Lost (PG10) Pt4

Lost (PG10) pt4

Summary: The world is utterly unfair. He was her most prized possession, her life, her first ever commitment of love. But to him, she was just a mere person lost in his big world.

warnings: ; unrequited feelings; Pierre is a douche , arrange marriage, angst, explicit scenes and languages.

Author's Note~ Heya guys! I present to you the 4th part of my fanfic. I'm overwhelmed by the response ❤️ Really Thanks a lot to everyone who had liked the story so far. Something's have started to cook. Hope you look forward to it. Love You All 😘 Here's my first ever story for you guys. As soon as I finish this one, I'll start taking requests maybe! Till then please show your love and support for "LOST".

This one's a filler chapter, so please bear with me.

Something completely different happened today. A knock at my door woke me up from my 1 hour nap which has unfortunately turned into a 3 hour nap. I stood up from the bed and opened the door only to find my husband standing there and running a hand through his curls. Oh! What a sight! He looks like a Greek God.

"Hey! Did you need something? I'm sorry I fell asleep, also you can come inside"

He thanked me and entered my room, this is completely new. But nonetheless, I had to take a chance. He was looking around the room and the pictures hanging on the walls. His eyes stuck to one picture in particular. A picture captured by Pierre's mom of Isaac, Pierre and myself. It was Halloween and Isaac wanted to be a Vampire and on the other hand Pierre and Me were Romeo and Juliet. He was 6 and I was 4! We did not even know who Romeo and Juliet were! It was because of the elders who had insisted on these costumes! Oh! What I'd give to have those days back.

"You need something?"

"Ah! No, um actually yes, I have to attend an event with the rest of grid tomorrow. And you have to come with me. So be ready by 7pm tomorrow, will you? Wear something nice. I'll send someone with dresses for you to choose today in the evening. Just pick something from there."

There it is! Like I've mentioned before, he only remembers me when he needs something or needs to go somewhere to show off the world our so called amazing married life. *Scoff* But I'm not mad, at least I'll be able to meet HIM after so many days. The only person who happens to care even a little bit for me. Who always greets me with a beautiful smile on his face. A friend? Nope, he's like an angel for me.

I really hope everyone gets a friend like him!

" *Cough* *cough* You there?"

" Oh yea! I'm sorry, I was a bit distracted. Umm, Why don't you take Julia with you? I'm sure she would love to accompany you and also I'm sure she has several dresses in her wardrobe already. Won't even have to buy a dress last minute"

The look Pierre gave me after I mentioned Julia simply yelled 'ARE YOU CRAZY'. I mean I knew why he wouldn't take Julia, but I just find a different kind of satisfaction by reminding it to him.

"Um, I'll be ready tomorrow. Don't worry. By the way, where's Julia?"

"I sent her home, no need for her to stay here for these two days, either way we'd be busy. It'll only distract us."

Oh well! That was odd! Distract us from what exactly? Sometimes this man leaves no tables unturned to confuse me to no end. Anyways. I know better now than to crack my brain over these things. It's actually useless cause I won't get anymore clear answers from him than this.

"Any specific colour that I need to keep in mind while choosing the dress?"

"Not that I'm aware of, just keep it a bit formal. I'll get going. If Julia calls or comes asking for me, just tell her I've been out for a meeting since morning."

And then he rushed out the door, not before checking our childhood photo once again. Okay! That was highly confusing! I mean why was he avoiding Julia? Or am I reading too much between the lines? No one knows. I better go eat something until then.

But still, I'm a bit lost here.

LOST in confusion.

PS - Please lemme know what do you think about LOST and also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list ❤️

@peachiicherries @crimeshowjunkie @oblomovissad @torossosebs @janeholt3

Hi there. I agree with that anon about the sad ending lol. These times are too depressing. The series is great tho. I hope they both get their karma ESPECIALLY julia. Keep up the good work❤️

Thanks a ton Sweetie! 💜

Well there's something cooking in my mind about Julia.

