People always assume the hardest thing about my life is racing.

It’s not. It’s figuring out who actually sees me.

Monaco is full of people chasing something, money, status, connections, the perfect Instagram photo.

You get good at recognizing the difference between someone looking at Lando Norris and someone looking at a Formula 1 driver.

Then there was her.

I noticed her long before we ever spoke. Every Tuesday morning. Same café. Same little table by the window.

She ordered the cheapest coffee on the menu and somehow makes it last nearly two hours while reading a book or writing in an old notebook with worn corners.

No designer handbag. No expensive jewelry. No trying to impress anyone. Just…peace.

It became part of my routine to glance through the café window whenever I walked past. And she was always there.

One Tuesday I arrived sooner than usual. The café was packed. Without thinking, I sat down at the only empty table.

Her table.

She wasn’t angry. More…confused. She smiled awkwardly and said “That’s usually where I sit. Can I still sit here?”

That coffee turned into two. Then lunch. Then another Tuesday. Then every Tuesday.

I learned she’d only moved to Monaco a few months earlier because she’d found a job she couldn’t say no to.

She wasn’t from money. Actually, everything about Monaco overwhelmed her.

The cars. The yachts. The designer clothes. The way people casually spent more on dinner than she’d once spent on rent.

Sometimes she’d stop walking just to stare at the harbor.

And then there was her first race weekend. And also our first appearance together.

Looking back, I should’ve known it would be too much.

She had never been around Formula 1 before. Never seen the endless cameras, the crowds, the noise, the people who somehow all knew my name.

She stayed close to me all morning, her hand wrapped around mine just a little tighter than usual.

A few hours later, I crossed the finish line first. Within minutes, everyone was calling her my lucky charm.

She never asked for anything. Not once.

No VIP passes. No expensive gifts. No introductions. If anything…she tried too hard not to inconvenience me.

When we go somewhere fancy she whispers “Are you sure I belong here?”

Every single time. And every single time I'll answer the same.

“You’re with me.”

As if that solves everything. It doesn't.

Not for her.

Tonight is one of those nights. One of the bigger yachts in the harbor. Close friends. Music. Champagne. People laughing over conversations worth millions.

The Monaco version of a casual evening.

She looks beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful. Simple black dress. Hair tucked behind one ear. No diamonds. No dramatic makeup.

Just…her.

Which somehow makes everyone else disappear.

I noticed the moment she stopped talking. She’d smiled politely through introductions. Laughed when expected. Answered questions.

But now…she isn't really here anymore.

She stands near the railing, fingers wrapped around her glass so tightly I think it might crack. Her breathing looks different.

Small. Fast.

I excuse myself mid conversation and walk to her. “You okay?”

She nods too quickly. “Yep.”

Liar.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She stares across the water. “I feel stupid. I don’t know how to do this.”

I frown. “Do what?”

“This.” She gestures around us. “The boats. The clothes. Everyone knows everyone. And I don’t. They’re talking about investments and watches and houses. I don’t even know which fork I’m supposed to use.”

I can't help smiling.

She groans. “Don’t laugh! This isn't funny.”

I shrug, smiling. “I’m not laughing. I’m smiling.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “That’s basically the same."

I chuckle, step closer and place my hands on her waist.

She exhales softly and bites her lower lip. “I feel like everyone’s judging me.”

I frown once more and shake my head slowly. “They’re not. You know what they said when I told them you were coming with me tonight?"