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Kimi first saw her on a Thursday afternoon.
Which was, in hindsight, deeply inconvenient.
He had a media briefing in twelve minutes, a physiotherapy check-in after that, and at least three separate people reminding him that this was a race weekend and not the appropriate time to suffer a complete and immediate personality collapse.
Unfortunately, none of that mattered.
Because there was a girl sitting in the Mercedes garage.
Not just standing there. Not hovering awkwardly with a lanyard and wide eyes the way guests sometimes did when they had not yet learned where they were allowed to put their hands.
She was sitting.
Comfortably.
As if the garage had been built around her.
She was perched on one of the stools near the engineering station, one leg tucked beneath her, wearing faded jeans, white trainers, and an old Mercedes hoodie that looked soft from years of washing.
Her dark hair was loose over one shoulder, catching the light every time she tilted her head. There was a pair of sunglasses pushed up on top of her head, a paddock pass hanging against her chest, and a packet of crisps balanced very precariously beside her elbow.
Kimi stopped walking.
Completely.
Someone behind him made an annoyed sound.
“Kimi,” his physio said. “Move.”
Kimi did not move.
Because the girl laughed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quick, bright laugh at something one of the mechanics had said to her.
And Kimi, who had spent most of his life learning how to process speed, pressure, noise, danger, expectation, telemetry, and men twice his age telling him not to crash stupidly expensive machinery, discovered that he had absolutely no internal system prepared for a pretty girl laughing in the Mercedes garage.
She was— God.
She was really pretty.
Not paddock pretty, either. Not the kind of polished, camera-ready beauty that came with stylists and perfect angles and everyone pretending not to stare.
She looked real.
Soft around the edges in a way that made his chest go strange. Pretty in the way that made him want to look again, then immediately look away because it felt rude, then look again because he apparently had no self-control.
She was talking to Bono.
That part registered only after several seconds.
Bono was standing beside her with a tablet in one hand, wearing his usual expression of intense concentration, except it had softened slightly. Barely. Almost invisibly.
But it had.
The girl reached into the crisp packet and held it out toward him without even looking.
Bono took one.
Kimi blinked.
Bono took food from her.
This felt important.
This felt like information.
This felt like something he should understand.
Kimi understood nothing.
“Kimi,” his physio said again, more sharply this time.
“Yes,” Kimi said, still staring.
“You’re blocking the walkway.”
“Right.”
He stepped sideways.
Directly into a tyre blanket.
The mechanic beside him caught his elbow before he could push over anything expensive.
“Careful, mate.”
“Sorry,” Kimi said automatically.
The girl looked over.
Kimi wished, instantly and violently, that the floor would open and swallow him whole.
Her eyes landed on him, curious at first, then warm. Her mouth curved into a smile, and Kimi’s brain performed the engineering equivalent of a small electrical fire.
“Oh,” she said, brightening. “You must be Kimi!”
He had heard his name said thousands of times. By engineers, journalists, fans, mechanics, teachers, friends, family. Through radios, microphones, phones, interviews.
Never like that.
Kimi swallowed. “Yes,” he said.
Excellent. Brilliant. A complete sentence. Historic achievement.
She smiled wider. “I know who you are.”
Somehow, this made everything worse.
Because of course she knew who he was. He was wearing team kit. He was standing in the Mercedes garage. There were literally half a dozen posters with his face on them within a 20-metre radius.
But the way she said it made his stomach swoop anyway.
“Oh,” Kimi said. Then, because he apparently wanted to die, he added, “Good.”
A mechanic coughed.
It sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Bono looked up from the tablet.
His eyes moved from the girl, to Kimi, to the mechanic, then back to Kimi.
Kimi stood straighter on instinct.
Bono’s face did not change.
Somehow, that was worse than if he had smiled.
The girl slid off the stool with easy confidence and walked toward him. Kimi became aware of several things at once: that she was shorter than him, that she smelled faintly like vanilla and citrus, that there was a tiny silver moon charm at her throat, and that he had no idea what to do with his hands.
She offered one.
“I’m Luna.”
Luna.
Of course, her name was Luna.
Of course, the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life was called Luna because, apparently, the universe had decided that subtlety was unnecessary.
Kimi took her hand.
Her fingers were warm.
“Hi,” he said. Fantastic. Another literary masterpiece.
Her eyes sparkled like Luna knew exactly how badly he was doing and was choosing to be kind about it.
“Hi.”
He let go of her hand a second too late.
Then realized he had let go a second too late.
Then panicked about whether she had noticed.
Luna had definitely noticed.
Bono definitely noticed.
