❝Falling for him wasn't falling at all. It was walking into a house and suddenly knowing you're home.❞
In which Hollywood actress Alexandra Heroux returns to the world of F1 after almost a decade, only to fall for Charles Leclerc.
With her turbule...
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The gentle sea breeze wafted into the room, its salty tang lingering in the air. Charles lay still in bed, absorbing the cool, refreshing sensation that washed over him. The space next to him was conspicuously empty, a void he could feel even more keenly because of the absence of her warm presence.
The room was bathed in soft, diffused light, courtesy of the partially open blinds. The azure waters of the Mediterranean lay beyond, glistening in the morning sun. Charles often marveled at the breathtaking view they had from their Monaco home. It was one of the many things he loved about it, and her.
Every time he heard the waves crashing, he would be reminded of their time in Mexico together, their own little bubble of peace.
The noises from the kitchen beckoned to him, the rhythmic rustling of pots and pans, the faint hum of their coffee machine. He knew she was there, preparing something for him, especially considering it was his birthday.
But the most enchanting sound of all was the one that serenaded him as he lay in bed. Her voice, melodic and soothing, sang the lyrics to a Noah Kahan song. Every word, every note, was a gentle caress on his heart. It was moments like these, the simple acts of her singing as she went about her morning routine, that he cherished above all else.
"They tell me grief is just love letting go," she sang softly, her voice like a tender embrace, each word resonating with emotion. Her tone was filled with sincerity, as if every lyric held personal significance for her. Charles listened, his heart swelling with love.
"They say it like milk has been spilled on the floor," the words flowed effortlessly from her, each note a brushstroke on the canvas of their shared moments. He was certain she thought he was still asleep, but he kept his presence a secret, indulging in the private serenade she offered.
"They say don't know who I am anymore," her voice quivered slightly, revealing the vulnerability within her. Charles imagined her in the kitchen, moving gracefully, lost in her own world, yet sharing it with him through the power of her song.
"Well, I just have never shown anger before," she sang with determination, each note an affirmation of strength. He admired the way she conveyed emotions through the music, how every word held the essence of her heart.
Still, in that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if the lyrics carried a deeper meaning, if the song mirrored the complex journey they had embarked upon together. He smiled, feeling her sincerity wash over him, and her emotional resonance.
As the song continued, her voice danced through the room, reaching its crescendo with a high note. Her effort to hit the perfect pitch made him smile even wider. The love that flowed through her voice was undeniable, a testament to their bond.
But as tempted as he was to join her in the kitchen, an insistent post-it note on his bedside table stopped him in his tracks. "Don't you dare get out of bed. Be patient. P.S. Happy birthday, amor," the words were penned in her signature cursive handwriting. He knew better than to disregard such a note. Defiance would only earn him a loving but firm scolding.