Let's hope I can pen down my thoughts exactly how I have em in my mind.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ SEVENTEEN RECS ♥

hi hello yeorobun! finally! here it is!

these are a compilation of my reblogs and works from amazing people that made me swoon, cry, kick, scream, in the span of my years as a carat!

I hope you enjoy these masterpieces as much as I did and please check out each writer and their works!

to the writers: you are a wonderful human being. I hope the world is sending you love everyday! your works helps me get through everyday and I always come back to these!

~~ this list will be continuously updated with new works hehe

disclaimer: these fics are not listed in any ranking

DIRECTORY

OT13/units

𝘚.𝘊𝘖𝘜𝘗𝘚 𝘱𝘵. 1 | 𝘱𝘵. 2

𝘑𝘌𝘖𝘕𝘎𝘏𝘈𝘕

𝘑𝘖𝘚𝘏𝘜𝘈

𝘑𝘜𝘕

𝘏𝘖𝘚𝘏𝘐

𝘞𝘖𝘕𝘞𝘖𝘖

𝘞𝘖𝘖𝘡𝘐

𝘋𝘒

𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘠𝘜

𝘛𝘏𝘌8

𝘚𝘌𝘜𝘕𝘎𝘒𝘞𝘈𝘕

𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘕𝘖𝘕

𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘖

p.s. please please tell me if I made a mistake on the tags and authors tysm!

Carlos deserved better, this shows that after him broke Red Bull's winning streak, this is how Ferrari returned the favor, and this clearly shows that Ferrari has its favorites

Oh My God! Yes!

Ferrari has always had their favourites...

I'm just waiting for a response from Carlos atm 😞

"You're the man!" Chapter 35

Masterlist

⚽Chapter tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, LONG ASS FUCKING CHAPTER, Yeonam is back!, cold mingyu, a lot of yearning, and sickly sweet messages

⚽Tag list: @90s-belladonna @the-boy-meets-evil @lirtha97 @hipsdofangirl @justineasian @kwanisms @multi-kpop-fanfics @pantumin @wooahaeproductions @mayashu @shuasdraftsalt @lone-lone-ranger @headlockimnida @horanghaezone @haolistic @porridgesblog @jeonjungkaka @luchiet @ujimatchaaa @skzdesi @cheoliehansolie @vlbii @myghobi @sisterofsomeone @joonsytip @gyublues @alltheshineofthestars-blog @randomworker @isabellah29 @savgogh @too-many-kpop-hubands @shingsoluvely @kamabokogonpachro @skittlez-area512 @seccdlurv @chisskaa @mochiteez @theyluvfrankocean @lllucere @thomawifey @middle-of-the-earth @okiedokrie-main @itsokaytobedumb00 @humankimbap @zezedoesshit @teenyfinds @jeonghansshitester @aaa-sia @heyitz00 @silvsie

Heyo!

Since I'm definitely a fan of your writings and this tinkling feeling of requesting you something has been irking me, can I request something like an arranged marriage with Pierre?

Angsty and maybe a happy ending. That's upto you.

Love your works. Hoping for more great pieces.❤️

Happy New Year 🎊

(At the end of the fic I'll leave a note about this request ❤️)

Navigation || Masterlist

If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: pierre gasly x female!reader (feat. esteban ocon x female!reader and charles leclerc as reader's bestfriend) genre: arranged marriage, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, mention of s*x (not graphic), cheating, violence word count: 18.6k plot: you loved him, he loved you, and neither knew. Will an arranged marriage, an old love triangle and a special friend be enough to finally make you confess your true feelings?

Walking down the aisle, a bouquet clumsily held by trembling fingers, your whole chest was filled with quick butterflies batting wings, desperate to spread free. He was perfect. An astonishingly crafted smirk plastered on his face, ready for the flashes of the cameras to be captured, the suit slid on his athletic body without creases. You reckoned yourself inadequate in that white, plain dress: feeling pins pulling your hair left and right after hours of work by the hairdresser, the steady arm of your dad was the only anchor to the present moment. He never strayed his stare away from you, removing your veil in a slow, tantalizing motion. There were no vows to be exchanged and get mistaken in anxiety, no rings to be put through the wrong finger: you were and had always been his since forever, without he even had to ask. You peeked behind Pierre’s shoulder and saw Charles showing you an encouraging smile, which you tried to reciprocate despite sweating cold. You remembered his huge grin when Pierre had handed him the invitation: dimples on full display, Charles had flicked his eyes between the two of you and had been stoked ever since he was told he’d be best man. He’d been happier than Pierre himself had been about the news of the engagement with you and, consequently, about the wedding.