The mechanic absolutely noticed.
Kimi wanted to walk directly into the pit lane and keep going until he reached Italy.
“You’re here for the weekend?” he asked, because that sounded normal. That sounded like something a functioning person would ask.
Luna nodded. “Spring break.”
“Oh. University?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you study?”
“Engineering.”
Kimi stared at her.
Of course.
Of course, she studied engineering.
Pretty and smart and comfortable in the garage and apparently close enough to Bono that she could feed him crisps without being murdered.
Kimi was doomed.
“That’s cool,” he said.
Luna tilted her head. “You sound surprised.”
“No,” Kimi said quickly. Too quickly. “No, I just—engineering is good.”
Somewhere behind him, someone made a strangled noise.
Luna’s smile turned mischievous. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Kimi said solemnly. “Very good.”
Bono finally spoke. “Kimi.”
Kimi snapped his head toward him. “Yes?”
“You have media.”
Right.
Media.
The thing he had been walking to before his life had been ruined by a girl named Luna with a moon necklace and very pretty eyes.
“Yes,” Kimi said again.
He looked back at Luna.
She gave him a little wave. “Good luck.”
Kimi nodded, because speaking again felt dangerous.
Then he turned and walked away.
He made it six steps before he heard laughter behind him.
Not cruel laughter.
Worse.
Amused laughter.
Fond laughter.
Mercedes laughter.
The kind that meant everyone had seen everything and would never let him forget it.
Kimi kept walking, face hot, heart doing something deeply unhelpful beneath his ribs.
His physio fell into step beside him. After a moment, he said, “Smooth.”
Kimi stared straight ahead.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Kimi did not answer.
Because he was too busy thinking about Luna.
And the way she had smiled at him.
And the fact that he still had absolutely no idea who she was.
***
Kimi lasted forty-three minutes before he asked George.
This was, he felt, extremely restrained.
He waited until they were both in hospitality, George stirring an espresso with the severe concentration of a man performing surgery and Kimi pretending very hard that he had not been thinking about Luna since the garage.
“So,” Kimi said casually.
George looked up. Too quickly. That was already suspicious.
Kimi leaned against the counter, trying to look normal. “The girl in the garage earlier.”
George blinked once. Then his mouth twitched. “What girl?”
Kimi narrowed his eyes. “You know what girl.”
“There are lots of girls in the garage, mate.”
“The one talking to Bono.”
George’s expression became violently innocent. “Oh. Luna.”
Kimi’s brain immediately underlined the fact that George knew her name. “You know her?”
“Yeah.”
Kimi waited.
George sipped his coffee.
That was it. That was the whole answer.
Kimi stared at him. “And?”
“And what?”
“Who is she?”
George hummed thoughtfully. “She’s Luna.”
“I know her name is Luna.”
“Well, there you go.”
Kimi wanted to commit a crime.
George’s mouth twitched again. “She’s around sometimes,” he added.
“Around,” Kimi repeated.
“Yeah.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means she’s around sometimes.”
Kimi stared at him.
George stared back, looking more delighted by the second. “Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t,” Kimi said immediately.
George raised both eyebrows.
Kimi hated him. “I’m just asking.”
“Sure.”
“I ask things.”
“You do.”
“It’s normal.”
“Very.”
Kimi grabbed a bottle of water and left before George could start laughing properly.
He made it another twenty minutes.
Then he asked an engineer.
Not obviously. Obviously.
He waited until he was back near the garage and Luna was somewhere else, which was unfortunate, because part of him had been hoping she would still be there, and part of him had been hoping she had vanished forever so he could recover his dignity.
She had not vanished forever.
Her crisps were still on the stool.
This felt important.
Kimi pointed at them like an idiot. “Are those Bono’s?”
The engineer looked at the crisps.
Then at Kimi.
Then at the other engineer beside him.
“No,” he said.
Kimi nodded slowly. “Right.”
Silence.
“They’re Luna’s,” the engineer added helpfully.
Kimi closed his eyes for half a second.
“Yes. I know.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I didn’t ask about Luna.”
“You asked about her crisps.”
“That is different.”
The engineer’s grin was evil. “Is it?”
Kimi walked away.
The problem was that everyone knew her.
That was the problem.
He saw her in the corridor five minutes later, laughing with one of the Mercedes PR people, who hugged her like they had known each other for years.
Then he saw her in hospitality, where a woman from catering handed her tea without asking what she wanted.
Then he saw her stop beside Toto Wolff, say something that made him look briefly offended, and then steal a chip from his plate.
Toto let her.
Toto Wolff let her steal food from his plate.
