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PROLOGUE

Nicky

“I need a favour.”

These four words feel like the glue holding our friendship together.

I look over at my best friend of the last twenty-ish years and smirk.

He’s lounging, lopsided, on a couch in a cordoned-off section of this small, dingy bar in our small town Oakhill, Victoria, with a plastic gold crown sitting haphazardly atop his head.

He’s slurring his words and is just the right amount of drunk for the groom at his own bachelor party.

One drink more, and I fear he will tip over into sloppy.

Or just tip over in general.

“No,” I answer him.

He sways to his feet and lurches over to my couch. Sitting way too close for comfort, he leans into my face and sprays a beseeching “ please ” in my direction.

Okay, he’s drunker than I thought.

I motion to James, who’s standing nearby, to get the groom a bottle of water, and lean away from my friend with a heavy sigh. As his best man, I have to be here. But as a matter of principle, I want it known I’m doing it under duress.

“It’s not for me,” continues Matt—Matteo Brenner, my childhood friend and all-around good guy—adjusting his crown and making it worse. “It’s for Cherry.”

My stomach tightens and I sit upright. “Is she okay?”

Cherry—Cherie Brenner—is Matt’s younger sister by eight years. She was a constant figure in my life growing up. And just about the purest soul ever to walk the Earth. Growing up, she was like family to me, so if she needs a favour? Well, that’s a different story.

He lifts a shoulder, his eyes losing their drunken sheen. “I’m not sure.”

My hands clench into fists and I lean forward, now encroaching on his space. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, man! What is this? A tea party?” Dave, also an old friend and one I barely tolerate, slaps Matt on the back so forcefully that I grab his arm to keep him from falling over. “We’re here to celebrate your last days of freedom, man. Not to sit and gossip with this guy.”

I glare at Dave, annoyed by both the interruption and his open disdain for me.

These guys were my friends at one point, but jealousy is a poison most of the men at this party have swallowed.

I know my presence here is annoying them, as is the fact that we had to hold this party in a small bar in our hometown of Oakhill because of me.

To keep the paparazzi at bay; to keep this out of the media.

To make sure Matt can party the way he wants to without the world seeing it—without the scrutiny my fame brings with it.

This small country town is one of the few places I can move around with some peace. The people here knew me before I became who I am, and mostly, they still treat me that way. It’s the main reason that, though I have houses on three different continents, I call this place my home.

“Give me a minute.” Matt shoves Dave with more force than I thought possible with his tequila-riddled arms and I sigh with relief as the group disappears back to the bar to down more shots. The shots I’m paying for. They don’t mind that part of me being here.

“So, Cherry?” I prompt after we’re alone again. “What’s going on?”

He removes his crown, a solemn look taking over his tipsy face. “She and that guy she was with, you know the one? They broke up.”

I fight a frown. Matt had been filling me in on her relationship with some guy named Troy for the last twelve months.

From what he’s told me, he didn’t much care for the man, but with the two of us travelling ten out of the twelve months of the year, there was little either of us could do to intervene.

Not that Cherry would let that happen. She may be an angel on Earth, but she’s not a redhead for nothing.

Her stubborn streak is the stuff of legends.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad that’s over. From what you told me, it should never have started.”

He nods, scratching his chin, and his eyes search the room like he’s looking for the right words. “I’m not sure he wasn’t treating her right.”

A vein in my temple throbs at the thought of Cherry being mistreated.

From the moment she was born, with a sweet smile and a mop of shockingly deep red hair, she’d been the light in all our lives.

Before she actually arrived though, Matt and I weren’t that keen.

We were eight when we’d found out he was being graced with a new sibling and were mildly disgusted by the whole thing.

The idea of having to share Matt’s parents with someone new, someone little and gross, was extremely unappealing to us.

We’d spent hours plotting how to make her life miserable, the pranks we could play in the hopes she may decide to just go away, and the things we could do to endear everyone to our own favour instead—it had been as diabolical as it was moronic.

