Andrea Wolff
The familiar roar of engines reverberated through my body as I settled into the plush leather seat in the premium lounge at Spa-Francorchamps.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor and the buzz of anticipation. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the elegant room filled with the chatter of celebrities and racing enthusiasts.
I leaned back in my plush chair, a flute of champagne in my hand as I watched through the windows overlooking the circuit.
If you couldn't already guess, I wasn't in the Mercedes garage.
And I hadn't been in there since the dinner- two days ago. I had skipped out on FP3 and got a manicure and explored and then watched Qualifying from the lounge I'm in today.
I didn't want to see my dad so I didn't. I needed space and he needed to know that I wasn't gonna sit around and take his poorly hidden judgement for my life.
The only reason I was staying past the agreed upon two races was Oscar. Not him.
So I was avoiding the Mercedes garage and their team principal.
Was my phone on the verge of killing itself from the number of calls I've gotten from my dad? Probably, so I put him on silent and shoved it in my bag so I could watch my boyfriend race in peace.
I tried to focus on the pre-race commentary blaring from the sleek speakers mounted on the walls. The commentators' voices mixed with the clinking of champagne glasses and the rustle of expensive fabrics as the social elite around me feigned interest in the sport.
Sitting among the glitterati who treated the Grand Prix like just another social event, I felt a strange sense of liberation. The anonymity granted by their indifference was oddly comforting.
Here, surrounded by the scent of expensive perfumes and the soft murmur of affected interest, I could be just Andrea, not the daughter of Toto Wolff because I'm sure most of them didn't even know who that was.
As the race began, I leaned forward in my seat, my manicured nails digging into the armrests.
My eyes locked onto Oscar's car, a streak of papaya orange that stood out against the blur of the other vehicles.
Every turn, every overtake had me on the edge of my seat, my breath catching in my throat. I bit my lip hard enough to taste the waxy residue of my lipstick, forcing myself to keep from cheering out loud when he made a particularly bold move, settling instead for a quiet "Yes!" under my breath that was lost in the general murmur of the lounge.
The laps seemed to fly by in a heart-pounding blur of speed and strategy. The atmosphere in the lounge shifted as the race progressed, the affected indifference giving way to genuine excitement as the battle for podium positions intensified. When Oscar crossed the finish line in third place, I couldn't contain the smile that spread across my face, my cheeks aching with the effort of not whooping out loud.
Pride swelled in my chest, warm and fierce, as I watched him take the podium. The camera zoomed in on his face, broadcasting his small grin to screens around the world. Sweat glistened on his brow, his hair tousled from the helmet.
I watched, completely bewitched and proud, as Oscar took the podium after the cool down room. I usually didn't care what driver ended up on what step, sure I favored Lewis and Kimi when I was around- but this was different somehow.
I didn't leave the luxury watching area until the podium was done with a slowly people set down their glasses and started to fade out of the room.
Because I decided that the Mercedes garage was a plague to avoid, I followed the majority of people who just left the area. Humming the anthem I just listened to subconsciously as I looked for my car.
YOU ARE READING
Criminal ~ OP81
FanfictionAndrea Wolff's world turns upside down when her father, F1 team principal Toto Wolff, brings her on the racing circuit. His intention? To spark a romance between Andrea and his star driver, George Russell. But fate has other plans. While her dad...