Chapter Text
The paddock, on a race weekend, always smelled faintly of heated rubber, tar and ambition.
By six in the morning, when most people were still getting out of bed, the place was already alive with mechanics in dark uniforms moving efficiently, engineers hunched over tablets, and journalists weaving through the narrow corridors between motorhomes. Somewhere in the distance an engine roared to life, the sound sharp enough to vibrate through the polished floors of the hospitality suites.
For most people it was overwhelming, but for Penelope it was exhilarating. There was something in the way the track was endless, always coming back to the beginning only to start again, that made every morning feel like the start of something important.
Except that, well, for her, it was the start of something important. But she shook that feeling away, trying not to think too much about it. She didn’t need the overthinking thing going on at the moment.
She stood tall just outside the media center at Silverstone, clutching her accreditation badge a little tighter than strictly necessary between her fingers. The laminated card swung lightly from the red ribbon around her neck, the words MEDIA - PADDOCK ACCESS printed in bold letters across it.
It still felt surreal.
Three years ago, she had been hunched over a laptop in the back row of a university lecture hall, writing small opinion pieces no one read except her editor and, occasionally, one or two friends who read them as a favor in exchange for her own opinion over the pieces they’d write. She was almost sure that no one else in the paddock had read as many pieces as she had about alternative polish cinema or the importance of using whole wheat flour to feed your sourdough before baking a loaf of bread.
Yeah, she had gone through it. But looking back, she’d do it all over again. All if it meant she’d end up here, on a Formula One race weekend, as a specialized journalist in her first full season assigned to the grid.
Penelope inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
“Right,” she murmured under her breath. “You can do this.”
No one heard her over the hum of activity, which was probably for the best.
Around her, reporters were already discussing rumors about driver contracts, technical upgrades, whispers about regulation breaches. The paddock thrived on speculation the way engines thrived on fuel, and if Penelope had her way, this season she would be amongst the ones controlling the narrative. The thought was so foreign for her it made her blood tingle with excitement.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and stepped inside the media center.
Rows of desks filled the room, each dotted with laptops and half-empty coffee cups. Screens on the far wall showed live timing from the morning’s practice sessions. The quiet clatter of keyboards created a strange, rhythmic, somehow calming music.
Penelope found an empty seat near the back and sat down, exhaling slowly. As she settled in, her editor’s words echoed in her mind, telling her that this was her big opportunity and reminding her how long it had take her to get here.
“Don’t waste it, Featherington,” she would say, with that kind of quiet confidence she always exuded. “We’ll be at our best this year.”
Well, she could try.
-
Across the paddock, Colin Bridgerton had already been awake for a full hour.
Professional drivers learned quickly that race weekends did not allow for slow mornings; between fitness sessions, engineering briefings, and media obligations, every moment of the day had a purpose.
Still, Colin looked remarkably relaxed.
He lounged comfortably on a sofa inside the Mercedes hospitality suite, long legs stretched out in front of him, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. His race suit was tied loosely around his waist, the white fireproof undershirt clinging to his toned shoulders. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows behind him, catching the edges of his messy dark hair, and he looked like someone who was used to this kind of environment, to a world that was meticulously crafted to fulfill his every need.
Well, in many ways, he was.
The Bridgertons were an old money English family. He had the type of surname that opened doors in nearly every room. Maybe he would not be welcomed in Buckingham Palace if he showed up unrequested, but that was probably the only place where something like that would happen to him.
He liked to think, though, that the door to this very hospitality suite had been opened to him by himself. Five years ago, his rookie season had been impressive enough to land him a seat with Mercedes the following year, and ever since then he had been quietly building a reputation: talented, fearless, occasionally reckless. The championship, however, still eluded him.
This season was supposed to change that.
A door opened across the room and his teammate Phillip stepped inside, already dressed in his full race suit. Phil had the kind of steady, composed presence that made engineers trust him implicitly, unlike Colin, who had to earn that trust with endless hours in the simulator over long nights at the team’s factory.
“Morning,” Phil said, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge.
Colin lifted a hand in greeting without looking up.
“Morning.”
Phillip glanced at him. “You’re smiling at your phone. That’s concerning.”
Colin huffed softly. “I smile at plenty of things.”
“Not before eight in the morning, and certainly not before a media day” Phillip joked while shaking his head, his perfectly combed hair following his every movement.
“Maybe I’m becoming a more positive person.”
Phillip twisted open the water bottle. “I really doubt that mate.”
Colin finally looked up, amused. “You sound like my sister.”
Phillip raised an eyebrow, curiosity getting the best of him. “Which one?” he asked.
“Eloise.”
“Ah,” Phillip said, immediately understanding. He smiled softly. “I like her. She always gives me material to tease you when she comes by. She’ll be here today?”
“I think so, yeah.” Colin answered, a little bit amused. He already knew Phillip liked his sister, but he couldn't blame him. Eloise Bridgerton had a personality that could be described, depending on one’s mood, as either mind-blowing or exhausting. Sometimes both. But she was always, no matter what, fiercely loyal and incredibly funny. She was his favorite sibling (and that was something, given that he had more siblings than most people had family members), and he knew it was only normal men fell at her feet. And women. And human beings, in general.
