eyes remained fixed on the phone, his fingers scrolling through messages.

Realizing that I needed to take the initiative, I pressed on. Hope and apprehension swirled around and inside me. "Did you... set up the meeting?"

"No, I didn't," he finally replied, setting the phone down on the desk. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. As has your brother."

"My brother?"

“He knows you. He knows the field. I asked him for help.”

"And?"

"And I don't think you're ready,” and then silence filled the room. I was not sure if he expected me to say something, or if he was done with the subject. I didn’t say a word. In all honesty, I was still trying to put sense into those words. “I don't know where this interest came from, so I won’t put my name on the line for your whims," he stated.

My heart sank at his words. The weight of his disapproval felt crushing, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that had ignited within me.

“My whims? How—?”

“Two months ago you wouldn’t even consider shifting teams, Eva.”

“Because two months ago I didn’t know you wanted to sell the team. I had a team. A good one.”

“I’m more than sure they will be willing to take you,” his eyes dropped to his phone, lighting up on the desk. “Whoever keeps it, I mean. We haven’t made a decision, yet.”

“And why are you selling?”

“Ah, Eva, you know…” with a shrug, he let his back meet with the leather of his armchair. “It’s expensive. And with Rio leaving… just doesn’t make sense.”

“Right. Silly me,” I retorted, my voice filled with a mix of frustration and defiance. “Without Rio, it doesn’t make sense. Not without the driver that just got you the championship.”

My father leaned back in his chair, studying me intently. The perfect facade not trembling for one second, as I felt mine starting to break. Too many emotions erupted through my cracks and the conversation had just started.

“I’ve seen your dedication, child. And your skill, too. But it’s business, you know, and sometimes we have to make hard calls. The sport is harsh. You will learn that, in a good or bad way. It's cutthroat, unforgiving,” he paused. “And, for sure, it takes more than just talent. It takes a certain level of mental and emotional toughness that I'm not sure you have. And money, of course.”

I felt a surge of frustration rise within me, only showing how right his words were. We were not talking about the team, anymore. And what pained me the most was the nonchalant way he spoke. Dad was not wrong, though. I was a mess mentally. I had a lot to learn. A lot to improve. But don’t other drivers too?

"Dad—,” my hands laid on my tights, slightly trembling. I took a deep breath. “I know this is not easy. I’ve faced difficulties before. I've pushed myself to the limit. I’ve raced and I’ve won. And that should be the proof you need to believe in me.” I paused, taking another break to breathe. “I’ve raced older, more experienced men…. and I won.”

“Eva, this isn’t about gender.”

My eyes narrowed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "I know it's not about gender, but I can’t just ignore the implications. You had no problem feeding your 13-year-old son to this sport when it was clear I’ve always wanted this more than he did. He never wanted this, yet, he got everything. The best sponsors. The best tyres. The seat in F3.” At this point, I was not sure if my dad kept hearing me; I don’t think I was hearing myself. “I’m 25 and I’m asking you to help me. Because I want to do this. I want a better team, or just some team that believes in me and works on my potential. If I don’t do this now, I’ll never get a chance.”

“Don’t talk about your brother.”

“Why?”

There was a flicker of unease in my father's eyes. He didn’t answer my question right away. Instead, he took a second, choosing his words carefully. "Fabrizio has worked hard for his achievements, just as you have," he replied, his tone measured. "This conversation shouldn't be about him. It's about you."

“So let’s talk about me and the opportunities I didn’t have. The chances I wasn’t given. Go ahead.”

"Eva, it's not that I don't believe in your potential. But racing is a high-stakes environment, and there are no guarantees. I worry about the toll it may take on you."

“Yet you had no problem to—”

A bang. Loud and strong as his hand met the mahogany wood of the desk. The sudden outburst left me stunned, momentarily silencing my frustration. I felt my whole body freeze. The sound hung heavy in the air, casting a deep shadow over the conversation. His eyes, darkened by the weight of his disapproval bore down on me.

"You're crossing a line here, Eva," he continued, his voice laced with an undeniable intensity, as his stern gaze fell upon mine. "You keep proving my point. You lack stability. You don’t have a strong backbone. This sport isn’t fit for you."

“I—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted, rising from his chair and coming to sit beside me. He placed his warm hand on top of mine, his touch both comforting and unsettling. His skin was still tingling from the impact when it met mine. Awful sensation. “It's a tough and competitive world out there. Besides, racing is not meant for delicate souls like you. Look at you, piccina. The racetrack is no place for someone as graceful as you. Your job suits you so much better."

My anger surged, fueling my defiance. I wanted to get up, stand up for myself. But his hand was there, heavy on top of mine.

“You can take any car to the track any day. Enjoy yourself. Do a couple of races here and there to keep the mind sharp. But—”

“But?”

“But this isn't the right career for you, Eva. This isn't where you belong.”

The weight of his words sank deep into my chest. It felt like a physical force, pressing down on the fragile hope that had been slowly rebuilding. It was hard to take in, to digest. Dad was wrong. I knew this. I knew this was my calling. But it was hard to hear him say it out loud. And it was even harder to take in the reality of it.

I stood up from my chair, my body acting on its own accord as if disconnected from my consciousness. Reality seemed fragmented as if the boundaries between my emotions and actions were blurred.

"So what is it? My job? The office job?" My voice quivered, and the words poured out of me, unfiltered and raw. “You don't see? You don’t feel it, too? The trill, the challenge… the adrenaline. How happy I am when I’m on the track? You were there, beside me in the day I felt the most accomplished. You didn’t see it? You didn’t notice that that’s what truly drives me? Not an office job. That was the least I could do to feel merely content with myself.”

“Merely content?” Scepticism was palpable as he responded. So much doubt laced in his words. “You had so much more than many drivers could dream of, and you were ungrateful. Was that it? You own a pretty trophy and now you think you can take the world? What will happen when you get back to the factory? Better…” He got up from his chair, leaving an indented mark on the upholstery. My dad was only slightly taller than me, but he seemed so much bigger as he stood in front of me. “What will you say when you get to Fuji and realize you’ll be standing in the garage for days, not even touching the wheel of the car? Will you be happy? Or merely content?”

“You underestimate me.” A pause. A deep breath. His words had struck a nerve. “I'm not asking for a life of leisure or constant victory. I know the sacrifices and challenges ahead, and I’m willing to work for them. Marketing? Yes. It’s fun, it was something to keep me busy and yes, I can admit that it’s something that may suit me but will never fulfil me the way racing does…” I pointed at the frame of my brother. “Wouldn’t you like to have another child racing in F3?”

“You’re 25, Eva. Be realistic.”

Silence.

I didn’t know what was coursing through my veins, if sadness for my father’s unwavering position, or a surge of determination, keeping ignited the flicker of hope I shielded inside.

“And who defines what’s realistic?” The question left my lips and I dropped my shoulders, partially defeated. I knew it would be hard, and I knew I was probably not gonna make it, but goddammit, I just wanted him to have enough faith in me to instigate me to try.

“Where was that version of you these past months?” He questioned, his voice laden with disappointment. “You have been impossible to deal with, lately. Too emotional. Too frustrated. Too… unpredictable. Those mistakes on the track, that attitude.”

“You told me I was passionate—” I began, my voice tinged with confusion.

“I told you what I needed to tell you so you could stop crying and go back to work,” he interjected, cutting off my words. “And I can’t follow you around the world, whipping tears.”

Again, his words struck me like a blow, leaving me momentarily speechless. The weight of his dismissal and the invalidation of my struggles crashed over me like a wave. Memories of his hugs and comforting words in the garage surfaced, but they now felt like empty gestures. Anger welled up inside me, but instead of drowning me in a sea of fear and self-doubt, it fueled my determination. I had to prove him wrong, not just for myself but to shatter the doubts he had cast upon me.

Whether it took a year, two, or even longer. I vowed myself to make my way to F3 and fight tooth and nail for that top step.

And I would gift him my own frame.

