THE MORNING AFTER was not as uncomfortable as Colette had expected. Following her early escape from the driver's flat, her best friend's interrogation, forgetting the paparazzi incident, she was now seated in a luxurious restaurant turned club with her friends to celebrate her birthday. Pierre Gasly and Fabian had taken the task upon themselves of organising Colette's party, inviting all of their friends, including half of the Formula 1 grid, to the Blue Bay which they had completely rented out for the evening and night.
"A toast to my dear friend, Colette, our favourite unofficial WAG." Pierre raised his glass with champagne as he winked at his girl friend next to him, chuckling as she playfully rolled her eyes at the inside joke. The friends who had been invited laughing as if they did not race against each other the day prior. Everyone had settled down after an hour or two and mingled freely around the club to get loose as the booze had been flowing none stop. "Allô ? Non I'm at the Blue Bay, it's Colette's birthday."
"Who is it?" Colette looked to her right, where Pierre was stood, as she heard her name being dropped in his conversation, raising an eyebrow curiously.
"Charles," The French friend halted his call for a second before he returned the phone to his ear. She nodded her head before he continued and kept her face neutral, although she felt a tad uncomfortable that he knew where she was. Keeping her distance from him was not made as easy as she had assumed. Especially when Pierre focused his attention back on her. "He wants to speak to you."
"Belle au Bois Dormant." A husky, masculine voice spoke eloquently in her ear, amusement in his voice. Colette forced her facial features to stay amiable as she excused herself from the lot she had been speaking with, annoyance now creeping in the shadows of her delight.
"And where can I find my handsome prince?" She bit back once she was at a safe distance of provoking the Ferrari driver without others listening to her side of the conversation. His spirited mood could, however, not be ruined by her snarky comebacks as she could hear him chuckle at her comment. "What do you want?" Colette sighed, eyeing for any wandering eyes, or eavesdropping ears.
"I was the first to congratulate you and I didn't even get an invite?" She could hear the sarcasm dripping from his tone whilst picturing his playful smirk.
"I wasn't in charge of the invitations." Colette shrugged her shoulders as she raised an eyebrow.
"Because if you were you would have invited me?" Another chuckle followed his statement, causing the urge to end the phone-call to increase even further. She did not want to talk to him in the first place.
"And desperately hoped you couldn't attend." Colette answered in her ever so sweet voice, smiling at a few friends who had raised their eyebrows as they could not follow her conversation.
"You're too kind," The receiving line of the phone call answered, used to the harsh words that were covered up by her dazzling smile; perfect white teeth and plump lips coated with a lipgloss. "Because you asked so nicely, I'll come over too," Colette now heard muffled noises and the clinking of keys together. "Where are you guys? Still the restaurant? I'll be over in a bit."
"Leclerc—" He had ended the call before she could talk him out of his idea or argue. The screen from Pierre's phone returned to its homescreen and Colette's dark eyes focused on the wallpaper from a previous vacation, coincidentally featuring said Ferrari driver. "Connard."
"What did he say?" Pierre looked up when Colette returned to the table with his phone in her hand, a forced smile playing on her face.
"He'll be over," She told the lot who had tuned in to their conversation. A confused McLaren driver, or two, watching her fall back into a conversation with Pierre, but the wide, and knowing, grin from Fabian infuriated the Blanchet girl further. "Not a word from you." She hissed as she pointed at him, sipping from the expensive champagne in her untouched glass.
"Do you talk like this to him as well?" Fabian had lowered his voice to keep the conversation between just the two of them.
Minutes had ticked away and knowing that Leclerc could show up any second nibbled on her conscience. Like the days before she was not in the mood to face him, that feeling being fuelled by the uneasiness of fleeing his apartment that very morning after a drunken night. Now with her glass of champagne in her hand, she excused herself from a few friends yet again to escape the abundance of guests, especially the uninvited ones. Colette had noticed a door that would lead to the outside terrace before and quickly decided to hide out for a few. A hide out so plainly in sight for any seeker to find.
"Usually they don't run away in the morning, and I'm going to pretend that it didn't hurt," Colette gulped down half of her glass in one go as she kept her gaze on the unruly ocean: a storm was approaching, both figuratively and literally. "Might be a reason why you don't have a boyfriend."
"'Scuse me?" The playful grin, and mischievous glint in his green eyes, gave away that he was kidding—just in a mood to rile up the lonesome woman on the balcony of the extravagant establishment. Nonetheless she scoffed before rolling her eyes, carefully placing the, now empty, flute on the edge of the balustrade. "I'm sincerely sorry to break your dear, fragile heart."
