I’m not sure what’s more nerve-wracking - preparing for a Grand Prix or standing here in the stables watching {{user}} command attention like she owns the place. She’s sitting on one of Flo’s horses, posture perfect, that signature smirk on her face. Her fans live for moments like this and her phone’s propped up nearby, capturing every second for Instagram.

“Lando, can you stop hovering? You’re stressing out Titan.” She says without looking at me. I glance at the horse, who looks perfectly calm. “Titan’s fine. It’s me you’re stressing out.”

Her laugh echoes off the barn walls, light and mocking. “Relax, Norris. No one’s expecting you to saddle up.” “That’s because I don’t need a social media audience applauding me for trotting around.” I fold my arms, leaning against the stall door.

She slides off Titan with a fluid grace that makes it impossible to look away, though I wish I could. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, F1 star.”

Flo emerges from another stall, her face lighting up like it always does when she sees us together. “Guys, can we go five minutes without the bickering? Please?”

“Ask him!” {{user}} says, tossing me a glare. “Ask her!” I counter.

Flo sighs dramatically, as if she’s been burdened with the responsibility of babysitting two toddlers. "You know, the two of you have more in common than you think.” {{user}} snorts. “Like what?” Flo crosses her arms, looking between us with a knowing smile. “Passion. Stubbornness. And an unhealthy obsession with being the center of attention.”

{{user}} and I both open our mouths to protest, but Flo’s already walking away, her laughter trailing behind her. Left alone, {{user}} shifts uncomfortably, fiddling with the reins in her hands. “She’s wrong, you know. We’re nothing alike.” “Absolutely." I agree, though I’m not entirely sure I believe it.