Before I could find the right words to say, or to feel composed enough to turn my back and leave the office, his phone rang. Its vibration made an annoying sound against the wood, echoing in the room. Not to my surprise, my father was quick to turn his eyes in the phone’s direction. He glanced at the caller ID and picked it up from the desk.

“I have to take this,” he muttered and then excused himself from the room to answer the call.

"You talked?" Rio's voice held a hint of anticipation as he picked up on the first beep. It was clear that he had been waiting for my call. The thought made me crack a smile, yet nothing but a melancholic sound escaped my lips. From the other side, I heard, "Pack some clothes and come over.”

Rio was waiting for me at his doorstep with Liv perched on his lap. A large smile cracked on her face as she saw me leave the car behind and walk through the driveway. Rio was not so smiley. His gaze held a silent acknowledgement. Dad had talked to him, of course. He knew his answer. He probably knew it back in Mallorca.

As I drew closer, my older brother pulled me into a tight embrace. Wordless comfort that spoke volumes.

"Papà said you're having a bad day," Liv whispered innocently, her little hand gently wrapping around my neck. "We're going to have a party to make you happy."

"A party?" I questioned, my voice filled with surprise as I glanced at Rio, unsure of what Liv had in mind.

Rio chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"A pyjama party!"

"A movie night," my brother corrected with a smile, opening the door wider to welcome me inside. "And we’ll all be wearing pyjamas."

The weight on my shoulders began to lift as I stepped into the warmth of Rio's home. The house was significantly smaller than my parents’ and decorated in a totally different way. So different that they rarely visited the house.

There was a groovy vibe to the house. A fusion of retro charm and modern comfort. The house was undeniably Marjorie’s domain, a testament to her eclectic taste and vibrant personality. Rio was on the small details—on the vintage motorsport memorabilia and weathered posters from races, teams or technical drawings adorned the shelves and walls, intermingling with kaleidoscopic prints from the swinging 60s. Even the furniture had a retro flair with bold and eye-catching colours that added to the electric atmosphere.

When we met, Marjorie and I bonded through our shared love for music and art. I found comfort in earthy tones and meticulously organized shelves, while Marjorie revelled in the vivacity of vibrant patterns and her devotion to what she affectionately refers to as “organized messes”. Yet, despite our divergent aesthetics, we found common ground in our discussions about art, our shared passion for Frank Sinatra, and our penchant for lighting incense—a practice my mom couldn't quite fathom. And, of course, our mutual adoration for Disney movies and romcoms.

The living room was a cozy haven, with the sunlight pouring through the large windows, casting playful shadows on the shaggy rugs that covered the floor. The room was adorned with retro furniture, featuring plush velvet couches and bean bag chairs, inviting relaxation and lounging. Between them, a couple of air mattresses, that usually don’t belong there.

Grace and Marjorie were already settled in the living room, their giggles filling the air. As soon as they spotted me, Grace's eyes lit up, and she hopped off the mattress, her unicorn slippers making soft padding sounds against the floor.

"Eva!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "Look! Pantuflas de unicornio!”

“Oh, my!” A strident giggle left her lips as I crunched down to observe the slippers more closely. “You always have the coolest things!”

“D’you want them?”

“No, my love,” a chuckle abandoned my lips. “They’re too tiny for me. They're perfect for you, though."

Grace's face scrunched up in contemplation for a moment. The bright green eyes stared down for a moment, until she nodded, probably satisfied with my explanation. God, she’s adorable. Then, she slipped her slippers back on and run back to her mom, bouncing around the room, her laughter filling the air once again.

Marjorie was sitting on one of the velvet couches. While one of her hands held Grace’s, bouncing on the mattress, the other waved at me.

“Go change,” she pointed at the hallway. “Fast. Before he eats all the popcorn!”

“Come on!” Rio screamed from the kitchen, on the other end of the living room. “I literally took two! Two!”

I looked back, before disappearing into the hallway. Liv was laughing, with one hand around Rio’s neck and the other deep into the bowl of popcorn.

“He took more than two, mummy!”

There was a strange feeling in my belly as a hurried down the hallway, but I couldn’t understand what it was. As I slipped into my pyjamas and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a sense of contentment washed over me. The realization swept through me like a gentle breeze—I was no longer envious. If before I often felt jealous of my brother, his family and the beautiful home he had crafted for himself, now a different set of emotions took hold—excitement, curiosity.

And it was a strange feeling.

A new, scary, terrifying feeling.

“hate to admit it, but i miss you already”

I typed out the message, the memories of the past week seeping into my very skin, dissolving any remains of envy. I was excited. I wanted to embark on a journey of my own, forge my own path and witness where it would lead me—lead us. Me and Carlos, if he was willing to trace the path with me. A stupid thought —a house for both of us—yet, a peaceful one.

And God, I needed some peace.

After sending the text, I returned to the living room, where the infectious laughter of my nieces embraced me. Settling onto the soft mattress, I stole a glance at my phone, hoping for a reply that would bridge the distance between us. I had seen him that morning. Why was I already dying to get a hold of him, again?

"Alright, folks,” Rio declared, holding the remote high above his head, engaged in a playful battle with my determined nieces, their little arms reaching out to seize control. "Tonight's feature presentation is... drum rolls, please..." Rio paused, expecting a grand reaction, but all he received was an annoyed expression from Liv. Undeterred, he continued, "Tangled! One of Aunty Eva's all-time favourites. Am I right?"

The children froze in their tracks, their attention instantly captivated, their arms suspended mid-air, pointing eagerly at the coveted remote.

“Yes, it is," I confirmed with a smile.

Their eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them, and as if in agreement, they lowered their arms in unison.

“I miss you, too. Just a couple more days and I’m home” came the comforting response on my phone screen. And, in that moment, surrounded by laughter and the anticipation of a Disney adventure, I felt an inexplicable surge of gratitude and warmth.

The peace I had sought seemed within reach.

Hours and movies went by. The twins, lulled by the enchantment on the screen, had fallen asleep by the end of Luca, and Marjorie was defeated by her sleep before the conclusion of Pretty Woman.

The familiar glow of the television illuminated the room as we watched How To Lose a Guy In Ten Days, one of my and Rio’s favourite romcoms. Light-hearted distraction, a temporary escape from the weighty realities that burdened my mind and the absence of innocent laughter and ceaseless questions that before had echoed in the room.

In the stillness, I turned to Rio. There was a silent understanding between us, a shared history that allowed us to navigate the unspoken spaces between our words. Yet, as I brushed my fingers through Grace’s curls, I couldn’t contain the question that lingered in my mind.

“He told you he was going to say no, didn’t he?” Rio shifted uneasily, his gaze momentarily drawn back to the flickering images on the screen, a fleeting attempt to evade the weight of the conversation. “Rio, please,” I implored. “He said he talked with you. What do you know?”

If you have a big brother, you know the look in their eyes when they witness you navigating challenges they've once faced themselves. It could be problems at school, petty squabbles with your parents—whatever the case may be. Rio’s eyes, tinged with a mix of empathy and understanding, mirrored the turmoil that swirled within me. Duelling with his own emotions, torn between protecting me from the truth and honouring the trust we shared, he lowered the volume of the movie and then turned to me.

“He made it clear he was not gonna help you,” Rio confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness that softened the blow. His words, like a ghost passing through a wall in a children's movie, permeated my being. "He doesn't believe that you truly know what you want. But," Rio continued, his voice gaining strength, "you and I both know that what he says doesn't actually care. You can make it on your own."

“Why?”

“Why what?” He was sleepy, and we were whispering. “Why doesn’t he matter?”

“No,” I rolled my eyes. “Why does he not believe I want this?”

A smirk played on my brother's lips, his eyes alive with understanding. "Well, he wasn’t spent enough time with you and Chili, ‘Vita.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

You needed to see him, to realize that you were letting the best damn version of yourself fade away." Rio paused, his words hanging in the air like a weighty truth. "I know you know it. You know he's the one who stirs up that… thing within you. And since Mugello, Eva... you've transformed yourself. I don’t know if you wanted to prove him something, or if he simply has some effect on you, but… I'd rather deal with the unpredictable beast than see you trapped in that soft shell of a person you were becoming.”

