SHAMELESS, lewis hamilton¹

27

They were in Italy, again.

Mirabella honestly found it strange that there were two races in Italy in one season. But, hey, she got two chances to win a home race. Which usually never went her way. That was her curse. She never won in Italy, ever. In the last two years she's gotten second place and so far this year, she crashed, DNFing in Imola. Great fun.

The question now was what would make her not win this year in Monza. She would just have to wait and see, and when she loses would have to act like it wasn't a sour subject.

She felt like a failure because of it sometimes. Like she was letting her people, her country, down.

Finally someone represents them but she can't even win a home race. How pathetic is that?

It didn't help her confidence when it didn't seem like they cared about her at all. The Tifosi were always covered in red and were always carrying big banners and flags with the intense colour and the iconic black stallion. Always Ferrari.

The car brand was treated like a religion, which in some ways it was for them.

Ferrari was Italy. But in a way, so was she.

It wasn't fun seeing practically no support. But then again, she hadn't given them anything to support. She didn't win at home and she never brought the f1 championship home either, giving the country that had produced the most iconic car brands nothing to be proud of.

She didn't blame them for picking Ferrari over her.

And who wasn't a Ferrari fan? They had always been her favourite team. There were many childhood photos that had her dressed head to toe in the team's merch to prove it.

Even now it would be a dream come true to one day drive for them. But they weren't interested in her.

At the moment that was definitely a positive thing though.

One day, maybe she'd drive for them.

Or maybe not. Who knows.

"So," she heard Hamilton say from his own bed. She glanced over at him seeing him lying on his side watching her, resting his head in his hand. She raised an eyebrow at him, beckoning him to continue. "Your home race. You going to win?"

She looked back at her sketchbook, continuing to draw the lines of the hotel room. She said, "Probably not."

Her response surprised him and it showed on his face, as he frowned. "You don't think you're gonna win?"

"Nope," she replied, popping the p. Her head rolled to the side so their eyes met and she smiled falsely, "I'm cursed."

"Cursed?"

"Mhm," she nodded, turning back to her sketch. "I haven't won in Italy since I was ten."

"You're serious?"

"Yup. The second I started competing in international championships I stopped winning here." She let out a bitter laugh, "I can make Williams a third-place team on my own, but I can't win my home races."

"That sucks," he uttered, looking at the floor for a beat before he looked back up at her again. He glanced at her sketchbook and asked, "What are you drawing?"

Instead of answering, she tilted the book towards him so he could see.

He looked from the drawing to the room they were in. "Is that here?"

"Yeah."

"Hm," he hummed, nodding impressed. "I didn't know you could draw."

"Well, when you get a master's degree in interior architecture you're kinda forced to," she told him in response. Then she added, "That and having to learn a bunch of programs I don't have anymore. They take up a lot of space on my computer."