Chapter 1: Reunion in the Paddock - The Diamond Collar
The Spanish heat hit like a physical wall, a dry, gasoline-scented furnace even in the shade of the hospitality suites. Inside the Paddock Club lounge, the air was chilled and expensive, all polished wood and muted televisions showing timed laps. Kimi Antonelli couldn’t stand still.
He bounced on the balls of his feet, his race suit peeled down to his waist, the sleeves tied around his hips. The team radio in his ear was a stream of technical chatter he’d stopped processing an hour ago. His eyes were locked on the secured entrance, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against his thigh.
Three months. It was the longest they’d ever been apart.
When the glass door finally hissed open, the world snapped into a sharper focus. There she was, clutching a credential lanyard, looking momentarily lost in the cacophony of engineers and VIPs. She’d cut her hair; the dark curls now brushed her shoulders, messy from travel. She wore a simple white tank top and jeans, looking entirely out of place and perfect.
“Alessia!”
Her name tore out of him, louder than he intended. Heads turned. He was already moving, cutting across the lounge in six long strides. She barely had time to drop her bag before he was on her, his arms locking around her waist, lifting her clear off the grey marble floor. She let out a sharp, breathless shriek that dissolved into laughter, her own arms wrapping tight around his neck.
“Kimi! You’re crushing me, you idiot!”
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo beneath the airport smell. She felt real and solid, a grounding wire in the surreal circuit of his new life. He spun her once, just because he could, before setting her down, though he kept his hands firmly on her hips, holding her at arm’s length to look at her.
“You cut your hair,” he said, his voice rough.
“You’re taller,” she shot back, her dark eyes drinking him in. They were shining. “Or I shrank. You look… different.”
He did. The baby fat was gone, carved away by the relentless training, leaving sharper lines. But the way she looked at him, it was the same as always. Like he’d hung the moon.
A low whistle came from a nearby sofa. Lando Norris was lounging with a smoothie, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, mate? Who’s this?”
Charles Leclerc, leaning against the bar, offered a more polite but equally curious smile. The paddock was a village, and a new face, especially one attached to the shiny new rookie like this, was gossip fuel.
Kimi felt it instantly—a primal, tightening shift in his chest. His hands slid from Alessia’s hips to her shoulders, turning her slightly so his body was a partial shield between her and their gaze. It wasn’t aggressive, but the posture was clear.
“This is my best friend, Alessia,” he said, his tone leaving no room for further inquiry. “Alessia, these are some of the guys I race against. Ignore them.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, just curled an arm around her shoulders and steered her away, toward the quieter, more secluded section of the lounge behind a partition of tinted glass. The murmurs and the roar of a distant engine faded into a hushed silence.
“They seem nice,” she whispered, tipping her head up at him.
“They’re vultures,” he muttered, finally letting himself just look at her. The frantic energy was still buzzing under his skin, but it was morphing into something warmer, more focused. “Three months. You didn’t answer my last two FaceTimes.”
“I had finals! And you were in Silverstone doing seat-fittings or whatever. I’m here now.” She poked him in the chest. “I watched your testing laps. You’re fast.”
“I’m always fast.” He grinned, but it softened as he traced a finger over a faint, new freckle on her cheekbone. “I missed you. Like, a stupid amount. This whole thing…” He gestured vaguely at the opulent room. “It doesn’t feel real without you bugging me.”
“I missed you more.” Her voice was small, serious. It unraveled something in him.
He reached into the pocket of his race suit trousers and pulled out a small, black velvet box. He didn’t say anything, just flipped it open with his thumb.
Inside, on a bed of satin, lay a necklace. A delicate silver chain held a pendant: the iconic Mercedes crest, but crafted from pavé diamonds, glittering coldly under the lounge lights. It was obscenely expensive, a drop in the ocean of his new signing bonus.
Alessia’s breath hitched. “Kimi… what is this?”
“My first podium bonus. I got P3 in Bahrain.” He spoke quietly, his eyes locked on hers. “I stood up there, they played the anthem, all the guys were spraying champagne… and all I could think was that you were watching on a laptop in your dorm room. It felt wrong.”
She shook her head, her curls swaying. “It’s too much. You don’t have to buy me things. I just wanted to be here.”
“I know you don’t care about the money.” He took the necklace out, the diamonds catching fire in a beam of sunlight. “That’s why I want to spend it on you. It’s just a thing. The point is…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for her. “I won my first podium without you. So now you’re never leaving my sight again.”
He saw her throat work as she swallowed. Slowly, she turned and lifted the heavy curtain of her hair. His fingers were steady as he fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck. The cool metal settled against her skin, the pendant resting just above the neckline of her tank top. It looked like it belonged there.
