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13

ALEXANDER

I can’t believe I suggested fake dating Lucia DeLuca , and she agreed. Even more shocking, Matteo is on board. Well, reluctantly on board, but I’d count that as a victory.

As the door to my suite clicked shut behind Matteo, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My best friend’s halfhearted threat was still ringing in my ears. Not that I blamed him.

I glanced over at Lucia, who was perched on the edge of the couch, her arms crossed and her brows furrowed like she was deep in thought. Her lips were slightly pursed, and it hit me that I was staring way too long at them.

“This is insane, isn’t it?” she asked, pulling me out of whatever trance I’d slipped into.

“It’s not insane ,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “It’s…strategic.”

She snorted, giving me a look that said she didn’t buy it for a second. “Strategic. Right.”

“Look, it’ll work. The media will move on once they realize there’s no scandal here. No drama. And you’ll get to live your life without worrying about being involved in some scandal they make up.”

Her expression softened a little, and she sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. “I guess it does make sense. But I still can’t believe Matteo didn’t completely lose it.”

“Trust me,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, “he almost did. But he would go along with anything you wanted, it’s you.”

That earned me a smile—a soft one, but still. I found myself grinning like an idiot.

“So,” she said, looking at me with that sharp, curious gaze of hers. “How exactly is this going to work? Are we going to hold hands in public? Pose for selfies? Declare our undying love in front of the paddock?”

She was teasing, but her words still made something twist in my chest. “Nothing over the top,” I replied, forcing myself to keep it casual. “Public appearances together at races and events. A little PDA to sell it.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Define ‘a little PDA.’”

I shrugged, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicked up. “Holding hands, an arm around your shoulder. Stuff that looks natural.”

She gave me a look that said she was clearly imagining how unnatural that would feel. I couldn’t exactly blame her.

“And how long is this supposed to last?” she asked, her tone all business now.

“The rest of the season?” I said. “Or long enough to convince the media and keep Belen Racing off my back, whatever comes first.”

“Right.” She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip like she was still trying to process everything. I didn’t let myself dwell on how distracting that was.

“You okay with this?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

She looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine. For a second, I thought I saw something flicker there, something unsure and vulnerable, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Yeah,” she said with a small smile. “I’m okay with it.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the wave of relief that washed over me. “Good. Because if this is going to work, we need to look convincing.”

“Convincing?” She tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “You mean like this ?”

Before I could react, she had crossed the space and was next to me, a hand sliding down my arm, making my body react before my mind could. My own hand wrapped around her waist and kept her against me. She leaned in and my entire body went on high alert. Was she about to kiss me? She paused, looking up with glittering eyes.

“Oh, Alex,” she said in an exaggerated, too-high, breathy voice, batting her lashes dramatically. “You’re just so dreamy.”

“That’s terrible. If that’s what you’re bringing to the table, we’re doomed.”

“Hey, I’m just getting into character,” she shot back, her grin widening.

“Maybe leave the acting to me.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. And for a brief moment, it felt…easy. Natural, even.

This was going to work.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

But as I watched her get up and head toward the door, the playful smile still lingering on her lips, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole plan might be more dangerous than I’d realized.

* * *

Time passed in a blur when we were in season. The fast-paced lifestyle of Formula One seeped back into my bones, adrenaline coursing through me. I loved it, loved the pressure and high stakes. With the last win under my belt, I felt the adrenaline racing through my bones already. I was sitting in first place in the Drivers’ World Championship standings, but only ten points behind was Theo Bauer, I couldn’t afford any mistakes.

The Italian Grand Prix was its own kind of chaos. Monza wasn’t just another race, it was a cathedral of speed, where mistakes were unforgiving and victories immortalized. Even now, as the morning sun poured golden light over the paddock, the atmosphere thrummed with energy. Fans already chanted in the grandstands, their cheers rising like waves crashing against the walls of my concentration.

