Title from: Back to Life by Zayn
Before:
Melbourne, 31st March 2023
Carla
"Thank you." George mumbles his hand squeezing mine from across the table. The candles on the surrounding tables flicker in time with the one on our own table as I take a small sip of wine grinning back at his gorgeous face. He's almost beaming at me, George's blue eyes sparkling under the candlelight as I smile softly back at him.
"What for?" There's confusion laced in my words as I hold his hand in mine. The restaurant he'd chosen for tonight was just beautiful, from the menu, to the view of the Melbourne skyline as the sun dips down below the horizon. It's all dreamy, as life is with George always seems to be.
Our food was delicious, even George's diet-approved dish, which in places like this can sometimes look (and taste) like slices of cardboard. The music a smooth jazz paired with the extravagant interior making me feel both grown up and like I shouldn't entirely be here, like I don't quite fit in. Even being twenty four, even with my career being how it is, even with George by my side; I just don't feel like I fit in or should really be here.
"For being here Carla." George says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I really appreciate it...you."
"Stop." I can feel myself beginning to flush with his words. He always does this. Flatters me until I don't know where to look, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment with his affection, a feeling of unworthiness settling somewhere in the chest with his praise.
"No." He laughs with the word, a small shake of his head as that charming smile looks to me. "I know it hasn't always...been easy." George continues reaching for his water. I just shake my head, waving him off with the hand that's not tied to him as he takes a sip. "No, really." George stresses, his deep eyes gazing softly into mine. His words sitting somewhere in my chest. "First at Williams and then last season but, I think (I hope), this season will be better." I shake my head once more with George's words.
It doesn't matter to me much to me if George performs better or not, of course I want him to do well because he wants to do well. However his success, or level of it, doesn't determine how much I love him. It doesn't matter to me if George is top of the championship, bottom of the championship or not even in Formula one. He should know this, it's something he's been reminded of enough over the years by me. Still, it always seems to be a concern of his.
"George, you know that doesn't matter to me." I remind him with a quiet roll of my eyes. My finger skims against the soft skin of his hands, emphasising my words, hoping to ingrain them to him. George just huffs with the words.
Sometimes I think he misunderstands me when I say things like this. It's not that I don't want him to do well - of course I do! It's just that George's performance on track would never, and couldnt ever, impact on how I feel about him - just as I hope my career would never define how George feels about me. He's so much more than the person he is when he's in those cars and I know and love those sides of him so much more.
"It matters to me." George answers and I nod.
How could it not?
For his whole life George has been prepped and primed for this lifestyle. His parents, his whole family, contributing time and money into his karting career. His mum emptied savings accounts and used inheritance whilst his dad constantly worked overtime to make this (his dream) a reality. His uncle drove around the country weekend after weekend and his grandma cared for his siblings when the weekends spread into more than week days.
Then, when it all eventually happened for him, when he made it only to be stuck at Williams. The team at which he struggled in so much, watching his friends score point after point as he struggled to finish races, knowing that if he were in the same machinery he could be doing the same thing as them. It was soul destroying.
That is until he got confirmed for the Mercedes seat - his dream seat.
The dream seat.
It was as if the universe was playing a sick joke on him when the Mercedes car turned out to be a peice of crap last year. Compared to the previous nine years when they had dominated and fought (easily) for title after title, the car George was left with just...didn't. He had laughed about it at first. "Just my flipping luck Carls." He had said, as if it were nothing. I knew it was something, i knew it was tearing him up and he'd had to speak about it week after week with his therapist about it. Too afraid to speak about it with anyone close to him because that would make the situation real.
I knew George wanted more than that car - needed more.
And the first three of races this year have gone so well for him. It has been more. For three weekends in a row he's been on the podium, jumping between first and second and currently leading the world driver championship. It's what he's dreamed of before he even knew what goals and aspirations were.
I'm so proud of him for getting here, I'm so proud of the opportunity he now has to be world champion. I just hope he remembers to enjoy it sometimes. Enjoy that he's even here in the first place.
"I know, and you've been working really hard. I'm really proud of you G." I mean the words as I say them. "And I hope this season is everything you want it to be and amazing and all of those things, especially more podiums. I just want you to know that this," I gesture to the room around us. "doesn't matter to me." I continue, squeezing his hand softly.
"Which is one of the best things about you." George hums softly to me in that tone that makes my cheeks heat.
"I told you to stop that." I warn him, pressing the back of my free hand to my cheek. Sure enough the skin is warm. Without any makeup on my cheeks would be flushed pink for him to see.
"What?" His question is innocent, paired with a batting of his beautiful long eyelashes I'm forever envious of.
"Flattering me." I grumble, narrowing my eyes accusingly at him. I'm beginning to think that he enjoys embarrassing me.
"Tonight is about flattering you Carls." He hums once more before shifting in his spot, rifling through the pockets of his trousers. "And...." George trails off eyeing me carefully before setting a small turquoise box on the table. I raise an eyebrow at the box as he pushes it towards me with two fingers. It's a wonder he's been able to keep the gift hidden so long, we've sat through two courses of dinner and a bottle of wine before this. George is usually so excited to share the things he buys as gifts.
One year I received half my gifts for Christmas four days early, just because George was so excited to share what he'd bought for me. It ended up with me playing around with my brand new machine, a bottle of red wine on the floor between us, until two in the morning. George had only watched on with amazed eyes as I constructed a dress from scratch, mumbling compliments through tipsy lips.