She turned back, her fingers coming up to brush the jewelled star. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s a placeholder.” The words were out before he could think. His hand came up, cupping her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek. The world outside the glass ceased to exist. There was only the pulse in her throat, the rapid flutter he could feel under his palm, and the terrifying, exhilarating feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff he’d been circling for years.
“You’re my good luck charm, Lessia,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “And I’m not taking any more chances.”
Outside, a car fired up on the circuit, a vicious snarl that shook the glass. They didn’t move.
They didn’t move. Her breath was a warm mist against his lips, the scent of her, of home, weaving through the sterile lounge air. The moment stretched, thin and taut as a wire.
A sharp knock on the glass partition shattered it.
“Kimi! Debrief in five, mate. Don’t be late.” It was his performance engineer, Mike, who gave a two-fingered salute before disappearing.
Kimi’s eyes clenched shut for a second, a tremor of frustration running through his hands where they still cradled her face. When he opened them, the intensity had banked, replaced by a warm, familiar affection. He dropped a quick, soft kiss on the tip of her nose, making her blink.
“C’mon, shadow,” he said, his voice back to its normal, easy rhythm. “You can sit in. Just don’t look too bored when they start talking about rear differential torque.”
“I’m always bored when they talk about that,” she said, smiling as she adjusted the necklace, her fingers finding the angular shape of the number #12. It was simple, bold, cut from platinum and set with those same defiant diamonds. His number. Not the team’s. The distinction felt important, a secret between them.
“I know. That’s why I like you there. Keeps me awake.”
He kept one arm around her shoulders as he led her out, back into the humming heart of the Mercedes garage. This was her first time in the Spanish paddock, but she slipped into step beside him as if she’d never left. She was his shadow, a silent, comforting presence at his elbow as he was clapped on the back by mechanics, handed a data pad by his trainer, and steered toward the debrief room. He never once shrugged her off, never gave her a look that suggested she was in the way. Instead, he’d occasionally lean down, his lips close to her ear, and translate the engineering jargon into a joke only she would understand, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.
In the debrief room, she took a chair against the wall, folding her legs beneath her. Kimi slumped into a seat at the table, instantly flipping into a different mode—focused, analytical, asking sharp questions about tire deg. But every few minutes, his eyes would dart to her. Checking. Making sure she was still there, that she was okay. She’d meet his gaze and give a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. His shoulders would relax a fraction.
Afterwards, the evening sun was painting the paddock in long, orange shadows. Kimi had his hand lightly on the small of her back, guiding her through the pedestrian flow, when a voice called out.
“Kimi! Mano! You disappeared on us earlier.”
It was Carlos Sainz, easy grin in place, his eyes sliding from Kimi to Alessia with open, friendly curiosity. “So, you are the famous friend, yes? Kimi talks too much in the driver briefings, but he never shuts up about you.”
Alessia gave a polite, shy smile. “Only the bad things, I hope.”
“Only the good things. It is boring for us,” Carlos laughed, his charm turned up to its natural, effortless setting. “You are here for the whole weekend? You must let me show you the good coffee place. The team motorhome coffee is poison.”
“Oh, um, thanks,” Alessia said, her gaze already flicking back to Kimi, as if for confirmation. She missed the flirtatious lilt entirely, hearing only a kind offer about caffeine. “But I’ll probably just stick with Kimi’s schedule.”
Kimi’s fingers pressed a little more firmly against her spine. “She’s my good luck charm, Carlos. Can’t have her wandering off for cortados. My balance would be off.” He said it with a matching grin, all white teeth and playful arrogance, but his eyes held a silent, steely message.
Carlos held his hands up, still smiling. “Of course, of course. Just being friendly. Disfruta, Alessia.” He gave a little wave and melted back into the crowd.
“He seems nice,” Alessia remarked as they walked on.
“He’s Spanish. They’re all nice. It’s a national policy.” Kimi’s tone was light, but his mind was elsewhere, cataloguing the glances she drew from passing personnel, from a group of junior engineers who quickly looked away when he stared back. The necklace glinted at her throat, a tiny, brilliant declaration. Mine.
Later, in the quiet of his driver’s room at the hotel, the distant buzz of Barcelona nightlife a faint hum through the sealed window, the tension of the day finally dissolved. He was stretched on the sofa, scrolling through telemetry on a tablet. Alessia was curled in an armchair, her feet tucked under her, quietly reading a novel. A room service cart with the remnants of their dinner sat between them.