Kimi almost walked into a wall.
This was not normal.
***
Kimi found one of the mechanics next.
“Do you know Luna?”
The mechanic immediately grinned. This was becoming a pattern. “Course.”
“Who is she?”
“Luna.”
Kimi closed his eyes. “I know her name.”
“Then you’re halfway there.”
“I am going to lose my mind.”
“Bit early in the season for that.”
Kimi leaned closer. “Is she important?”
The mechanic glanced over his shoulder, where Luna was now sitting on a counter eating pasta out of a bowl while Bono stood beside her reviewing notes.
“Oh, very.”
Kimi’s heart sank.
“How important?”
The mechanic’s grin widened. “Bono would kill for her.”
Kimi went very still. “What?”
“Probably hide a body too.”
Then he walked away.
Kimi stared after him.
That was not helpful. That was the opposite of helpful.
***
Kimi tried Bono next.
Not because it was smart.
Because Kimi was desperate.
Bono was at the engineering station, headset around his neck, looking at data with the kind of expression that made grown men stop speaking mid-sentence.
Kimi approached carefully. “Bono?”
Bono did not look up. “Kimi.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Is it about the car?”
Kimi paused. “No.”
“Then no.”
Kimi stood there.
Bono kept working.
Kimi shifted his weight.
Bono sighed. “What?”
Kimi lowered his voice. “Luna.”
Bono finally looked up.
His expression was blank. Too blank.
“What about Luna?”
Kimi immediately regretted everything.
“I just wondered…”
Bono waited.
Kimi’s courage deserted him. “…if she comes here often?”
For one long, terrible second, Bono simply stared at him.
Then he said, “Yes.”
Kimi waited. Nothing else came. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
Bono looked back at the screen.
Kimi had been dismissed.
He walked away feeling as though he had somehow failed an exam.
Behind him, he heard Bono say, very dryly, “George.”
Across the garage, George answered, “Wasn’t me.”
“It was absolutely you.”
Kimi turned.
George was laughing into his fist.
Luna, sitting beside Bono now, looked between them with amused confusion.
“What?”
George shook his head. “Nothing.”
Luna’s eyes found Kimi.
She smiled.
Kimi’s brain promptly stopped functioning again.
Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant.
He still had no idea who she was.
***
By Friday morning, Kimi’s investigation had become a problem.
Not because he was distracted.
He was not distracted.
He was simply observing.
It was important to understand the environment.
The environment included Luna.
Luna, who arrived in the paddock wearing a white sundress under an oversized Mercedes jacket and made Kimi forget how to drink from his water bottle.
Luna, who smiled at him and said, “Morning, Kimi,” like she had not ruined his life approximately sixteen hours earlier.
Luna, who then walked straight past him and sat down next to Bono’s usual place in the garage.
Bono gave her a coffee. Not the other way around. Bono gave her a coffee.
Kimi watched this happen with increasing alarm.
He cornered his performance engineer by the lockers.“Do you know Luna?”
His engineer glanced at him. “Yes.”
Kimi exhaled. “Okay. Who is she?”
“Nice girl.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Student.”
“I know that too.”
“Then you’re doing well.”
Kimi stared at him.
His engineer patted him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
“With what?”
The man was already walking away.
Kimi hated Mercedes.
By lunchtime, his theories had evolved.
Theory one: Luna was a Mercedes engineering intern.
This seemed plausible until he saw her sitting in a meeting room with no laptop, eating gummy bears and telling George that his hair looked “particularly aerodynamic today.”
Theory two: Luna was Toto’s secret daughter.
George had started laughing hysterically when Kimi had asked him that and said no, but George was also a liar.
Theory three: Luna was secretly famous.
Kimi googled “Luna Mercedes paddock girl” and immediately regretted it.
***
His next attempt was with Susie Wolff.
This, Kimi thought, would be safe. Susie was kind. Susie was reasonable. Susie would hopefully not torture him for sport.
He found her in hospitality, speaking to Luna near the windows. Luna had her hands wrapped around a mug and was listening intently as Susie talked. When Susie noticed Kimi hovering, her expression softened.
“Kimi,” she said. “You alright?”
“Yes,” Kimi said.
Luna looked over her shoulder.
Her smile appeared.
Kimi’s entire plan fell apart.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he replied, and immediately forgot every question he had ever formed.
Susie watched them both.
Her eyes sharpened with interest.
Oh no.
“I was just leaving,” Luna said, lifting her mug. “Bono asked me to bring him coffee before he starts pretending he doesn’t need caffeine.”
Susie laughed. “Brave girl.”
