RACING HEARTS ---- | O.P |

3. A Dance

The grand entrance of the FIA Prize Giving was a whirlwind of flashing cameras, glittering gowns, and the hum of anticipation. Amelia stepped out of the car, her heels sinking into the plush red carpet. Oscar Piastri, ever the gentleman, had his hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the opulent entrance.

Nervousness fluttered in her chest. She'd dealt with data models, tire compounds, and engine diagnostics, but this—this sea of influential people—was uncharted territory. Oscar's touch was both reassuring and unsettling. She wasn't used to someone leading her anywhere, especially not a racing driver with a penchant for pushing boundaries.

Inside the venue, the air buzzed with excitement. Waiters glided past, trays of champagne flutes balanced expertly. Oscar handed her a glass, his fingers brushing hers. "To surviving our forced partnership," he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

Amelia clinked her glass against his. "And to hoping we don't throttle each other before the season ends."

He chuckled, and for a moment, the tension eased. But then he steered her toward a group of people, and her nerves returned. His teammate, Lando Norris, stood there, his smile genuine as he greeted Oscar.

"Oscar!" Lando's handshake was firm. "And who's this?"

Amelia's mouth went dry. She'd seen Lando race, admired his skill. Now he was studying her, curiosity in his eyes.

"Amelia Lockwood," Oscar said, his tone almost proud. "Our new data wizard."

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Data wizard? Sounds intriguing. Why are you here?"

Amelia's mind raced. She couldn't tell Lando that she'd been dragged here like a reluctant child. "Work," she managed. "Analyzing performance metrics."

Lando nodded, his gaze lingering on her. "Well, welcome to the circus. Oscar's a handful, but he's got talent."

Oscar grinned. "And Lando's the king of banter."

They launched into a conversation about lap times, tire degradation, and aerodynamics. Amelia listened, feeling like an outsider at a secret club. Lando was friendly, genuinely interested in her insights. Oscar, on the other hand, had retreated into silence, nursing his drink.

"Why did you invite her?" Lando asked Oscar, lowering his voice.

Amelia's ears pricked. Invited her? She hadn't seen that coming.

Oscar shrugged. "Zac thought it'd be good for us to learn to get along."

Lando's eyes flickered between them. "And do you think it's working?"

Oscar's gaze met Amelia's, and she saw something there—a challenge, maybe even a hint of vulnerability. "We'll see," he said.

And just like that, the conversation shifted. Lando turned his attention back to Amelia, sharing anecdotes about his rookie season. Oscar stood beside her, silent but present. The room swirled around them—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of voices, the dance of diplomacy.

When Lando excused himself to greet another driver, Oscar leaned in. "You're doing fine," he murmured. "Just stay close."

She wanted to ask why he'd invited her, why he'd bothered. But the words lodged in her throat. Instead, she sipped her champagne, feeling the weight of Oscar's presence beside her.

The grand banquet hall buzzed with anticipation. The long table was a mosaic of racing legends and Oscar. And then there was her, Amelia Lockwood, the data wizard who'd been thrust into this glittering world.