Chapter Text
It was a very dull Friday afternoon, and Cassie was trying to finish up work for the day, not that there was very much going on. She had a slide deck to finish up, and some copy from one of her coworkers to proof, but none of it was urgent. She played with her necklace — a small silver charm with an engraving on it — as her mind wandered, trying to imagine what her plans were for the weekend without a race to watch.
She worked in marketing for a motorsport racing team. Not just any racing team, the three-time double world champion Mercedes AMG Formula 1 team. She was going on her 7th year with the team. She started with the team as a marketing intern right after she finished her degree at Cambridge, soon after the Brawn GP team was purchased by Daimler and became Mercedes GP.
Cassie remembered her parents being horrified, not only at the fact that she’d joined the management course at Cambridge instead of just doing the Classics course like was when she’d started university, but at her getting an internship, and even worse, a job.
She was living the kind of life her parents dreaded her living; she was 35 years old, single, and had no children. But, she had built a life she’d liked, which was the only thing that mattered to her. She had a great job that she loved, an adorable flat in Oxfordshire, a good group of friends, and an active social life. She traveled quite a bit, too. She didn’t have much of a relationship with her family anymore, aside from an aunt, and her younger sister. She went on occasional dates, but hadn’t found the man she wanted to be with forever. She’d broken up with her last serious boyfriend going on three years ago.
Cassie was distracted by her phone vibrating on her desk. She flipped it over to check her notifications, and saw that she had one from Tinder. She hated dating apps, but that seemed to be the way to meet people nowadays. Once in a while, though, prospects were promising. She was most recently talking to a man named Peter. He was a few years older than her, but he was kind and funny, and they seemed to have a lot in common. They’d been messaging each other regularly for the past week, and their conversations had gotten surprisingly deep for a dating app. Cassie had really taken a liking to him already, and looked forward to seeing his messages. They hadn’t met up yet, but the message he’d just sent was him asking her if she wanted to meet for dinner the next night.
“I made a reservation at Pierre Victoire”, he wrote. “For 6pm, tomorrow night, so I hope you like French food.”
“I love it,” she wrote to him. Truth be told, she had no strong feeling about it either way, but she liked this guy, and really wanted their date to go well. Despite what she’d thought about her parents’ prescribed plan for her life, she had been thinking lately that finding someone to settle down with would be nice, and so would starting a family of her own. As long as her potential partner respected her independence, and the fact that she liked her job. She was never going to be a stay-at-home mother; she liked her job too much for that, and had worked very hard to get as far as she had.
Peter seemed to fit those requirements.
The next day, Cassie spent the morning lounging around her apartment, answering a few emails and tidying up a bit, washing the dishes from the night before and putting the clothes she had used during the week in the wash. She exchanged a few messages with Peter, who said he was looking forward to their meeting later. Cassie couldn't deny that she was starting to feel butterflies in her stomach.
During the afternoon, she devoted herself to preparing for her date. She drew herself a bath spending a while relaxing in the warm water mixed with the lavender bath salts she loved. After her bath, she put on some makeup and styled her hair, pulling it back into a relaxed ponytail.
The hardest part, in Cassie's view, was choosing an outfit. She had to pick something that didn’t clash with her bright red hair, and something appropriate for the restaurant. The bistro they were going to wasn't luxurious enough to require formal wear, but at the same time, she thought she should wear something nice, different from her usual work clothes, or the t-shirts and ratty jeans she liked to wear that her mother had always abhorred.
In the face of such doubts, there was only one person she could count on.
She picked up her phone from her bed and tapped the screen a few times until she found the name she was looking for. It didn't take long for the face of Helena, her sister, to appear on the screen.
— What's up, Cassie? — Helena said — Everything ready for your date?
She smiled at her sister.
— Not really. I’m actually calling you to talk about what I'm going to wear.
— Are you asking for an opinion? That’s unexpected. Usually you do whatever you feel like doing. Hang on — Helena said. She turned her face to the side and said something to someone off-camera. It was probably Jack, her husband.