Luna passed Kimi on her way out.
Their shoulders almost brushed.
Almost.
Kimi remained upright through great personal effort.
Once she was gone, Susie looked at him.
Kimi looked at the floor.
“So,” Susie said lightly.
Kimi looked up too fast. “What?”
“Nothing.”
There was a pause.
Kimi knew he should leave.
Instead, he heard himself ask, “How do you know Luna?”
Susie’s smile became very, very controlled.
“Oh,” she said. “She’s been around for years.”
Years.
Kimi’s brain latched onto this with unhealthy intensity.
“Years?”
“Mhm.”
“With Mercedes?”
“In a way.”
“In what way?”
Susie took a sip of her tea.
“The usual way.”
There was nothing usual about any of this.
Kimi tried again. “Is she Toto’s family?”
Susie made a small choking sound.
Then she covered it elegantly with a cough.
“Sorry,” she said. “Wrong pipe.”
Kimi stared at her.
Susie’s eyes were shining.
“She’s not Toto’s secret daughter, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t asking that.”
“You were about to.”
He absolutely was.
Kimi’s face went hot.
Susie patted his arm as she passed. “Ask Bono.”
This was the worst suggestion anyone had ever made.
Because he had already done that and didn’t get any real answer. Bono was at the centre of the Luna mystery.
Luna sat with Bono. Brought Bono coffee. Stole Bono’s food. Wore an old Mercedes hoodie that Kimi was beginning to suspect belonged to Bono because it was too big on her, and Bono had looked mildly betrayed when she spilt sauce on the sleeve at lunch.
And Kimi did not know what any of that meant.
***
By Saturday afternoon, Kimi had reached the worst possible conclusion:
Luna was Bono’s girlfriend.
He did not want this conclusion.
He actively rejected this conclusion.
Unfortunately, the evidence was beginning to look damning.
First, she appeared in the engineering room wearing Bono’s spare Mercedes jacket.
Second, Bono took one look at her and said, “You forgot lunch again.”
Third, Luna rolled her eyes and said, “I had coffee.”
“That is not lunch.”
“It had milk in it.”
“Luna.”
“Fine.”
Then Bono handed her a wrapped sandwich from his bag.
From his bag.
Like he had brought it specifically for her.
Kimi, watching from across the room, felt his entire soul leave his body.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
This was a relationship.
This was a controversial relationship.
A deeply concerning relationship.
A possibly illegal relationship? No. Probably not illegal. Luna was at university. She was nineteen, maybe twenty. But still. Still.
Bono was Bono.
Bono had been on Lewis Hamilton’s radio when Kimi was losing baby teeth.
This was not fine.
This was not normal.
This was—
“Kimi,” George said beside him.
Kimi jumped.
George followed his gaze and immediately brightened with evil delight. “Oh.”
“No,” Kimi said.
George’s eyebrows rose. “No?”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You were going to.”
George looked over at Luna, who was now arguing with Bono over whether crisps counted as a vegetable if they were made of potatoes.
Then he looked back at Kimi.
His face arranged itself into something sympathetic.
This was worse.
“So,” George said gently. “You’ve figured it out.”
Kimi turned cold.
“Figured what out?”
George pressed his lips together.
“No,” Kimi said again. “Do not say it.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
George waited half a second.
Then said, “They are very close.”
Kimi made a strangled noise.
George walked away laughing.
Kimi hated him.
The problem was that once the thought existed, Kimi could not stop seeing evidence.
Luna leaned against Bono’s shoulder while looking at his tablet.
Bono did not move away.
Luna stole his pen.
Bono let her.
Luna called him “Peter” in a tone so familiar it made Kimi feel like he had walked into someone else’s private life and accidentally stepped on a landmine.
Peter.
Nobody called Bono Peter.
Kimi had genuinely assumed it was a government secret.
Then Luna yawned, tucked herself closer beside him, and mumbled, “This room is freezing.”
Bono, without even looking, adjusted the jacket around her shoulders.
Kimi stared.
That was it.
That was confirmation.
He was going to be sick.
Not because he had any right to be jealous.
He did not.
He had known Luna for approximately forty-three hours, and most of those hours had been spent failing to get a single useful answer about her identity.
But still.
He was jealous.
Humiliatingly jealous.
Catastrophically jealous.
Jealous of Bono.
His race engineer. A grown man. A respected professional. A terrifyingly calm adult with a headset and probably a mortgage.
Kimi wanted to disappear.
***
The worst moment came twenty minutes later.
Luna appeared beside Bono again, carrying two coffees.
She handed one to him. Bono turned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Kimi stopped breathing.
