Chapter 11 WAGs Dinner

Chapter 11 WAGs Dinner
"Hey, are you two working on—wow. You look beautiful, dear."

I blinked, managing an awkward smile while tugging at the skirt of my dress, which felt far too voluminous for comfort.

As agreed—or more accurately, coerced. I would be attending the WAG dinner tonight. Under Chris's particular brand of persuasive coercion, I was now dressed in what could only be described as a claustrophobic outfit.

Slightly thicker makeup, an elegant dress, an expensive bag, and heels. my whole body felt weighed down by things I'd never worn before.

"You guys on a date?"

Bwushh.

Soda sprayed from Chris's mouth. Chris and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. What kind of question was that? A date? Hell nah.

"Mum, don't be ridiculous. We're not dating," Chris said, sounding defensive.

"Oh, well—even if you were, there's nothing stopping you two.

Mrs Carla smiled, let out a soft giggle, and came over to me. The embarrassment was real—I wasn't used to being dressed up like this in front of anyone.

"You look beautiful in that dress. The rose gold colour suits you—it matches that gentle, sharp personality of yours."

I smiled. Mrs Carla always knew exactly what to say to make someone feel good about themselves. She had that effect on people.

"You should have brought a proper designer bag." Mrs Carla held one out to me—very clearly expensive. "Take this. Chris has no eye for these things."

"Mum, why?"

"Oh! wait, nobody's told me what's happening tonight."

"WAG dinner. Elite sports and their politics—honestly exhausting," Chris said flatly.

"Oh, that sounds glamorous—and also tedious, knowing how these things go. I hope it goes well. Chris, look after Rachel. Don't let the public get to her—the press will blow anything out of proportion if you let them."

"Hey! what about me?" Chris replied, sounding put out.
A laugh slipped out of me. Underneath all the bickering, the closeness between them was obvious. It was the kind of thing I'd never had—and probably never would.

"Rachel has been looking after you around the clock—now do something worthwhile. You're a man. Act like one and look after her."



The Canadian Grand Prix had been electric—a double podium finish for Mercodya, Chris and his teammate both on the rostrum. Which only intensified the spotlight on the team, on Chris, and on everyone in his orbit.

Stepping into one of the more upscale restaurants in the heart of Montreal, I took in the room. Most seats were already filled—elegant women who wore their social status as visibly as their jewellery.

It wasn't just WAGs—representatives from each team's sponsors were there too. They were the ones who had put the whole thing together.

No wonder every team pushed their drivers to show up—the sponsors were footing the bill. I hadn't understood the point of it at first. But after spending enough time in this world, it became clear: image and prestige carried just as much weight as the racing itself.

Fans would do almost anything for the drivers and teams they loved—and a driver's image could move a sponsor's stock price just as easily as a podium finish.

Beauty, grandeur, precision—it was all on display.

"Oh, you must be Miss Rachel. Lovely to meet you—the chemistry between you and Chris is hard to miss."

I narrowed my eyes—just slightly, not enough to be noticed. So this was Emma Grace. The girlfriend of last year's World Drivers' Champion, her boyfriend driving for one of the strongest teams on the grid.

"Come sit at our table—there's a free seat right here," she said.

Even the way she spoke was elegant. I mostly stayed quiet and nodded—saying the wrong thing would only make things worse. I wasn't used to an atmosphere this polished. A girl from the lower end of the middle class had no business pretending otherwise.

A perfectly poised back, a face that looked like it had been carefully designed, movements that carried weight in every detail—it was no wonder the public was so taken with her. Even the silverware on the table looked dull by comparison.

In front of her sat a tuna tartare adorned with edible flower petals—a composition too pretty to eat. She savoured it anyway, with the quiet appreciation of an art curator.

"You... I don't recognise your family name. Reizz, is it?"

I'd just been dragging my steak through the Beurre Blanc when I stopped—spoon still hovering mid-air.

"Uhm, yeah... My family isn't exactly well-known."

"Oh, really? How did you find your way into circles like this? People who move in these spaces usually come with very strong connections."

Every impression I'd built of Emma Grace—composed, gracious, above it all—crumbled. I'd thought she was genuinely humble, universally warm. Turns out she was just like every other status-obsessed person in a room like this.

"Not enjoying your drink? You haven't touched it—shall I have someone bring you something else?"

Chris cut in—timed like a hero's entrance in the final act of a period drama.

"Ah! no, I like it. I just got caught up in the food and forgot about it."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Emma watching the two of us closely. I couldn't work out what was driving it—did my being here, next to Chris, offend her that much?

"Where did you find this girl? I wasn't aware the De Luca family had lowered their standards."

Something tightened in my chest.

I reached under the table and grabbed Chris's hand. I knew he was impulsive, easily provoked—but what I couldn't explain was why we seemed to be feeling the exact same thing at exactly the same moment.

And yet—even if someone insulted me, it was none of his business.

"Oh, of course—that goes without saying. The De Luca family has always been selective. They've never been careless about who they keep close."

Chris smiled—something sharp playing at the corner of his mouth. From where I sat, I could read every line of his expression. I had no idea what he was about to do.

"And naturally, the De Luca family has never had much reason to associate with the Grace family. We tend to choose people of actual worth—people whose character holds up under scrutiny."

I sat there, stunned. Without so much as blinking, Chris had laid it all out in front of Emma. This wasn't going to end here.