— It's just… The restaurant is casual, but not too casual, you know?
Helena scratched her chin.
— Perhaps you could wear a dress?
— In this cold?
— That’s what tights are for, Cassie — she laughed, before saying something to her son, Icarus, who looked like he was trying to grab at something he shouldn't.
After they discussed a few options, she decided to wear a moss green knit dress, paired with thick black tights and tall black leather boots. It would go well with her black scarf and the black peacoat she had. Helena wished her luck and ended the call, to let Cassie finish getting ready.
The restaurant was fairly close to Cassie’s flat, so she didn't have to leave long in advance. After driving around a bit looking for a place to park her car, a silver Mercedes-Benz CLA 250 leased on the company’s generous leasing scheme, she managed to get a space in front of the Royal Air Force office in Oxford, walking the rest of the way to the restaurant by foot. It wasn’t far, but she was grateful that she’d opted not to wear heels.
As soon as she entered the establishment, she found Peter sitting at one of the tables against the wall, just below a painting of a pastry chef, scrolling through something on his cell phone. Walking over to where he stood, Cassie felt butterflies in her stomach.
— Peter?
The man stood up, smiling.
— Good evening, Cassie. It’s very nice to finally meet you in person.
She sat in the chair across from him, slinging her purse over the back of the chair.
— You look very beautiful. More beautiful than in the pictures.
— Thanks. You also look very nice.
They chatted for a while before a waiter approached them and asked if he could start the service.
— Yes, no problem — Peter replied — Oh, and the wine, as well.
The man nodded and walked away from the table, causing Cassie to raise an eyebrow.
— He's not going to bring out the menu so we can order?
— No, no, I've already done that.
Cassie blinked.
— You already ordered for us? — she asked, skeptically.
— Yes, I already placed our orders, just to make things a bit easier. You don’t mind, right? After all, I'm the one paying.
She felt her heart sink inside her chest.
— No, no, I don’t mind. I just wanted to know what they really served. I trust you. After all, not many people don't like pineapple on their pizza around here — Cassie replied, trying to lighten the mood.
“I shouldn't have trusted him”, she thought, as the waiter brought the two plates of escargot and placed them on the table.
She hated escargot. She hated it to the point that she threw up at a dinner party put on by her father when she was a child. The dinner was in honor of a French businessman who had visited the family's country home in Chichester to buy some racehorses from her father. Cassie was quickly sent away from the table and went to sleep without dinner that night, as punishment for causing her family such embarrassment.
Taking a deep breath, she took a sip of white wine and picked up the tongs and fork. Cassie couldn’t refuse and risk the slight to Peter, who had probably chosen the dish to offer the most French experience possible. Scooping the contents out of the animal's shell, she felt her stomach churn. “Come on, Cassie, it's not that bad. Just focus on the garlic”, she thought to herself, lifting the meat to her mouth.
The earthy flavor, mixed with butter and garlic, was the same as she remembered from that fateful family dinner. Taking two bites, she swallowed the snail practically whole, trying to push away the memories that kept coming back to her mind.
— Very tasty, isn't it? — Peter said, smiling — I love escargot.
— I do too — she lied, scooping out the contents of another shell and bringing it to her mouth. “Only five more to go”, Cassie thought to herself, trying to suppress the urge to gag or vomit.
She managed to eat the rest of them with the help of a few generous sips of wine — at least the wine was good — and almost cried with joy when the waiter took away the escargot plates. Drinking some water to cleanse the awful earthiness from her palate, Cassie was taking in the surroundings when Peter cleared his throat.
— Well, since we're here, nothing better than taking the opportunity to get to know each other better. You went to university, right?
— Yes, I studied Classics and Management.
— Two very different areas.
— Yes — she laughed — My parents are pretty traditional, so they wanted me to study Classics, but during my third year, I decided to shift to management and marketing.
— Interesting. Why the change?
“I better not start talking about my parents now”, she thought.
