Page 59 of Close Contact
All of them looked surprised by this news. Which, to be fair, no one but myself, Callum, and Ferrari knew.
“You did?”Mamanasked, her voice wavering between pride and worry. “With what team?”
I debated telling them for a moment. They were clearly already upset about something, and I wasn’t sure if this news would make it better or worse. “Ferrari,” I said, lifting my chin. “Four-year contract.”
My father narrowed his eyes. “Signing a four-year contract? That’s a huge step.”
“It is,” I said firmly, bracing myself. And here I thought they’d be supportive. Silly me.
“Do you think it’s wise to rush into this?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “You’ve only been in Formula 1 for a few months.Luminishas been good to you.”
“Good to me?” I echoed, disbelief coloring my tone. “Luminishas been fine, but they’re not a top team. They’re sexist, the team doesn’t respect me like they do withKimi, and the car has only made such a massive improvement because of all the time I’ve spent discussing the data with them. It started off great, and then the moment the media challenged them, they wanted to cut ties with me, and I wasn’t even the first one to know. This isFerrari. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. I’d be an idiot to walk away from that.”
“Étiennestayed loyal toLuminisfor four years,” my mother interjected softly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “He built his career with them.” Her words had a rehearsed quality, as if she’d convinced herself of this before saying it to me.
“And where did it get him?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, andÉtienne’sglare hardened. He’d never looked at me that way before. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I can’t afford to wait and hope for better. I’m not just racing for points; I’m racing to win championships.”
“Is that what this is about?”Étiennesnapped. “Being better than me?”
I blinked, his accusation cutting deep. “This isn’t about you,” I said quietly, though the tightness in my chest betrayed me. “This is about me taking control of my career.”
“Control?” my father repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Signing with Ferrari isn’t control; it’s…” He trailed off, searching for the word.
“It’s smart,” I finished for him. “You’ve always told me to seize opportunities. Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Aurélie,” my mother began, her tone pleading. “We’re just worried. About the pressure, the… distractions.” Her eyes flicked toÉtienne,and I knew what she meant.
“You meanCallum,” I said flatly. The silence that followed confirmed it.
“It’s not just him,” my father said. “There’s been talk, rumors…”
“And?” I snapped, my patience fraying. “Let them talk. My performance speaks for itself. Or did you miss today’s race? How I won on my own merit?”
“Étiennealways consulted us first.” And there it was. The subtlegaslighting, the attempt to convince me that they knew better, the desire to control me when I stepped out of line because they had a vision of what theDuboisname meant.
But they were no longer funding my career. I was.
For a brief moment, I felt the familiar crushing weight of their doubts threatening to pull me under. But not this time. I wasn’t that girl anymore, searching for their approval, and I never would be again.
“Well, I’m notÉtienne!” I shouted, my frustrations reaching a boiling point. How many times would I have to show them that I was my own person and that I mattered, too? “I never will be, so stop making that fucking comparison!”
Étiennestood abruptly, getting in my face. “You’ve always been good at making it about you,” he said coldly. “At least I never accepted handouts. Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts.”
The words hit like a slap, but I refused to flinch. “You’re damn right I will,” I shot back. “Because I earned it. And I’veneverbeen able to make it about me, because you were always more important than I was. Perfect example: no one congratulated me on winning theF2championship title. You still haven’t, and it’s been six months.”
He went to brush past me, muttering something about opportunities being handed to me, and that tipped me over the edge. I grabbed his arm and spun him back around to face me.
“You want to know something?” I snarled. “While you were in the hospital, your revered former team principal approached me. I was literally leaving after visiting you when he stopped me, asking me to take your place. And you know what? I accepted withinhours.” My parents gasped, andÉtienne’seyes went wide.
“I never told any of you because I respected how you all felt. I felt so guilty, butF2was crushing me. And none of you ever even asked. None of you cared about my racing until I signed a Formula 1 contract, because it was just a way to keep me entertained while you helpedÉtiennebuild his career.”
My chest heaved, and I waited for a response. None came, and I snapped further. “How would you feel if I told you I was taken advantage of by someone who had power inF2? Would you care? Probably not, because the only races of mine you ever attended were the ones that overlapped withÉtienne’s. But I don’t fucking care anymore. I’m doing this on my own, without any of you.”
By the time I’d finished my confession, tears were burning in my eyes. The guilt I’d been carrying dissipated, a burden lifted. They could think what they wanted of me, and eventually they could decide if they wanted to move on from it, but I was hurt, too, from a lifetime of neglect.
Étienne’seyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, maybe, or guilt—before he stormed out. My parents exchanged a look, and for a moment, I saw the cracks in their composedfaçade.
“I’m moving out this summer,” I told them, the idea just occurring to me. I’d never lived on my own, just spent time darting between hotels during travel weekends and returning home in between races. But it was time. I was twenty-four yearsold, and I wasn’t getting any younger. “I’ve spent my whole life living in someoneelse’sshadow. It’s time I stood on my own.”