>>♥<<

«Okay, cool.» That had been his answer to you two fathers’ decision. They had grown best friends over the years, and they both didn’t like Pierre’s womanizer lifestyle, which was quite detrimental to his reputation. So your dad had decided to offer his own daughter to the Gasly’s like a sacrificial victim, knowing you had always had sympathy for the youngster and sure he would simply love you back with time. Of course, you were painfully aware of Pierre’s usual behavior around girls and, even though befriending him in teenage had made you helplessly fall in love with him, getting married felt like the cruelest assault to your dignity. For sure you would love him. And for sure he would not. Sitting on a couch right in front of each other, your parents discussing a couple of meters away, he simply bore his eyes into yours while drinking a glass of juice, legs spread out. «We’re going to have fun the first night together or…?» Your eyes threw a dagger to him, hit in your pride for the insensitive comment; Pierre wasn’t known for being delicate and considerate, when you used to hang out in group with him. After all, his humor was one of the things that had you capitulate before his feet. «Okay, I see. No jokes.» You squeezed your fingers into fists, uptight, dissatisfaction cursing through your blood. «Not on such things, Pierre.» «Like what? Sex?» he raised a brow. «My wedding.» you sighed. «Our wedding, you mean.» «Doesn’t seem as pivoting to you. Nothing will really change for you.» «We’re both going to wear a ring, y/n. Never seen a marriage without the groom or the bride.» He downed the last sip of the juice and placed the glass on the coffee table. You knew from the start it wouldn’t be a fairytale.

>>♥<<

«Don’t think a bride should stand on her own and look so sad.» Charles’ words whispered in your ear made you roll eyes and brought an immediate smile to your face. «Don’t think a best man should bother the bride with stupid remarks.» «Do you think it’s stupid?» he asked, raising his brow to insinuate doubt. «Pierre is having a blast and you… well, you’re here listening to the stupid remarks of the best man.» The small stem glass of champagne you still held had dried out of bubbles, but seemed interesting enough to draw your eyes down; Charles, genuinely sorry to witness your let down expression, wetted his lips and briefly glanced back at Pierre, laughing and dancing with the other guests. «Let’s go dance.» Caught by surprise, you tilted your head back up, wide eyes. «C’mon, don’t pretend you didn’t hear!» Charles chuckled, holding both your hands. «We’re going to make fools of ourselves…» «But that’s what we do the best when we’re together!» You let yourself be dragged in the middle of the dance floor set up under an outdoor gazebo: Charles’ ridiculous moves made a visceral laugh emerge from the depths of your fears, as he tried to involve you in his bubbly fun, despite the dress not helping the flow of your groove. «Geez, I feel so awkward!» you let out, head leaning backwards, invested by a childish happiness. «Just dance it out, we’re doing amazing!»

The sun setting down at the horizon threw an orange gold ray cut through the air, hitting Charles’ profile, getting both enlightened and obscured in two poetic halves which danced relentless and made you twirl around without a single thought. Out of notice, the guests had gathered around the two of you, enjoying the show you had put up; and when the music faded out to a slower tune, catching your breath in Charles’ arms, hands resting on his heaving chest, your sight found Pierre’s blue eyes, filled with an unreadable expression. As slower notes filled the air, he walked over to you, confident in each firm step, putting Charles’ luminous smile in defeat: when Pierre was around, there was no chance for you to look at any other person. He simply took your hands, implicitly warning Charles to move away and make room for him, tenderly joining the swinging fabric of your dress. Too affected by his presence and by racing thoughts about the future you would share with him from that moment on, you placed your burning cheek upon his chest, right above his heart. «Why didn’t you ask me to dance?» His question breached your overthinking silence. «You were too busy entertaining the guests.» You didn’t mean for your words to sound as veiled of sadness and resigned as they did, but you felt somehow content in letting Pierre know how you felt about the whole situation. He had you wrapped around his finger; his ring one. You were engraved in the inner circle of gold touching his skin, kissing it tenderly, vowing love to him any second. «I thought I’d make you uncomfortable giving you all my attention. You dropped a glass during lunch because of it, and I don’t want you to get hurt.» His smirk disseminated deep, red shame on your cheeks; why did you put blush on earlier that morning if Pierre was managing to do all the work by himself?