Luna accepted the kiss with the casual indifference of a girl who was used to it.
Used to it.
Kimi turned around immediately.
Nope.
No.
Absolutely not.
He walked directly into Toto.
Toto steadied him with one hand.
“Kimi?”
Kimi looked up at him in horror.
Toto glanced over Kimi’s shoulder.
Saw Luna.
Saw Bono.
Saw Kimi’s face.
And then Toto Wolff, team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team, smiled.
Actually smiled.
“Oh,” Toto said.
Kimi wanted to die.
Toto’s smile deepened. “I see.”
“You see nothing.”
“I see quite a lot, actually.”
“No.”
Toto looked delighted in the cold, terrifying way only Toto Wolff could be delighted.
“Kimi,” he said, very solemnly, “sometimes in life, we must accept difficult truths.”
Kimi stared at him.
Toto patted his shoulder once.
Then walked away.
Kimi stood there, abandoned by leadership, friendship, and God.
Across the garage, Luna laughed at something Bono said.
Bono shook his head at her, but there was warmth in it.
Kimi swallowed hard.
Fine.
So she was Bono’s girlfriend.
That was fine.
He could be mature about this.
He could be professional.
He could put this crush in a locked box and throw it into the sea.
He could absolutely stop thinking about how pretty she was.
How kind her smile had been.
How she had said his name like she already liked him a little.
He could.
Probably.
Maybe.
Luna looked over just then and caught his eye.
She smiled.
Kimi’s heart betrayed him instantly.
Oh, he thought miserably.
I am so screwed.
***
By Saturday evening, Kimi had accepted several things.
One: Luna was Bono’s girlfriend.
Two: he was a terrible person for being jealous about it.
Three: if he had to watch Luna smile at Bono one more time, he was going to do something embarrassing, like walk into a glass door or accidentally tell Toto Wolff that he needed several business days to recover from the concept of Peter Bonnington having game.
Kimi was dealing with all of this very maturely.
By hiding in the back corner of Mercedes hospitality with a plate of pasta he had not eaten and pretending to read his phone.
“Kimi.”
He looked up.
George was standing in front of him, grinning.
Kimi immediately narrowed his eyes.
George sat down across from him anyway, looking far too pleased with himself.
Kimi stared at him with deep suspicion.
George folded his hands on the table.
“So,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“You look traumatised.”
“I am fine.”
“Mm.”
Kimi looked back down at his phone.
George waited exactly three seconds before saying, “Is this about Luna?”
Kimi closed his eyes.
Of course.
Of course it was about Luna.
Everything was about Luna now, apparently. Luna eating crisps in engineering. Luna wearing Bono’s jacket. Luna leaning against counters like she had never once worried about being in the way. Luna laughing with Toto. Luna smiling at Kimi like she hadn’t destroyed him by existing.
“No,” Kimi said.
George hummed.
Kimi opened one eye. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are humming.”
“Can a man not hum?”
“Not like that.”
George’s grin widened.
Kimi put his phone down. “What do you want?”
“To help.”
“That would be new for you.”
George placed a hand over his chest. “Cruel.” George leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling. “I just wanted to check how your investigation was going.”
Kimi’s stomach sank.
“My what?”
“Your little investigation.”
“I do not have an investigation.”
“Kimi, you asked three mechanics, four engineers, me, Susie, and at one point I think a hospitality coordinator who Luna was.”
Kimi went hot. “That was normal curiosity.”
“You also asked an engineer if she had a security clearance.”
“She was looking at telemetry!”
“She’s allowed to look at telemetry.”
Kimi froze. “She is?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Kimi sat up straighter. “Why?”
George opened his mouth.
Then his gaze flicked over Kimi’s shoulder, and his expression changed into something truly delighted.
“Oh,” he said. “Actually, I think you should ask her yourself.”
Kimi went cold.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“George.”
“Too late.”
Kimi turned.
Luna was walking toward them.
She had changed out of Bono’s jacket and into the same faded Mercedes hoodie from Thursday, hair tied back loosely, sunglasses tucked into the collar. There was that small silver moon charm at her throat, glinting under the lights, and she was smiling.
At him.
Kimi’s brain immediately became a loading screen.
“Hi,” Luna said.
“Hi,” Kimi said.
George stood up far too quickly.
“Well,” he said. “I have to be somewhere else.”
Kimi glared at him.
George leaned down as he passed and murmured, “Good luck,”
Kimi choked.
Luna’s eyebrows rose.
George walked away laughing silently.
Kimi considered murder.
Luna watched him for a second.
Then she sat down across from him.