The sort of thinking only two pre-pubescent boys could indulge in.

And then she arrived. Small and adorable, with bright blue eyes and a sunny smile for everyone, not to mention that little dimple on her right cheek she flashed whenever we needed it.

She was named Cherie—another nod to their mum’s French heritage—but once I saw her deep red hair, a colour I’d never seen before, I called her Cherry.

Like my favourite Christmas pie. And that was it.

She became Cherry to everyone who knew her.

I wonder if Troy called her Cherry? My stomach rolls at just the thought of it.

“Do we need to talk to him?” I growl, my voice dropping to a deadly level. Few things in life get me riled up—my nickname isn’t Ice Man for nothing—but with this woman, my protective urges are close to the surface.

“Nah, he’s gone. Dumped her and then up and left. Moved to Sydney from what I heard.”

“Good riddance.”

Matt hesitates. “It’s just that…”

My hackles rise and I want to scream at him to ‘spit it out already!’

“What?”

“Mum said Cherry isn’t doing so well. While she was with Troy, she became withdrawn, distant.

Not her usual self. And now since the break-up, it’s gotten worse.

She’s spending a lot of time alone and not seeing her friends.

She’s not even doing her volunteer work anymore.

It’s like he dulled her shine and she can’t find it again, even after he’s gone. ”

The picture he’s painting pulls at my almost non-existent heartstrings.

The Cherry I know has always had a full life.

With lots of friends. And she loves volunteering at the local animal shelter every Saturday.

From what Matt’s describing, this relationship has left some scars on Cherry and just the idea of her hurting, being alone and isolated in her heartbreak, has me wanting to fix it.

It’s always been this way with Cherry. She’s the one person in my life I’d do just about anything for.

“So, what can I do to help?” I’m curious about what he’s planning.

As one of only twenty Formula 1 drivers in the world, I’m never home.

Like, ever. It took an army of personal assistants, managers, PR people, and some good luck to get me here to celebrate the wedding of my best friend to his soul mate, Nancy.

And that was only because Matt and his lovely fiancé planned their wedding during the F1 off-season.

“I was thinking,” Matt says. “Maybe Cherry can join your social media team. And travel around with you.”

His suggestion falls between us like a lead balloon. He must be joking.

“Matt, come on. You know what it’s like, being part of the F1 machine. It’s no place for Cherry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not so bad.”

Matt would know. In the first year after I’d moved from Oakhill to London to pursue my dream of racing the fastest cars in the world, he had joined me.

It had been a win-win for both of us. I had a piece of home with me—the best piece—and he’d gotten to travel the world, be paid a generous salary, and lead what some would view as a charmed life .

But we both know the reality. The travel is brutal, being in a new place almost every other week.

The schedule is both exhausting and borderline unsustainable.

And the ability just to live your life is…

gone. The right to privacy is non-existent—the world watches and critiques everything you do and say.

And although the highs are euphoric, the lows are sometimes debilitating.

Sweet Cherry coming along on this ride with me was inconceivable. How could Matt even suggest it?

“Don’t say no yet,” he begs.

“No.”

A flurry of pictures of Cherry through the years floats through my mind. From a cherub baby to a mischievous toddler all the way through her awkward teenage years, she’s been like a little sister, there for me to protect. Not to throw into the lion’s den.

“She’s too young.”

Another picture flashes through my mind, this one from Cherry’s twenty-first birthday.

It was a rare occasion where I could make it home to celebrate, and I’d turned up to her party as a surprise.

Only to find the surprise had been on me.

Cherry had been dressed in a pale pink dress, all grown up, and looking like a goddess.

It was a gut punch to realise that after not being home in over three years, while I wasn’t looking, she’d grown up.

Gone was the girl I used to know and in her place was a stunning woman.

Worse still, I was looking at her like a man looked at a woman and feeling very unbrotherly towards her, and so I had hightailed it out of there as quickly as possible and put it—her—out of my mind.