An unerasable pang of hurt chained your feet to the ground, unable to sink deeper into Pierre’s gentle hands holding you throughout the dance: you told yourself it wouldn’t shatter you completely if you thought he didn’t mean any of the things he did, he said. Holding you closer, cheek resting on his white, unbuttoned shirt, he left an unexpected and unseen peck on the top of your head, as you both still lulled to the beat. He then leaned on a side, dropping whispered words into your ear. «Want to see a smile on my wife’s face. It’s our wedding, after all, not our funeral.» As much as you wanted to feel hatred, you let Pierre’s jokingly voice sink, unconsciously obliging to his request right away. You felt young, drunk, foolish. You’d enjoy every bit of attention he’d spare you. Every single scramble.

>>♥<<

Pierre had insisted on picking you up before entering your newly bought apartment, to stick to the tradition; between giggles and laughs, you had admired you two’s mothers astonishing work of petals and candles signaling the way over to the bedroom. The dim lights enchanted your sight, as you stood speechless before the bed. Pierre’s hands caressing your forearms and slowly making their way up to your shoulders awoke you and froze you at once. The tip of his nose brushing your neck, you didn’t dare move nor speak as Pierre pressed soft kisses all over. Were you ready? Pierre encircled your waist with his arm, both relieving and accentuating the knot forming in your stomach. Would you ever be ready? You hadn’t talked about that moment, you hadn’t considered there’d be the need to. You thought he wouldn’t even touch you, once everybody’s eyes would be out of sight. So why was he taking all his time carefully unbuttoning the back of your dress, leaving open mouthed kisses on the bare skin he had available? «Pierre…» You soon realized your moan had been an incentive to Pierre when an airy chérie was whispered upon your shivering skin. «Pierre, I don’t know if we should…» «It’s our first night married, y/n. This is exactly what we should do.» His voice was warm, slightly raspy, perfectly calm and collected, concealing a burning desire underneath. Pierre tucked a lock of your neat hair behind your ear, leaving your neck shivering at the touch. «I know this probably isn’t how you hoped your wedding to be… But now I’m your husband, and I’m willing to do everything I’m supposed to. I’m not backing down.» «Will you ever love me?» you asked, suspended. Pierre tucked another strand of hair in the same spot. «I can’t promise that.» Of course, how would he? «But I’m always going to respect you, no matter what. I swore it and I’ll stand by it.» You slowly turned around to face him, picking up the gown of your dress and pressing a hand to your chest so that it wouldn’t slip off due to the strings being loosened. «Please, don’t… Please, promise you won’t hurt me, Pierre.» The pleading tone of your voice unexpectedly pulled a string inside Pierre’s chest. «Do you really think I’d do that on purpose? Y/n, we’ve been… we’ve known each other for so many years.» «That’s what scares me.» You diverted your gaze, staring at your own reflection on the window: you were now gripping at Pierre’s shirt, the bodice dangerously threatening to slip down, eyes brimming with tears. How could you be more miserable than asking your husband not to hurt you? «Y/n, I’m not a teen anymore. And I’m kind of offended that you think I’m what other people say and what the media want to make everybody believe.» «I wouldn’t have agreed to the wedding, if I believed all the things they said about you.» you whispered. «Then trust the words I said at the altar.» Pierre delicately cupped your cheek, leaving a slow, tender kiss on the opposite temple. «For better and for worse…» he said, boring his eyes into yours. «For richer and for poorer…» he carried on, swiftly freeing your arms from the dress’ sleeves. «In sickness and in health…» Pierre breathed upon your lips, grabbing the dress fallen down to your hips. «Until death do us part.» Gripping tight Pierre’s arms, you let him take your breath away with his sloppy kiss, shivering, despite your face feeling warm and flushed in heat. «I will love you, y/n.» Pierre tucked yet another strand of hair behind your ear. «Maybe not like a charming prince, but I will love you as much as I can.»

