RED CARS | charles leclerc (eng)

9

In his green eyes, Raphaëlle understood that she had misinterpreted the beginning of this evening. But she had also guessed it when she saw his handsome semi-stranger leave with this beautiful blonde on his arm. There had been a crack; maybe she would have liked to extend this evening with him, and not the man who faced her. Charles was icy. He hadn't given Raphaëlle a chance to explain herself. She hadn't been able to tell him that Lance had nothing to do with his appreciation for the red team, and that quite the opposite, she had enjoyed meeting someone else from this particular environment. Yet he hadn't let her talk. His emerald gaze showed her well that he was judging her; she didn't know exactly what. They had remained a few seconds staring at each other. Neither knew what to say to each other; Raphaëlle still held her third glass of champagne; Lance's had been placed on the buffet. Moreover, she had made them join each other. Everything was happening in slow motion under the Monegasque's eyes. He didn't know why he was staying there rather than joining his colleagues. They were all going to their expensive cars to continue the evening elsewhere. He hadn't suggested that the Frenchwoman follow them. She knew she would discover things she wouldn't like, especially the behavior of other pilots. Especially that of Carlos, who was not as gentle with other women as he was with her. The worst would be if she discovered Lance's popularity. He didn't know what would happen at this party; he certainly didn't want to find out. The Frenchwoman had a different opinion. They would always have different opinions; they might not like each other after all. Raphaëlle adored the Spaniard. She appreciated his presence and his lightness. For the Monegasque, even this exchange of glances was heavy and oppressive. She felt trapped. But far from the little game she had thought she had seen between her and the engineer. There, it was purely a question of pride. They didn't want to talk; she was angry with him for having ended her evening so coldly. For him, he was just taking the time to observe her face. By letting his gaze wander over the woman's round and soft features despite her concentrated and slightly superior look, he wondered if he had ever seen her with that same expression. This confident face was different from what he had seen last with her. She seemed serious, less ready to laugh. Ultimately, he realized that when she was with him, that was often the case. She didn't smile or laugh; he wanted to know what he had done to deserve this treatment.

"— Emiliano was looking for you." He repeated it to break this silence that was beginning to weigh on him. He had even ended up swallowing with difficulty, detaching himself from Raphaëlle's accusing eyes. Even if he didn't know why, he was guilty and condemned, but he didn't know the nature of his crimes. "Carlos told me he invited you to the after-party." He was doing his best, but he was sinking even deeper. She was uncomfortable.

"— I think we'll go back with Emiliano. We won't bother you." She had pinched her lips, forming a embarrassed smile. "I had a very good evening; thank you for not forgetting us. I will remember that I owe you a drink." She was mainly saying that out of politeness; they had remembered her once; it wouldn't work a second time. She imagined that was the last time she would see them.

"— No." She had stopped in all her movements, she was about to step back, to escape to find her friend or the Spaniard, she would find a way to get out of this situation. "Stay." There was still no possible way out, it was the first time he cared about what she did. He felt a little guilty for not giving her a choice, but he had seen Carlos and Manon's faces when Emiliano shared a photo with the Frenchwoman in her red Ferrari polo. He didn't know what magic she possessed, but it had a strong impact on the minds of his two friends from the team. He wasn't sure, but he believed he had seen the same thing in Lance's eyes when he interrupted their conversation. "I'm sure it will make Manon and Carlos happy."

Raphaëlle had understood then, he wasn't doing it for her. He didn't care to have her here, it was no big deal. To protect herself, she could always put up more barriers between her and this fast-paced world. She didn't want to please Manon or Carlos, she preferred to shorten this night. The problem was, she ended up hurting herself. The Monegasque awaited a response from the woman in front of him, yet she had lost her gaze. She wasn't facing the pilot anymore; he could tell she was thinking, but a part of him felt a little helpless. He didn't know how to react to persuade her to follow them. He also didn't know how to communicate with her, the last time had gone well, when he thought about it, it was probably thanks to the efforts she had made. Charles wasn't good with others; he was happy to please them, but if the connection wasn't there, he couldn't make up for it. He didn't really make the effort to... Even though when he had seen how Raphaëlle's personality was with Manon and Carlos, he wondered how to build more trust between them. Her face was familiar to him, her gaze when she laughed reminded him of Christmas mornings when he was still a child. This woman he barely knew had come into their lives so suddenly that he didn't think he would be affected so much. She was almost the opposite of what he knew, but as Lance could feel, she was a breath of fresh air that felt good in such a closed world. The pilot recognized all that while being unable to get closer to her or make the connection. He hadn't wanted thanks; he didn't even care much about the outcome of the bet. Seeing her with Carlos, he even wanted to thank her, for seeing her whole team so happy, and everything going so well was really nice after the tensions of the beginning of the season. Maybe Raphaëlle had a light and easy personality, he didn't know her, he would have liked to get to know her.

