Emily leans over the sink, her fingers tightly gripping the counter. The mirror shows her pale and sickly reflection, making her regret skipping doing her make-up this morning. Despite splashing cold water on her face, her eyes are still red-rimmed. She looks as terrible as she feels, and it's only Friday afternoon.
"You can do this," she mutters to herself before stepping out once again in the hospitality lounge.
Free practice is still underway, so the many guests present here haven't paid much attention to how many times she's run to the bathroom in the last two hours. They're all too busy sipping cocktails and taking selfies with Instagram influencers, instead of watching the cars around the track. Charles is leading the session, with Carlos not far behind in P3, but the majority of the people around her don't even know what it is, or don't even care at all. Glancing at the TV again, she looks for Pierre's name and sighs in relief as she sees him in the top 10. AlphaTauri has brought some updates this week, which could mean scoring some points on Sunday.
With only two minutes left before the end of the session, she hurries back to the garage, trying to stay out of sight in the paddock. Reaching inside her bag, she pulls out a Ferrari cap and firmly plants it on her head, hoping it'll hide most of her features. She's too tired to pretend to smile for the cameras, and she'd rather not have to deal with the journalists and fans wondering why she looks so damn miserable today.
"Here, you look like you might need this," Andrea states as he passes her a bottle of water.
"Grazie, Andrea."
She struggles to open the bottle, squeezing it so hard that the water spills a little, before she downs it like she's been lost in the desert for days. She feels the trainer's eyes on her, but pretends she doesn't notice his worried gaze. She's becoming really good at pretending, lately.
Someone bumps her shoulder and she looks up to see Arthur and Lorenzo behind her.
"Hey Emily!" says the older Leclerc, kissing her on both cheeks.
As if things couldn't get any worse, there's also an F3 race this weekend. Two, actually— sprint tomorrow, and the race on Sunday morning. She's usually the first one to get and cheer for her brother-in-law while Charles goes from meeting to meeting, but she's not sure that she can handle seeing Arthur driving here tomorrow. Putting thirty cars on a track seems insanely dangerous to her, even more so with young, inexperienced, and highly competitive drivers.
"I don't know how to say this nicely, Emily, but you look like shit."
"Arthur!" chastises Lorenzo. "You can't say that!"
"What? It's true!"
She'd smack him on the back of the head, but she's pretty sure the journalists posted outside of the garage would catch that.
"Have you slept?" Lorenzo asks with a frown.
She offers them a noncommittal shrug, hoping they'd stop pestering her with questions and drop the subject altogether.
"Well, Arthur and I were about to go back to the hotel if you want to ride with us."
She bites her lip, unsure how Charles would take it if she left before the second session.
"Charles's gonna be busy with meetings anyway, and we can all watch the session on TV at the hotel."
"I guess, yeah," she sighs, too drained to argue with them. "Let me talk to Charles, and I'll need to swing by AlphaTauri as well before we go."
She's so tired she feels like she could pass out any second, but there's still this nagging voice inside her head telling her that she needs to see the boys before they get back in the car.
