Racing Hearts | F1 Romance|

Chapter 1 - Araceli

"Celi!" My mother woke me up. My body was groggy and my neck ached from the back pillows in the hotel. Azerbaijan was probably my favorite city to visit during tours. Duchie always invited me as his plus one, but now I don't need him to get me a spot here.

The season's first race is probably the most heated, except for the final. I don't think I've seen so many fans, so many reports, and so many WAGs. Don't get me wrong, some of these guys are the biggest sweethearts.

Ricardo has been a close friend of mine after Alejandro's death, even though they were in close competitions on the grid. Ricardo's wife, Greta, and his sweet baby girl, Eloisa, are my close friends and don't live too far from my London apartment.

After studying in Cambridge for journalism, many of the guys helped me get the job I've worked for years, being the lead reporter during the season. It wasn't hard to get Ollie to agree, making me a personal to Alevni International.

My mother rushed into my hotel room, the two-room connect suite was more than enough of an accommodation by Ollie. After years of being close with me and mama, he made sure we got the best of our stay in the season.

Mama isn't staying the whole season, but I am since it is my job from now on. "Mija! You should be getting ready!" My mother was more than punctual. She loved being early and would plan to be ready for something hours in advance. The hotel was right by the track, and I didn't need to be prepared until 10:30.

It was currently 5 am.

I groaned, throwing my blanket back over my eyes. Duchie already planned for us to eat breakfast with the rest of the crew in the VIP section of the hotel. I went back to sleep, after she left my room, probably to prepare for an annoying and wild morning. I'd also have a rough morning, in the comfort of a five-star hotel bed.

~~

Azerbaijan was stunning as always.

Just how I remembered. Ever since Alejandro got signed with Alveni when I was ten, I remembered exploring the beauties of every city we could visit. My favorite used to be Monaco. Now, that place feels like a spirit is always around me. I replaced it with Miami for now, knowing I'd most likely change it once I traveled more. Miami is just so simple. The American city is a culture shock every time, and it feels like a rollercoaster. But who doesn't love bad booze and a good view of men on the beach? I'm not objecting.

"Hey, chiqui!" Duchie met me at the front of the VIP area, waiting for me as I looked around like a lost child. Duchie is the closest person I've had throughout the years. Many people only wanted to be my friend for the legacy my brother had. But Duchie? Duchie has been with me through so much, he is the closest thing I have to the memories of Alejandro.

I walked over to him, giving him the tight bear hugs that make me feel warm and at home. Another reason why I loved this city. Azerbaijan looked so much like the small villages I grew up in before moving to Barcelona. They reminded me of the warm fall morning, with all the Abuelas making pots of sangria to drink throughout the evening festivities. I remember walking to the local market that always had an open glass window for the kids to watch them make churros. When it would get warm, we'd get Leche merengada. The taste of the chilled chocolate and the warm churro always brings me back to my childhood.

It reminds me so much of Alejandro too. I reflect before his karting days, how he'd walk me from school and would always have an extra euro and would buy me bocadillo. We'd sometimes split the sandwich when I'd evidently get full. After we buried Alejandro back in Barcelona, I took a trip to our childhood home, at seventeen, and did our route home like we used to when we were little. It wasn't the same since the man who always sold the sandwiches wasn't there anymore, and the school turned into a tourist market.

"Hey little Fernadez," Duchie snapped his finger, catching me out of my thoughts. "So she is a human and not a cryptic robot here to get answers from us," Duchie says in a sarcastic tone, laughing as a few of the other racers come around. Duchie has been a favorite among the circuit. The fans rave over his humor and humility. His racing just makes it even better. Everyone is friends with Duchie, which automatically means the same to me.

I guess you could say I got this position from a little bit of nepotism.

"How about we get some food before your big day, little miss hot shot," he laughed, the humor lightening the weight on my shoulder. But then his arm adds to the weight as he slings it around my neck, bringing me into him. As we walk into the secluded area, separated from the racers, cameras begin to flash as fans gathered around to maybe catch a glimpse of their favorite driver.

I remember moments like this with Alejandro. Even though it was a little weird when people asked if we were dating, I still loved every second of my brother's talent being recognized.

After a while of sitting at the stuffy booth with Duchie, his teammate Marco, and another crew member I hadn't recognized yet, I just began to zone out as they talked random nonsense. Duchie raced for Mikolai EMD, and they were in a close second with Alveni. Everyone could say they were a Mikolai or Aurora GT fan, but at the end of the day, everyone adored Alveni.

And the one thing the fans couldn't get enough of was golden-boy, Louis Maes. That playboy shit got on my nerves every day since I started my job, and I hadn't been here long. I was the one who was scheduled to do more of the sillier, group stuff with the teams to add humility to the dangerous multi-billion dollar industry that was F1.

So during the first couple of interviewers where we had the guys do some random music challenge, Louis refused to actually play along. Like the prick had a stick up his ass or something. Barely acknowledged the rest of the people when he arrived. On camera, the man was the perfect angel. To his crew, he was alright. To me and everyone else, we were peasants and he was the king.

Ollie came over to the table, his striking blue button-up and navy trousers fit the sophisticated by-approaching look he always went for. All the guys were in their team uniforms, and most of the principals were in a similar style, but Ollie simply found a way to fit in on his own manners.

Alveni's colors are dark blues, so his outfits consisted of that color contrast, and it was considered the more luxurious of the ten other teams. Ollie shook Mikolai's principal, Jurgen Fritz, then gave me a slight pat on the back.

"Good morning, angel," he said, as he looked at me, striking blue eyes like he was made for Alveni.

"Good morning," I smiled back at him. Ollie was like a father to me, taking me into his care the second he heard about what happened to my actual father. He watched me grow up, and when I told him I got my journalism degree, he offered me a position immediately.

Ollie didn't stay long, only saying his brief hello's and good luck's before meeting with his group.

And when I looked, there he was; Louis Maes. I refused to research the guys, only doing the necessary info for the interviews I planned on having. I knew them personally that their statics and pasts didn't matter. Louis, all I knew is he knew my brother. It must have been through F2 because my brother died when Louis was about nineteen, twenty.

I refused to do interviews with Louis. Enough of the other reports begged for that opportunity, so I didn't strip them of that. Anyways, I liked the interviews with the other guys. Made me feel more human and relatable, and I think viewers loved the comfort they had around me that they deep-dived more into topics that would have been hushed away if it were anyone else.

Everyone had focused on eating and conversing before the race---preparing their pre-race rituals, some not even showing needing a whole morning to prepare. I looked up from the plate of food I slabbed from the buffet to see one person staring away from their group.

Louis fucking Maes.

And his eyes?

Dead set on me.