This was the peace he craved. The uncomplicated silence only she could provide.
“Did you mean it?” she asked suddenly, not looking up from her book. “What you said earlier? About me never leaving your sight again?”
Kimi set the tablet down. He looked at her—the deep concentration in her profile, the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth when she was thinking, the diamond-studded ’12’ resting in the hollow of her throat. A fierce, protective ache bloomed in his chest, so profound it stole his breath for a second.
“Every word,” he said, his voice quiet in the dim room. “This life… it’s all noise, Lessia. You’re the only thing in it that’s real. So yeah. You’re stuck with me.”
She finally looked up then, her dark eyes soft and unwavering. “Good.”
She went back to her book. He went back to his data.
The silence was comfortable, a familiar blanket draped over them after the sensory overload of the day. Kimi scrolled through the data, the numbers blurring into a meaningless stream as his attention kept fracturing, pulled to the soft sound of her turning a page.
A knock at the door was an intrusion from another galaxy.
“Yeah?”
His trainer, Leo, poked his head in, holding a stack of printed schedules. “Just dropping off the revised itinerary for tomorrow. Media pen at nine, engineering meeting at ten, then you’re in the sim for an hour after lunch.” His eyes flicked to Alessia, and he smiled. “Hey, Lessia. Good to have you back. Keep him out of trouble.”
“She’s the one who gets me into it,” Kimi said, accepting the papers without looking.
“Liar,” Alessia murmured, not glancing up from her book.
Leo chuckled and left. The door clicked shut, but the spell was broken. Kimi tossed the tablet aside and ran a hand through his curls, suddenly restless. “We should get some sleep. I’ve got an early one.”
“Okay.” She marked her page and stood, stretching her arms over her head. The hem of her shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of olive skin above her jeans. Kimi’s gaze snagged on it for a heartbeat too long before he looked away, a faint heat crawling up his neck.
He walked her to the adjoining door that connected their rooms, a permanent arrangement he’d insisted on with the team. “Everything okay in there? They stocked the fridge with that disgusting coconut water you like.”
“It’s perfect.” She turned in the doorway, looking up at him. In the low light, the diamonds in her necklace were subdued, just a faint glimmer. “Today was really fun. Even the boring parts.”
“It’s all boring without you here.” The words came out more gravelly than he intended. He reached out, not thinking, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered on the soft skin of her cheek. “Sleep well, shadow.”
Her smile was instantaneous, a sunrise. “You too. Drive fast tomorrow.”
“Always do.”
She disappeared into her room, and he closed the door softly, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. He could hear the faint shuffle of her movements through the wall, a comforting, torturous sound. He took a deep, steadying breath. This was the new normal. Having her this close, and yet miles away.
Friday practice was a blur of noise and purpose. Kimi was a different animal with his helmet on, all pointed focus and aggressive grace. From the garage, Alessia watched the monitors, her hands unconsciously clenched as he took a corner too sharply, the car twitching before he corrected it with ruthless efficiency. She didn’t understand the delta times or the fuel loads, but she understood the language of his driving—the smooth confidence when he was happy, the slight, irritable sawing at the wheel when something was off.
During a break, he emerged from the debrief, hair damp with sweat, a scowl etched on his face. “The rear won’t settle in the slow stuff,” he was grumbling to his engineer. Then he saw her leaning against a stack of tire warmers, and the scowl evaporated. Just… melted away.
“You’re frowning,” she said, pushing off and walking toward him.
“Car’s a bit of a pig. Nothing we can’t fix.” He took the water bottle she offered, his fingers brushing hers. “You been bored?”
“Mhm. George’s publicist gave me a tour of the motorhome. It has a hydroponic herb garden.”
Kimi snorted. “Of course it does.” He took a long swig, watching her over the bottle. She was wearing a simple team shirt, but it was somehow tight in all the right places. He had to look away. “Stay out of the McLaren garage. Norris is a bad influence.”
“He just said hello! He’s funny.”
“He’s a menace,” Kimi corrected, but he was smiling. Her ability to reduce the paddock’s princes to just ‘funny guys’ was both a relief and a frustration. She didn’t see the predatory glint in their eyes, the calculated charm. She just saw people being nice.
His suspicions were confirmed an hour later. He was heading back from a meet-and-greet with the fans, his face aching from maintained smiles, when he saw her. She was by the Paddock Club entrance, laughing at something. The sound cut through the engine din and found him instantly.
Pierre Gasly was standing with her, one hand braced on the wall near her head, leaning in with an easy, Gallic smile. He was telling a story, his hands animated. Alessia was listening, her head tilted, that sweet, open expression on her face that Kimi both loved and dreaded.