— I just found it a little dry. A little dated, I suppose.
Peter smiled.
— And you preferred something more contemporary?
— Yes — Cassie replied with a smile — And I’m glad I did, because I ended up with a job I love.
— Where are you working?
— At the Mercedes F1 factory, in Brackley.
He picked up his wine glass, nodding without much enthusiasm.
— Interesting.
The conversation continued until the main course arrived, filets of sea bass served with sautéed chorizo, crushed new potatoes, wilted spinach and chive beurre blanc. “At least it looks appetizing”, she thought, taking a bite of fish. After a few seconds of silence, Cassie decided to break the silence.
— And you, where do you work?
Peter looked up at her.
— I'm a solicitor. I work in an office right here in Oxford.
— That's cool — Cassie said — Did you go to uni here?
— No, I went to Queen Mary, in London. But I came here to sit for a specialization and ended up quite liking the city. I expect to be here for the rest of my life, or most of it — he replied.
— And what do you see your life looking like here in Oxford? — she asked, spearing a potato with her fork.
— Ah, I believe it would be working my way up my law firm, with my wife at home, taking care of our children.
Cassie blinked.
— Staying at home?
— Yes, but it would be something discussed with her, not imposed. It's just that, personally, I wouldn't want to see my partner working outside the home, especially in very… Masculine environments.
— Masculine environments?
— Yeah, like law firms, engineering firms, architecture firms… Formula 1 car factories.
Cassie dropped her knife and fork on the table rather loudly.
— Do you have a problem with my job? — she snapped.
Peter was staring at her, his expression slightly shocked, mouth agape
— No, not at all, I even like Formula 1 a lot. I even think that new kid from Mercedes, as he is called… He won his first race last year, in Spain…
— Max Verstappen?
— That's right, Verstappen, I think he's a good driver, I like him a lot. I just think it's a very… Masculine environment and I wouldn't feel comfortable if my partner worked there.
— And you expect your hypothetical partner would quit her job for you?
— Well, if she loved me, I believe she would.
She couldn't help but let out a wry laugh.
— What if she wanted to stay at her job?
— Then we would have a problem, because I wouldn’t want my partner to not be at home, keeping the house, instead of traveling around the world, leaving me to take care of the children. Especially with so many men around.
— You mean you wouldn't trust your partner? Even if she loved you?
— There's no use in love, commitment is what is necessary. For me, commitment is supporting my career by being a good wife to me and a good mother to my future children.
—So, you require your partner to be committed to your dreams and wishes, but you are not committed to hers?
He didn’t answer.
Cassie took the glass in front of her and downed the rest of the wine in one gulp. Then she removed the cloth napkin from her lap and stood up, grabbing her purse from her chair.
— Where are you going? You haven't even finished your dinner…
— Honestly, Peter, if you had just told me you were a sexist asshole when we started talking, it would have saved us both a lot of time, and saved you some money — she said loudly, drawing a few looks.
— Cassie, I don't…
— Working in a male-dominated environment does not make me any less worthy than any other woman — she continued — I am very proud to work at Mercedes and proud of us being four-time double world champions. Not that you understand anything about Formula 1, do you?
— I do, I watch the Grand Prix every weekend…
— Then you would know that my team's drivers are named Lewis Hamilton and Valtteri Bottas. Max Verstappen races for Red Bull, and I’d hate it if he raced for Mercedes.
Peter's face was red, eyes scanning the room, seeing the other diners staring at them. People were starting to whisper.
— Cassie, would you sit down so we can have a civilized conversation?
—Is it really possible to have a civilized conversation with a man who thinks a woman's place is in the home, cleaning, cooking, and giving birth? — she said, raising her voice very intentionally — A man who doesn't care about the opinion of the woman he has dinner with?
— I didn't say that, Cassie.
— You didn’t have to say it! You simply decided what we were going to eat instead of asking my opinion!
— I decided on our menu because I know French cuisine and you don't...
