Chapter Text
Melbourn, Australia
Henry Haddock was not easily flustered.
And maybe at the starting grid of the current season’s Formula 1 Grand Prix in Melbourne. In fifth position among 20 racers (not ideal, but certainly not a death sentence. He'd climbed his way up from worse), he could get a bit flustered, but not now.
And sure, he’s heard the recent photo of him after the practice round holding up his dog, a black Australian Shelpher he named Toothless, already caught 1.3 million likes on Instagram after the official Ferrari account posted it. Yes, maybe the flurry of comments got him a little nervous.
He sat in his Ferrari on the starting grid, gripping the wheel with practiced ease; his eye caught what he thought was a hallucination. Just beyond the barrier with her blonde hair, sunglasses perched on top of her head, and that unmistakable, confident stance. His heart did an involuntary somersault, almost making him forget he was supposed to be gearing up and going at 200mph.
He did not feel like Henry Haddock, the famed Ferrari driver. He was now Hiccup Haddock, the 16-year-old with an embarrassingly big crush on Astrid Hofferson, a side of him that the public rarely saw.
He was now Hiccup Haddock, the 16-year-old with an embarrassingly big crush on Astrid Hofferson.
The green flag was about to be waved.
The five red lights were about to go off.
The season Melbourne Grand Prix was about to begin.
And Hiccup sat there in the cockpit of his roaring Ferrari, a blush that challenged the sleek red of his car creeping up to his face (he is lucky he had the helmet to hide and could blame the heat for it)
But just as the last light went off, they zoomed off.
His mind wondered: What the hell was famed Astrid Hofferson, the tennis sensation, his first love, and, most importantly, his ex-girlfriend from high school, doing in the audience?
o0o
New York, USA
Astrid Hofferson was the face of many things.
At just 12 months old, with her chubby cheeks and wide, sparkling eyes, she was the face of a new line of baby clothes for a major department store in New York. (It didn’t hurt that her mother was best friends with the Creative Director.)
By age 10, she had walked the runway for Ralph Lauren’s children’s collection, her face plastered across every store. She was a ridiculously bright red beret and a sweater featuring the iconic Ralph Lauren bear. (It also didn’t hurt that her mother, a former Miss World, played tennis at the same country club as Ralph Lauren himself.)
At 19, she shocked the world by storming the tennis courts and completely trashing the runways. She quickly became a sensation, winning her first Grand Slam by 19 and becoming a regular fixture at Wimbledon, where her fierce competitiveness and striking good looks made her a media darling. She wasn’t just a tennis player; she was a superstar, gracing the covers of magazines and landing lucrative sponsorships and brand deals with everyone from Nike to Rolex.
Yet now, as she lounged on the plush sofa in her family’s five-floor townhouse on 76th Street, staring at a glossy tabloid spread across the coffee table, another title had been added to her ever-growing list:
“Meet the New Face of NYC’s Party Scene: Astrid Hofferson.”
“That’s a bit over the top, don’t you think?” Astrid muttered, glancing at her parents, whose stern expressions were reflected in the table’s glass surface. Her mother, Cecelia Hofferson, a striking woman with icy blue eyes that matched Astrid’s own, was the first to speak, snatching up the magazine and reading aloud in a tone dripping with disapproval.
“Astrid Hofferson, tennis’s golden girl, is turning more heads off the court than on it lately. Whether she’s dancing until dawn at Manhattan’s hottest clubs or being spotted with a new beau every other week, Astrid is the talk of the town. From her cozy dinners with tech mogul heirs to yacht parties with Hollywood’s elite, it seems like our tennis star is more interested in love games than Wimbledon. Just last week, she was seen leaving a party in Miami with not one but two international playboys in tow. Looks like the new queen of the court is also the queen of the nightlife. Buckle up, boys!”
Her mother finished reading the article with a huff, glaring at Astrid. “Honestly, Astrid, this is not the kind of press we need right now.”
“Mom, I literally qualified to compete at the Paris Olympics! Can’t we focus on that?” Astrid pleaded.
