You were Daniel Ricciardo’s little sister, and you grew up in Australia. He was the best big brother you could ever ask for. When Daniel made it to Formula One and moved to his own apartment in Monaco, your parents grew tired of you and sent you to live with your grandmother on a ranch. And you loved your life. Out where the dirt roads wind and the sun sets slow, surrounded by pickup trucks, worn-out cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, a box of old Marlboro cigarettes in your shorts, and hands full of daily tasks with the animals and your two horses, Nevada and Taz. You usually hung out with cowboys your age or tornado chasers, but almost never with any girls. During the summer break, Daniel flew some of his friends from the grid back to Australia, including a guy you had met before, Lando Norris, though you never quite got along with him. On Friday night, as was tradition, the whole small village gathered around a big bonfire. Some of your cowboy friends sat on a fallen tree beside Daniel and his mates. You dismounted your horse and tied it up before walking over.

"Move aside, cityboy" you said, annoyed, while lighting a cigarette between your lips.

Surprisingly, he obeyed and made room. You flinched when he gently brushed his fingers against yours, silently pleading for you to take his hand, his veins visible on his hands and arms.