Colin’s phone buzzed again in his hand. Oh, he thought. Speaking of the devil.
ELOISE: You’re at the track already, big brother?
COLIN: I usually am on race weekends, yes.
A moment later, three typing dots appeared.
ELOISE: You should behave yourself this year.
Colin frowned slightly.
COLIN: That sounds ominous.
The reply came almost instantly.
ELOISE: Penelope is covering some of the championship this season.
Colin blinked, taking the information in.
“Everything alright?” Phillip asked.
Colin sat up slowly.
“Apparently,” he said carefully, “my sister’s best friend is working as a journalist on the grid this year.”
Phillip considered that. “Is that… bad?”
Colin leaned back again, staring thoughtfully at his phone.
Penelope Featherington. Eloise’s shadow through most of university. The name brought with it a vivid mental image of bright red hair and observant ocean eyes that could pass as green if the sunlight hit her in a special hour. He could remember her colorful clothes and her shy demeanor, and the way she seemed to grow a couple inches when talking about a specific story she was working on. They had met several times over the years, mostly at university events or Bridgerton family dinners Eloise had dragged her to.
But he was not really sure…
Colin sighed.
“She’s… I don’t really understand her,” he admitted.
Phillip raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Colin said automatically.
Phillip just stared at him.
Colin sighed.
“I swear, I never did a thing. I was always nice to her; she’s my sister’s friend.”
Phillip shook his head in disbelief. “Mmmm” he hummed. “And what’s the problem then?”
Colin rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a weird situation, isn’t it? To have a journalist in the paddock that knows your family and your house and… you.”
“Yeah, it is,” Phillip agreed. “You better charm your way into her good side,” his teammate said, aware of how well the Bridgerton charm usually worked. “It’s better to have someone who knows so much about you on your team, mate.”
Colin nodded with his head, accepting the advice. Phil was right, after all. He glanced back down at his phone to send a new text to his sister.
COLIN: Why didn’t you mention this earlier?
Eloise’s response took slightly longer this time.
ELOISE: Because I knew you’d react like that.
COLIN: Like what?
ELOISE: Like a man who just realized he’ll have to behave in front of a very competent journalist.
Colin smiled despite himself.
COLIN: I always behave.
But he could hear his sister’s snorting at his reply from the distance.
-
Later that afternoon, as the first practice session of the season ended, the paddock grew louder and more frenetic. The pre-season tests had been unreliable as the regulations had changed drastically from the prior year, so everyone wanted to get to the drivers to get their first impressions on the new cars. Journalists began gathering outside the media pen where drivers would give their short interviews.
Penelope stood among them, flipping through the notes on her tablet. Names, statistics, team dynamics. She had memorized them all already, of course, but that didn’t mean she was less nervous. There was only so much preparation that could calm her nerves.
A group of photographers shifted beside her as the first driver stepped forward.
Questions were fired rapidly about tire strategy, weather forecasts, championship expectations. She was jotting down a small note about Ferrari’s upgrade rumors when a ripple of movement passed through the crowd and a few journalists straightened.
Colin Bridgerton walked toward the media crowd with the effortless ease of someone completely accustomed to attention. The Mercedes logo gleamed across his suit, sunlight reflecting off the silver accents.
He looked exactly like she remembered him: tall, handsome and entirely too aware of it. It was unfortunate, really, that he had grown into someone so irritatingly attractive.
Penelope’s mouth tightened slightly.
She liked the Bridgertons, she really did. Eloise was basically her sister, and her mother Violet was the one who had fed them and emotionally supported them both during most of their college years. But Colin… She knew he was going to be on the grid, for God’s sake. He was the most prominent driver of the most important team of the category, of course he was going to be there. But he was Colin Bridgerton for her, her best friend’s older brother, someone she had known for years. And he was stepping into the interview area with his white suit and his customized helmet, all composure and measured words.
It was weird, she thought. He reminded her of a time when she was younger, when her dreams had little shape but a lot of enthusiasm, when Eloise and her would spend summer nights binge watching dumb TV shows with Colin sleeping on the room next door, complaining about how they would never shut up and he needed his sleep to perform at his best the next day and he-
Colin’s gaze swept briefly across the gathered reporters. Penelope’s breath caught in her throat, recognition flicking instantly between them.
She raised one eyebrow at him, a silent question lingering between them. He blinked once, twice, thrice. Then, slowly, a crooked smile appeared on his face. You’re here, his smile seemed to say.
Penelope looked back down at her tablet briefly, smiling softly to herself too. She lifted her sight once again, scanning his familiar face, now all grown-up and freshly shaven to look good on camera. Isn’t it crazy?, she hoped her eyes would convey.
But instead of saying that, she picked up her phone, checked that it was already recording the audio and asked
“Colin Bridgerton, another year on the grid. It’s your fourth year in Mercedes, what are your expectations for the season?”