Page 90 of Formula Dreams
She bursts into the light, her damp hair hidden under the same ballcap we were all given.Her cheeks are flushed and the smile on her face looks like pure sunlight after an eclipse.She’s wearing the same blackCarlospatch stitched into her suit and my eyes sting slightly.I don’t hold it back though, because watching her accept that first place trophy on a track that caused her such anguish that she almost quit a year ago, might be the best moment of my entire life.
It’s been almost a year to the day since she walked away from all of this, hollowed out by grief of losing Carlos.She said she was done with racing, but I couldn’t let that happen.I stayed after her, planting seeds of hope that she would return to the track.There was therapy.Lots of it.Endless support from everyone who meant anything to her.Brienne Norcross and the entire Titans team wrapped around her like family.Harley Patrick, despite being the team principal for competitor Crown Velocity, was there cheering her on every step of the way.And of course, I was at her side through it all.The first time she climbed back into a race car, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel anything more joyful in my life.
In this moment, I’m proven wrong.Francesca clawed her way back to the grid, piece by piece, race by race.She’s had top ten finishes and two other podium spotlights.Proof to the world she wasn’t just a story, and they couldn’t write her off as a tragedy.She has the fucking talent to be here.
But today… first place over an incredibly tough field, in incredibly tough, wet conditions, on the very track that took her closest friend from her.As I watch her walk by me with a wink, I can hardly breathe for the enormity of it all.
She mounts the top step and accepts her trophy.Her face tilts skyward as if she’s staring up at Carlos.My chest aches with pride so fierce it hurts.
The anthems play.Flags rise.My eyes never leave her.
When the music fades, the crowd roars again, and she raises her trophy high, unshed tears shining.I know exactly what’s going through her head—an acceptance of all the emotions that that make this moment what it is.The grief, the fight, the fear—and the triumph that she never thought she’d feel again.
One more beaming smile and then we devolve into the chaos of champagne.Nash, Francesca and I each grab one of the oversized bottles and we let Francesca pop hers first.She aims it straight at Nash, soaking him head to toe, and he retaliates with a laugh.Then they both turn it on me—Titans Racing versus Crown Velocity—and after a face full of the stuff, I have to wipe the stinging bubbles from eyes.Francesca gives me a moment of respite, shaking her bottle and once again, points it my way.I take another straight shot to the face but catch her off guard as I lunge at her.She shrieks as I take her by the waist, spinning her around to her delighted laughs.
I don’t think.I just kiss her.Hard.On the mouth.On the podium.In front of the world.
The crowd goes absolutely feral.
“I love you,” I shout against her lips, my voice raw.
Our bottles of champagne slip from dripping fingers.Her laugh is wet with tears.“I love you too.”She leans back so she can stare at me with such devotion, it makes my head spin.“Thank you.For this.If not for you, I’d never—”
“No.”I cut her off, shaking my head, hands tight on her arms.“Don’t put this on me.You’re here because of you.Because you never gave up.You fought for this and earned every damn second.”
Her lips crash back onto mine, desperate, joyful, and the rest of the world tilts sideways again.
But I can’t get swept away.I have work to do.
I push Francesca back a step and drop down to one knee.Right there, champagne-soaked, heart pounding harder than it ever has in the driver’s seat.
Nash exclaims, “Holy shit.”
I glance at him, his jaw sagging as he steps backward, letting the metaphorical spotlight fall squarely on us.I can see confusion on the faces of the VIPs standing on stage with us, but I tune it all out.
Unzipping the top of my suit, I reach inside where I had stashed the ring.I bought it a couple months ago, trying to figure out the best time to do this.When Francesca crossed the waving checkered flag, I knew that time had come.
My eyes lift to hers and she’s staring at me with such shock, I wonder if she even comprehends what’s going on.Her hands come to her mouth, and she covers it briefly before dropping them again.
My voice shakes as I flip the box open, but I don’t care.“Marry me, Francesca.Make this forever.Win or lose, podium or last place—I don’t care as long as it’s with you.”
Her gasp cuts through the thunder.She stares, tears streaming, lips trembling—and then she nods so hard her cap almost dislodges.She pushes it back down and yells.“Yes!Yes, Ronan.Yes!”
I slide the ring onto her shaking hand, and she hauls me to my feet, arms wrapping tight around me.The entire track goes berserk.Fans stomping, flags whipping, a chant of her name rolling like thunder.
“I love you,” she says into my ear, over and over, like she can’t stop herself.
“I love you more,” I answer, kissing her until the champagne, the noise, the whole damn world dissolves into nothing but her.
All I feel is her heart hammering against mine.
Francesca Accardi.Champion.Survivor.The woman I’ll spend the rest of my life with.And one thing is perfectly clear… no amount of podium finishes has ever felt this good.