I made my way to the garage, helmet in hand, sidestepping the cameras that tried to catch every flicker of emotion on my face. Today, there was no room for emotion. Not for nerves. Not for doubt. And definitely not for the thoughts of Lucia DeLuca that had crept into my head at the worst possible times this weekend.

I tightened my grip on the helmet as I crossed into the calm, orderly chaos of the garage. The mechanics were already at work, checking tire pressure, monitoring telemetry, and preparing for the grueling hours ahead. They didn’t look up; they didn’t have to. We all knew what was at stake.

“Morning, Wright,” came the clipped voice of my race engineer, Simon. He handed me the day’s strategy sheet.

“Morning.” I skimmed the paper, I needed it etched into my instincts.

“Feeling good about the setup?” Simon asked, his sharp eyes scanning me like I was another component of the car.

“Car’s strong. It’ll be all about the start and managing the tires in sector two.” My voice was even, but my brain itched to get on track and feel the balance under me. Words only went so far in a sport where the difference between glory and disaster came down to fractions of a second.

But as I tried to picture turn one, the braking point at Variante del Rettifilo, my thoughts veered off-course. To her. To Lucia.

She’d come to the paddock yesterday, a little wide-eyed but trying to hide it under her usual quiet composure. When I’d stepped in to stand by her side, the tension in her shoulders had eased, and damn it, if that hadn’t felt like a win. Gianna was with her grandparents, who were in town for the race, and Lucia looked a little lost without her. I nodded at Anna and she seemed to understand my silent plea. Make sure Lucia isn’t alone.

The fake-dating arrangement was supposed to make everything simpler . A barrier for the media, a shield against the inevitable questions about why she was here. Instead, it felt like the start of a slow, impossible spiral. We had decided to start the charade after this race since her parents were in town. When we last talked about it, she had pressed her body up to mine, batted her lashes, and been silly, but having her that close, breaking past that invisible line of personal space. Between that and the night at the club, I was one step away from losing restraint. I wanted her there. I wanted to breathe in her berry-scented perfume, or hair product, or whatever it was. Fuck, I sound like a lovesick fool. I’ll admit the extra time with Lucia was nice. I loved seeing Gianna and having them here in the circuit. Enjoying the company of someone is fine, that is totally fine. But breathing in their scent, Jesus. Get it together, Wright.

I shook my head, forcing the memory away.

“Something wrong?” Simon asked.

“Nothing.” I handed the strategy sheet back to him. “Just ready to get out there.” The pre-race routines came next: the engineering brief, the driver’s meeting, a final stretch to shake out the nerves. I stayed quiet through most of it, letting myself get in the zone. This morning I had already started to zone out the world, getting race ready. Matteo carried the conversation when we saw each other at the hotel this morning; his parents were getting in soon, but not before we needed to be on the track. His easy charm kept the conversation light as we traveled to the circuit together, but I knew him well enough to spot the slight edge in his voice. Racing at home always did that to him, to anyone, really. Home races were another level entirely.

Out on the grid, the crowd was deafening. Italian flags whipped in the breeze, and fans called Morretti’s name louder than anyone else’s. The Italian team was a powerhouse, and Matteo had been buzzing with the same energy as we partied this morning. As I walked down past each team’s lounges and club rooms, I tried to visualize the team strategies on the track, where everyone would be starting, and how to implement the plans based on final formation.

Until, a familiar laugh cut through the noise. I glanced up, and there she was, standing with Matteo near the barrier of the Moretti team space. I had walked the length of the area to get my mind refocused before I was needed in the garage, but here I was, sucked in by the voice I had come to search out.

Lucia’s parents were beside her, I could see how she fit in this world that felt so foreign to her. The same warm smile as her mother, the same fierce light in her eyes as Matteo. She caught me looking, and instead of shying away, she gave me a small, almost mischievous wave.

There goes my focus.

I send an easy smile their way, waving to her and her parents, before turning back toward the Belen area. I worked through my mental routine, headphones in as I waited for go time. After a few final checks with the engineers, it was time.

I climbed into the cockpit, pulling the helmet down to seal myself in. The roar of the crowd dulled, replaced by the steady thrum of my heartbeat.