“She’s twenty-four now, man. And she’d be a great addition to your social media team. Unlike me, who you hired with only the qualification of ‘best friend’ in my resume.”

I grin at this. When he’d first come on my payroll, we’d had to find some sort of position for him. To start with, he was my personal trainer, which morphed into a wellness coach. And then he just became a personal manager of sorts.

What he doesn’t realise is that—his miscellaneous titles aside—I couldn't have achieved the success I’ve had in F1 without him. He’s an integral cog in my wheel and now that he’s getting married and leaving my team to move home, I’m not sure how I will function without him.

“And, it will be good for you to have someone from home with you, now that I’m leaving,” he adds, reading my thoughts.

“Cherry’s not right for that kind of lifestyle,' I say, truly believing what I’m saying. I want to help her out of whatever situation she’s in, but this can’t be the way to do it. It just can’t.

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his jaw set at a stubborn angle.

“You don’t know her anymore, Nicky. She’s got a good job at one of the top marketing companies in Melbourne.

She’s the head of their social media department.

And she leads some of their top-performing accounts.

And check these out.” He thrusts his phone in front of my face, so close my eyes cross as I try to focus.

“What am I looking at?” I move the phone to a reasonable distance and squint, the dull lighting in the bar making it hard to see what’s on the screen in front of me.

“It’s Cherry’s social media account. She took all these photos.”

I exhale deeply as I scroll through image after image. Each is more beautiful than the next. There’s an array of people—ordinary people—in the streets of Melbourne, mixed with landscapes and cityscapes.

They’re exquisite.

“So, she’s got a good eye for taking photos.” I cringe at this understatement. “That doesn’t mean she has what it takes to be part of our social media team. ”

He scrolls for another second before pointing to the screen with a raised eyebrow.

It’s a photo of me from the Melbourne Grand Prix last year.

I finished second in that race and Cherry had captured my quiet moment of reflection on the podium before the chaos of the celebration erupted.

I’d seen thousands of photos from that weekend, but never one as beautiful as this one. Or as real.

I’d also not known Cherry was there that weekend. How is that possible?

“Why didn’t you tell me she was there?”

He shrugs and my shoulders creep up to my ears. There’s only one race in Australia on the F1 calendar; Cherry should have had VIP treatment if she was there.

“She wanted to experience the crowd,” he says. “Get an authentic experience.”

She didn’t want to make a fuss, is how I interpret this.

“Does she even want to do this?” I’m softening, and he knows it, if his cocky grin is anything to go by. “Come on the road with the team for the entire year?”

He shrugs again. “I think she needs to get away. She’s heartbroken for the first time in her life, and this would be the perfect way to help her get over it.”

My resolve vanishes. My mind revolts at the thought of Cherry being heartbroken and not doing anything to help. If she agrees to join my team, I’ll do whatever I can to look out for her. And if she finds she doesn’t like it…she can leave.

“Fine, she can join the team.”

Matt pumps his fist in the air in delight.

“If she wants to,” I add with a glare without heat. There’s still a chance she will decline the offer and this will have all been for nothing .

I shrug away what feels a lot like disappointment at this thought. I must be lonelier than I think.

“Of course she’ll say yes. Who’d be crazy enough to turn down the opportunity to travel the world with a bunch of elite athletes, stay in luxurious hotels, not to mention get to hang out with you twenty-four-seven?”

I grin at his words while squashing the feeling that I’m not worthy of them. These days I’m not sure I want to do any of those things, especially hang out with myself all day, every day. But if he thinks this will help Cherry, then part of me—a big part of me—is happy to do it.

There’s just a small part of me that is wondering if this is the only reason I’m doing it.

I shake my head. “Ask her and then we’ll talk.”

My best friend grins and turns back to the party, while I sit back, a trickle of anticipation for the year ahead dancing along my spine that has nothing to do with racing a Formula 1 car. And has everything to do with a girl with bright red hair, and a dimple to melt the most hardened of hearts.

I’m just hoping mine won’t be one of them.