RED CARS | charles leclerc (eng)

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Raphaëlle was hanging on Emiliano's arm. It had been a few minutes since she joined him, and the handsome Italian couldn't stop complimenting her on her beautiful dress. She had bought it upon her arrival here by chance. She had strolled through the city and stumbled upon a cute little market. She had wandered around and completely fallen in love with this piece. The Frenchwoman had spotted it, hanging on a hanger, in a busy aisle and hadn't even taken the time to try it on before buying it. Fortunately, she managed to put it on when she got home, or she might have cried. This dress highlighted her curves, her stomach, hips, thighs, and chest, and every time she wore it, she felt just as beautiful. She had worn it for the first time at a friend's birthday in France, where she learned that this piece of fabric was no ordinary one. This dress was an almost perfect copy of a high-end designer dress. She had never dared to wear it again, afraid that the deception would be discovered. Raphaëlle especially disliked being too noticeable. Tonight was different. She could pretend. She could create a character. She could wear what she wanted and even invent a personality if necessary. She could do all that because unless Carlos recognized her, she was nobody here. She was insignificant, and that felt good. She felt like a little ant observing the deepest secrets of the Italian racing team. It was her first time in such a place, and she hoped deep down that it wouldn't be her last. Everything was beautiful—the red and white decorations, as well as the elegance of the guests—making this moment magical.

"I love your dress, Raphaëlle." The woman in front of her had just spoken to her for the second time that evening; the first time was to ask for her name. "Is it from Yves-Saint Laurent or maybe Chanel? Emiliano, I didn't know you had this kind of acquaintance." Her manager, Cassandra, had winked at her as Raphaëlle's plans to remain discreet seemed more challenging than on paper. She mimicked a "thank you" with a barely audible voice before bringing the champagne flute to her lips.

It was true that her dress suited her well. It was a masterpiece of softness, and if someone learned the price she paid for it, she would be more inclined to hide behind Emiliano. Like the original, the dress was black and shimmered as if shooting stars had finished their races on the fabric. Numerous sequins were embroidered throughout its length. A slit elongated her legs, and for the first time in a long while, she had worn heels that matched the dress. They were black, patent, and high enough to reduce the height difference between her and the Italian, her escort for the evening. The bottom of the dress reached her ankle, and a beautiful bodice highlighted her chest. Since it was of lesser quality than the original, Raphaëlle worried about the fabric. After all, it wasn't the twenty euros she spent on it that would be missed. Emiliano was proud to have her as a partner for the night. The Frenchwoman had made a lot of effort to be presentable, and even he would be able to find her beautiful. Her lips sparkled, and her smile illuminated the conversation. She felt more at ease when meeting one of Emiliano's colleagues. They had already crossed paths and accompanied the brunette to have a drink at the bar where Raphaëlle worked more than once. The beautiful woman's mouth couldn't help but stretch at every silly thing her two companions said, her red lips highlighting her teeth, and her small canines stood out. Emiliano might have fallen for her, but after eating a pesto toast, he quickly remembered that she wasn't his type. A small green piece got stuck between his teeth, and he whispered it to her. She laughed while trying to remove it.

The moment of laughter ended when the lights dimmed, welcoming the stars of the evening. The first to walk on the red carpet set up for the occasion was Carlos. Emiliano whispered to Raphaëlle that he was accompanied by his cousin. Two stunning women were with them, one hanging on Carlos's cousin's arm, while the other was next to the driver. The guests at the event all applauded, seeing one of the two prodigies of the Scuderia. He greeted the people he knew, and fortunately for the Frenchwoman, he didn't see her. Or perhaps he didn't recognize her. Compared to earlier, she was dressed very differently, feeling a bit protected. This feeling was short-lived when a second wave of applause swept through the crowd. Charles Leclerc had just entered the room. He was undoubtedly the king of the evening, and judging by his smile, he knew it. Like Carlos, he had a beautiful young woman on his arm. Brunette, hair down, a shiny necklace around her neck, and...