She gave a sardonic laugh.
— How do you know I don't?
— Well, I assumed…
— I grew up holidaying in France! I've had more croissants in a year than you’ve probably had chip shop platters in your entire life!
Peter was staring at her with a shocked expression.
— Cassie, please…
— What? — she screamed.
— Let's talk in a more private place, more calmly…
Cassie knew that tactic. Her ex-boyfriend used to use it on her all the time. He would suggest that they go talk privately, so he could isolate her and talk down to her, making her seem like she was the unreasonable one.
“Not today”, she thought.
— You know what? Go fuck yourself, Peter.
She practically stomped out of the restaurant, slamming the front door quite abruptly. She didn’t even stop to put on her jacket, carrying it under her arm. Outside, the cold wind was buffeting against her, but Cassie couldn't care less. The irritation coursing through her body was enough to keep her warm. She arrived at her car, got into the vehicle, and took a deep breath.
Then she punched the steering wheel three times, getting all her anger out.
— Asshole, asshole, asshole! — she repeated, anger permeating her voice.
After a few more punches to the steering wheel and a few minutes of deep breathing, she felt better. She drove back to her apartment in absolute silence, not even bothering to turn the radio on.
Cassie arrived back at her apartment, peeling off her boots by the front door and kicking them off with little care as to where they landed. She dropped her purse on her coffee table. Before she sat down on the couch, she went to the fridge, spotting what she was looking for right away — an unopened bottle of sauvignon blanc she’d bought on her last shopping trip. She took a wine glass — an actual white wine glass, because she had separate glasses for reds and whites — out of her pantry and poured it with a fairly heavy hand. The glass was far fuller than would be proper, but she wasn’t sure she cared.
“Ah, fuck it”, she thought, pouring it almost to the top.
She didn’t drink regularly, even as a means of relaxing, but after such a horrific date with someone that she had such high hopes for, who turned out to be the latest contestant in the competition for Oxford’s Worst Man, she figured she deserved it. She pulled a large packet of crisps from her pantry and plopped down on the couch, taking care not to spill her wine.
Cassie had intended to watch a film until she went to sleep — perhaps Love, Actually , never mind that it was a holiday film and Christmas had been two weeks ago, or Amélie, which she first watched in Year 11 with a French girl at school, but instead, she’d picked up her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. Despite working in marketing, she didn’t like posting much, but she did like to lurk and look at other people’s posts. She followed people she knew in person, of course — friends, some coworkers, people from other Formula 1 teams, and even complete strangers.
She took a healthy gulp of wine and started scrolling as she munched on the crisps. Sauvignon blanc and Walker’s Cheese and Onion crisps probably were a pairing that would make her parents and their friends faint, but she didn’t care. She’d seen news reports about birth rates around the world falling to record lows, but Cassie would’ve never guessed that was the case, looking at her Instagram feed. It seemed like it was an endless stream of adorably-staged pregnancy announcements with sonogram pictures and tiny pairs of shoes, pictures of small children with birthday cake smeared over their faces, pictures of children meeting Santa.
Cassie never managed to watch anything that night — instead, two glasses of wine down, she was still scrolling through Instagram, with tears streaming down her face.
She was never sure she wanted children. For a long time she didn’t, because her parents had expected her to start having them after finishing university and finding a suitable man to marry. By the time she finished university, at the institution they’d selected for her, because several generations of her family had attended, she wanted nothing to do with marriage or children. She’d studied management in her third year, which her parents did not approve of, and found that she’d had quite the talent for marketing. She took on an internship, ending up at a company where, for the first time in her life, nobody knew who her parents were, nor did they care. It was refreshing. The job was very interesting, and she was good at it, so when she was offered a permanent position after her internship ended, she jumped at the chance. She’d been at Mercedes ever since.
“Did I actually not want children, or did I just not want to give my parents what they wanted?”, Cassie thought, slugging back the last of her wine. She wiped the tears off of her cheeks and closed Instagram. It was only making her feel worse.