“Radio check,” Simon’s voice crackled in my ear.

“Loud and clear,” I replied, gripping the steering wheel. The formation lap was a blur of instinct and preparation, each corner a reminder of what was coming. As we lined up on the grid, the world seemed to hold its breath.

I flexed my fingers, eyes locked on the lights above. This was my arena, my battlefield. I focused on the car, my sanctuary, and the world narrowed. It was just me and the machine now.

Five red lights.

This was it.

They went out, and I launched forward, every thought, every doubt burned away in the white-hot clarity of the race.

* * *

The race ended in a blur of heat, sweat, and raw adrenaline. As I crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving wildly, the roar of the crowd hit me like a wave. Second place. Not the top step, but damn close, and Matteo wasn’t far behind.

“P2, Alex. Hell of a drive,” Simon’s voice crackled through the radio, calm but brimming with satisfaction.

“Thanks, team. Good work today,” I said, my voice tight with exhaustion and relief.

My muscles ached, and the cockpit felt stifling as I rolled behind the marker indicating second place. Cameras swarmed the area, their lenses hungry for reactions, but all I could think about was getting out of the car and catching my breath. It was a lower-ranked driver that snagged first today, they drove damn well too. Theo was knocked back by a small crash on the twelfth lap, finishing in fifth. That gap in points would hopefully help my standing in the weeks to come.

I climbed out, greeted by the cheers of the team and the familiar claps on the back from engineers and crew. Matteo pulled in behind me moments later, his grin as wide as the Monza track itself as he got out of his car.

“Not bad, huh?” he said, his helmet tucked under his arm.

“Third place in front of your home crowd? I’d say more than not bad , mate,” I replied, clapping him on the shoulder.

Together, we made our way to the podium ceremony. The champagne was sticky on my skin, and the trophy felt solid and heavy in my hands. But it wasn’t until I stepped off the stage that the real celebration began. As soon as Matteo and I walked back toward the paddocks, his family was there waiting. His parents, beaming with pride, engulfed him in hugs, while his mother fussed over his sweaty hair and his father laughed, shaking his head. They pulled me in with them, not letting me retreat back to my own team’s paddock.

And then there was Lucia.

She hung back at first, her gaze flicking from Matteo to me. When I caught her eye, she hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward, her smile shy but warm, as if the internal war of whether to greet me in the public eye was the right decision. I let her make the move, not wanting to push her until she was ready.

“Congratulations,” she said, her voice soft but sincere as she grew nearer.

“Thanks,” I replied just as quietly, as if we were in our own little world. Our bubble was popped by a tiny version of her jumping up and down and chanting my name.

“Hey, kiddo!” I said, bending down and pulling her up to sit on my hip.

“You’re all sticky!” she said, poking at my race suit that was rolled down but drenched in champagne.

“Nonno and Nonna are here!” Gianna announced, and I turned to face them, a genuine smile bright on my features as I took them in. Matteo’s mother turned to me with an almost maternal concern that caught me off guard.

“You were brilliant, Alexander. Absolutely brilliant.” Her Italian accent wrapped around her words like a comforting blanket. “Do you have anyone here with you? Family?”

The question hit harder than I expected. The answer, of course, was no. I hadn’t had a family waiting for me after a race in years. A pang of sadness shot through me, wishing my dad could be here, that he had his memory and could see me now. My team was incredible, their cheers and pats on the back weren’t the same as this—this warm, chaotic bubble of love that Matteo and his family carried with them.

“No, just the team,” I said with a shrug, trying to play it off.

She frowned, her gaze softening, and before I could protest, she pulled me into a hug, Gianna giggled as she was squished alongside us.

“Well, you have us today,” she said firmly.

The words stuck in my chest, choking me up in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Matteo’s dad clapped me on the back, a gesture that almost knocked the air out of me. “You’re practically part of the family, anyway. You’ll join us for dinner tonight.”

Lucia looked up to me, “you really can’t say no,”