Arriving at this sa airport in Berlin every ti he returned from a racing weekend now felt like second nature to Luca.
Like Manuela, many would find this routine mundane and tireso because they had experienced it countless tis.
But Luca used Brandenburg Airport as his personal checkpoint to mark his downti and catch a breath.
Germany felt like ho far more than the UK ever had. It felt like snuggling into a mother’s arms.
The sa technicalities, the sa hospitality, the familiar roads, and often the sa hotel, always ready to receive Luca Rennick as soon as word of a Grand Prix’s end reached them.
Every return was comfortable in its predictability and warmth.
After booking into the hotel, Luca had a delish lunch with Vance. Their talk over the al was about the race, the championship’s nature, and also the havoc that had plagued Stavelot before their departure.
Later in the evening, Luca sat at the desk in his suite for a Zoom call with Sara and her team, who were keen on keeping him updated with the financial necessities.
Expenditure forecasts were the topic of the day.
Luca had about 25% knowledge of what they were even saying, and half the ti, he was just dumb to their blabbing, nodding when needed.
What amused him most was how casually they were calling out figures in hundreds of thousands, sotis millions, as if they were discussing groceries.
Years ago, Luca would have considered hearing or seeing such amounts a privilege for him. Yet here he was, sitting through it as if it were just another box to tick off in his to-do list this week.
By nightti, the financial sermon was finally over, and Luca was ready for an early, much-needed sleep.
Just like the night before, Isabella called again.
She called to know if he had returned safely to Berlin, but it was also obvious the call was a reminder of the surprise she said she had prepared.
Luca: "When’s this happening, Isabella?"
Isabella: "...Tomorrow..."
Luca: "Tomorrow?"
Isabella: "...I hope that’s alright with you...?"
It was bad timing for Isabella, really bad timing. She had only just revealed her surprise to Luca, yet the universe had chosen this very mont to throw sothing else in his path.
Just before dinner, Manuela forwarded him a ssage—he was to be in Stuttgart by morning, summoned by Trampos and Ferrari for a career eting.
It was a sudden thing in the schedule, and sudden things usually happened, so Luca didn’t pay it much mind at first. He would attend without friction. But now, with Isabella’s plan, it seed two things were bound to clash.
Luca: "I actually have to be in Stuttgart tomorrow."
Isabella: --------
Luca: "It’s important."
Isabella: "Luca..."
Luca: ---------
Sitting in silence, Luca didn’t know how he was supposed to handle this predicant.
He had always been good at preventing his racing and personal lives from grinding against each other, so he knew he could find a solution to this.
He wanted to see Isabella just as much as she wanted to see him, but Luca also couldn’t bring himself to flake on his team and Ferrari, even if, truth be told, they deserved it after dropping such a demand on him at the eleventh hour.
Luca: "Isabella... can’t it be another day? You can shift it one day forward, right?"
Isabella: "I can’t. I’ve got lectures. Tomorrow’s final, and I’d be in London by the next."
Luca: "...I see. So what ti is this thing you’ve prepared?"
Isabella: "Whenever you’re ready... but the main part, the real thing, is between four and five."
Luca: "...and where exactly is it?"
Isabella: "Nuh uh, until you accept, no venue for you. That’s the rule."
Luca: "...that’s fun."
Luca wondered why he couldn’t attend both events at once.
The career eting in Stuttgart was set for the morning, and Isabella’s surprise was at four in the afternoon. In theory, there was space—one life demanding his presence, the other tugging at it.
He wondered if he could run both tracks in the sa day, like trying to win two different races without missing a lap in either!
Luca: "I’ll be there by four, don’t worry."
Isabella: "Really? Okay then, I’ll forward you the venue."
Luca: "Great. And I’d love to see you in a nice dress."
Isabella: ".....I love you."
Luca: "Take care."
By taking a 7 AM flight, Luca calculated he’d be in Stuttgart by around 9:45, including the flight ti and other minutiae that could consu ti.
The eting must be two hours max; if not, Luca intended to wrap up his things and leave just as quickly as he had arrived.
Everything could take about five to six hours, including returning to Berlin. Regardless of the ti stamps, Luca knew he wouldn’t catch a breath tomorrow.
~~~~~
Just as planned, Luca was on the Hawthorne 3 by 7:30 AM, bound for Stuttgart on an estimated hour-and-fifteen-minute flight. The jet humd steadily beneath him, its luxury comforts wasted on his restless mind.
Stuttgart wasn’t really that far from Berlin, and for the German motorsport community, it often served as a familiar to-and-fro hub.
The city was steeped in racing history, ho to manufacturers and technical headquarters that had long made it a beating heart of the sport in Germany.
In this sense, many believed Stuttgart, not Berlin, was the true heart of motorsport in the country.
It was where the technical pulse beat strongest, where the culture of racing was nurtured daily, and where the bridges between history and modern engineering seed most alive.
There was once a rumor that Trampos had agreed on the idea of relocating their headquarters to Stuttgart for easier FIA access. But from what Luca rembered, that proposal was swiftly shut down.
Although Germany was the patriotic scale at large, Berlin was still Trampos’ identity, their foundation. Hence, abandoning it would feel like losing a part of them.
After all, the German GP was held in Berlin and always would be.
And speaking of the German GP, this year’s race was still to co. Luca couldn’t help but wonder just how chaotic it would be, especially after the "Red Movent" of last year, when the entire country had shaken the event into one of the most feverish spectacles Formula 1 had ever witnessed.
All because of this man on the plane.
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