“So,” she said.
Kimi wished, sincerely, that he was still in the car. The car made sense. The car had rules. The car did not sit across from him with pretty eyes and a knowing smile and the terrifying potential to ask follow-up questions.
“So,” he repeated.
Luna rested her chin on her hand. “You’ve been asking about me.”
Kimi stared at the table.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Kimi.”
He looked up despite himself.
She was smiling.
Not meanly. Not like she wanted him to suffer. More like she was enjoying herself too much to let him escape.
“A little,” he admitted.
“A little?”
“Normal amount.”
“George said you asked if I was a spy.”
Kimi’s mouth fell open. “George said that?”
“So you did?”
“That was private.”
Luna laughed.
Kimi’s chest tightened.
God, that laugh.
He hated how much he liked it already.
“I wasn’t serious,” he said quickly.
“Good. Because I’d be a terrible spy.”
“Would you?”
“Yes. I talk too much when I’m nervous, and I’m very bribable with chocolate.”
Kimi smiled before he could stop himself. “That is useful information.”
“Planning to bribe me?”
“Maybe.”
Luna tilted her head. “For what?”
Kimi’s brain took that sentence, looked at all possible replies, and immediately threw every normal one into the sea.
He panicked.
“For information.”
“About what?”
“You.”
Her smile softened at the edges.
Kimi’s face went hot.
That had sounded—
That had sounded flirtier than he had meant.
Or maybe exactly as flirtatious as he had meant, but he had not expected it to leave his mouth so directly.
Luna looked at him for a moment, eyes bright.
“What do you want to know?”
Everything, Kimi thought, helplessly.
That was a stupid answer.
Insane answer.
Too much answer.
So instead he said, “Why everyone is being weird when I ask about you.”
Luna blinked.
Then she laughed again, louder this time.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You really don’t know?”
Kimi sat back slightly. “No.”
Her expression shifted, amusement giving way to something gentler.
Then she looked over her shoulder toward the engineering room, where Bono was visible through the glass, speaking to one of the engineers.
Kimi followed her gaze.
His stomach immediately dropped.
Right.
Bono.
The controversial older boyfriend.
The man with the jacket and the sandwiches and the crisps.
Luna looked back at him.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What exactly have you figured out?”
Kimi froze.
“No.”
Her eyes widened with delight. “No?”
“I do not want to say.”
“Oh, now you have to say.”
“No, I really do not.”
“Kimi.”
He looked toward the exit, calculating whether he could make it out before she stopped him.
Probably not.
Also, he did not actually want to leave.
Which was the problem.
Luna leaned forward slightly.
“Please?”
Kimi stared at her.
Terrible.
She was terrible.
Pretty and bright and terrible.
He exhaled, dragging one hand over his face.
“I think…” He stopped.
Luna waited.
Kimi lowered his voice.
“I think you are Bono’s girlfriend.”
There was one perfect second of silence.
Then Luna made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
“Oh my God. You think—” She broke off, laughing too hard to finish. “You think Uncle Pete is my boyfriend?”
Kimi went very still.
Uncle.
Pete.
Uncle Pete.
The entire world stopped.
Then restarted very loudly.
Kimi lowered his hands.
“What?”
Luna was wiping at her eyes, still laughing. “He’s my uncle.”
Kimi stared at her.
“Your uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Bono is your uncle.”
“Yes.”
Kimi sat there.
Then, with deep feeling, he said, “I am going to kill George.”
Luna laughed harder.
“I cannot believe nobody told you.”
“I asked everyone.”
“That might be why they didn’t tell you.”
Kimi looked toward the engineering room.
Through the glass, Bono glanced up.
Their eyes met.
Bono’s expression remained completely blank.
Then, very slowly, he raised his coffee cup in what might have been a toast.
Kimi closed his eyes.
“He knew.”
“Oh, he definitely knew.”
“Everyone knew.”
“Probably.”
“I hate this team.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You’re smiling.”
He opened his eyes.
She was right.
Unfortunately.
He was smiling.
Because Bono was not her boyfriend.
Bono was her uncle.
Her uncle.
Kimi felt almost dizzy with relief, which was humiliating, because again, he had known her for two days. He had absolutely no right to feel like someone had handed him back the sun.
Luna’s laughter faded into a grin.
“And honestly? Uncle Pete probably did too.”
Kimi groaned. “He knew?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Kimi dropped his head into his hands.
“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”
“I don’t know,” Luna said thoughtfully. “I think it’s very funny.”
“It is not funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
She was still smiling when she added, quieter now, “Uncle Pete has basically been my dad since I was ten.”
