by Nell Stark
“Please.” With all the maturity of a high society hostess, she gestured toward the plastic chairs.
Thalia could feel Alix’s gaze on her as they settled themselves, and she knew it was up to her to guide the course of their visit. As she had seen Alix do, Thalia tried to steer the conversation away from why the girl was in a hospital bed instead of running around with her friends outside.
“So tell me, Lena, how did you become interested in Formula One?”
Lena smiled. She would mature into a beautiful woman, Thalia thought, if she had the chance. “My father…” She searched for the right words. “He is Tifosi.”
“A Ferrari fan? I guess I can forgive him for that.” She smiled to make sure Lena got the joke.
“I like Ferrari, but it makes me so happy when you joined Petrol Macedonia.”
“Me too,” Thalia said, and they both laughed.
“How did you start racing?”
“I’ve always loved to go fast,” Thalia said, careful to speak slowly so she could follow. “First on my tricycle, and then on my scooter, and then on my bicycle. But I didn’t start Karting until I moved to England when I was fourteen.”
Thalia’s trip down memory lane inspired an eager smile on Lena’s face. “Really? I am twelve now.” The smile abruptly disappeared, and she looked down at her left leg. “But I have to be…how do you say it? Real? About what I can do.”
“Realistic?” Thalia felt a surge of anger at whoever had encouraged her to be realistic instead of aspirational. “Well, don’t forget that most people drive with only one leg. Right foot for the brake and the gas.”
Thalia wasn’t about to tell her that while most people used only one foot for both, most F1 drivers used their left foot to brake. Lying by omission might still be lying, but sometimes it was necessary to keep hope alive. And there were plenty of successful drivers in the past who had both braked and accelerated with one foot. Just because left-foot braking was the general rule at the moment didn’t mean it had to be that way forever.
They chatted for a few more minutes before the nurse popped her head in to announce that visiting hours were drawing to a close. Before they left, Thalia wrote down the contact information of her agent. “Call or send him an email, okay? I want to stay in touch to see how you’re doing.”
Lena clutched the slip of paper and nodded, eyes bright, blinking furiously to keep her tears in check. “I will. Thank you. Thank you.”
As the nurse escorted them back through the ward, she and Alix struck up a conversation in German. Thalia was glad not to have to pay attention or contribute. Meeting Lena had rattled her. Thalia couldn’t shake the memory of how crestfallen she had seemed when she remembered her limitations. The prosthetic blades for runners made it possible for them to run at fairly competitive levels, but there hadn’t yet been a world champion or Olympic medalist with a prosthesis. Thalia wondered whether the same disparity applied to Formula One. The question of braking aside, one of the most important safety requirements—stringently tested at various points throughout the season—was that a driver had to be able to get out of the cockpit within five seconds of the car coming to a halt. The maneuver required a great deal of dexterity.
The nurse said her good-byes at the elevators and thanked them for making time for the children. Thalia snapped out of her introspection to chime in with Alix, insisting that the visit had been their pleasure. As the doors slid shut behind them, Thalia realized she owed Alix a separate debt of gratitude.
“Thank you for suggesting I come with you today. That was really hard, but also really good.”
Alix regarded her silently for a long moment. “You seemed deep in thought just now. What were you thinking?”
They stepped out of the elevator and began to cross the lobby. “That we get to walk out of here,” Thalia said, gesturing to the gleaming glass doors looking out onto a sunny afternoon. “And Lena doesn’t.”
“But she will,” Alix said firmly. “She’ll walk out on her own two legs.” She met Thalia’s eyes briefly. “You were a natural with her.”
“And you were a natural with everyone else.”
Alix smiled, but sadly. “As difficult as it is to work with children who are so ill, I enjoy it because of how hopeful they are. Nothing is impossible to them. Most of us lose that optimism by the time we’re adults.”
