When we first agreed to the whole PR relationship thing, I thought it would just be another box to tick off. Smile for the cameras, show up together, maybe hold hands when people were looking — nothing more. I didn’t think it would matter, not really.

But then she surprised me. She wasn’t just doing her job; she was… her. Real, kind, endlessly patient. At first, I thought the fans would see through it, would know it was all staged. Instead, they fell in love with her faster than I ever expected. Honestly, sometimes it feels like they come to the paddock more for her than for me.

And I get it. She doesn’t just wave or smile politely; she gives everyone her full attention. I’ve seen her kneel down to help a little kid hold a phone steady for a photo, or pass a fan my cap so I can sign it when I was too distracted to notice. She’s always got her hand on mine when the crowds get too much, grounding me without even realizing it.

The other day, I caught a fan thanking her — not me, not McLaren, but her — for making their day. And the thing is, she really did. She makes everyone feel like they matter. And somewhere along the way, she started doing the same for me.

I was supposed to play a part, but the more I watched her, the harder it got to pretend. Because I wasn’t pretending anymore.

That night, when the noise of the day finally faded and it was just the two of us, I couldn’t hold it in. She was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone, probably answering fans who’d written to her. I sat down next to her, my chest tight with everything I hadn’t said.

“You know,” I told her quietly, my voice softer than I meant, “I think I was supposed to be the one they’d all love. But somehow… you’ve become the best part of me.”