“Yes, congratulations on that, dear—”
“Oh, please!” her mother cut her father off, her frustration evident as she pressed her fingers to her temples, her newly manicured nails gleaming. “Your grandmother nearly had a stroke when she read this at tea yesterday. She’s mortified! Do you know how hard I worked to get them to agree to let you skip our annual family trip to St. Barts so you could train in peace?”
“And they flew private to St. Barts,” Astrid pointed out. “So how am I worse?”
“Oh, Astrid, why aren’t you taking this seriously?” her mother snapped, clearly exasperated. “I’ve been shielding you from your grandmother’s wrath, and this is the thanks I get?”
“Mom, I was only drinking at a Yacht because it was a Jim Beam event! You know, the alcohol? And it’s not my fault Silicone Valley tech billionaires are there. I didn’t even know they like Jim Beam.” She retorted, and her mother sighed, but just as the older Hofferson woman spoke, Astrid cut her off
“I’m not doing anything half of New York isn't doing. I’m just more visible.” She says plainly, slumping back down on her seat.
“It doesn’t matter what everyone else is doing,” her mother replied sharply. “You’re in a different league, Astrid. You know that. As a woman in sports, especially at your level, everything you do is scrutinized. You have to be more careful.”
Astrid rolled her eyes, slumping back onto the sofa. “I know, Mom, but I can’t live my life in a bubble. I’m 23! I’m allowed to have fun.” But her mother's words lingered, casting a shadow over her youthful defiance.
“Fun is one thing. Being the face of a scandal every other week is another,” her mother retorted.
“And speaking of scandals,” her father said, looking at his wife for confirmation before continuing. “Your grandmother has arranged for you to attend a series of ‘friendly dinners’ with Christopher Van Doren, the environmental lawyer. She thinks it’ll help repair your image.”
Astrid’s eyes widened. “Christopher Van Doren? Are you serious? That guy is a total joke! He only got into Yale because his dad donated a library. He doesn’t even care about the environment!”
“Regardless of what he cares about, the public will see you with him, and that’s all that matters,” her mother said flatly. “You’ll look responsible, grounded, and thinking about more than just the next party.”
Astrid let out a groan, sinking back into the sofa. This was worse than she had imagined. As if juggling a demanding tennis career and a turbulent personal life wasn’t enough, now she had to play nice with some entitled trust fund brat to appease her grandmother and the tabloids.
“And, there’s more,” her mother added, her tone becoming far too cheerful, and Astrid sucked in a breath as if she was bracing for impact and about to be hit square in the face by a tennis ball.
“Your grandmother thinks it's time you settled down a bit. She’s spoken to Christopher’s family, and they think it would be a good idea if you two were, you know, more than just friends.”
Astrid blinked, not fully understanding. “What do you mean by ‘more than just friends’?”
Her father coughed again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “What your mother means is… she’s suggesting an engagement.”
The room fell silent. Astrid's mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in sheer horror. An engagement? To Christopher Van Doren? Are you joking?
Her mother shook her head, as serious as ever. “You both studied economics at NYU, and your grandmother thinks it would be a great match. She’s already spoken to his family about it.”
Astrid’s face contorted in shock and disgust, her voice breaking. “You mean to tell me… my grandmother is trying to set me up for an arranged marriage with Christopher Van Doren. Can we tell sweet granny that it’s not the 1800s?”
Her father tried to soften the blow. “It’s not so much an arranged marriage as it is… a strategic alliance.”
Astrid looked like she was about to cry, but then a strangled laugh escaped her throat. “Oh my god, this is insane! I’d rather marry my racket!”
Her mother, still serious, continued, “Astrid, calm down. We’re just exploring options.”
“Options?” Astrid practically shrieked. “If she’s so bored, she wanted to play matchmaker all of a sudden?”
Her father tried to console her, reaching out. “Sweetheart, it’s just a suggestion—”
“No, Dad, it’s not just a suggestion,” Astrid interrupted, her voice filled with disbelief. “It’s a life sentence. Have you ever met Christopher? He once cried when he found out his scarf was fake cashmere.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Astrid, it’s not the worst idea—”
But Astrid had had enough. “You know what? I think I’ll take my chances with the tabloids. At least they’re less terrifying than my family’s plans for my future!”