They stepped out into the fresh air and Thalia turned her face toward the sun, relishing the warmth and the breeze and the absence of antiseptic. They had some free time now, before a dinner with members of the hospital’s Board of Trustees. She was tired, but it was a fatigue born in her head and heart, not her body. A workout would do a world of good in restoring her equilibrium.
As the car swept them back to the hotel, Alix turned to her again. “Could Lena really race in Formula One with a prosthetic leg?”
“I don’t know,” Thalia admitted. “But it might be possible. I really do want to stay in touch with her. Is she in good enough shape to come to the Grand Prix this weekend, do you think?”
“If she’s still in the ward, it probably means they’re worried about her immune system,” Alix said. “So my guess is that this weekend would be too soon. But we can always check.”
We. Thalia was glad Alix was thinking of them as a team. That was a good sign. “I’d like to do that. And if not this Grand Prix, then another.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Maybe I am.”
Irritated, Thalia met Alix’s appraising gaze without blinking. “I know I have a deserved reputation, but not for being a miser.”
Alix leaned forward. “I’m not talking about money. I mean in your heart.” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Not that emotions come from your heart. It’s just a saying.”
“Your Serene Highness,” Thalia teased her, her irritation forgotten. “Are you getting sentimental?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Alix said, but she was smiling. “Especially since I’ve decided that you adequately proved yourself today.”
Her approval meant more than Thalia cared to admit. “Oh I did, did I? So we have a deal?”
“You help me with my charity, and I help you stay out of trouble.” Alix extended her hand. “Deal.”
Her fingers were softer than the last time they’d touched. For the rest of the car ride, Thalia tried not to think of how they would feel on her face, stroking her cheeks as they kissed.
*
The evening meal was a formal affair at the fanciest restaurant in Graz. Like all formal dinners Thalia had ever attended, the caliber of the wine couldn’t make up for the stiltedness of the atmosphere. Alix did her best early on to play the role of the gracious and charming princess philanthropist, but by the third course, Thalia could tell she was running out of steam.
“Will I be seeing any of you this weekend at the racetrack?” she asked during a lull.
The ploy worked like a charm, immediately sparking debates about everything from the layout and condition of the A-1 track, to the science behind the structure of the HANS unit. When the waiter momentarily interrupted the conversation, Thalia leaned into Alix’s space.
“Told you doctors love Formula One,” she whispered.
“No need to be smug about it,” Alix muttered back. But her lips twitched.
Once the last sip of the last cappuccino had been consumed, Dr. Konig asked them if they were interested in enjoying Graz’s nightlife. Thalia had a split second in which to decide upon her best course of action, and she took a risk that also tested her willpower. Citing her need to rest and hydrate, she declined. While she hoped Alix would return to the hotel with her, she had given her a golden opportunity: if Alix felt anything for the doctor, she could turn the rest of the evening into a date. Like taking a hard corner, she held her breath through the tension.
“Regretfully, I’m rather tired,” Alix said. “But thank you for the offer.”
Thalia indulged in
a mental fist pump. As they stepped out into the balmy evening, Claude in tow, she took another risk. “What would you think of holding off on calling the car, and walking for a while instead?”
Alix’s face illuminated in that rare expression of pure, unmediated happiness. “That sounds perfect. Did you have anything in mind?”
“Let’s meander through the Old Town for a while and see what happens.” She nudged Alix’s shoulder. “Or do you need a more concrete plan than that?”
“Not at the moment. I’m happy to be aimless.”
They wandered along the narrow, sinuous streets, silent at first until Thalia, reflecting on how effortlessly Alix had interacted with the other physicians, decided to ask about her experience in the field. Most physicians had quite enough of school by the time they graduated, but Alix had felt as though something were missing. That feeling had motivated her pursuit of the master’s in public health degree, and she had chosen Harvard specifically for its emphasis on fieldwork. As she spoke about her interest in East Africa, Thalia wondered what it must feel like to care so deeply for people you had never met.
