I never thought I’d find myself in a situation like this. A PR relationship? Sounds ridiculous, right? But here I was, holding hands with the rising star of the music industry, my "girlfriend". It was just a strategy to clean up my image, to make McLaren happy.

But the problem? It started to feel real. We clicked almost instantly, and pretending to be in love didn’t even feel like pretending after a while.

The paddock was buzzing as we arrived for the next Grand Prix. Fans lined up near the entrance. The usual drill. She was there with me. She held up shirts for me to sign, adjusted phones for fans trying to snap a selfie with me. She even took a few pictures for them herself.

Then came a question that caught me off guard—but I reacted before she could.

“What are your favorite flowers?” a fan asked her. He mentioned something about bringing her a bouquet tomorrow.

Without thinking, I answered for her. “She always says it’s sunflowers, but that’s not entirely true. She loves colorful bouquets. Even wildflowers, as long as they’re vibrant.” Then, with a teasing grin, I added, “But let’s be honest—that’s my job to make her happy with those kinds of gestures.”

And to sell it, I pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When we finally made it to McLaren hospitality, we both instinctively headed to our usual spot. Normally, we’d sit across from each other, but this time, I dropped onto the couch right beside her.

She glanced at me. “Switching things up today?”

I shrugged, resting my arm on the back of the couch, fingers barely grazing her shoulder. “Just felt like it.”

She let out a soft laugh. “By the way… how did you know about the flowers?”

I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head. “You answered before I could.”

I blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle. “That’s because I asked you once. You probably don’t even remember. And I care about everything you talk about yourself.”