Kimi looked up immediately.
The teasing warmth in her expression softened.
“My parents died in a car accident,” she said simply. “Uncle Pete took me in after that. Him and my gran raised me.”
Something in Kimi’s chest tightened painfully.
“Oh,” he said softly.
Luna shrugged one shoulder, though there was an oldness to the gesture that didn’t belong on someone nineteen years old.
“He was doing Formula One full-time, so Gran helped a lot when I was younger. Especially with school and stuff.” A small smile touched her mouth. “But Uncle Pete did everything else. Learned how to braid hair from YouTube. Burned approximately six hundred fish fingers trying to make dinners I would eat. Took me to every school thing he could, even when he’d flown in from another continent two hours earlier.”
Kimi listened quietly.
“He still calls me before every exam,” Luna continued. “And he still sends me weather forecasts like I’m incapable of owning an app.”
Kimi smiled faintly.
“That sounds like Bono.”
“It is very Bono.”
She looked over toward engineering again, where Bono was now frowning at a screen hard enough to intimidate it into submission.
“There were a few years where I think he barely slept,” she admitted softly. “He was trying to do Formula One and suddenly raising a grieving ten-year-old at the same time. I don’t think he expected his life to end up like that.”
Kimi swallowed.
“And your grandmother?”
“She lives near us in England.” Luna smiled again, warmer this time. “She’s wonderful. Completely obsessed with Uncle Pete. Thinks he hung the moon.”
Kimi looked down for a second.
Then back at her.
Something about her made more sense now. The way she fit into the garage like she belonged there. The way Bono looked at her with this quiet protectiveness beneath all the dry patience. The way everyone around Mercedes treated her like family instead of a guest.
Because she was family.
Not just to Bono.
To all of them, maybe a little.
And Kimi had spent two days thinking she was Bono’s secret young girlfriend.
Fantastic.
Luna caught his expression and burst out laughing again.
“You are still thinking about it.”
“I am never recovering.”
“No, probably not.”
Kimi sighed dramatically. “I need to leave the country.”
“You race internationally. That won’t help.”
“Then I need to change identities.”
“I think George would still find you.”
“That is true.”
They smiled at each other for a moment too long.
“For the record,” she said, “I am extremely single.”
Kimi’s heart tripped.
He looked at her.
She looked back, eyebrows lifting slightly.
Oh.
Oh.
That had been deliberate.
The entire conversation seemed to tilt.
Kimi swallowed.
“That is also useful information.”
Luna’s smile turned slower. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
“For your investigation?”
“Yes.”
“And what are you investigating now?”
Kimi had driven karts in the rain at ridiculous speeds. He had stepped into Formula One machinery and survived corners that would make normal people forget how to breathe. He had handled pressure from Mercedes, from Italy, from the entire weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders.
None of that helped him now.
Because Luna Bonnington was sitting across from him, telling him she was single, and he had the very strong sense that this was his one chance not to be an idiot.
He leaned forward slightly.
“I am investigating whether you would like to have dinner with me.”
Luna’s expression changed.
Not shock.
Not exactly.
More like surprise, quickly covered by pleasure.
Kimi’s pulse hammered.
“Dinner?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Bold.
Terrifyingly bold.
George would probably have applauded if he could hear him.
Actually, George probably was listening somewhere.
Kimi refused to look.
Luna tilted her head, pretending to consider it.
“With you?”
Kimi smiled despite himself. “That was the idea.”
Then she leaned back in her chair, studying him with bright, amused eyes.
“Are you asking me out because you thought I was your race engineer’s controversially young girlfriend and now you’re relieved that I am not?”
Kimi groaned. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is very funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
“It is extremely funny.”
He sighed. “Yes.”
Luna’s smile gentled again.
“But no,” Kimi said, before he could overthink it. “I am asking you because I think you are beautiful. And funny. And smart. And I have been trying to find out who you are for two days because I wanted an excuse to talk to you again.”
Luna went quiet.
For the first time since he had met her, she looked almost shy.
Kimi’s stomach flipped.
“Oh,” she said.
Kimi grimaced. “Too much?”
“No.” Her voice was softer now. “No, that was actually very sweet.”
“Good.”
“And slightly unhinged.”
“I know.”
“But sweet.”
“I can accept that.”
Her smile came back, warm and unmistakable.
“Dinner sounds nice.”
Kimi forgot how to breathe.
Then remembered.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Good.”
“Yes. Good.”
They sat there smiling at each other for one second too long.
Then someone behind them coughed.
Loudly.
Kimi turned.