"Oh God, you're the worst.”

“What? Am I lying?”

I sighed and looked ahead, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "It's just...I don't know what to say now.” He laughed. “Stop. Shush. Your kids are sleeping.”

“What then?”

“Do you think I can make it?”

“Get to wag status or d—"

"Oh, you fucking idiot," I said with a grin, throwing a pillow his way.

"My kids are here!" He exclaimed silently, throwing the pillow back at me. "Next one and I’ll make you add to the jar."

“Ok. I’m sorry,” I held my hands in apology. “But I’m serious. Do you think I can make it?”

"I do. Whatever you want, I know you can achieve it. WEC, W-Series...maybe even F3 someday. Set your mind to it, and go for it. You know how to market yourself, you know what you bring to the table. You don't need Dad.”

Rio's voice carried a mixture of conviction and unwavering support. It was in moments like these that I truly appreciated having him around. It was in moments like these I started to miss him. I couldn’t imagine not having him 5 minutes away. Either at his house or in his hotel room. He understood the challenges I faced, both on and off the track. For the 25 years of my life, he was always there.

"You've got the charisma, Eva," he continued, his voice brimming with confidence. "You know how to connect with people, how to leave a lasting impression… That's a skill that can take you far. Read everything in your email, answer the emails as you know and call people. Just… be you. I can help with the bureaucratic stuff. I know any of the Carlos can help, too,” that drew a small chuckle from me. “Just believe in yourself and keep pushing. Now,” he pointed at the screen, “the movie.”

Andie was about to grab the microphone and start singing You’re So Vain and, of course, Rio had to join with his too-high-pitched, terrible voice.

“I miss you already,” I whispered, just as the music died.

“Shush,” he muttered, pointing once again at the screen. “The movie.”

Let's not even begin to mention the struggle of attempting to sleep in an impromptu king-sized bed with two toddlers and two adults. Air mattresses and blankets were strewn about, and suddenly Rio's snoring seemed like a minor inconvenience compared to the chaos unfolding around me. Grace and Liv tossed and turned, their tiny fists finding their way to every limb in their surroundings, without a hint of mercy.

However, when I groggily opened my eyes, sandwiched between my two nieces, a tray of coffee and freshly baked pancakes waiting at my feet, and another Disney movie playing on the TV, I couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Marjorie was curled up in an armchair, still in her pyjamas and with a steamy cup of coffee in her hands.

“Morning,” she said. Her pale fingers left the mug to slightly wave at me. “I didn’t know if you had work, so I let you sleep.”

“What time is it?” I looked around, looking for my phone, but in between the mess of blankets and pillows, it was nowhere to be found.

“Just a bit after 9,” she threw me my phone, which I caught phone mid-air.

After a quick glance at the screen, I could confirm her words: a little past 9 in the morning. The lack of sleep tugged at my eyelids, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the buttery scent of croissants enticed me to wakefulness.

"Thanks, Marge," I mumbled, still rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. "You didn't have to do all this, though."

She gave me a half-hearted smile. "No problem. Thought a little pick-me-up might help after Rio told me what was going on."

And help it did.

The warm cup of coffee worked its magic and coaxed my mind into alertness as I sipped the rich brew, especially when I noticed the not-so-subtle hints of whiskey under the caffeine tones. You can take a girl of Scotland, but can’t take Scotland of the girl.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked me.

“Not really.”

"Have you got work today, or will you stay with us?" Rio's voice called from the kitchen, still carrying a roughness from sleep. I was not sure if he had listened to Marjorie’s question and my quick answer, or if his question came out of the blue, but his voice was more than enough to change the subject. "Or is it today you're travelling?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving for Milan after lunch. Just need to swing by home to grab my things and say goodbye to Mom."

“Just Mom?”

“Don’t really want to talk with Dad, right now.”

A heavy silence settled between us, punctuated by Rio’s audible sigh. That was enough to make Marjorie swiftly get up and rush the kids inside, leaving us alone to talk. Rio waited until we were alone, gaze fixed on his adorable twins, making their way inside.

“Don’t forget, he’s still Dad, you know,” his voice rang with a certain frustration to it. “Don’t give him reasons to act this way. Try to not be immature about all this.”

I bristled at his words, feeling defensive. "Believe me, if you had the same conversation, you would feel this way.”

Rio's expression softened, “I had some really hard conversations with him, Eva. It takes patience. Especially with him.”

“I don’t really want to pretend I’m okay with what he said.”

“Ignoring him won’t change a thing," Rio reasoned. “Showing him you’re more mature than he thinks might just make him reconsider. Or at least…” he paused, “…bite his tongue.”

“And why is this mature thing coming from?” I stood up from the mattress, my limbs still feeling a bit numb from sleep. My mind, however, was becoming sharper by the second. “I’ve been doing my thing for years. I've always shown nothing but maturity.”

“A bit of self-awareness is welcome, sis,” he mocked. I raised my brow. “C’mon, Eva. Don’t make me go there.”

“Yeah, well. Go there.”

“You know him,” Rio's voice took on a gentle tone as he picked up the pillows, organizing the small nest we had created last night. “You know how dad is. Always so… straight and polite. The way you react to things… I don’t know. He says he spoiled you too much.”

"Now I'm spoiled and immature?" I retorted.

“Stop. You keep proving my point. Just prove him wrong. Be polite, be the most annoying version of Dad you can be.” He looked up at me, hair falling over his sleepy eyes. "He doesn't know you as I do. And I know you're capable of it. I've said it once, and I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

“Also,” he continued, taking a couple of steps in my direction. “If you really want to do this, wrap up all your ongoing projects and focus on getting a team and sponsors. Change priorities. Stop worrying about having a safety net. We won’t let you fall.” I nodded. Words silenced by the surprise his words caught me in. “Also, don’t waste time looking for Dad’s approval or validation. Call whoever you want to call. Stop doubting. Use Fuji to make contacts. Talk to people. Take matters into your own hands.”

Take matters into my own hands.

It was time to actually be independent and take a leap of faith. Not on another, but in myself. And God, I hadn't understood before that that was the most challenging—finding trust in myself.

Throughout that week, as I immersed myself in preparations for the upcoming race at Fuji with my endurance team and meet each night for dinner with my clients from Milan, I started to tie loose ends, just like my brother had advised. I told them about my move and guided them through what was about to happen. I would delegate them to Amanda, showed them how she would take care of them with the same dedication I had, and used the little free time between meetings and training to draft a series of emails, one for my boss and others for the individuals who held the keys to my future.

From afar, I had the help and support from Carlos.

Selfies, texts. A call at the end of the day, even if it was not much more than to exchange a good night.

Thursday night, at the end of the last day, when work was finally behind and the windows of my hotel room framed the lights of the city, I dialled his number. God. His voice. His accent. It soothed me in ways I couldn’t explain.

"You're going back home tomorrow?”

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yes. And then straight to Avila.”

"What time do you arrive?”

“At Avila? Around eight, I think. Seven-ish.”

“I’ll be there by then, I think. But I can wait a couple of hours at the airport if you wish.”

"A couple of hours? No. Carlos—" I heard a grunt on the other end, a signal for silence. "No. Don’t bother. My parents will be there to pick me up. You can wait at home."

"Well, I can't.” I laughed, my heart fluttering at the sound of his voice that had just joined mine in laughter. “What? I simply can't."

There was a pause, filled with unspoken longing.

I could imagine his playful smile on the other end of the line. I could trace the wrinkle around his eyes, or the scrunch of his nose. Freaking hell, I was down bad.

“Did your sisters say something to your mom? I find it weird to be invited there, like this.”

“I don’t know,” he paused. “I mean, your mom helping set up the dinner. Blanca wants to make the announcement pretty intimate. And after last week, I don’t find it weird she wants you there. Did she call you?”