She looked at her clock, and realized that it was almost midnight — time to go to bed, anyway. She lumbered around her apartment, unsteady on her feet while going through her nighttime routine — brushing her teeth, washing her face… Drinking a tall glass of water and some paracetamol, as she knew she would certainly have wine-related regrets in the morning.
She changed into her pajamas and laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling and letting her thoughts unspool in the darkness.
For a while now, she’d felt like there was a big gap in her life. Until now, it wasn’t obvious what. It was just something whispering in the back of her mind, lurking on the periphery. She had plenty of friends, she was able to travel — she’d actually recently gotten back from a holiday to the Swiss Alps, where she’d spent Christmas and New Years’ with some friends — but maybe coming back to her dark, empty flat every night after work was starting to wear on her. She didn’t really need, or want, a partner, especially if most of the available dating pool turned out to be like Peter, but her mind was starting to change on wanting children.
And she could handle raising a child, even alone. She had a well-paying, stable career, the benefits were generous, Mercedes offered maternity leave and some sort of childcare stipend scheme. And medical science being what it was, she didn’t even need a partner. She’d seen a documentary about the in-vitro fertilization process — it didn’t seem pleasant or easy, but it could work. She’d have some eggs collected, fertilized with donor sperm, they’d put the egg back in, and boom — nine months later, she’d have a baby! She could even pick the father out of a catalog, which certainly sounded better than finding one on a dating app, considering the one that came from the catalog wouldn’t be around to make her feel worthless and miserable, like Peter likely would have, and like Callum did.
Callum was the last serious boyfriend she had. They’d broken up three years ago. He was very handsome, with striking blue eyes and straw-colored hair. He was intelligent and kind, and he made her laugh. He was a fantastic cook, and had incredibly soft hands. She’d known him from university, and their paths happened to cross again when he took a job as a laboratory researcher and instructor at Oxford University. He was an astronomer, and did things with telescopes, lots of maths, and old computer systems that Cassie didn’t really understand, but they bonded one night when he snuck her into an observatory at Cambridge. He turned on the planetarium so they could “stargaze”, looking at stars and constellations. She told him the stories of the figures from Greek and Roman myths they were named for. They shared their first kiss under the fake starry sky that night, but ended up losing touch after graduation. He got a job at Oxford University, and, knowing she lived and worked in the area, looked her up. They reconnected and ended up dating for a long time, and were to the point of discussing engagement and marriage. She had even given him a key to her flat, and he would stay over frequently. He gradually started becoming controlling, interrogating her about all of her comings and goings, telling her that she had to stop talking to certain friends, questioning her about anyone she interacted with.
Meanwhile, he would be out until all hours of the night, even when he wasn’t in the lab, without so much as a phone call to tell Cassie he’d be out, so she would worry about him. He was spending time with “the boys” — so he said. When she confronted him, Callum made her believe she was being selfish and trying to control him, while also calling her a bunch of very nasty things. They began to have fights regularly, until one day, she broke down and cried at work when he’d called her in the middle of the day to scream at her over some WhatsApp messages he’d found on her laptop. He’d come to her flat while she wasn’t there, for God knows what reason, and had guessed the password to her computer. She’d been talking to a friend of hers about what to do about him, and she encouraged him to break it off with him.
She tried to remain calm, lest she look unprofessional, as her desk was in the middle of a floor filled with other cubicles, so she ran to find an empty conference room for some privacy. Callum screamed at her, she screamed back. Her emotions got the better of her and she started sobbing. Cassie realized that Callum was trying to control her, just like her parents had when she was younger. She yelled at him to get out of her flat or she’d call the police, and then hung up. She continued to cry, until she heard the door to the conference room opening behind her. She whipped around to see, to her horror, Toto Wolff, the CEO and owner of the company, walking through the door.
— Toto! I… Uh — Cassie stammered, trying desperately to scrub the tears from her eyes.