A cold wave washed through him. He changed course, his strides long and deliberate.
“—and then he said the chassis felt like a pregnant cow!” Pierre finished, and Alessia giggled.
“I’m stealing that one,” Kimi said, sliding into the space beside Alessia, his shoulder pressing against hers. It was a casual takeover, seamless and absolute. “Although I’d say more of a drunken donkey.”
Pierre straightened up, his smile never faltering, but his eyes flickered with understanding. “Ah, Kimi. We were just sharing horror stories. Your friend is a much better listener than my engineer.”
“She’s had practice.” Kimi’s arm went around Alessia’s shoulders, a brotherly, possessive weight. “I need to borrow her. Team stuff.”
“Of course.” Pierre nodded at Alessia. “A pleasure. See you around.”
As Kimi steered her away, Alessia looked up at him, confused. “What team stuff?”
“I need a coffee. That’s team stuff. Survival.” He tried to keep his tone light, but his jaw was tight.
“Pierre was just being friendly. He told me a story about his first karting race.”
“I’m sure he did.” They entered the bustling Mercedes motorhome, the noise swallowing them. In a relatively quiet corner by a window overlooking the pit straight, he stopped, turning her to face him. “You don’t have to be nice to everyone, you know. These guys… it’s not all just friendliness.”
Her dark brows knitted together. “Why wouldn’t I be nice? They’re your friends. And he was just talking. It’s not like he asked for my number or anything.”
He stared at her. The complete, guileless innocence in her expression was a dagger to his gut. She had no idea. No idea how radiant she was, how her laugh drew eyes, how the way she listened made men feel like they were the only person in the world. No idea that the necklace she wore, his number, was a shield he’d placed on her that nobody else could read.
The frustration coiled in his chest, hot and desperate. He wanted to shake her, to make her see. He wanted to kiss her until that oblivious look in her eyes shattered into something else.
He did none of those things.
He just sighed, the fight going out of him, and let his forehead drop against hers. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just… wired. And I hate sharing your attention.”
She softened immediately, her hand coming up to pat his cheek. “You never have to share it. You have all of it. You’re my best friend.”
The word was a blessing and a curse. It wrapped around him, a chain of his own making. He forced a smirk. “Damn right. Now about that coffee. I need a triple.”
The sun was setting, casting long, dramatic shadows across the circuit. The final practice sessions were over. In the Mercedes garage, the atmosphere was focused, post-mortems underway. Kimi was deep in a discussion about brake migration, still in his fireproofs, when he felt a familiar presence at his elbow.
He didn’t turn, just held out a hand. A small, cool palm slid into his immediately. He gave it a brief squeeze, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles, then let go, never breaking his flow with the engineer. “…if we can bias it a click rearward for tomorrow, I think it’ll help the traction.”
Alessia stood beside him, listening intently to words she didn’t understand, just happy to be near the epicenter of his world. She watched his profile, the sharp line of his jaw as he talked, the intense blue of his eyes fixed on the data screen. Her heart did a funny, warm little flip. She just missed him when he wasn’t right there. It was simple.
An engineer from McLaren walked past, carrying a sensor unit. He did a double-take at Alessia, offered a smile. She gave a small, polite wave back. Kimi’s head snapped toward the interaction, his conversation halting mid-sentence. The engineer hurried on.
“What?” Alessia whispered.
“Nothing.” He turned back to his engineer, but his voice was tighter now. “Let’s just lock in that change. I’m done here.”
He took her hand again, more firmly this time, and led her out of the garage, through the now-thinning paddock, toward the driver’s car park. His grip was almost too tight.
“Kimi, you’re hurting my hand.”
He loosened it immediately but didn’t let go. “Sorry.”
“Why are you so angry?”
“I’m not angry.” He was furious. A deep, quiet fury that scared him. It was at the world for looking at her, at her for being so beautifully unaware, and at himself for wanting what he couldn’t—shouldn’t—have.
They reached his rented Mercedes-AMG, a sleek, dark thing. He opened the passenger door for her. She slid in, looking up at him with those wide, concerned eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question deflated him utterly. He braced his arms on the roof of the car, leaning down to look at her. “No. Never. You could never do anything wrong.” He meant it with every fractured piece of his soul. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
He closed her door, circled the car, and got in. The engine purred to life. As they pulled out onto the service road, heading back to the hotel, Alessia reached over and turned the radio on, finding a pop station she liked. She hummed along softly, her fingers tracing the lines of the diamond '12' at her throat.
Kimi kept his eyes on the road, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thick as the Spanish twilight.