“Yes, but not before calling my mom. And she almost threw a fit over the phone, saying I don’t tell her anything.”

“Well, did you?”

I paused. “No, we barely talked. After all that stuff with my dad and going to sleep at Rio’s… you know… barely saw her.”

The ruffle of sheets made its way through the phone, suggesting he was moving on the other side.

“Yeah, about that…” his voice rang more serious than before. Deep and heavy. “How are you feeling? I’m happy to finally catch you on the phone at a decent hour so we can actually talk about it.”

A sigh escaped my lips, a mix of fatigue evident in my voice. "I feel like I need a vacation already. From all this, I mean…" I confessed, my weariness evident. Mentally, I felt exhausted from the constant juggling of obligations. From the moment I woke up until the moment I laid down to sleep, my mind felt like a swirling circus. Thoughts and ideas danced and twirled, leaving me overwhelmed with the cacophony of my own aspirations.

"How's Fuji prep going?"

"Oh, that’s going nice. I mean... Yeah, nicely," I replied, the uncertainty creeping into my words. The sound he made on the other end of the line felt like a gentle reprimand. "I mean, it's just that sometimes I feel like I'm not doing anything, or at least anything that matters and I feel like each time I feel like this I’m proving my Dad right…"

"Eva..." his voice held a soothing quality as if reaching out to calm the waves of doubt crashing against my shore.

"Don't get me wrong," I quickly interjected, wanting to clarify my sentiments. "I'm—”

“Grateful?”

“Yes,” I nodded to the empty room.

“But?”

"But... it's hard not to feel frustrated," I admitted, my voice tinged with a mix of resignation. "I want to be out there, on the track, pushing myself to the limits. Not like this… I mean… I feel like an intern. A movie-type of intern, that gets coffee and sits at meetings, whispering one of two things to a superior and goes home feeling like crap. I mean… It’s good. We are improving. We feel like we can fight in the front next week if we qualify well, but… I want to feel the thrill of competing inside the car. The sidelines are not for me. I enjoy it and I’m so grateful for the opportunity, but each weekend I think it will be different, and it isn’t… I’m just tired of waiting.”

“I know that feeling all too well, love.” I can’t lie, my stomach twitched when I heard it. I was not used to that. Perhaps I would never get used. “I’ve been there, it’s natural to want more. The only thing I can tell you is to be patient.”

“You were there with Sebastian Vettel, not with this team.”

“The fight will make it worth it, Eva.”

I let out a sigh, allowing his words to sink in. “I know.”

“And you matter. Your work matters. You’re smart. You know how to give feedback. I’m more than sure the team is grateful to have you around.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips, comforted by the reassurance. "Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“Be sure to not forget.”

“Hm,” I scoffed, immersed in the power of his voice and the darkness of my room staring back at me. I would have gotten lost in it if it wasn’t for his voice, anchoring me in a port of safety. “It is hard to forget, though.”

“Why?”

“Because the path seems so long and I’m 25. 25. I should stick to WEC or LMS instead of just—”

“Eva,” this time it sounded and felt like actually being scolded. “We’re not going to walk backwards. What do you want?”

“Now?”

“Well…” he pondered, ending up chuckling. I could pay to hear his thoughts. “Not now, but for the next months*.”*

“To race. In a car. To have a proper goal to train to. The Challenge is over and I’m not sure when I’ll actually be in a car. No simulators crap.”

He chuckled on the other side. We had the same view on simulators and racing games. We were raised on the track, under pouring rain and the hot Spanish sun. There was nothing in the world that could simulate the feeling of racing under the elements. Feeling and hearing the engine and the blood thickening with adrenaline.

“Okay, so the first step is to get you in a car, then.” He said like it was obvious. “We will sort that out. But after? What’s your goal?”

We will sort that out. That made me smile.

“I don’t know. Is it dumb to say I would really like to try to reach F3? At least.”

I could feel his smile when he replied. “At least. That’s what I wanna hear. It’s not dumb, at all.”

“You have more confidence in me than I’ll ever have.”

“Doesn’t it work both ways?”

The question came so quickly that it almost fell like a product of my own mind. A shiver ran across my spine, filling my body with this incredibly hard-to-decipher feeling. I had him back, yet it felt like I missed him more than ever, or that I was finally noticing how much I’d miss him.

"Yeah, it does. Always did," I admitted, my voice laced with a mix of nostalgia and affection.

Our connection ran deep—deeper than I dared to admit. Our roots were plunging down in the same place.

“Always,” he echoed, his voice carrying a hint of longing.

Wafting in the lavender-loaded atmosphere of the room was the bittersweet reminder of the times we had spent together, the memories etched in our minds like tire tracks on the asphalt. No matter how much time apart or how deep the sorrow seemed to hit, we would always have each other. We were part of each other. And if that used to bring me pain, now I couldn’t feel anything else other than utter glory.

His breath cut rhythmically the silence, I didn’t say anything because there was nothing I could say, and he didn’t either. For a couple of seconds, I let myself picture him there, on the other side of the bed.

“I’ll let you go to sleep,” he said, erupting through the silence.

Looking into the dark in front of me, I wished for his presence. To be able to stare into his eyes and drown in the honey mantle before me. Let my fingers roam through his hair. Inspire the sweet scent of his presence.

“One sleep away and I’ll be there, again,” he said.

“One sleep away,” I repeated. “See you tomorrow.”

Ávila, its ancient walls and medieval charm, are just a stone’s throw from Madrid, yet for a couple of summers, it felt like a whole different world.

That day, Dad relied solely on his memories to navigate the road. The familiar sights and scents of the countryside guided him out from Madrid, while stirring up anticipation and memories that had lived inside me and been tucked away beneath a heavy blanket of sorrow and regrets. At the first familiar sight, those memories came flooding back to me, vivid and alive in my mind. The oaks, the radiant sun, and the feeling of the gentle breeze that seemed to slow time down, as if we were stuck in a distant dream.

There were summers I spent more time in Avila than in Madrid.

It was our sanctuary—the days unfolded slowly, so lazy and simple; similar to Mallorca, but right at our doorstep, just an hour's drive from Madrid. I had my own room at the Sainz estate, but it was in Ana's bed that I inevitably fell asleep almost every night, after long hours of talking about everything and nothing.

My favourite tradition was the late-night walks after dinner. The five of us—Ana, Blanca, Carlos, Rio and I, would wander along the estate, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight and the few yellow lanterns we managed to gather before leaving. It was magic. It seemed like the moon itself was one of us, whispering secrets in our ears, secrets aching to be shared. Often, I would find myself walking along Carlos, footsteps in sync, away from the rest of the group. I don’t know if it was the moon and its particular allure, or just the tiredness of the night, but as the unhurried days melted into tranquil nights, our conversations grew deeper, more intimate. The night concealed our vulnerability, and the tint of our blushed cheeks blended seamlessly into the shadows.

I remember how I dreamed about kissing him under the moonlight, how it made his eyes even more captivating.

But I never did. I held back.

I wanted him to make the first move, although I never thought he would.

And during the days, when we were not laying by the pool or riding horses around the estate, we would give into our adventurous spirits. The whole property was our playground. Through the trees and the dirt road courses, we held impromptu rally races. Sainz Sr. would join us when he was around, turning those days into an intimate racing boot camp. Roaring engines, screeching tires, smoke and clouds of dust. Those were the moments I longed for, when imperfection was embraced and our hunger for knowledge pushed us further. It was so much more than just racing.

Some days, I would stay over, others I would go back home.

And every time I left, the marks La Piñonera had left seemed to reach deeper.

Rio shared the same feeling. It was during one of these days that he discovered that his true passion doesn’t lie behind the wheel but in the heart of the garage. When he heard the roar of the engine after hours of work, while his hands were covered in oil and the bed of his nails were nothing but pitch black, he knew he had found his calling. We all knew. It took him a year to tell Dad and even more time for Dad to let him quit racing.