She stormed out of the room, leaving her parents stunned. Her father looked at her mother, trying to suppress a chuckle. “Well, that went better than I expected.”
Her mother sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. “She might be reckless, but she’s loyal to the family. She always returns, even if it takes her a while.” Her voice falters, and she suffices it with a chuckle.
Her father nodded. “That’s true. She’s always been obedient in the end. Just like when she was a kid—she’d throw a fit, but then she’d do what she was told. She’s the same now, just with a bit more flair.”
“Yes, and many more paparazzi, a vogue cover, and 2.8 million Instagram Followers,” her mother added dryly.
“She’s become the new face of these ‘nepotism party babies,’ as they call them. Always seen with a different man, always at a new party. It’s like she’s dating her way through the international aristocracy.”
Her father chuckled. “Well, she’s certainly keeping things interesting.”
Her mother shook her head with a smile. “That’s one way to put it. But she’ll realize eventually—family always comes first to that girl.”
Meanwhile, Astrid frantically texted her friends in her bedroom:
Emergency drinks tonight.
My family has lost their minds. I need an escape.
Read 7:53 pm
Ruff: An escape u say??? Im at a dive bar where u at?
Heather: Gurl text the address, be there in 10
Ruff: 132 1/2 E 7th Street
And that was how Astrid Hofferson now finds herself seated with her 2 friends, a cocktail in hand and all too much gossip to spill. And she almost laughed when she overheard her parents discussing her “obedience”
“Say what now?” Ruff asks, sipping on her drink. The place was small as if it had been squished, yet alcoholics still managed to fit in a nice bar. Truth be told, Heather and Astrid didn’t know why Ruff chose this place, but with the rather odd charm of the fake chandeliers and faux leather of their seats (and the dim lighting that saved Astrid’s face from being recognized) Maybe she now sees why the daughter of a Law Firm partner and Art Gallery owner (she overheard her twin brother Tuff was too take over that) would choose the place.
“Didn’t know about this dive bar on the east side?” Heather chimes as she gets a better look at the place.
“Tuff’s friend from Parsons loves the place. I’m telling you the guy practically lives here, but Astrid.” Ruff cuts, turning to their blonde friend who tried to hid in the dark.
‘Spill.”
With a sigh, Astrid sets her drink onto the table after giving it a good swirl. It was an odd creation, and the bartender had stated that it was a matter of fact and that it was “perfect for someone with a mysterious vibe.”
“My parents are trying to get me engaged,” she announced dryly as if she were just telling them about her going to the grocery store and buying bread.
“Like, actually engaged. To Christopher Van Doren, of all people. They think we’re some kind of perfect economic power couple. As if that’s a thing.”
Ruff almost chokes on her drink, eyes wide and in shock as she sets down the cup. “Wait, Christopher Van Doren? As faux cashmere hater Christopher? Bribed Yale Christopher?”
Heather snorted, nearly spilling her cocktail. “I thought he was almost kicked out for capsizing a yacht. Why would they want you to marry him?”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Because he’s ‘stable’ and ‘comes from a good family.’” She mimicked her mother’s voice with an exaggerated snobbery that made Ruff and Heather laugh. “Honestly, I’d rather marry my tennis racket. At least it’s useful.”
Ruff put her drink down and leaned in, her eyes sparkling with that particular mischief that always made Astrid a little nervous. “Well, you know what I think?”
Astrid raised an eyebrow. “That I should stage a dramatic escape and flee the country?”
Ruff grinned. “Exactly. And as it happens, we’re all free this weekend. So, let’s go to Melbourne.”
Heather’s eyes widened with excitement. “Melbourne? Why Melbourne?”
Astrid gave her a skeptical look. “Yeah, why Melbourne? Not that I’m opposed to escaping to Australia, hopefully, my coach will let me blow off steam for a while.”
Ruff shrugged, trying to look nonchalant but failing spectacularly. “Melbourne’s got great coffee, cute little cafes, very hippie with that whole chill vibe. Plus, it’s not crawling with paparazzi. We could use a change of scenery.”
Heather leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “Okay, but what’s the catch? You’re definitely up to something.”