Whether instinctually or by pure coincidence, they had worked their way into the town center where the Schlossberg rose like a hulking beast, blotting out most of the sky. Thalia looked from the lamp-lit zigzag walkway snaking back and forth along the ramparts, to the blue-lit glass elevator outside of which a bustling crowd was gathered despite the lateness of the hour.
“Let’s take the elevator up and the path back down?” she suggested.
“Fine with me, lazybones.”
“Lazybones?” Enjoying their banter, Thalia pretended offense. “Would you like to come to the gym with me tomorrow?”
Alix considered the request seriously. “All right, I will. If only to ensure you’re not lying about the amount of weight you can neck-press.”
The idea of Alix watching her lift sent a jolt through Thalia that she didn’t want to feel. For days now, she had been avoiding acknowledgment of her growing attraction. Alix was brilliant and straight and conservative, not to mention royalty. After a rough start to their friendship, Thalia had finally managed to gain her trust. And now she had to go and develop a crush?
Why did she always have to push the boundaries, she reflected as the line to the ticket window moved forward. There were plenty of available women in the world, even discounting grid girls and starfuckers. Why did she have to be interested in someone who couldn’t possibly return her attraction?
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t realize that Claude had stepped forward and was about to pay for their trip to the top of the clock tower. “Let me,” she said quickly, reaching for her wallet. But Alix stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“He’s insisting that we go up just the three of us,” she murmured. “Which costs extra.”
Just the three of them. Thalia knew Claude would try to make himself as invisible as possible, but there wasn’t much to work with in a glass elevator. After a brief negotiation, they were shepherded through by a security guard who blocked the passage of those behind.
“I always feel badly about causing a delay,” Alix said, leaning close to her so Claude wouldn’t overhear.
Thalia tried not to focus on the sensation of Alix’s body pressed against hers, but without success. The urge to wrap one arm around Alix’s waist and pull her even closer was nearly overwhelming. Fortunately, Alix moved away to follow Claude down the corridor.
The elevator operator was on the phone when they arrived but hastily hung up. “Good evening, Your Highness,” he said, having clearly gotten the message.
They stepped inside, and Claude took up a position in the far left corner. Alix moved to the opposite side, leaning forward to admire the blue-veined stone walls.
“Look,” she said, beckoning Thalia forward. “We’re in the heart of the mountain. What an interesting design choice.”
Thalia was careful to keep several inches of space between their bodies this time. As the elevator began to move, she looked up and caught her breath. The shaft was open to the night sky, and the moon hung above them like a suspended jewel. Her resolution forgotten, she reached out to touch Alix’s arm.
“Look up.”
“Oh!” Her cry of surprise was disconcertingly sensual, and as she angled her head to gain the best vantage point, Thalia felt Alix’s warm breaths puff against her neck. Desire arrowed through her, swift and sharp, and she closed her eyes against it.
“What’s the matter?” Alix asked. “Are you in pain?”
Thalia opened her eyes to find Alix’s face upturned and very close. Concern had caused tiny wrinkles to form on the bridge between her eyes, and Thalia wanted so badly to smooth them away. She reached out for the railing to stop herself.
“No,” she said hoarsely, knowing she should say something more to explain away her behavior, but unable to think of an excuse.
Today, Alix’s eyes were more gold than green or brown—tawny, like a lion’s mane. She didn’t look away, her pupils expanding into dark pools in which the blue illumination of the elevator flickered like fairy lights. When her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, Thalia knew she wasn’t imagining the connection that had just passed between them. Attraction. Alix felt it too. What did that mean?
The elevator jolted as it slid to a halt, breaking the spell. Confused and aching, Thalia gestured for Claude to precede her. They emerged into the courtyard of the Schlossberg, and Thalia welcomed the cool breeze against her heated cheeks. She spun in a slow circle to take it all in—the illuminated clock tower behind them, and ahead, a parapet overlooking the Old Town.
“How stunning,” Alix said, gazing up at the tower. “I’ve read that it’s from the thirteenth century and was very nearly razed by Napoleon.”
“How did it escape?” Thalia asked, half relieved and half disappointed that they had moved beyond their charged moment.
