Daughter of a fallen former Formula 1 driver, Camila has had only one mission since her early childhood : to disappear from the public eye and the journalists who eagerly await to tear apart the last ties holding her family together. Torn between he...
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August 2004.
"I hate that we don't ever see dad" I say, swinging gently on the garden swing next to my sister.
"I know, me too".
"I don't understand why we can't follow him everywhere" I add, pouting.
"Because we have school, dummy" my sister answers, rolling her eyes.
"I don't care about school. I want to see races" I whine again.
"You sound like him" Bianca says.
"Dad said I could be a pilot when I grow up."
"And he also said that he didn't want you to become one" comes the voice of Andrea, who's laying in the grass behind us. "But you're just like him. So reckless, so impulsive. I wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up behind the wheel someday." my brother concludes before going back to his book.
•
August 2019.
Dragging my small suitcase through Brussel's airport corridors, I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and grab it, smiling as I see a WhatsApp notification on my screen.
"Waiting for you on the second level of the underground parking. Can't show myself too much in public, sorry."
I follow the signs until I reach my destination, and I recognize Pierre's car in the parking lot. I chuckle as memories from a few months back flood my mind, both of us huddled under the hood, trying to revive his spark plugs. I gently tap on the car window and he immediately comes out, flashing me a radiant smile and enveloping me in a hug.
"How was your flight?" he asks, taking my suitcase and putting it in the trunk.
"Well, my neighbor was a few months-old baby so... I didn't catch much sleep. It was a very cute baby, though" I answer as we both laugh. He starts the car, and we set off towards the hotel where he's staying with the entire Redbull team, near the Spa circuit. Pierre has booked a room for me there (which I obviously insisted on paying for myself), and after getting up at 4 in the morning to catch my flight, all I want to do is sleep. Unfortunately, my body gives up on me long before getting to the hotel, and after just twenty minutes on the road, I already feel myself drifting off, lulled by Pierre's smooth driving.
An hour later, I feel the car come to a stop, and I wake up slowly. Pierre comes with me to the hotel's front desk so that I can pick up the key to my room, and he gestures for me to go ahead of him in the elevator as he carries my suitcase behind me.
"Hey," Pierre suddenly says as we exit the elevator and walk towards my room. "I know you're probably tired, but I was thinking we could attend the F2 race if you're up for it? A very good friend of mine is racing today. That'll get us in the mood for tomorrow."