"— Please." He didn't want to be insistent; he simply didn't want to prolong this moment to keep this bubble of happiness. "I don't know if this will convince you, but Lance is going to the same place as us. I also think Carlos will be happy to spend this time with you." When the hazel eyes of the young woman rested on his face, he felt compelled to add: "It would make me happy too."

It was with these few words alone that she was convinced. She didn't feel welcomed by Charles, but for him to say it himself, it was different. He was satisfied to have seen her smile, it was fine and discreet, but they understood each other. She had just accepted, and in the end, they didn't know who was happier. Neither of them had added a word, he had simply reached out to invite her to leave this place, still crowded with people. They had weaved through the crowd; she even grabbed his shirt to escape more easily from this maze. Charles had stopped to greet a few people on the way out. Raphaëlle had watched them one by one, imagining their lives. Some seemed to be businessmen, others actors, some seemed to work with Charles. She remembered the name Andrea and his strong Italian accent when he congratulated the pilot. The two men had stopped to talk, she had listened. They talked about physical health, but also about racing, a part of her felt very proud to understand everything they had just said. She didn't want to disturb them, so she had looked for Emiliano, whom she had quickly spotted with Manon. She wondered what those two could possibly be talking about. Unaware that Emiliano was enthusiastically recounting every reaction she had throughout the weekend. Manon laughed a lot and even invited Carlos to join them when the Italian spoke of the joy the Frenchwoman had shared in seeing them succeed each time. He even joked that he thought Charles had become her favorite given the screams she had let out. If the Frenchwoman had been there, she would surely have done everything to shut him up, all means would have been good to shut Emiliano up. He had continued by telling the other two how grateful he was to have had those seats, how much he had loved this event and sharing it with his friend, who was watching them from afar. She had gotten so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't paid attention to the fact that Charles's Italian colleague had left and that he had turned to her before looking at the same scene as him.

"— Emiliano told everyone who wanted to hear how much you enjoyed the day." She felt embarrassed, he had seen it directly. He had also decided to embarrass her a little more. "He told me you were really a fan of mine. I can bring you some T-shirts with my name on them, for next time." In addition to the shame she felt that her friend had told Charles all of that, she had retained other elements: she would surely see him again and return to a Grand Prix.

"— You know I don't have the money for it. If Emiliano hadn't had those tickets, I would never have been able to experience that." It was going to Charles, it was he who had given the tickets to Emiliano, so they could experience that moment to the fullest, without making her uncomfortable about money, he had finally succeeded. "I'm very grateful to have experienced it once, but I don't think I'll do it again someday. I told Carlos, but it was really a great show." He was happy that she had enjoyed it, it was his goal, what she told him pleased him.

"— Why don't you ask Lance? He wanted to take you to 'support the right team', right?" He wanted to tease her, but he didn't expect her response. She had turned to him with a soft smile to answer him, leaving their friends' scene with her eyes.

"— He's just an engineer. I don't think he has the means or the desire to offer that to a stranger." Then Charles understood the lie created by Lance to get closer to the Frenchwoman. He had no idea if they intended to see each other again, but he suspected that his fall would be hard if they continued to get closer. "Where do you even know him from?"

