Second Chances

As Cold As Ice

Back to present day...

He froze. I froze. Eyes locked onto each other. It was the first time we'd layed eyes on each other since the day I left Abu Dhabi. I felt my face flush, remembering the note I left him. He looked beyond pissed. But when didn't he? I was used to that. And nor was I scared of him, but I didn't want to hang around here like a spare part at a wedding. So, trying desperately to put my professional head on, I looked back to Stefania, plastering a smile on my face and nodded. "I've missed you too" I nodded. "we must talk soon" she said rushing at me with a smile. She kissed both my cheeks swiftly, all the while I could feel his eyes burning into me, not moving from his spot by the door. I smiled back at Stefania and the turned to Lance, giving him a glare to tell him to shift his Canadian butt into the conference room.

.........

Most of the reporters had already taken their seats ready to begin. Lance was still hanging beside me looking worried.

"you'll be fine" I chuckled at him, which made him scoff. "I don't care about that" he said, "I'm worried about you" he whispered leaning a little closer. I frowned. "I know I don't know much about what happened with you guys, but I can see from that brief moment it affected you deeply. Both of you" he commented.

I couldn't help but smile at him. Trying to tell him I was okay, but mainly because I knew he genuinely cared for me. I nodded at him, telling him I'd talk to him and tell him about it later. Right now he had the conference. It was important, especially as it was his first in formula one.

As Lance headed to the stage area, I took a step back, allowing me to finally take a breath. I could feel my hands trembling. My knees too. I'm glad I didn't do anything too stupid back there, but I cursed myself for looking like a god dammed drowned rat! I cringed at the possibility of my makeup smeared all over my face, and my hair all raggedy. But hey, why did that matter? Because the look on Kimi's face was what hit me the most, what was that?

As I stood and pondered this, and was kindly handed a towel by some young girl, the door to the room opened and in walsed the man in question. He brought with him an atmosphere, something I'd never noticed before. He took his seat on the back row, having his microphone taped to his skin. He barely made eye contact with anyone in the room, but as I found myself watching him, his eyes flicked up, locking once again on mine. My blood ran cold. Did he really hate me that much?