Author's note:
Hello dearest readers, with this sidenote I wanted to take a quick moment to address the possibility of a similar work(s) to this one. I want to disclose that I do not quite appreciate my discourse being taken or copied without my consent—period.
And to end this short moment on a more positive note I wanted to thank every one of you for the great support! This story is already over 35k reads which is unbelievable. Know that I am grateful for every read, comment, and vote. Bless yous.
— • —
EXHAUSTING WAS ONE way to describe everyone's week, and the weekend filled with free practice, qualifications, and racing had yet to start. Colette, on the other side of Europe, could be found with her nose within her study material the days that followed her impromptu trip to Milan, Fabian had been doing his best to support his girl friend whilst being hangover each morning after partying with the rich, and their friends in the motorsport were preparing for the sixth race of the season: Baku, Azerbaijan.
The Monegasque girl did live up to her promise to the McLaren driver she had made two weeks prior, making up for her absence from the Grand Prix of Monaco by being present in the transcontinental country. One would have to disregard the fact that she had her last final on Friday and could only fly out to Baku on Saturday; Colette had promised she would attend the race, she never agreed to the free practices, or the complete qualification for that matter.
After arriving in her hotelroom, Colette quickly slung her paddock pass around her neck after diving into her luggage to find her favourite AlphaTauri jacket. The second qualification session had already started and she wanted to get to the circuit as quick as possible. A taxi with tinted windows awaited her downstairs next to the valet and drove her to the track within fifteen minutes time. Those fifteen minutes, however, crossed over with the last qualifying session of the race tomorrow. Reason why the girl paid no mind to the city she passed by and focused her eyes completely on her phone where the Formula 1 cars chased around the circuit for the perfect, but most importantly quickest, lap—squealing in excitement at the performances.
The girl was not as familiar around the layout of the paddock that was build in the city of Baku as she was in Monaco. Backstage it was bustling with engineers, reporters, and fans, all supporting the different colours from the distinct Formula 1 teams. Her eyes swiftly glided over the swarm of people, finally finding the acquainted navy blue and white on the polos of a few mechanics rounding the corner next to Aston Martin. Colette hurried after them, as gracious as possible because there were cameras everywhere, and sure enough Pierre Gasly stood there talking to his performance coach, Pyry. He was hydrating with a Red Bull can after the three qualifying sessions whilst listening to the man talking, his suit zipped down to his waist, before he noticed his girl friend rushing to his side with a big, proud grin resting on her lips.
"I'm calling it, you're going to be on the podium tomorrow." The girl tried to swing her right arm around the shoulders of her taller French friend, earning a roaring laugh in response.
"Colette!" He was quick to shrug off her arm and pull her in for a tight embrace. "How did your exams go?"
"Absolutely horrible, completely blacked out—and not because of alcohol like usually." Colette shook her head, rather not thinking about the possible results for her finals.
"Then we shall black out tomorrow in the right way, hm?" He raised his eyebrow with a playful glint in his blue eyes, ruffling her hair before they trailed the short distance from the AlphaTauri garage to the motorhome. "If you just jinxed my podium I'm going to be very upset."
"All the more reason to black out, non ?" The brunette shook her head, pushing her fingers through her hair as he had caused for more tangles in the silky locks. "But I have high hopes, frangin."
— • —
When the evening fell, Colette found herself wandering around the luxurious accommodation amidst the city of Baku. Pierre had accompanied his team to a secluded dinner, similar to the other F1 teams, which left the Monegasque girl on her own for the evening. Still clad in the clothes she had worn throughout her day, she made her way up to the extravagant lounge on the fifteenth floor of the hotel with a view of the entire illuminated city. Sleep would not overtake her any time soon due to the slight time difference, might as well take advantage of the privileges of her stay.
"Buenas, Carlos, qué tal?" She was surprised to see the familiar face of the Spanish driver, a delighted smile forming on her face as she had not seen him in a while.
"Coco!" The Spanish Ferrari driver stood up from his seat once the girl entered his vision, an arm slung around her for a small hug before motioning her to sit down next to him on the sofa.
"Excited for tomorrow?"
"Sempre eccitato." The Spaniard answered with his limited knowledge of the Italian language. Colette grinned as he did recall some of the vocabulary she had tried to school him the season prior due to her Italian background and willingness to help him adjust to the native Italian Formula 1 team.
"È bello sentirlo—"
"Carlos, Mattia said that—oh," Their private chat was, however, cut short as Monaco's finest entered the lounge himself. His eyes followed his words on a slower pace whereby it a second took to realise his teammate was accompanied by a familiar brunette.
After days of radio silence, avoidance, and, to a certain extent, desperation, she suddenly appeared to be everywhere again. He had seen her yet again strutting around the paddock with their mutual French friend whilst he was stuck in his own motorhome. "Bona sera, Blanchet." He played it down with a curt nod, trying to be subtle with his wandering eyes. At least in the presence of the Spanish driver who was silently awaiting the rest of his sentence because he had been silent for a longer period than needed.
"Charles?" Carlos cleared his throat loudly to get the Monegasque back to reality, halting any possible intrusive thought dancing in Charles' mind.
"Right, one of the PU engineers needed to speak with you before tomorrow, or something." The French speaking driver answered as he scratched the back of his neck, pulling his thoughts together in order to recall his earlier encounter with members of the Ferrari team; focus on Carlos, not the brunette who had ran out on him and ghosted his embarrassing drunk messages, he never remembered sending, for days.
