𝙾𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢┃ Charles Leclerc┃

Chapter Eighteen - The Haircut

Spring had finally arrived.

The past few races had been a relentless struggle—a persistent stretch of finishes in 7th place that left me feeling disheartened following my podium victory. I was grappling with the nagging frustration of not breaking free from the pattern. Japan, China, Miami, Italy—each race had blended into the next, a string of disappointments that tested my resolve.

But as Monaco loomed on the horizon, a spark of anticipation ignited within me. This was it—the crown jewel of Formula 1, a track synonymous with prestige and challenge. The allure of Monaco was irresistible—it was a race that every driver yearned to conquer, and for Charles, it was his home turf.

The Monaco Grand Prix held a unique significance, its storied streets promising glory to those who could master its tight corners and unforgiving curves. The prospect of racing on this hallowed ground carried a surge of excitement, rekindling the fire within me.

As I walked the track during the practice sessions, the aura of Monaco enveloped me—a mix of nerves and determination coursed through my veins. The memory of finishing in 7th place was a bitter pill, yet it fueled my hunger for redemption.

Amidst the glamour and adrenaline of Monaco, I found renewed vigor—a determination to break free from the cycle of 7th place finishes that had plagued me for far too long. The energy of the crowd, the prestige of the race, and the sheer challenge of the track reinvigorated my spirit, transforming the slumping disappointment into a steely resolve.

And for Charles, this was home—a chance to shine on familiar turf, an opportunity to captivate his fans with a dazzling performance. The weight of expectation, coupled with the thrill of racing on his home ground, added an extra layer of significance to the Monaco Grand Prix.

As the race day approached, I could feel the anticipation building—the streets of Monaco waiting to witness a display of skill and determination. This wasn't just another race; it was a chance for redemption, a shot at breaking free from the rut and making a mark on the most revered track in Formula 1.

Thankfully, I had been taking a break from staying in hotel rooms as Charles had offered to let me stay in his apartment.

"Charlie!" I shouted through to the bedroom from the kitchen. "You need to get your ass up! We've got a race at 3 you know!"

The sleepy man soon came trudging into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. His chest was bare, and a small pair of shorts were clutching his thighs for dear life. Dear God, my thoughts were impure.

"Excuse me, madam. Do I hear you bossing me about in my own home?" He chuckled as his approached me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

I stood with my back facing him, fiddling with a frying pan atop the stove. "Yes, mister, but I'm cooking for you. So, all should be forgiven."

He hummed in my ear, which only sent goosebumps flying over my arms. "Aren't you good, ma chérie." He took a hold of my waist and spun me around in a flash, before placing a kiss upon my lips. "Smells delicious, too. What're we having?"

"Omelette." I smiled bashfully. "I put chicken in yours, because I know you're obsessed." I prodded the centre of his chest with my spatula, before spinning back around and moving the breakfast in the pan. I could hear Charles' breathing quicken as my bum brushed against his crotch.

"Thank you, ma chérie. Listen. I need to go to see my mother at the salon this morning to get my hair cut, and I would like you to come with me." He kissed my cheek before sitting himself down at the breakfast bar whilst I plated up his breakfast.

"Sure!" I said, sliding the plate over to him. "Pascale better love me."

Charles chuckled to himself, allowing his dimples to be shown in full display. "I already know full well that you two are going to get on. Now, eat up and we'll go see her."