Page 56 of Formula Freedom
Tonight’s event—the Lemarc Foundation Gala for Global Youth Initiatives—is hosted by French billionaire and shipping magnate Étienne Lemarc, a man who collects art, islands and influence in equal measure. The gala is both charity and spectacle, drawing royalty, CEOs, celebrities and yes—Formula International drivers. Brienne Norcross is a strategic partner through the Norcross Foundation, and the guest list reads like a Forbes spread. I wonder if she’ll be here with her husband, Drake. I wouldn’t mind talking to him some more as he seemed like a cool guy, all bearded and tattooed next to Ms. Norcross’s sophisticated elegance.
Hand in hand, we navigate the crowd. Soft jazz mingles with the hum of conversation. Waitstaff in black vests float by with trays of champagne, diamonds glitter in every direction, and Lara’s eyes are wide with awe.
I spot Carlos first, wearing a navy tux with no tie, shirt open just enough to broadcast that he’s unconventional. I see a few of the other drivers—Gunner, Sebastian Wolff and Ronan Barnes talking to two men I don’t recognize, but they’re most likely team sponsors. They’re all flanking Carlos, deep in conversation that has them all laughing.
Carlos is the first to clock me. He raises his glass and lifts his chin in greeting, flashing the same disarming grin he uses to charm pit crews, reporters, and the occasional race official out of a penalty.
Carlos’s eyes dance as we approach. “¡Hermano! You clean up well.”
We clasp hands and slap backs. Carlos takes Lara’s hand with exaggerated reverence. “Señorita Candlish.Hermosa.Monaco has officially been upstaged.”
Lara laughs, genuine this time, and she relaxes a little more. I’m glad Carlos is here as she’s got one other genuine friend to help her feel at ease.
The other guys check out Lara in open curiosity, respectful enough my hackles keep flat. Gunner is dressed down compared to the others—no jacket, shirt sleeves rolled—and his easygoing vibe is pure Southern California. Sebastian Wolff is all sleek tailoring and sharp jawlines, like he walked off the pages ofGQ. Ronan Barnes? Predictably, he’s holding court, one hand tucked into his designer blazer pocket, the other gesturing mid-story like he’s narrating a movie trailer in real time. I’ve always found the dude pompous.
“Mates,” I say with a nod. “This is Lara Candlish.”
Sebastian steps forward first. “It’s a pleasure,” he says warmly in a German accent lightened by years of international travel. He takes her hand and presses a light kiss to her knuckles. “You’re the one keeping Reid from getting too cocky?”
Lara laughs nervously. “I mean… I try.”
“Try harder,” Gunner deadpans, then grins. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same,” Lara replies, clearly charmed by his laid-back energy.
And then Ronan turns toward us, making it obvious he was paying attention as we joined the group, despite the fact he was talking to someone else.
“Lara,” he says with an exaggerated drawl, his posh British accent lacking warmth. “I’ve been hearing whispers. They said you were beautiful, but I see they were underselling it.”
Lara blinks, startled, but she doesn’t understand how fast gossip can spread through a paddock. I’m sure it got everyone’s attention she was in the garage during the race and she was the first person I hugged after.
I shoot Ronan a look sharp enough to cut carbon fiber. “Mate.”
He smirks, unrepentant. “Relax. Complimenting her is just my way of being polite.”
“Try being less polite,” I mutter.
Lara presses her lips together to hide a smile, but I don’t miss the slight tension in her shoulders. I know her well enough to recognize the micro-reactions—when she’s overwhelmed, unsure, quietly bracing.
I lean in, my voice pitched low. “I promise he’s harmless.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she says, soft but steady.
“I’ve got your back,” I promise so only she can hear.
“I know… just so many beautiful people. Loud energy. It’s… a lot.”
Before I can respond, a new presence is behind me and I turn to see Lex Hamilton approaching with Posey on his arm. Lara beams a smile at Posey and I’m so glad she’s here as they really seemed to hit it off the other day.
“Smooth operator,” Carlos teases. “Hamilton shows up looking like he owns a casino.”
Lex is dressed in a sharp, tailored black velvet jacket with satin lapels, paired with a crisp white shirt and slim black trousers. His shirt is open at the collar and a vintage gold watch gleams at his wrist. Lex knows fashion and his black loafers probably cost more than most people’s rent. Posey is radiant beside him in a sleek black dress and vivid red lipstick perfectly matched to the soles of her shoes that I know are designer, though which designer I’m not sure. Those are things I’m learning myself since my entry into FI and the wealth that’s attached to the sport.
“Glad to see you here,” I say, shaking Lex’s hand.
“Wouldn’t want to miss the free champagne and social posturing,” Lex replies dryly.
Posey pulls Lara into a hug without hesitation. “You look amazing,” she says, stepping back to admire her. “Seriously, the Monte Carlo set has nothing on you.”