However, it had been a couple of years since my last visit to Avila, and it was not until I had the first glimpse of the La Piñonera that I realized how much I missed the place. At the end of the dirt road, the house lay under the hot August sun, gates open, ready to welcome us.

Sainz Sr. waited for us on the patio, arms up, waving at us. A trail of dust followed my Dad’s Benz until it was parked under the gazebo, exactly where Senior had instructed to. Against the stone walls of the structure, were a few motorbikes. A fine layer of dust all over them. It was the first time I’d seen them there. They felt so out of place, like a recent photo lost in the middle of a childhood album.

Perhaps time doesn't actually stand still in Avila.

Around us, the air was thick with warmth, and not a leaf stirred on that still day. It was a hot August day, and the second I stepped out of the air conditioner of the car, I felt the heat embrace me. Tiny drops of sweat clung to my nose and temples. Looking around, hearing the crunch of gravel beneath my feet echoed in the stillness, I noticed how the holm oaks stood tall and motionless, the branches casting circles of shadow here and there over the courtyard.

That was just the same.

Reyes met us by the door and guided us inside. My gaze swept across the walls adorned with hunting memorabilia, including the imposing deer heads that had always sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but apologize silently to the frozen creatures for their fate. Their frigid stares followed me all the way through the room, as we made our way to the bustling kitchen. The scents of home-cooked meals and the clicking of utensils filled the air. Ana and Blanca donned their red aprons and summer dresses and moved around, their voices blending into a harmonious conversation. At the clink of my mother’s hells, they turned around.

"You’re here! Welcome back" Ana exclaimed. "My God, it’s been so long."

“Do you miss me that much, already?” I mocked, leaving a peck on her cheek and moving to Blanca, washing some vegetables on the sink. “It’s been… what? Four days?”

“Since you visited the house, idiot.”

“Oh, and I thought I was already being missed…”

I settled down near the window, watching them work from afar. My eyes couldn’t help but drift to the outside, taken by the curiosity of seeing how much had changed in the backyard. But it all matched the pictures in my mind. The green around the pool was still there, so saturated, so inviting. Around it, the herbs and oaks kept their brown and yellow hues, dark green leaves standing tall and watching us from afar. Towels on the loungers, a football near the pool… Oli sleeping in the shadow. Just like I remembered.

“How was the drive here?” Blanca asked, “do you still remember the way?”

"My dad drove. And you know how it goes. He found the worst detours possible and my mom desperately tried to not correct him every five minutes.”

“Oh, the joys of family road trips,” Reyes said. “We should do that more, girls.”

“God forbid,” Ana said between her teeth.

“I would do it more often if my husband had yours’s sense of navigation,” my mom commented. “Alessio can’t find the way even with the GPS in front of his eyes.”

Reyes playfully nudged my arm. "Speaking of trips, I hear you had quite the memorable one in Mallorca. Care to share?”

I raised an eyebrow, pointing at Ana and Blanca. "Now, what have these two been telling you?"

They both raised their hands defensively, shaking their heads. Reyes joined in, laughing along.

"Oh, go ahead, girls," my mom chimed in. "Eva hasn't told me a thing about the whole week. I need to hear it from you."

"There's really nothing to tell," I interjected. "It’s not my fault if these two exaggerated anything."

Ana turned around and walked to the fridge. "Who, us? Exaggerate? Never!"

I chuckled, discreetly pulling out my phone and texting Carlos. "Where are you hiding?"

Blanca playfully nudged Ana. "Watch out. With that many knives around, you don't want to tempt her."

“Don’t give me any ideas.” I slid the phone into my pocket, grinning at them. “Is there something I can help with?”

"Don't you rather go sit outside and relax for a bit?" Reyes suggested, glancing towards the inviting patio. She gracefully crossed the kitchen to pick up a couple of jars lined up in the window bay. The jars, adorned with rustic bows, held a delightful arrangement of lilies and lavender, their soft purple, pink, and yellow hues peeking out from the surrounding greenery. I knew my mom had picked those. They were the perfect choice for Blanca’s dinner. “It will be just us for dinner and everything is arranged for tomorrow. You can rest upstairs if you wish.”

I shook my head, a smile forming on my lips. "No, I can help. I'll help you set the table."

With a nod, Reyes motioned for me to follow her into the dining room. She laid the jars in a console in the dining room. My eyes wandered over the walls, taking their time in every door frame and window they met; I couldn't help but glance outside, secretly hoping for a glimpse of him.

The aroma of the meal being prepared wafted into the dining room, mingling with the gentle scent of the flower arrangements. Laughter and the clinking of utensils echoed from the kitchen, where my mom and the girls continued their lively chatter while cooking.

So warm, so familiar. Like I’d never left.

The tablecloth was similar to one of my memories—carefully burnished to fall neatly over the edges of the sturdy wooden table. Reyes took the lead, picking up the plates and laying them down with precision on the table. It was just us for the night, the guests would arrive the next afternoon, after lunch. Then, at dinner, Blanca and Rodrigo would announce their engagement. My mom would help all day with the preparations. She can’t say no to a party. And Dad would enjoy the morning hunting. He’s one of those.

“You know, if it wasn’t so hot today, we would have dined outside,” Reyes commented, leaning over the back of one of the chairs, using her index finger to align two cups on the table. “Carlos wanted to have a barbecue tonight, but after this week I feel like we all need a homemade meal, something… proper.”

“We can save the barbecue for another day. Senior’s a master on the grill, after all. I can say I miss his cooking.”

Reyes turned on her heels, facing me. “I meant the younger one, actually,” she said. “He really wanted to make you some burgers. I don't know what you did to him last week, but…”

“Oh, just...” I began, my words trailing off as a familiar voice filled the room.

“The younger one? Talking about me?” Carlos's voice resounded through the room, echoing off the cool walls that provided us refuge from the scorching heat, now entering through the door he had left open behind him.

Caco entered after, waving as he crossed the door, phone glued to his ear. The door was kept open and the hot air rippled in, gently brushing against my bare arms. When I turned around, pretending that Carlos’ presence was just another ordinary occurrence and it didn’t affect me the slightest, I couldn't help but notice that he too was battling the heat.

Thick, damp hair clung to his temples and neck, his shirt slightly creased against his torso and back, marked by lines of sweat that clung to his skin, accentuating the contours of his muscles. And he hadn't shaved. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, and the casual way he navigated the distance from the table to kiss his mother's temple as if the house and the air we were breathing belonged solely to him made my heart skip a beat. It was impossible to deny that he had an aura. An ethereal glow.

“Mom, she’s a guest”, Carlos remarked, a slight smile gracing his lips as he draped his arm over his mother's shoulders. She kissed his cheek, her hand moving along his back. Up and down, and up again. A warm feeling spread through my chest, and a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Why are you making her work?”

With a soft smile, I replied, "I made myself work. I'd rather help."

"Had a feeling you would say that," he responded, closing the distance between us. Carlos leaned down, his lips gently pressing against each of my cheeks in a tender kiss. Our noses brushed against each other's as he made his way to kiss my other cheek. The gentle bump made me chuckle and I noticed it made him smile. His hand caressed my forearm, leaving behind a lingering warmth even as he pulled away. "How was the drive?”

“Quite an adventure, actually. Dad almost sent us down a hill.”

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds about right. That man needs a GPS, or a map, or something.”

"Or a couple of lessons from your old man," I pointed, making Reyes chuckle on the other side of the room. Dusty paw prints marked his trousers and he had a small scratch on his arm. "What happened there?"

"Oh, uh… Piñon," he replied, hastily brushing his hands against the fabric in an attempt to clean them. "I think he missed me.”

Before I had a chance to respond, Reyes swiftly crossed the room. The clack of her sandals made both of us turn her way. I couldn't help but suppress a laugh at her disapproving look, but Carlos looked genuinely puzzled by his mother's reaction. "What? It's the dog's fault."

"Come on! Dinner is almost ready, and you show up like this?" Reyes scolded, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement.