Ruff feigned innocence, but her grin gave her away. “No catch. I just think it’d be fun. It's a little weekend getaway. And, um, I might have a surprise planned.”
Astrid narrowed her eyes. “What kind of surprise?”
“The good kind,” Ruff replied, her grin widening. “Trust me. You’ll love it.”
Astrid sighed, looking between the two girls as if trying to read their faces. “I don’t know, guys. It’s a long flight, and I just got cornered by my parents about this whole engagement thing. Maybe I should stay and sort it out…”
Heather smirked. “What’s the matter, Astrid? Scared of a little adventure?” The girl had known her since their junior tennis classes, and she knew exactly how to push her buttons.
“Or are you worried you won’t have enough room in your suitcase for all those monogrammed towels your mom insists on sending you?” Ruff adds, her smile mimicking the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.
“Excuse me, but I can pack for any situation. And I’m not scared of anything.” Astrid says defensively, her voice a little too loud compared to what she had wanted it to be.
Heather grinned. “Then prove it. Come to Melbourne with us. Unless you are as boring as your parents think you are.”
Astrid’s pride bristled. “Oh, please. I could out-adventure both of you in my sleep.”
Ruff leaned back, crossing her arms with a satisfied smile. “Then it’s settled. We leave tomorrow morning. First class, of course. My treat. My dad just scored big on some cases and is in a very generous mood.”
Astrid hesitated, still trying to maintain her resistance, but her friends knew her too well. Heather pushed further. “Come on, Astrid. Think of it as a chance to escape. Just for a little while. Get some space from your parents’ ridiculous matchmaking schemes.”
Ruff nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and besides, you know you can’t resist a good challenge. And right now, I’m challenging you to come to Melbourne and have the time of your life.”
Astrid sighed dramatically, pretending to be exasperated. “Fine. You win. But I'm out if this ‘surprise’ involves any weird Australian wildlife.”
Ruff grinned triumphantly. “Deal, but if a kangaroo boxing match is offered would still not miss the opportunity. But you’re going to love this. Trust me.”
Heather clapped her hands together, practically bouncing with excitement. “This is going to be epic! I’ll start packing tonight.”
Astrid rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Alright, alright. I’ll go. But only because I refuse to let you two think I’m predictable.”
And that was why, in less than 24 hours, Astrid Hofferson went from almost engaged to a landing at the ‘enemy territory’ (she doesn’t know it yet). Ruff was good at hiding. The 23-hour-long flight was crazy, but what did Astrid need? Of course, if you’re in first class for free, because if there is anything rich people like, it's free things.
o0o
Melbourn, Australia
(again)
They touched in Melbourne, the city greeting them with a balmy breeze and a skyline that glimmered under the afternoon sun. Astrid, Heather, and Ruff made their way to the Crown Promenade Melbourne, a luxurious hotel that offered breathtaking views of the Yarra River and the bustling city beyond. Astrid couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation as they were chauffeured through the city's vibrant streets. She was here, halfway across the world, far from her family’s meddling and the prying eyes of New York’s elite. This trip was exactly what she needed—an escape, a breath of fresh air. Or so she thought.
Their suite at the Crown Promenade was as lavish as expected, with floor-to-ceiling windows, plush furnishings, and a balcony that provided a panoramic view of the city. Ruff had, of course, spared no expense. She’d always had a flair for the extravagant, and her father’s recent windfall had put her in a particularly generous mood.
Astrid flopped onto one of the oversized sofas as they settled in, kicking off her sneakers.
“Okay, Ruff,” she said, her tone half-amused, half-exhausted.
“What’s the big surprise? You’ve been dropping hints since New York, and I’m too jet-lagged to play guessing games.” Astrid continues plopping down onto the sofa
Heather, equally intrigued, dropped her Rimowa luggage with a thud and collapsed next to Astrid. “Yeah, spill, Ruff. We didn’t fly halfway around the world for just ‘great coffee and cute cafes.’”
Ruff, ever the showman, grinned widely and reached into her Louis Vuitton carry-on. She pulled out a sleek, glossy envelope, waving it in front of them like a golden ticket. “Ladies, prepare yourselves for the ultimate Melbourne experience,” she said with a dramatic flair as she practically slammed the object on the coffee table, causing a loud PANG in the room.