"Or something?" The Spaniard laughed, raising an eyebrow at the vague appearance of his teammate.
"I don't remember exactly what Xavi said." He gave in, taking a seat opposite the two on a luxurious fauteuil.
"I thought you said you spoke to Mattia?" Carlos was more than curious regarding the sudden mental absence of Charles and why his eyes diverted from his within seconds. Colette, on the other hand, stifled a chuckle at the awkward dialogue between the Ferrari drivers, finding the lack of professionalism very entertaining for such high-end athletes.
"I talked with both and one needs you now." Charles finalised, gesturing with his hands around as if to make a clear point from his rambling. It could have been Carlos' performance coach, it could have been his manager, but truth is that every thought he had had before entering the lounge completely slipped his mind, and to be fair, he did not really care. Since the reappearance of Monaco's golden girl, in Azerbaijan of all places, he had different questions to ask himself as she had left in a hurry when he last saw her.
"Buenas noches." The Spaniard exhaled loudly after their confusing conversation from which he did not get any wiser. The one thing he did get out of the ramble of words was that he certainly would not forget this moment and save it for future banter with his teammate.
"Where have you been?" It had been silent the whole two minutes Carlos took to get up and leave the lounge. But the moment the French doors closed, Charles took his opportunity to speak to the girl. It might have been his ego, but running out on him twice in a week seemed a bit harsh to him.
"When?" Colette plucked at the hem of her skirt, uncomfortable underneath his scrutinising eyes which were filled with different tints off green. She used to tell him when they were younger that green eyes came from evilness—truly convinced as a seven year old that they gave an individual devious traits and therefore did not want to be near him. Oh devilish he was. Now his gaze felt heavy and the girl suddenly felt self conscious in her clothes. That lasted for a whole two seconds as it was not in her nature to feel insecure. She repositioned herself on the leather sofa after taking a breath, and tilted her head back up to eye him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Well, Thursday, and yesterday," He shrugged, a hand moving over the stubble on his sharp face, thinking about the time the girl had appeared in his head without even being in the same country as him. "And well, during quali today as well."
"Did you miss me?" The Blanchet girl let her glossed lips quirk into a playful smirk, catching him in his ramblings yet again. He tends to reveal more than he wanted to when she caught him off guard.
"That's a stupid question." Charles shook his head with a scoff, pushing himself further into the leather armchair.
"You're stupid." Colette's dark, curved eyebrows scrunched together disapprovingly.
"Always a way with words, Blanchet." The guy in front of her let out a laugh before crossing his arms in front him, a familiar playful glint finally finding its way to his eyes.
"It's my pleasure," She forced the words to leave her lips, a sarcastic smile gracing her tanned face. "I didn't know we could talk to each other. Ya'know, sans alcool ?"
"I was waiting for you at the bar but you never showed," Charles quirked his eyebrows up as he pressed his lips together. "Promised you vodka, didn't I?"
"My deepest apologies, Leclerc," Colette jokingly feigned sorrow, a hand across her heart if she were surprised. "That is quite off brand on my side."
"You want to go now?"
"It is late," Charles raised an eyebrow at her surprising words, daring her to continue. "Especially too late to nurse a drink the day before a race—and this is coming from me so you'd best listen." Colette got up from her seat in the lounge but halted in her actions after his response. Devilish he was, and will remain.
"You can just say that you're scared to do something embarrassing." A boyish, cocky grin had found its way to his pinkish lips, his dimples deepening once the girl rolled her eyes at his words.
"I am so not embarrassing when drunk." Colette laughed, although defensive in her body language. Charles noticed her stance and decided to annoy her further. They may have not spoken to each other for years, but after their reunion at the Blanchet gala he could not stop teasing her, nor did he get enough of it, especially after such an empty week of her avoidance.
"Ah, it's just you then?"
"It's called having a personality, chéri, something you definitely need." The girl huffed uninterested, crossing her arms in front of her. She might have been standing whilst he was still seated at this point, just a glass coffee table separating them, but his attitude had risen to its usual altitude, much to her dismay. She preferred it when he was struggling to find the right words, avoiding eye contact, and blushing under her gaze.
"I have enough of a personality for you to talk to me." Charles remarked with a wink, knowing it would irk her even more.
"This is charity work that I'm doing." Colette kept her calm as she looked through her long, dark eyelashes down at him.
"You were laughing at every lamppost you could see because you believed they looked like little suns," The Ferrari driver helped her recall her drunken actions. "You crawled across Place du Casino because you could not walk on your own," He further counted on his fingers. "And you forgot every language but Monegasque."
"I will have you know that I remember what you said when we were at your apartment." She loved to watch his face fall as quickly as it did. The altitude from his attitude dropping within milliseconds: the Charles she preferred. A smirk was finally able to find its way back to her face
"Quoi ?"
"Not very much 'hating each other' on your part, mon Roméo." She shrugged with a sarcastic, disappointed sigh, loving his bewilderment way too much. Her siren eyes analysed his every move, every shift filled with the slightest bit of panic and dread.
"No you're—"
"Good night, Charles." She passed the Monegasque who looked up at her from his fauteuil, her hand slowly dragging over his chest and then shoulder, her nails putting the slightest bit of pressure on his skin underneath the red polo before slowly letting go as she knew chills entered his body.
"Mon étoile." He breathed out.