Catalina Villalobo, a 21-year-old Mexican grad student, meets 30-year-old F1 driver Carlos Sainz by chance in Barcelona. Their chaotic banter sparks into undeniable chemistry, but as playful encounters turn serious, the public scrutinizes their age...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
The first two days in Bristol felt heavier than Catalina expected.
Even before the opening ceremonies, she could feel it—the way conversations hushed when she walked by, the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way when she stretched by the docks. Cameras lingered a second too long. Whispers floated through the crowd like a low current under calm water.
By now, she was almost used to it. Almost.
The first time it happened, months ago, it had gutted her. Now it just made her lift her chin higher.
Still, she could sense it in her gut—people weren't just watching Bath's Sirens because they were the team to beat. They were watching her. The girl who'd somehow become a gossip thread, a trending topic, a timeline deep dive.
Catalina tightened her ponytail and kept her eyes on the water. Focus. Just the race. That's all that mattered.
But the second she started walking back to their tent, Anna fell into step beside her, chewing gum like she was about to start a fight. "People keep staring," Anna muttered under her breath.
"I noticed," Catalina said dryly.
Anna popped her gum. "Let me guess—'Carlos Sainz's ex.'" She mimicked air quotes with a roll of her eyes. "Honestly, they're just jealous you got the Sainz D and not them."
Catalina choked on a laugh despite herself. "Anna!"
"What? It's true!" Anna said, hands on her hips. "Half these girls would sell their souls to be in your place, and the other half are pretending they wouldn't."
Catalina shook her head, a smile breaking through her exhaustion. "You're insane."
"I'm loyal," Anna corrected, grinning. "Big difference."
Danna chimed in from behind them. "She's right, though. Let them stare. You're about to kick their asses in the water anyway."
"Language!" Coach Margaret called from a few meters away, but even she was smiling.
The group burst into laughter, and the tension broke for a moment.
Later that afternoon, during practice runs, the whispers started again. A few girls from another team—Oxford, Catalina recognized—stood by the railing, laughing quietly and glancing her way. One of them muttered something under her breath, and the others snorted.
Anna caught it immediately and turned, fire in her eyes. "You got something to say, sweetheart?"
The Oxford girl froze but smiled sweetly. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering how much of your training is... extracurricular."
Catalina didn't even blink. "Jealous?" she shot back, her tone cold enough to freeze the water beside them.