"— An engineer?" He couldn't help but laugh. "If you say so." He didn't want to lie to the Frenchwoman, so he looked her in the eyes, she was troubled by this contact still so powerful with his green eyes, and with a smile, he replied: "We could say we grew up together. He's full of surprises, I discover things about him every day. Even today, it seems." She had continued to ask questions, but Charles didn't give her the opportunity. "Carlos! Are we going? Right?" He had caught the attention of the Spaniard, and the Frenchwoman had been stared at by him.

"— You're not with Lance anymore? Did he leave without you? We could have met up there." Following Raphaëlle's accusing eyes, he understood that the Monegasque had scared her off. So, he laughed. "Well then Charles, did you try to do Emiliano's job?" The latter had laughed, feeling a little guilty for being caught in the trap.

"— I'm sorry Raphaëlle." He smiled too much to be sorry, she saw it directly. His eyes were laughing, little wrinkles had formed there, and she couldn't be serious anymore either. He had seen the Frenchwoman's gaze soften; she had even ended up laughing a little, grumbling a bit. "I'll make it up to you. I promise." He had extended his little finger to the young woman; he didn't know if he would be able to keep his promise, but he would make sure not to disappoint her tonight.

"— You better make it up a lot."

It was the words she had said before the coordinator, Manon, urged everyone to leave this gigantic hotel. The communication manager had prompted Charles to leave first. It was their turn, and they all knew that many people were waiting for them. Seeing the flashes of phones and cameras as Charles exited with two men - the one from earlier and another she didn't know - she understood they weren't as accessible as she had experienced throughout the evening. Manon sent Carlos and his cousin into the awaiting crowd. Raphaëlle couldn't grasp the motivation of these people to wait for men like them. They weren't interesting or particularly interested in the fans waiting for them, so why bother them in their private moments? When the communication manager invited them to leave, they received no cheers from the public; on the contrary, she felt exposed under all those gazes. She covered her face with her hand, grasping her friend's arm to not get lost. Josué had stared at her, looking at them as if they didn't know anything, which was true, it was their first time experiencing this. They got into another taxi, this time larger and more spacious, facing each other, Josué and Manon opposite them, with notebooks in hand to jot down what the two boys had done that evening. They exchanged a few words about their behavior. This whole scene seemed inconceivable to Raphaëlle, who didn't understand how one could speak of adults like this. Maybe she wasn't ready for this job, or she needed to get closer to more traditional settings. She observed the two people in front of her with a certain judgment, which was ultimately so visible that the Spaniard stared back at her.

"If you're too fragile for this, avoid getting close to the pilots. They'll just bring you problems, and trying to protect you, you'll cause them problems too." What he had just said was nonchalant; his way of speaking was almost more insulting than what he said. Manon was going to reprimand him, but the black-eyed employee had scrutinized the young woman before saying, "You probably wore a low-cut top to end up with one of them, but they don't care about women like you. Don't drown yourself in illusions. You'll never be anyone in this world." It was the last straw; she wanted to disappear, and Emiliano especially wanted to bury her in a window.

"Josué. I swear, if you open your mouth again to say such crap, I'll get you out of this car." The Italian was on the defensive; he didn't understand this gratuitous cruelty, let alone what led him to be so icy. "But I can assure you one thing, you'll never be good enough in this field if you continue with this behavior."

"He's right, Josué. We've already discussed this, but you're not important enough not to be fired tomorrow. What you did before doesn't count if you're not good today." She had taken the papers he held in his hands and stacked them on hers. "You're nobody here either. Nobody is close to you; nobody wants you around, and everyone reduces you to my assistant even though you have an important position. What am I supposed to do with you? Fire you and look for someone else. You're jealous because you'd like Charles and Carlos to want to talk to you? They never talk to you because you're unpleasant. Think about your behavior before insulting Raphaëlle." Manon was probably more mature than the other three people around her.