"Don't I have like… ten minutes to shower?" Carlos retorted. “We were in the field all afternoon. I would need a shower either way.”

"Five minutes. Not a minute less," Reyes affirmed, her tone firm yet laced with affection. "Por Díos, we have guests, Carlos."

Carlos shot me a playful wink before obediently heading off to freshen up, leaving me alone with Reyes in the dining room. Reyes gestured for me to take a seat at the table, her warm smile finally returning. "Make yourself comfortable, dear. Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Could I... refresh up before dinner, too?" As words left my mouth, I saw Carlos slow down until he stopped by the archway. "Since Carlos will delay dinner, anyway."

“"Well… I don’t see why not. Carlos will end you get settled in. Won’t you, Carlos?”

"Of course," he replied from afar. "The one next to Ana's, right?"

Reyes just nodded and turned on her heels, walking back to the kitchen. Waiting for me, not too far away, a Spanish man, with a beautiful smile and a godly glare.

The atmosphere seemed to shift the second our steps fell in sync. My small suitcase waited for me at the top of the staircase, right at the beginning of the hallway. The scent of aged wood and the soft glow coming through the small windows, casting funny patterns on the art pieces on the wall, welcomed us upstairs.

"We are making some renovations," he said, picking up my suitcase. "It's mostly done, I mean. For my sisters' weddings."

"I couldn't tell," I admitted, between the sound of our footsteps echoing softly against the walls. "Everything very much looks the same."

He smiled at me. “I know. Time doesn’t go by in here.” That smile, united with his tousled hair and the faint scent of his cologne fed something inside me. The light, so warm and bright, fell perfectly on his features. He looked pretty. Homey.

"You didn't shave."

"You said you like it when I keep it like this."

My eyebrow pointed up, "That's why?"

"I'll have to shave it for dinner, but... yes."

We reached a door at the end of the corridor, its aged wood marked with intricate carvings. The door before that one was Ana's room, and it held so many of my secrets, shared in the dark, between the covers and girly giggles. Carlos turned the worn brass handle and pushed the door open, revealing the cosy, inviting room I was used to. That, too, felt the same. Soft sunlight streamed in through a big window, casting warm hues over the wooden furniture and the plush bed adorned with a vintage quilt.

Not much decoration, just the basics for a guest.

"You said you'll have to shave for dinner?" I asked, standing outside.

Carlos had his hand on the handle and his eyes pointed at the inside of the room, probably waiting for me to move. But I wanted more time alone with him. Study him. In his home. In his ambience. Understand if he missed me as much as I missed him. Play this game of how much more time I can’t pretend I’m not desperate to touch him.

"My mom doesn't like it," his hand left the handle to caress his own cheeks. "Neither do my sisters, to be fair. I think you're the only one."

"Believe me, I am not," I replied, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Carlos leaned against the doorframe, his eyes filled with curiosity as he soaked in our conversation. "Oh, really?" he inquired, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Yes. A lot of people, actually.” When I noticed, my fingertips were up, extended to him, lingering on the roughness of his jawline. I’d lost my own game. "But my opinion should be enough.”

His gaze intensified, and his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Oh, love, it is," he responded, his hand reaching out to gently touch mine.

“You can’t do that,” I whispered.

“What, exactly?”

“Call me that like that.”

“Do you blush like that when I call you love on the phone?” His tongue wandered across his lips and I raised my hand to my cheek. “Don’t bother to check, baby. Why would I lie?”

I stepped inside the room, both my hands on my cheeks, leaving both Carlos and my suitcase by the door. The mirror over the dresser confirmed his words. I shot him a glance, but he just stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well,” I moved around. "Don't you want to show me around? Maybe enlighten me on how the faucets work or something like that? Make yourself useful… instead of mocking me.”

Carlos chuckled, the sound filled with warmth and familiarity. "You know this house probably as well as I do, Eva.”

"Well, with the renovations, I can't be so sure anymore..."

"Oh, the renovations," he mused, laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Exactly. The renovations. What a terrible host, Carlos Sainz," I teased, playfully kicking off my sneakers. "I expected your mother to teach you better."

Pretending to take offence, he closed the distance between us. "Terrible host?"

"Yes. Absolutely terrible,” I emphasized, leaning closer to him, our faces mere inches apart. The air crackled with anticipation, and I could feel his warm breath against my skin.

"Well, how can I make myself useful, then?" Carlos's hands tightened their grip on my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. There was no need for pretense or hesitation. His anticipation matched my own, the way his eyes held mine told me exactly that. His voice turned husky when he spoke again, "What do you want?”

To burn down in anticipation, I wanted to tell him. To drown in the bittersweet feelings that his presence evoked in me, both threatening and soothing—the urge, the longing, the tug in my belly that told me I was beyond ruined. Once again, his tongue wandered through his lips.

"Could you please just—" I began, my voice trailing off as he finished the sentence, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. The raw desire in his gaze set my senses ablaze, and I found myself leaning in, drawn inexorably toward him.

"Kiss you?" he finished, his breath ghosting over my lips.

The room fell silent as I held my breath, gaze locked with his. And then, I let it wander through his face, taking in every inch of his portrait, from the angle only I had access to. The freckles on his cheeks. The shadow of his eyelashes. The way his iris grew darker, as anticipation flooded his own senses. The droplets of sweat on the bridge of his nose. The way he pulled his lip between his teeth, as my eyes laid on them and travelled up again.

It was this that I needed from him. More than everything.

To be so close to the point of forgetting we were once apart.

With a whispered plea hanging on my lips, I nodded. "Yes, please.”

Carlos's breath hitched at my response, a mixture of anticipation and desire evident in his eyes. Without uttering another word, he closed the remaining distance between us, his lips crashing against mine with urgency. God.

The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the grip of his hands pulling me closer, holding me in place. Fingers burning against my skin. My hands instinctively found their way to his tousled hair, threading my fingers through the sweaty strands as I pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. The heat of his body against mine sent pulses of electricity through every nerve, heightening the intensity of our connection.

The room itself seemed to respond to the energy between us, the soft sunlight casting a warm glow that enveloped us in a cocoon of intimacy.

"Eva, I need a shower," he murmured, his lips tracing my jaw, meeting my neck, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

"Funny thing," my hands navigated to his nape, meeting the small droplets of sweat that had formed there. "Me too."

Carlos chuckled softly, “My room, then. Quick.”

The sound reverberated through me as he took my hand and led me towards the door. I only had time to pick up my suitcase before I was walking barefoot in the hallway, the warmth of the hardwood floors permeating my socks as I walked behind him, rushing through the corridor.

Once inside, he closed the door. The click of the latch echoed like a sealing promise and seconds after, my back was pressed to the door, his weight pressed against me and his lips travelling down my neck. A mix of nostalgia and passion hung in the air, as the walls themselves remembered the dreams of two teenagers, now fulfilled in their adult forms.

No posters on the walls. A couple of memorabilia here and there. Some photos. Totally different than I remembered. It seemed bigger, now, that I wasn’t looking through a small slit of the door, from the hallway. I think the memory made me laugh softly because I remember a small noise echoing in the room and then his voice following,

“What’s going on?” he asked.

"It's just funny," my laughter danced between us like a playful melody. "I'm finally in here."

He looked around, the smile never leaving his face. "My room?"

"The younger me would die to think of this, right now."

"Oh, imagine if she knew what I'm about to do with you," he said, lifting my shirt. I could see my breasts raise with my breathing, my tanned skin meeting the brim of my bra. He lowered his face to kiss the space between them.

A drip of sweat dripped down my neck to my chest. I looked down, whispering. "Shower." I indicated. And then, his lips were again against my neck. My jawline. "I'm gross.” My lips. “You’re gross.” My chin. ”And we have dinner.” My lips again. “They’re waiting.”

“And I’ve waited all week for this. They can wait twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, but my mom will come look for me,” I protested, even though my body was getting warmer.

