Page 66 of Formula Freedom
Brienne Norcross, majority stakeholder of Titans Racing, released a statement earlier today.“Francesca has more than earned her place here. She’s proven herself repeatedly on the track, and we’re proud to offer her the opportunity she deserves. Titans Racing is committed to championing talent, no matter what package it comes in.”
Accardi, long considered a rising star in FI2, brings an aggressive, precision-focused driving style and a loyal European fan base. She captured three podiums in the past FI2 season and was instrumental in the development of newer tire management techniques now being tested across several teams.
In her own words, Accardi commented, “This has been my dream since I first touched a kart. I know what this means—not just for me, but for every girl who ever watched the podium from the sidelines. I’m not here for the headlines. I’m here to race.”
Women have long faced challenges breaking into FI, from limited feeder opportunities to the immense physical demands of the sport—including the high g-forces that drivers endure during races. While female drivers have been successful in lower tiers and endurance events, none had previously cracked the top-level driver lineup in the male-dominated world of Formula International.
Accardi’s promotion is being hailed as a milestone, not only for her personal career but for the sport itself. Critics have noted the need for deeper structural changes across the driver pipeline to ensure that Accardi isn’t just a one-time exception.
For now, Titans Racing has thrown down the gauntlet. And Francesca Accardi is ready to race.
I let out a breath. “Wow. I got goose bumps.”
Reid nods slowly, moving his chair back in place. “She’s not just a token. She’s legit.”
“You sound… impressed.”
“I am. She’s got fight. She won’t sit back and play second to Nash, and that’s going to rattle him. It will make him better too.”
I watch the flicker of something cross Reid’s face—excitement, maybe challenge. “Does this change anything for you?” I ask.
“For me?” he says, settling back into his chair. “Not directly. But it changes the shape of the season. The press will be intently focused on this, as they should be. Suzuka just got a lot more interesting.”
“And for the sport?”
He smiles. “It needed this. It was time.”
I study his face. “She’s going to face hell for it, isn’t she?”
“Every race. Every lap.”
We finish our wine and step back into the night. Zurich is quiet, dignified, timeless. I loop my arm through Reid’s as we walk slowly through the streets, passing shuttered bookstores and soft-lit cafés. We come upon a corner shop tucked between two narrow buildings. It has wood-paneled windows, an old brass door handle, and a golden glow inside.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me in. “You haven’t had real Swiss chocolate until you’ve had it from a place like this.”
Inside, the air smells like heaven—melted sugar, roasted hazelnuts and warm cream. I inhale deeply and Reid laughs at me. The walls are lined with shelves of delicate boxes and hand-wrapped bars in shades of gold, cream and crimson. There are tins filled with truffles, rows of candied orange peels dipped in dark chocolate, and a glass counter showing off jewel-like pralines nestled in paper cups.
I turn in a slow circle, overwhelmed in the best way. “How do you even choose?”
Reid walks confidently toward the back wall and picks up a rectangular gold-foiled bar, the label printed in looping script. “This one. Trust me.”
I raise a brow. “You’ve been here before?”
“Every race season. Same shop. Same bar.”
He pays in cash—crisp Swiss francs—and thanks the clerk in German. I’ve learned since leaving Torquay that Reid can utter common phrases in multiple languages.
We step outside, where the street is quiet and the air cool. A wrought iron bench waits beneath a flickering gas lamp, and we sit side by side, knees touching.
Reid unwraps the bar carefully and breaks off a piece, handing it to me like it’s sacred.
One bite and I groan softly. “Okay, I get it.”
“Told you.”
We eat slowly, quietly, sharing piece after piece, the world around us hushed and magical.
“I love it here,” I murmur eventually, watching a tram rattle past in the distance. “This city has a soul.”