George was standing by the coffee station with one of the mechanics, both of them looking deeply invested in something that was absolutely none of their business.
George gave him a double thumbs-up.
Kimi glared.
The mechanic looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
Luna followed his gaze and rolled her eyes fondly.
“They’re terrible.”
“Yes,” Kimi said. “All of them.”
“Welcome to Mercedes.”
Kimi looked back at her.
She was still smiling.
Dinner, he thought.
He had actually done it.
He had found out the truth. He had survived the humiliation. He had not died. He had asked Luna out.
And she had said yes.
Across the room, Bono stepped out of engineering.
Kimi immediately straightened.
Luna noticed and grinned. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re waiting for him to attack.”
“He might.”
“He won’t.”
Bono reached their table.
For one terrible moment, he looked only at Kimi.
Kimi tried not to look guilty.
This was difficult, because he felt guilty about several things, including but not limited to: thinking Bono was dating his niece, having a crush on Bono’s niece, asking Bono’s niece to dinner, and mentally calling the situation “controversial” several times.
Bono looked at Luna.
“Everything all right?”
Luna smiled sweetly. “Kimi asked me to dinner.”
Kimi’s soul left his body.
Bono looked back at him.
Silence.
Terrible silence.
Then Bono said, “Did he?”
Kimi cleared his throat. “Yes.”
Luna added, “After finding out you’re not my boyfriend.”
Bono closed his eyes.
Behind him, George made a sound like a dying kettle.
Bono opened his eyes again and looked at Kimi with the exhausted patience of a man who had survived multiple world championships, Lewis Hamilton at full intensity, and apparently now this. “Kimi.”
“Yes?”
“I am her uncle.”
“Yes. I know that now.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then Bono looked at Luna. “Be back by eleven.”
Luna groaned. “Uncle Pete.”
Kimi nearly combusted.
Bono pointed at her. “Eleven.”
“I’m nineteen.”
“And I know racing drivers.”
George lost the battle and burst out laughing.
Luna’s face went pink.
Kimi, who should have been offended on behalf of racing drivers, found himself mostly grateful that Bono had not said no.
Bono looked at him one last time.
His expression was still unreadable.
But there was something in his eyes that might almost have been amusement. “Drive carefully,” he said.
Kimi nodded very seriously. “Always.”
Luna snorted.
Bono gave her a look.
She smiled innocently.
Then Bono walked away, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Bloody teenagers.”
Kimi watched him go.
Then he looked at Luna.
She was biting back a smile.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
“Dinner.”
“Yes.”
“At eleven, apparently.”
“Before eleven.”
“Before eleven.”
Kimi hesitated, then said, “I know a place.”
“Do you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I can find one.”
Luna laughed, soft and bright, and this time Kimi let himself enjoy it without panicking.
“I’ll help,” she said. “I’ve been here before.”
“Good,” Kimi said. “Because my investigation skills are apparently not very good.”
“They need work.”
“I found out eventually.”
“You thought my uncle was my boyfriend.”
“Yes,” Kimi said, smiling despite himself. “But then I found out eventually.”
Luna stood, picking up her phone from the table.
Then, after one moment of hesitation, she held it out to him.
“Give me your number, investigator.”
Kimi took it.
Their fingers brushed.
It was nothing.
It was everything.
He typed in his number carefully, because this was not the moment to accidentally miss a digit and ruin his life.
When he handed it back, Luna looked down at the contact name.
She smiled.
“Kimi Antonelli,” she read.
“That is my name.”
“Very formal.”
“What should I have written?”
She looked up through her lashes.
“Kimi Who Thought Uncle Pete Was My Boyfriend.”
He groaned.
“No.”
“I’m saving it.”
“Luna.”
Too late.
She changed it.
Then she sent him a text.
His phone buzzed immediately.
Luna 🌙: hi kimi who thought Uncle Pete was my boyfriend
Kimi stared at it.
Then at her.
She looked far too pleased with herself.
He shook his head, smiling.
“You are never going to let me forget this.”
“No.”
“Good to know.”
Luna stepped closer, just enough that his brain noticed.
“But,” she said, quieter now, “I am looking forward to dinner.”
Kimi’s smile softened.
“Me too.”
For once, nobody interrupted.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody gave a vague answer or made the situation worse.
For one small, perfect moment, it was just Luna standing in front of him, smiling like maybe she had been hoping he would ask too.
Then George shouted from across the room, “USE PROTECTION!”
Bono yelled, “RUSSELL.”
Luna covered her face.
Kimi looked at the ceiling.
Mercedes, he decided, was the worst team in Formula One.
And, possibly, the best.