“Ta-da! VIP tickets to the Melbourne Grand Prix!”
“No way! Are you serious?” Heather gasped, her eyes widening with excitement.
Ruff nodded, her grin widening. “Oh, I’m very serious. I’ve been really into Eret Son, the McLaren driver, lately. And when I heard he’d be racing here, I thought, why not? Plus, I’ve got connections, and my dad was very generous after winning that big case.”
“This is amazing! I’ve been dying to see a Formula 1 race up close. And not just any race, but with VIP access! This is like bucket list material!” Heather practically squealed.
Astrid felt her stomach drop, her heart beginning to race for a completely different reason. She tried to keep her face neutral but could feel the color draining. “Uh, yeah, sounds… fun…woohoo, fast cars,” she said, attempting a casual tone.
Heather, oblivious to Astrid’s discomfort, continued to gush. “And you know who else is racing, right? Henry Haddock! He’s my newest racer crush. Have you seen him? He’s gorgeous, and he’s such a talented rookie. He’s been making waves since he joined Ferrari last year.”
Astrid’s heart sank further. She kept her expression carefully blank, but inside, her mind was spinning. Henry Haddock. Of course, he would be here. The last thing she wanted was to run into him, especially not with Heather and Ruff fangirling over him.
They had no idea who Henry Haddock was…at least to her.
She needed a way out, and quickly.
“You know, guys, I’m not sure I should go,” Astrid said, trying to sound uninterested, even faking a yawn.
“With the media always on my tail, it could be risky. It might add to the drama if I’m seen at a high-profile event like this. Plus, my parents would freak out if they found out I was here instead of training.”
“Oh, come on, Astrid. We’re in Melbourne! Who cares about the media? Besides, you’re the one who said you needed to escape from all that family drama. This is the perfect chance.” Heather teases her, nudging her arm, giddy with all that fangirling excitement
Ruff nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and it’s not like you have to be in the spotlight. We’ve got VIP access—we’ll be in the exclusive areas. No paparazzi allowed. It’s low-key.”
“I don’t know… I just think it might not be a good idea. I have a lot on my plate, and if the press gets wind of me partying at the Grand Prix, it could be a whole thing.” Astrid felt cornered, her mind racing to come up with another excuse.
Astrid, you’re not fooling anyone. What’s the real reason you don’t want to go?” Ruff gave her a look of suspicion as she raced one brow and pursed her lips.
“Yeah, Astrid, what’s up? This is so not like you.” Heather adds with a celery curious gaze.
Astrid bit her lip, her mind flashing back to the last time she saw Hiccup—Henry—at
NO
Her internal thoughts practically rambling as she tries to bury the memory. Not right now.
“Look, it’s just… complicated. And this hotel is nice; I just want to chill here.” She tried to keep her tone light.
Ruff and Heather exchanged a knowing look. Ruff’s grin returned, more naughty than ever. “Oh, I see what’s happening here,” she said, her voice teasing. “Astrid Hofferson, are you nervous? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little fun. It’s not like a car will crash in front of you, and if it's down, I’m telling you the man riding it is hotter than the car’s engines.”
Astrid rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. “You guys are impossible. Fine, I’ll go. But only because I refuse to let you think I’m scared of some silly race.”
Heather clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! This is going to be so much fun. And who knows, maybe you’ll end up liking it more than you think.”
“ACKKKHEATHEER!” Ruff says, flying out of the room.
“Did you pack that cunty Alia top? Can I please please borrow it.” Ruff practically begs Heather, who laughs.
“Why are we suddenly playing dress up now?” She asks both girls, who give her an odd look.
“Astrid, if were gonna have access to the paddocks, we might as well look good for the driver, ey?” Ruff wiggles her broad and Astrid feels her stomach turn
‘Hope you’re ready for it.”
Astrid forced a smile, but inside, her heart was pounding. First, she was hiding from the paparazzi, but now that she is not Astrid Hofferson, she is hiding from her high school ex.
What had she gotten herself into?