"They’re distracted," he said, lifting my shirt over my head. "The…" He didn't finish his sentence. He was so busy trying to undo my bra that he forgot how to speak. He wasn't fast enough, though. His mouth was still gliding down my skin, the uneven stubble of his jaw grazing my smooth skin, but his fingers couldn't find their way. I helped him out, freeing myself of the black bra.

He paused, and then he took a step back, breathing deeply.

"Yeah," he exhaled, eyes on my chest. "This is happening.”

“I know,” I said, breathless. “That’s why we need to hurry.”

He was already taking off his sneakers and shirt as we walked to the bathroom door. My heart was pounding in my ears and my breath was coming faster. I forgot my tiredness and the fact that both our families were right there, just a staircase away.

The world ceased around us.

The glass of the shower was cool against my skin, and the tile of the bathroom floor was cold under my feet but when his lips found mine, my skin prickled with heat and I couldn't think about anything else but the way his tongue whipped into my mouth and how his hands slid down my back to pull me against him, trapping me against the glass divider of the shower stall and holding me there as if he had forgotten I needed air.

So urgent. So needy.

Desperate. Passionate. God. Carlos.

My hands were clumsy on his belt, pulling the leather without success. His hands fell over mine, heavy and warm, so big compared to mine. With a stronger thug and with the clink of the buckle, my way was freed.

He had to step away. The button. The zipper. And then he was undressing in front of me. His muscled kissed by the artificial yellow light of the bathroom. Swiftly, he came back to me, not even giving me time to admire him.

And God, how I wanted to.

I was feeling greedy, so greedy.

Shamelessly, my eyes drifted to the mirror in front of us. Our bodies seemed to be melting into one another. His back muscles flexed under his skin as he moved; drops of sweat slid along his back and disappeared into his boxers.

"The water," he pointed, undoing the button of my jeans and sliding them down my pants, as he knelt in front of me.

My hand searched blindly for the faucet, because this time I couldn't take my eyes off his tan shoulders, and the way his muscles responded with grace under skin stretched taut over them. His lips swooped down against my panties, feeling their elastic around my thighs. Without averting my eyes from him, I leaned forward to my right, my fingers finally meeting the cold iron surface. The water ran from the tap in a gush, ice cold, then cascading down, pooling on the marble floor with a splash that echoed in the room around us.

"In," he ordered, getting up and undressing his boxers.

I stepped into the shower, gasping. "It's freezing."

He followed me with two steps, his arm pressing against my back, trapping me against the glass again, this time on the other side. "That may be because you turned it to the wrong side, smartass."

I didn't see him change the faucet, but in a couple of seconds, the water ran warmer against our skin. He chuckled, his lips grazing my earlobe as his hands explored my waist. Our skin was already slick with sweat before the shower started, and now every inch of us was glistening under the artificial bathroom light. He looked like gold, tanned and carved into perfection. His fingers probed between my legs, arousing me further until I was biting my lip to keep from crying out. The droplets of water danced on my forehead.

And then he was pushing me against the cool tile, his hand finding my nipple and rolling it between his fingers. I gasped, biting his shoulder, and his other hand slid on my back, pushing me firmly against him.

"How is it possible that I miss you this much, uh?" He said, fingers now rubbing against my folds, his mouth whispering in my ear. My breath was coming out in shallow pants. "I'm so hard." His index and middle finger were inside me. Thumb pressed against my clit. Hearts beating against my chest. His and mine both. I pressed my head against his shoulder, my nails digging into his back.

"I missed you." I moaned, feeling my body tightening around his fingers. "I really did."

And I wasn’t talking about the previous week, anymore.

My eyes closed. His stubble was razing the skin of my neck as his lips moved to my earlobe, his tongue flickering over the right side of my neck. He tasted like mint and salt. Felt like heaven.

“You’re so hard,” I could feel it. Pulsating. Against my leg. Desperate. So close. “What if they…”

"They won't.” His teeth captured my earlobe between them. “We got time. Focus on me. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through my body when his tongue reached my ear. I moaned against him, my hands gripping his shoulders. An emptiness hit me as his fingers slid from me, and I opened my eyes. His dark eyes glowed in the hazy fog that had gathered around us, and droplets of water flew over his showers and onto me. He glanced down admiringly at his wet fingers, coated with my arousal.

"D'you want to taste it?"

"No," I said, breathless. God, this man. On his knees, water running down his face. His lips glistened. His eyes glimmering. "I want you inside me."

His hand fisted my hair and his other hand grabbed my ass, fingers clawing my skin and pressing me against him. The desire to feel him inside me was maddening, taking over every part of me.

"Feisty."

"Thought that was a given."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, "I'm well aware." One last peck on my lips, his voice raspy and low.

I closed my eyes and felt his hand guiding his hardness into me, damp tip meeting my folds, slowly and provocatively. It was so warm. He was everywhere. He was still kissing my skin as he slipped inside me. So tight, baby. So good. Filling me, inch by inch.

The cold tire against my back was the only thing that kept me from collapsing. I slumped over it, my hair spilling down my shoulders and chest. Carlos’ eyes dropped to my chest, and my eyes did the same. Water poured from his shoulders, meeting my belly and making my skin glisten.

And then he pulled out, his hands on my hips, keeping me steady. His eyes were on mine, the same dark depths that held me captive since I met him.

"You okay?"

"More than okay."

He smiled, flexing his hips, and then pushed back in, harder this time. I moaned, gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. I was lost in him. In the way he felt inside me, the way his voice sounded when loaded with lust and pleasure.

His name came out in a whisper. He didn't answer but he quickened his pace, digging his fingers into my hips and kissing me harder. I loved the feel of him getting harder inside of me with every thrust, and I loved hearing him breathe faster and louder each time he squeezed my hips, muffling moans that followed immediately after. I loved the sensation of the water raining on me. How the sound of his breath was turning into something that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

"Wait," I told him, between whispers and pants. Carlos stopped moving and looked at me, confusion etched into his features. "What's wrong?"

My skin was all shivers, my back was almost numb with the temperature of the tile. I only noticed how cold I was when the hot water fell on my shoulder again and dripped through my back.

"I think I'm just a bit cold," I whispered, mouth hovering over his.

"That's okay." Carlos' voice was soft, his hand sliding around my waist to the front of my body. One finger traced the outline of my nipple, back and forth, and I arched my back, pressing myself harder against him. His finger dipped inside my navel and I gasped, biting his lip. "Can we try something different?"

"Please."

"Here, then," he moved, pushing me with him closer to the water. The warmth relaxed my muscles and sent an overwhelming feeling over me. I let the water fall over me, as Carlos kissed my neck and shoulders. He was behind me, erection against my ass, hands on my waist, lips all over me.

My hands met the glass divider, warmer than the tile, but exactly as slippery. My hands searched for support as I folded forward. Water hit me right on the back, dripping down me like gold.

“Oh, God,” he uttered, hands firm on my ass, groping my cheeks and pulling them apart. His wet fingers travelled down my slit, slipping inside me again. My body fold even forward, elbows meeting the wall, ass pinned into him. "Every inch of you, baby. So pretty."

And then his hand was gone, replaced by his hardness again, rubbing against me, pressing against my entries, teasing me and making me whimper.

"Please," I begged, my fingers curled around the cold glass. My nails bit into my palms, the sensation unbearable, but incredibly wanton. "Please."

"Please what, baby?" I bet he was smiling when he pressed his thumb against my needy flesh.

"Please fuck me."

The words had just slipped out, and I didn't even realize it.

But it was okay. He knew what I wanted. And he would give it to me. Hard. Fast. And so deep that I would never be able to forget him again.

And then he was inside me, sudden and hard, and I cried out, my nails digging into the glass. I was so tight, I was almost choking him. He started moving, slowly at first and then picking up speed, and I reacted immediately, twisting around and meeting his thrusts. He muttered something in Spanish, in an accent so deep I couldn't understand his words, and I could feel my orgasm building, threatening to consume me.

"Please," I begged again, my voice trembling. "Make me come."

