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“You’ve definitely softened Nicky’s image, which makes my job easier. A relaxed, happy Nicky is much more marketable.”

Ah, maybe she doesn’t hate me after all.

“That’s good to know,” I say, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. With Frieda, I’m learning, there’s always something else to say. Some other angle to spin.

“Can I speak openly?”

No .

“Sure.” I wring my fingers, looking around for someone to save me from this conversation. Where is Serena when I need her?

Frieda looks me up and down like I’m a specimen on display in a museum. “I’m wondering how you’d feel about a makeover?”

I glance down at my outfit and wonder what she’s seeing that needs to be ‘made over’. Today I’m wearing wide-leg light blue jeans, the team t-shirt and my hair in two French braids. When I’d shown Nicky my look this morning, he’d kissed me until I was breathless, so I’d thought it was a winner.

“Um…”

“It’s just that,” she continues, talking over me. “Now that you’re a WAG, you need to look the part. This whole ‘girl next door, I just woke up and threw on an outfit and don’t care what I look like’ vibe won’t work forever.”

I swallow hard, tamping down the way my confidence shrivels at the words she’s throwing at me. “I’m here to work, Frieda. Not to be a WAG.”

She waves her hands. “Now that you’re with Nicky, everywhere you go, you’re a WAG.

And not just any WAG. Nicky is a four-time, soon-to-be five-time world champion.

All eyes are always on him. That means all eyes are always on you.

And this,” she tugs at one of my braids and my eyes sting. “This just won’t do.”

We stand in silence while I digest her subtle insults. While she’s happy for us to be a couple, she needs me to step up and be…worthy of him?

“Why don’t you take some time? Look around the paddock. Maybe even chat with Vanessa and Francesca. They’ve been doing this for a while and they know how to dress. How to behave.”

Vanessa and Francesca are both professional models and long-time girlfriends of two of the drivers on the grid. I’ve met them several times this year, and while they’re both lovely, they are both also intimidating in their chicness.

That is what Frieda wants to turn me into?

I give her a flat look and nod. “Sure, thing. I’ll do that.”

Her sigh is relieved, like this—me being a mess—has been weighing on her. “Great. And let me know if you want to go shopping. Or go get a haircut.”

The minute she turns away, I pull my hair out of my braids, running my fingers through the waves to tame them. I’d thought it would look cute, the two plaits idea, but now I know better.

Instead of looking like an elegant WAG, I’d turned up looking like a kindergartener.

“Such an idiot,” I murmur, biting my tongue and batting my eyelashes. There’s no faster way to make myself look like an immature child than to blubber at work.

“Cherry?” James is in front of me, his eyebrows slashed on top of his fierce frown as he looks between me and the disappearing Frieda. “Is everything alright?”

My smile trembles on my lips. “Sure. Everything is great.”

“What did she say to you?” He sounds so concerned; my eyes smart with tears again. Tears I’d just got under control.

“Nothing much,” I force through gritted teeth. “Just girlie stuff.”

His frown deepens. “Do you want me to get Nicky?”

“No!” That is the absolute worst thing he can do. “Really, I’m fine,” I tell him in a softer tone.

“But—”

“Really, James,” I squeeze his arm. “It’s all good.”

I turn away and look for an escape. Spotting the stairs up to the VIP area and hopefully Serena, I make my way over to them, keeping my gaze focussed on the ground. Just in case there’s someone else lurking, waiting to make me feel bad about myself.

“Cherry, hey.” Serena waves to me from her spot in the front row and I rush to her, feeling like a released hostage rushing to safety.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as I sit next to her.

I shake my head. “Do you think I need a makeover?”

Her mouth drops open. “What?”

“I know I’m not the trendiest person on the grid, but do I look bad?” My voice wavers and I hate that I’ve let Frieda get to me like this. It’s like all the work I’ve done to fix the self-confidence Troy destroyed has disappeared in a poof.

“Of course not.” She shakes her head, two red spots sprouting on her cheeks. “Who said that?”

“No one.” There’s no way I’m bringing Frieda’s name into this. That would only cause problems for Nicky. And at the end of the day, she’s only trying to help him. By changing me.

“Cherry, you are drop-dead gorgeous. You’d look amazing in a garbage bag. Never think otherwise.”

I try to soak in what she’s saying; to let her words override Frieda’s. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Nodding, I look out to see Vanessa and Francesca walking down the pit lane like it’s a runway. They are both dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes with their hair professionally styled and their smiles carefully curated.

If that’s what Frieda wants me to be, then I’m destined to fail.

“Cherry.” Serena nudges me, pulling my gaze from the fancy WAGs in front of me, pointing to the top of the stairs. “I think he’s here for you. ”

Feeling all eyes on me, I jog to where Nicky is lingering. In a spot I don’t think he’s ever visited before.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss. It’s almost time for the Dutch National anthem, and I know the drivers get fined if they’re late for the ceremony.

“James said you’re upset.”

Oh boy.

“Nicky,” I grab his arm and walk us back down the stairs. “I’m fine.”

He stops and gives me a look, digging his heels in until he gets a proper answer from me.

“Seriously, I’m all good. You need to go out there.”

He wraps a finger around a strand of my hair. “What happened to the braids?”

“I took them out.” I pull on his hand, desperate to get him moving.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“If it’s got something to do with Frieda, then it matters.”

I sigh, tugging on his hand again. “Let’s talk about it later. You need to focus.”

“Have you been crying?” He looks angry now, red the same shade as his race suit colouring his cheekbones.

Grrr. He’s not listening to me.

“No. I’m good. You need to go.”

Nicky pulls on my hand, tugging me into his arms. “I need to know you’re alright.”

Exhausted, I lean my forehead against his chest and exhale. “I’m fine. Really.”

He frowns, not believing me. “I can’t have you upset.”

This man .

“I know.”

Paul calls for him from the front of the garage and I push him in that direction. “Focus on the race. We’ll talk later.”

He does as I say, his eyebrows two dark slashes sloping down over his eyes. My stomach clenches at the idea of him going into a race looking like that.

“Good luck!” I call after him. He gives me one backwards glance and follows Paul out of the garage.

“What was that?” Serena asks when I flop down next to her, sweaty and out of breath. This day is just getting better and better.

“Nothing, I hope.”

We watch the formation lap in silence, the anticipation for the race building all around us.

“He should have this one in the bag,” Serena tells me, patting my arm in a reassuring way. “All five of the last races here have been won from pole.”

“That’s good to know.”

I take some photos of the cars waiting on the grid and then turn to look at the five red lights waiting to go out.

“Oh no,” Serena groans as the last light flickers off and Nicky doesn’t move. It’s a mere tenth of a second delay off the starting line, but the result has him down in fifth by the first turn. “I wonder what happened there?”

My mind flashes me the image of Nicky leaving me just now looking distracted and I wonder what role I played in this disastrous start today.

And whether this is something that is likely to continue.