Josué's words had still marked her; it was strange to see her behavior being criticized so openly. Upon closer reflection, hers had also been suddenly exposed. She didn't know if this was their way, but wasn't it better to listen to them? She didn't like the Spaniard facing her; he had been very unpleasant the few times she had seen him, but perhaps there was some truth to what he said. She was fragile; she wasn't armed to handle the behavior of these men. She didn't think she had to endure it any longer; she just wanted to enjoy an evening with Emiliano, nothing could go wrong. However, as they got out of the car to join the nightclub, she realized it was the opposite of that. The magnificent cars of the drivers stopped one after the other; it was truly the epitome of celebrating this start of the championship in style. She had spotted Charles and Carlos in the distance, about to enter with other men of their age, whom she imagined were the drivers. They were accompanied by very beautiful women, and she realized the even more significant gap between their worlds. Emiliano had grabbed the Frenchwoman's arm, whispering to her that anyone could have mistaken him for a driver; she had laughed. That had boosted her morale enough to face the security guards waiting firmly in front of the nightclub. The colossus dressed in black had stared at them until Manon showed her work card with a smile, saying they were accompanying them. As Josué's words echoed in her mind again, she wondered if one day, she would have the presence of the communication manager. She had followed her with pleasure to the dimly lit room where the lively music was already resonating. The brunette had already mingled among all these people to head to the bar; Josué walked by her side, neither taking pleasure nor expressing any desire to be here. As the two friends were impressed by the size of the place, she followed the pretty brunette, even though they had difficulty spotting her among all these women who looked alike. Raphaëlle almost regretted her choice of heels; her feet hurt, and she suspected she wouldn't last long.

"Do you come here often?" she shouted over the bass of the speakers, which seemed to spit out sensual music to make the room even hotter. "It's really huge! I didn't even know this was here." Josué wanted to tell her it was normal and that she wouldn't have had a place here anyway, but he preferred to plunge his eyes into his glass with a rather sneering smile.

"When the boys are around, yes, sometimes. Often with Carlos; Charles doesn't always allow himself to go out like this because it often causes a stir." Manon had seen her cocktail while looking for the two drivers. The Spaniard was already very close to a girl, while the other seemed to be having fun with the same boy who muttered curses in French. "You see, our job is to prevent them from doing stupid things in places like this. Charles is wise; he's just having fun with Pierre, but if they're single, they become uncontrollable quickly. Sometimes I'd rather have older people. I should have applied at Alfa Romeo." The Frenchwoman understood she liked to complain, despite her affection for the drivers. "We'll leave you; enjoy yourselves, especially. Emiliano, we'll continue our conversation from earlier a little later." She had rewarded him with a wink that the Italian had accepted, a little embarrassed.

"You finally told her?!" Raphaëlle would have almost been offended that he didn't tell her he planned to confess his attraction to the young woman. He had interrupted her by ruffling her hair a bit; he had just laughed in her face. "I don't know who is more unpleasant now, you or Manon's lapdog." His laughter had annoyed the Frenchwoman a little more; she wondered if she had a way to escape from her friend's presence.

She had seen the perfect escape when her eyes met Lance's, who was already observing her with a smile. He was chatting with a tall brunette who had her back to the two friends. The Canadian had his drink in hand, a strong liquor given the face he made when he finished it in one gulp. The Frenchwoman only had one desire: to join him. The Italian had seen it very well. He also knew who he was, like Charles, but unlike the Monegasque, he had no idea that the green team driver was hiding his identity from his friend. If he had known, he probably wouldn't have pushed Raphaëlle to approach him. Which, in reality, he had done, by promising to watch over her from afar. Which he would surely do diligently as he had just found himself alone at the bar. He would have nothing better to do than to see the face of his friend light up when the Canadian approached her. He liked to see her more confident, ready to try new things. However, he hadn't imagined that these experiences would be so current. He had dipped his lips into his glass, not noticing that Lance wasn't the only one who had found a prey for the evening. A woman was already looking at him, but he paid no attention to anything other than the interaction between the driver and the waitress.

"Raphaëlle! I was starting to wonder if Charles had finally convinced you to come." He had taken off his suit jacket to open his shirt a little, revealing barely his muscular neck. The Frenchwoman wanted to be discreet, but it was a failure; she had seen him smile. She had fallen a little more under the spell of the Canadian. "I'm really glad you came; as your friend ended our conversation a bit abruptly, I didn't have time to ask for your number." The evening was more interesting than expected; she hadn't even had time to wonder where the woman who had accompanied her had gone, or even if he wanted her number for the right reasons as he inserted himself into her contacts: Lance Strulovitch, that was his name.