"C'mere," my body followed his voice, and my back meet his chest. He was smiling against my shoulder. He held me in place as he pounded into me, one hand wrapped around my neck, the other pushing down on my clit. I was shaking, my whole body quivering.

"You like this?"

"God. Yes." Words left my lips as my body was hit with waves of pleasure. Waves after waves of it. My toes curled. My stomach tightened. I'd forgotten how good it felt. How good he was.

"Go on, pretty girl," he said as his tongue flicked between my earlobe and the skin of my neck. His thrusts deepened and went faster, still without mercy, until they turned into a fury. I was feeling dizzy. Head elsewhere. Maybe from his grip on my neck or the heat in the room. Perhaps both."Cum for me."

"I'm so close," I whimpered. My hips swayed against him as I leaned back into his shoulders, arching my back. "I'm so close."

It was almost painful, really, how much I was enjoying this, how my body was responding to his touch, to his voice, to him. Go on. You're so pretty. You're so good.

"Oh, Carlos," I cried out, my head turning to his neck to rest on his shoulder, my hands flat against the glass. "Jesus—"

My childhood crush was making me cum in his childhood room. In his childhood home. And I was loving every second of it. I was coming in his arms, and I cried out loud for him. Pleasure tore through my body as he thrust into me, taking the breath from my body. My skin was covered in goosebumps, and my body was shaking uncontrollably.

Clit trobbing. Nerves about to snap.

I felt my muscles twitching around him, drawing groans and moans from his lips. He didn't stop moving, thrusting into me with more strength and power.

"Inside me," I said between moans and whimpers. "Cum inside me."

And then he did, slamming into me one final time and spilling himself inside me. I swore I saw stars. Felt everything. The way his body was shaking against mine. The way his heartbeat was thundering in my ears. The way he was still moving, still thrusting, still claiming me as his.

"You're mine," he told me, and I could hear the weariness in his voice. The way he was still holding me close to him.

When I turned to him, his eyes were closed still. His hands didn't move away from my skin and he embraced me, holding me there.

He was right. I was his. And I belonged there.

And it was natural. It was easy.

"I am," I whispered, eyes closed, my body trembling and weak.

"Oh, my good girl." Carlos' lips slanted over mine in a slow kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth. My body leaned against his, completely and utterly at his mercy. "You're so pretty. Have I told you that?"

"Hm... I don't think you have, actually."

"Well, you are. Every inch of you," he said, smiling, his hands moving to my shoulders, then to my neck. "Should have told you that sooner."

"In all honestly, you should've done a lot of things sooner."

He shrugged, kissing me again. "Don't you think?" I said, my lips touching his neck. "Don't you think you should’ve kissed me that night during my... what? 16th birthday party?"

He laughed. "Maybe."

"Or, I don't know, when you got that fourth place in Adu Dhabi and hugged me like never before?"

Once again, he laughed, turning around to pick up the shampoo. "Maybe."

"Maybe is not the answer I'm looking for," I said, raising my head to look at him.

"Why didn't you?"

"I think Rio would have killed me. Or your dad. One of the other, for sure."

"So…” I teased, the corner of my lips tugging up as his eyebrows drew closer. “You were a chicken?"

"Yeah, that's one of the reasons." He opened the bottle of shampoo. "Turn around."

I turned and leaned my back against him so he could wash m hair. "One of?" I said, ducking my head under the water. "What's the other one?

His hands began washing my hair with long strokes. "I've told you. I didn't think I could give you what you needed."

"But you had girlfriends."

"I did." His hands began washing my hair. "But they weren't you."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I could have fucked it up and I wouldn't be failing you. I could fail. I could not be a good boyfriend because I wouldn't be your bad boyfriend." His hands were massaging my scalp, making my eyes close in utter bliss.

He finished washing my hair and rinsed it before turning me around to face him. His brown eyes were softened as he looked into mine. I watched Carlos in silence, my eyes tracing the shape of his face, the subtle lines of his jaw and his lips, which were still curved in a soft smile.

"And now?" I asked softly. "You think you are?"

He shook his head slowly and sighed. "No," he said, his voice low. "But I know you have a different opinion."

"We still have time to figure that part out, right?"

"We do," he said. "We have not much time until someone comes to call us for dinner, though."

"Yeah. Right." I gave him back the shampoo. "Please, tell me you have a good body wash."

"I'm not a savage, DiMaggio."

"You're a racing driver, Sainz,” he snorted. "That's almost the same."

2022, 29th August

Unveiling the Victors and Underdogs: Reflecting on the 6 Hours of Fuji

by James Anderson, Motorsport Commentator

In the fast-paced world of endurance racing, it takes something truly extraordinary to capture the attention of fans and fellow competitors alike. At the 6 Hours of Fuji, one driver accomplished just that, proving that age is no barrier to success and talent knows no bounds. Eva DiMaggio, the rising star of DAR Racing, made waves throughout the weekend, leaving an indelible mark on the race and the hearts of racing enthusiasts worldwide.

From the very start, the odds seemed stacked against DiMaggio. Forced to step in during the first practice session due to her teammate Matteo Serra's unexpected bout of food poisoning, she had to adapt quickly to the demanding Fuji Speedway. But adapt she did, showcasing her innate skill and lightning-fast reflexes with a couple of impressive laps during practice. The whispers began to circulate throughout the paddock, and everyone took notice.

As the race commenced, it became abundantly clear that DiMaggio was a force to be reckoned with. Her fearless overtakes in the Ferrari 488 GTE Evo were a sight to behold, displaying a level of confidence and determination beyond her years. She fearlessly navigated through the field, inching closer to the podium with every passing lap. The chemistry between driver and machine was undeniable, as if they were in perfect sync, dancing their way through the twists and turns of Fuji Speedway.

DAR Racing's decision to extend DiMaggio's stint proved to be a stroke of genius. She continued to push herself and the car to the limits, defying expectations at every turn. As the checkered flag waved, DiMaggio and her team celebrated a hard-fought fourth-place finish, a significant achievement considering the challenges they faced throughout the weekend. Their jubilation may have gone unnoticed in the immediate aftermath, as the attention turned to the traditional podium ceremony. But fate had one last surprise in store.

As Corvette Racing, in second place, was disqualified from the race, it was DAR Racing and Eva DiMaggio who were propelled into an unexpected third-place finish in the LMGTE Am class. The garage erupted with joy and pride as the realization sank in—their tireless efforts had paid off, and they stood on the podium as a testament to their resilience and unwavering spirit.

Beyond her impressive performance on the track, what struck me most about Eva DiMaggio was her infectious smile and genuine warmth. Throughout the weekend, she effortlessly engaged with fans, fellow drivers, and teams, leaving a lasting impression. It was heartwarming to witness drivers from different categories flock to congratulate her after the podium ceremony, recognizing her remarkable achievements and undeniable potential.

At just 25 years old, Eva DiMaggio has already made a great step to make a name for herself in the world of motorsports. DiMaggio’s performance in EuroCup and Formula 4, as well as her victory at the Ferrari Challenge Europe in 2022, showcased her talent and versatility. And while Fuji marked her first time in a car after that triumph, it certainly won't be her last. Once again, DiMaggio got the chance to showcase her ability to step up when needed and perform under pressure. I wonder what she can do with proper training and preparation.

Eva DiMaggio has undoubtedly established herself as a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the track. Her relentless pursuit of excellence, combined with her natural talent and infectious spirit, sets her apart as a driver destined for greatness. As we applaud her achievements at Fuji, we eagerly await the next chapter in her extraordinary journey, eager to witness the continued rise of this young motorsport sensation.

Thought a little pick-me-up would help after today's race, so I really tried to finish the chapter today! It's 11 pm and I'm super sleep deprived, so I'm sorry if you find a typo here and there, but I didn't revise as many times as I should've. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting for so long but life's been crazy. Can't promise when the next one is coming, but the story is not finished yet! It will come! Also: thank you so much for all the messages, comments and reblogs. You are amazing. If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is published, let me know! As always, sending you all the love!

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