"This is so unnecessary." I mumble reaching for the box fighting a smile. It's unnecessary but I won't say no. When I lift the lid open on the light blue Tiffany box there's a pair of earrings, a small gold vine encrusted with diamonds on each. They're stunning, something I'm desperate to wear and must have cost George at least ten grand.
"Twelve." George corrects, as if reading my mind. My lips part in surprise at the sum, something shifting uncomfortably in my chest with the cost. He's bought me more expensive things sure, but not just 'because', they were always for my birthday or Christmas. Justified.
"George." I grumble his name once more, scolding softly in the only way I can muster. This is too much, he knows I don't need things like this.
"I bought them when we went to New York." He explains, as if the damage has been done and can't be undone. I guess it has been. I just shake my head in disbelief. He must have bought them when I was distracted shopping on fifth Avenue. I knew he disappeared from his original spot infront of the Givenchy store as they boxed up my new handbag! He even had the nerve to deny it. The suspicious narrowing of my eyes does little to deter him, George only sits there an entertained look on his face as I piece the puzzle all together.
"You're unbelievable George Russell." George let's out a laugh with my amazed words. He doesn't deny the fact.
"Please tell everyone that." He smiles at me as I slip my current earrings out of my ears and unpin the new ones from the plush white cushion wanting to try them on immediately. I smile hooking the first into my earlobe, thankful that George has decided not to comment on how just a moment ago I was saying how the gift was too much. We both know I was never going to refuse these.
"You know I'll tell anyone that." My coy words make George laugh as I stifle a yawn, hooking the second earring into my ear and securing it with the delicate clasp. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to my cheek when they're safely hung on me.
"Tired?" George asks, he nods at a waiter who offers the bill as I also nod in answer to his question. I'm exhausted. I've attended the last three races, alongside keeping the label running, adjusting my body clock to whenever my meetings needed it to be. Frankly, I'm exhausted. "I've been dreaming about our bed." I inform him, reaching for my back and twisting for effect. The five star hotels we've been in for the last few weeks have been gorgeous, but it's nothing on home. On our bed. I miss it so much. "I can't wait to be back." I declare honestly because I can't. The white framed super queen sized bed was the best purchase ever made - I'm convinced that it could extend unhappy marriages by five years simply for the peace it offers.
"You miss it?" George sounds bewildered by my words and I'm bewildered by his. How could he not miss our small slice of heaven?
Since purchasing last year, our home neatly settled in the heart of Buckinghamshire has fast become my favourite spot. When I'm not at work, or with George travelling the world, I just want to be there.
"Don't you?" I ask in confusion and George pulls a face, as if he can't believe I've quite asked the question. He chews over what I'm saying for a second, twisting his spot and frowning in the way he does when deep in thought.
"I do, I just like the chaos here, I think." George finally admits, there's an entertainment dancing in his eyes with my question, or maybe it's his own words, I can't quite decide.
"Well you're important here, that makes sense I guess." I note chewing on my lower lip. I'm comforted by the fact that George is at least most relaxed at home; maybe he likes it here a lot, but he's most at peace with me. Most himself in our space. "I just like our home, you know it's my happy place. And everything's so male driven here, there's not many friends to be made for me." I explain, feeling like it's necessary. My words are true, but George still looks puzzled by them.
I can count the number of women I see in the garage on one hand, on a good day I'd need an extra thumb.
"You have friends." George grumbles, suddenly looking confused by words, missing my point entirely. I didn't say I didn't have friends here. All I meant was that this isn't exactly my world. I'm sure he'd feel a little lost dumped in the middle of a fashion week event or shoot day for a new campaign. Even after so long its just not a world I'm used to, or love.
"Of course." I nod in agreement. "I have Amber, and Lois and sometimes Angela if she's not chasing Lewis around. But you must realise that people here don't care about me George." I can't help the 'duh' tone my final sentence leaves with. It makes me cringe a little, an unease feeling rising in my stomach as I reach for my glass of wine to take another sip.
"I'm sure that's not the case."
"It is - but it's fine," my words aren't bitter, they're honest and light. George raises his eyebrows at the statement, as if he doesn't believe me, placing his card down on top of the bill without even a glance at the figure at the bottom of it. "They shouldn't care about me. It's you who's the superstar."
"I-" George looks baffled at my statement.
"On this topic actually. I don't think I'm going to join for Azerbaijan. I might skip Miami too." I add, the words quickly.
"Carla?" The question of my name George is stern.
"I know you want me there but I have two new collections coming out and it's so much work I can't fit it all in." My words are an attempt o soothe his disapproval, a hope that he'll understand that some things are bigger than him. I have things too.
"You don't want to be here with me?" I'm left a little taken aback by his question, unable to answer.
Of course I do, he should know that. I'm sure he does know that. It's just not practical for the next few weekend. "If this is about your side of the bed not being comfortable I'll ask to change rooms." I laugh at his words, there's mischief dancing in his eyes with the suggestion but I know that if I agreed we'd be swapping rooms immediately. He'd be ringing the hotel before we even leave our seats here.
"It's not any of that baby." I promise through a laugh. "I'll call you everyday, I just need a few weeks to get work together." My comfort seems to appease George, a quiet smile on his face as his eyes shift to the earrings newly hanging on me.
"If that's what you need then I guess that's okay." I only nod and thank him quietly.
——
I was gonna post, then I wasn't gonna post...then thalassophxle reminded me that today was the date Zayn left 1d and with the title of the chapter it felt like a sign!
Tysm for all the support on this! Means so much & I hope you guys enjoy.
Lando's pov next 👀
❤️❤️