Running From The Flames

Paparazzi

The playground was a wonderfully terrible idea. She had an absolute blast racing about with Pierre in tow but trying to get Addie to leave gave him a baptism by fire to the maelstrom of a tantrum a two year old can have and he looked a little frazzled when we finally got her strapped into her seat again.

"I'm sorry," I apologised for the umpteenth time as I pulled a baby wipe from my handbag and wiped away the smear of dirt on his sleeve from the bark Addie had tossed into the air like confetti.

"Don't be, I had fun," he assured me again and reached for a bottle of water he kept in the car. "I reckon she would give Pyry a run for his money, that's a full on cardio workout."

"Next time I'll wear something a little more suitable so I can help."

He held out his hand and waggled his pinky finger. "Promise?"

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "That I'll wear more clothes?"

He rolled his eyes playful. "No, there will be a next time!" He wiggled his finger again impatiently and I curled my pinky around his, shaking on it with a grin.

He drove back to the heart of the city that reached the water's edge and parked at the docks where the boat was waiting for all the Alpine crew to embark. I had only just managed to remember to message Otmar to cancel the taxi he had ordered and regretted it when he quizzed me over how I was going to get there. Finally, I admitted who I was with and the lingering three dots suggested I was going to receive a long reply.

Locking the phone, I shoved it into my handbag and figured I would hear about it when I saw him soon.

It was only when I stepped out of the car and the flash of a camera blinded me that reality came crashing down. The bright light triggered memories I had suppressed and I was once again helpless in that ambulance as it was swamped by paparazzi eager to get the images that would make them the most money.

"Pierre, how are you feeling about the race tomorrow?" one reporter asked and I turned away, pressing my clammy hands to the cold metal of the door and reminding myself they weren't here for me. "Who is your companion? Is she a model? Which agency does she work for?"

The questions came rapidly but he just smiled and waved as he made his way around the car to my side. He placed his hand on the small of my back and grounded me as he used his body to hide mine. "Let's get Addie and go," he whispered, opening the back door with his free hand and reaching inside to unstrap her. "Come here, princesse," he said gently as he picked her up and ushered us away from the swarming mass that pressed against the metal barricade that had been set up. "I didn't know it was going to be like this. Reporters are usually banned from these private events."

"I'm okay, I'm okay," I breathed as the distance grew and we reached the ramp to the luxury boat moored to the dock.

"Bri!" Otmar called out from the top of the ramp and reached for me as I stepped off. "I tried calling when I saw you get here."

I looked at my phone and sure enough there were half a dozen missed calls and a text message saying to wait in the car.

Tugging me away from Pierre, who was still holding Addie, Otmar groaned and looked back at the reporters still taking photos. "Your dad's going to throttle me."

Addie began to wriggle in Pierre's arms and reached for Poppa Otty until he relented and placed her down on the deck. She bolted between us and Otmar picked her up before herding us inside the shelter of the yacht and out of sight from the reporters.

"We are just waiting for Esteban and Matt, you can wait in here until we are offshore," Otmar said before stepping closer and lowering his voice. "I'll make some calls but I don't think there's much chance of stopping them from releasing the photos, kiddo. Just lay low for a bit and stay off social media."

Pierre's frown deepened and he shook his head when Otmar went to the deck with Addie and gestured for him to follow. It wasn't good to go against the principal but that was exactly what he did by staying behind.

Small tremors shook my hands as I unlocked my phone and deleted all the social media apps from it. As much as I loved following influencers and keeping up with the Formula One news it wasn't worth the damage it did to my mental health whenever I reappeared on them. It wasn't anything new but it never got any easier, and the internet trolls never got any nicer.

"What's going on, Brianna?" Pierre asked quietly. I had always thought my name was boring but hearing it on his lips sounded exotic and intoxicating. "I know the reporters can be a shock but...this seems like something more."

I reached past him and closed the glass door before rubbing my temples as a headache began to form. When I had opened up to him earlier I thought that would be the most I could give but the same comfort I felt on the hotel balcony remained and I dropped heavily into a leather seat.

He lowered himself down beside me and seemed to sense I needed a moment to collate my thoughts as he sat silently, resting his elbows on his knees.

"The night Erik was arrested I almost died," I whispered to my lap as I stared at my palms resting there, my eyes fixed on the small pale scars that still remained almost three years later. "I couldn't tell you what happened that night. I can't remember, and I like to think that is a blessing. When I woke up I was strapped to a stretcher and being wheeled to an ambulance."

My voice was beginning to shake and I stopped to regain my composure, nearly losing the battle when Pierre took my hand in his. "Paparazzi in England have no boundaries, they don't stay behind the barriers, fences don't keep them out. Trent Gordon, an independent photographer and asshole to boot, heard the 999 call on a police scanner and was there when they brought me out.

"He sold the pictures of me to every major outlet. He didn't care if I lived or died, that my arm hung out its socket or that I was bleeding out on the pavement, as long as he got paid."

"Nom de dieu de merde," he choked as he ran a hand through his hair before shaking it wildly. "I remember hearing about that in my debut season when the FIA brought in new regulations for the media crews, new clearances and signoffs needed to release images."

I cleared my throat of the lump that had formed and nodded. "Up until then the media could capture footage of a fatal crash and sell them to the tabloids. I guess dad was trying to do the best he could with what he could control and didn't want anyone else to go through what we did. Or maybe it was to keep him distracted because he felt guilty for missing the signs that something was wrong. I don't know, we haven't really spoken about it."

"Thank you, for telling me. For what it's worth, the changes your dad made because of you made a difference for the better. I don't know what I would have done if I saw Anthoine's crash in the papers, and I'm sorry you had to go through all that." Pierre raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles twice before resting his forehead against them. "You are...I can't even describe it, strong doesn't begin to cover it."

"You have Otmar to thank. Every day I got a new card with one of his inspiring quotes to keep my spirits up," I said with a small laugh before sighing as I felt the boat pull away from the dock. "I'm sorry for ruining your evening, you should be out there enjoying the night with your team."

He shook his head and pulled me closer so he could tuck me into his side. "I'm right where I want to be."