"I was more hoping for a 'merci' as you spent the night at my place," Charles pushed his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans with a shrug, the playfulness as a second nature to him. "Or should I say merçì tantu?" He switched back to their native language, referring to her drunken habit of falling back into Monegasque rather than French.
"Don't say it like that, you're insinuating stuff." Colette crossed her arms in front of her chest, drawing attention to the cowl neckline of her lilac slip dress.
"But it's the truth." He mirrored her posture as his gaze followed her every move in the beautiful Yves Saint Laurent dress which complimented her skin tone rather well.
"The truth is," She forced his eyes to look up, although they halted for a second before finally looking into her soft, almond-shaped eyes. "Shut up, you can't finish a home race." He chuckled involuntarily as she had yet to be proven incorrect on that statement.
"So what's the plan now?" After a short pause, Charles continued, looking down at the girl in front of him. The sun had set minutes before the two entered the terrace, but the last rays of natural light seemed to glisten in Colette's dark eyes, like stars in a night sky.
"I," The girl emphasised the pronoun as she pointed at herself. "Will be going back to my friends," She took two steps closer to the amused Monegasque who had been enjoying her fit. "You," Now her perfectly manicured fingers pointed directly in his chest, "Will politely say goodbye to them—and leave."
"How much have you had to drink?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly. It seemed like a random question and Colette did not know if she came across as intoxicated, or was in need of another drink.
"Since brunch?" Both were aware of the consumption of the many drinks in the early hours from that same morning, their hangovers from before still very present in their minds. The man in front of her answered with an affirmative nod of his head. "One glass of champagne." Colette motioned to the flute she had downed, the glass painted fresh with a lipgloss that matched the colour of her lips.
"And you want to join them?" Leclerc had noticed their mutual friends explicitly enjoying the birthday in the rented Blue Bay restaurant just minutes ago. Annoyance had flooded his body when his friends already seemed to have difficulty with answering his simple question of where the birthday girl had disappeared to. The lad vaguely pointed behind him to elaborate on his continuous questions.
"Someone has to be the responsible one," Colette followed the swift motion with her eyes, looking over past his broad shoulder. She sighed as she concluded he was right. Surprisingly, she had intended to stay sober for the night as she was still dealing with the consequences of previous evenings with alcohol. The most recent repercussion of a night out standing directly in front of her. "And I'm not responsible," She saw that Pierre had climbed upon a stool near the bar with a bottle of Moët as if he was reliving his Monza win, making Colette cringe at the spilled drink on his neat blouse. She swiftly turned around and in one motion dragged Leclerc along by his wrist to a different exit of the balcony. "Alright, let's go."
"Are you manhandling me?" Charles was surprised with the sudden contact of her soft hands, a pleasant feeling on his burning skin.
"You don't like it rough?" Colette turned her head with a raised eyebrow as she grinned at her own joke.
"I never said that," He raised his free hand in denial as his signature smirk danced over his lips. "Just putting it out there."
"Oh get your head out of the gutter, Leclerc." Turning her head back as she rolled her eyes; she had set herself up for that comment. Through the growing attendees of the party the two slipped away towards the grand entrance, evading from the scene without being seen.
"Colette!" That was until one of the few sober lads stopped the Blanchet girl dead in her tracks with Leclerc closely following behind. "Where are you going?" It was Luis Nahmad, son to business partners of the Blanchet empire, who had noticed the brunette sneaking away from her own birthday party.
"Just getting some fresh air." The girl brought back her fake smile as she addressed the Lebanese lad she had met just days prior. Colette awkwardly adjusted her stance as she let go of Charles' arm who immediately noticed the scratching of the manicured nails over his forearm.
"With him?" Luis pointed to the brunet driver behind her, not even attempting to hide his disapproval as he eyed him with a frown.
"Yes, with him," Leclerc shuffled closer to speak over the booming Reggaeton music which had been turned up a notch. As he did so, Colette could feel his hand graze over the small of her back before absentmindedly tracing along her arm until his hand found hers, softly grasping it. "So if you could move out of the way, he is not feeling too well and wants to leave," He ended the conversation without waiting for a response from the Lebanese, tugging the girl along until both were faced with the busy streets of Monte Carlo. Colette waited for him to drop their intertwined fingers, but he never did, much to her amusement. A soft chuckle left her lips and the Ferrari driver turned his gaze to the girl he had dragged outside. "Sorry, did I offend your soon-to-be-fiancé?"
"As a matter of fact, you might have," Colette thought out loud before playfully feigning a gasp. "I should check upon my husband."
"No, you're not," Charles halted Colette in her movements, green eyes piercing down into her dark ones. "We were leaving."