Years ago, in the glittering enclave of Monaco, Josephine Anderson and Charles Leclerc ignited a love that defied all odds. Now, as the Istanbul Grand Prix looms on the horizon, their worlds collide once more, demanding they unveil a past they've b...
Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street
Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly
Sundays in Monaco were ablaze with sunlight, making the tiny principality sparkle like a jewel.
My cropped Levi's denim shorts and a white crochet top clung to my every curve, the very definition of style for the 2018 season. This chic ensemble was a gift from none other than my host family's lovely mother, Pascale Leclerc, who had also cut my hair for the occasion, the Monaco Ball, an event organized by the Prince himself.
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My semester abroad in Monaco was coming to an end, and as I stood in line at my favorite café, Atelier September, I struggled to find inspiration for my essay on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It seemed like Alain de Botton's "Essays on love" had become my nihilistic viewpoint on the subject, leaving me in a creative rut.
I was about to place my order when a voice behind me disrupted my thoughts. An agitated male voice, presumably trying to order a skinny latte. I couldn't help but wonder, who drinks skinny lattes anyway? Irritated, I turned to my would-be interrupter and said, "Sorry, but I'm not quite finished."
As I spoke, I turned my head and locked eyes with none other than Charles Leclerc. Flush and barely catching his breath, he stood there, wearing Puma shorts and a black sports shirt, a nod to his Ferrari sponsorship. His Ray-Ban Wayfarers rested gracefully in his hands, and he breathed in and out, making the warm air around him even steamier.
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"Hey," he said with a half-smile, "Am I interrupting?" He gestured towards my book, "Essays on Love." I quickly replied, "Oh, no, not at all. I was just saving my spot in line."
With that, I practically sprinted to the nearest available table, avoiding eye contact with Charles, whose presence had left me flustered. As I fumbled to take my laptop out of my bag, I heard that same voice again, repeating the same question, "Hey."