— I’m sorry, I thought this room was… Oh, no… Are… Are you okay? — he said, concern filling his brown eyes.
— Sorry, I… I just had something personal come up and wanted some privacy, I’ll go back to my desk now — Cassie said, hurrying to get up from the chair she was sitting in.
— No, I’m sorry, Cassandra, take all the time in here that you need, I can find another conference room. Unless… Is it something I might be able to help with? This might be too forward of me, but, you know I’m happy to talk to anybody here who needs someone to talk to, whether it’s a work-related matter or not.
Cassie sighed as she walked to the door, stopping in front of Toto.
He’d started on as team principal and CEO a year after she’d been hired on permanently. Cassie didn’t interact with him one-on-one on a regular basis, usually only in marketing meetings with the rest of her team. She was not one of the people that regularly traveled to the actual Grands Prix. Her direct boss, Victoria, did, and she and the other people that did always spoke very highly of him.
Her interactions with him had always been positive — he was always very friendly. The company had changed dramatically after Toto, and his business partner, Niki Lauda, took over for Ross Brawn, and for the better, in Cassie’s opinion. Plus, he was, also in Cassie’s opinion — and the opinion of pretty much everyone else in the company — rather easy on the eyes.
He was tall and lean, but had some muscle, especially on his arms and shoulders. He had a handsome face with a strong jawline and a very distinctive nose. He had dark brown eyes that always looked warm and kind, and thick brown hair that he was constantly running his hands through, especially when he talked to reporters. He had a voice that was deep, but gentle at the same time. He had an excellent sense of humor. He was from Austria, and had an accent that Cassie always thought was charming, especially when he couldn’t remember a word in English and had to try and explain it in German. It was well-known that he was single and didn’t have any children, but nobody in the office could figure out why.
— No… It’s silly. Just… Relationship stuff — Cassie said, averting her gaze to the gray carpeting on the conference room floor.
— Hmm… It doesn't seem like it’s something silly if it’s making you so upset — he turned back toward the door, holding it open for her — Come with me. We’ll go downstairs and we can talk about it over some coffee… If you want to. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t feel comfortable doing so, but you certainly look like you could use a break, in any case.
Cassie looked at him skeptically.
— You don’t have a meeting, or something? Isn’t that what you were looking for an empty conference room for?
— Well — he said, a mischievous look coming over his face — Not exactly. I thought I heard someone crying as I was coming down the hallway, but wanted to give myself… What do you call it… Plausible deniability?
Cassie laughed, and walked out of the room behind him.
They sat in the small coffee bar in the employee canteen for a while. It was the first one-on-one conversation she’d remembered having with him, at least for an extended period of time. She was a little nervous about it at first, but found herself becoming more and more comfortable in Toto’s presence, to the point of eventually telling him about her relationship woes. Hearing about Callum’s behavior horrified him.
— I know I am not what you would call a relationship expert, but I think you definitely need to end it with him. Change the locks to your flat, block his number, everything. And please, take a day off if you need to get it all sorted out — he said. He also mentioned some resources that the HR department kept on file that could help if things escalated.
Luckily, things did not escalate, and she broke things off with Callum that night. She did take Toto’s offer of a day off to sort things out, including changing the locks. One positive thing did come of it, though — even though Toto was technically her boss’ boss, he’d become something of a friend to Cassie, always making it a point to say hello and chat with her whenever he was onsite at the company’s Brackley headquarters. They started getting coffee regularly, too. Thankfully, she never had to talk about anything so dire as Callum again.
— Stupid Callum — she said, to no one in particular. The walls of her flat had no response for her.
“Great, now I’m talking to myself”, she thought. “Maybe I should just get a cat instead. It would certainly be easier”.
She rolled over and set her alarm on her phone for the next morning — 11am. It was Sunday, and she felt like she’d need a bit of a lie-in, especially after having so much wine.
Just before she fell asleep, Cassie opened the Notes app on her phone and made herself a reminder.
“Look into the IVF process/doctors in Oxford”.