She pointed to a nearby placard. “Maybe that will tell us.”
The tower, called the Uhrturm, had only survived because the town burghers had been willing to ransom it with a large sum of money. Thalia quickly lost interest in the rest of what was written, and while Alix remained absorbed, she snapped a few photos. She wanted to suggest they take one together but didn’t dare.
Feeling restless, Thalia went to the parapet and rested her forearms on it. It faced south, toward the racetrack. The Austrian Grand Prix awaited, and with it, the chance to redeem herself. She had to stay focused. Maybe she had misread that moment in the elevator. And even if Alix was queer and only just starting to realize it, now was not the time to bring someone out of the closet. That was almost always a messy and protracted process, and it would be a hundred times worse for someone of her stature. The media had gone berserk over Princess Sasha, and even though Alix wasn’t as public a figure, the reaction would still be intense.
“Ready to walk down?” Alix called from behind her.
Thalia pulled the crisp alpine air into her lungs and steeled her resolve. Back down to earth, to reality, to the race.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Well now, Your Serene Highness,” Lord Rufford said congenially as they waited for the first of their VIP guests to arrive, “all that worry about the weather appears to have been for naught.”
Alix glanced heavenward to where the flat disc of the sun was struggling to pierce gauzy gray clouds. It looked like a coin hanging suspended in midair, and for a moment she expected to see the familiar profile of her father’s face etched on its surface and surrounded by the twelve stars of the European Union. But then the cloud thinned and the coin became the star, bathing them in brightness for the first time all morning. Quickly averting her eyes, she turned back to him.
“I’m so pleased that it will be a beautiful day.”
“Good thing we decided on Brands Hatch. The storm system is passing north of London.”
His use of “we” was generous. Lord and Lady Rufford
had been instrumental in brokering the deal that had allowed Rising Sun to hold its inaugural fundraiser at one of England’s most historic tracks. For many years, Brands Hatch had hosted the British Grand Prix. The more intimate setting—if one could use such a term for any sweeping stretch of asphalt designed for motorsport—suited her purposes. In a matter of minutes, VIPs would begin to gather for a day of exhibitions and performances that would conclude with a formal dinner and raffle. Admission was five thousand euro a head, and almost every seat had been claimed.
As matters currently stood, Rising Sun would be able to collect most of that money. Lady Rufford had persuaded the Brands Hatch management to charge only a nominal fee in exchange for a tax write-off and a promise of future patronage. Thalia was volunteering her time and had convinced Peter Taggart and Petrol Macedonia’s two test drivers to do the same. She had even managed to persuade Gene Michaels, the world champion of Motocross, to dramatically reduce the appearance fee his agent had initially quoted.
Thalia. Since Graz, they had been in touch on a daily basis, working together to plan this event. Alix had initially been skeptical of Thalia’s sincerity in wanting to help, but her enthusiasm in securing Petrol Macedonia’s support soon proved that skepticism unwarranted. Such was the level of her commitment that Alix had begun to worry that Thalia might be neglecting her training and preparation. But Thalia’s performance on the track was better than ever: she had placed fourth in both the Austrian and German Grands Prix, which had gone a long way toward silencing her critics and rehabilitating her place in the standings. With Peter having placed first in Austria and second in Germany, Petrol Macedonia was firmly in position as a top contender for the Constructors’ Cup.
The growl of a revving engine intruded on her introspection, heralding the arrival of the first guests. Part of the VIP experience included being shuttled from the helipad to the racetrack by a chauffeur with a Superlicense. Lord Rufford had secured two Brabus Mercedes four-seat cabriolets for the experience—one red, one blue—and as they watched the latter accelerate onto the track, a scream of delight filled the air. The driver guided the car into the pit lane, taking the curve just fast enough to inspire another shriek, before coming to a stop precisely in front of the entrance to the tent. As Peter vaulted out of the seat and opened the rear door with a flourish, Alix summoned every shred of social grace she should have been born with.