His fingers pressed on your shoulders, silently asking you to sit on the edge of the bed, to which you obliged without even thinking twice. The air was thick in pleasant tension: Pierre had let his jacket shuffling its way to the floor, staring at you as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt; on your side, you had joined his intentions fidgeting with the buttons crossing his chest and abs, fully focusing on the slow, tantalizing task, instead of searching the force to bear his magnetic eyes. The golden shade casted over your cheeks, blending with the natural reddish shade of feelings spreading over your skin, left Pierre with an unexplainable tug inside the chest, pushing him to bend down and trap you on the mattress with yet another kiss, suddenly impatient. His shirt long forgotten on the floor upon the jacket and his tie, Pierre’s roaming hands dragged your dress down, making sure you’d slip completely out of it, so that you’d be bare for him to avidly see, touch and savor. Senses overwhelmed by his presence, helplessly amazed at how he could enchant your limbs and make them so reactive and sensitive to his touch, your fingers searched for relief on his body, between his brownish locks of hair, on his muscled neck and upper arms. Anything, to release the growing yearning he was masterfully building and lighting up inside of you. Pierre stopped all of the sudden, one elbow keeping him up, eyes lost in focus, as the fingers of his free hand traced an imaginary line from your sternum, down your chest. Before you could swallow hard at the gesture, he placed a lewd kiss right where his pointer finger had stopped. Again, uncontrolled, a soft moan escaped your already opened lips, tugging at his hair as to both pull him away and push him deeper into your soul. He raised his eyes to look at you hungrily, lips still stained with your skin. «I will honor you all the days of my life, y/n.» Pierre read the soft stare you gave him and the lovingly caress of your hand on his head as an invitation to drag his mouth upon your tender breast, finally free from the white cloth he had wished to tear apart since he had seen you walking down the aisle, swearing to himself he’d not be satisfied until he’d heard you scream his name from the top of your lungs, with his own hands, eyes and heart full of you.

The wedding being held in Italy at the beginning of September, right after Monza’s race weekend, you both had spent only a couple of days in the new house in Milan, in the attempt of building the sense of affectionate routine you would inevitably lose after taking the flight for Azerbaijan, following Pierre in the double-header awaiting him. The media had called it “racing-moon”. It was no ordinary honeymoon, travelling across the globe to support your husband, watching him with a pair of headphones and staring at him from a screen inside Alpine’s box, shying away from paparazzi’s cameras ready to capture glimpses of intimacy you didn’t even know how to spark yourself. A night of love wasn’t enough to erase the helpless feeling of distance and separation around Pierre: you were friends, sure, but your heavy crush on him had always prevented the relationship from growing further as it had happened with Charles. Daydreaming about him laying down your bed, earphones plugged, you had known every single detail about the things he liked while being in your early teens; now, looking at him packing his suitcase, standing at the doorframe you realized you either had never known him before or you had forgotten anything at the altar once he had kissed you alive.

«Do you need help?» you asked, closing and releasing your fingers from a fist, feeling useless. «Oh, didn’t notice you were there.» he quickly peeked at you. «No, thanks! I don’t know how, but it took half the time.» You raised a brow, leaning against the frame with arms crossed. «Maybe… it was the perfectly organized wardrobe I spent two days filling up with all your clothes?» «Mmh, I’m not really sure… Maybe I’ve just got quick with packing, since I’ve been doing it every other week for years now.» His smirk triggered an eye roll in you, so noticeable that Pierre turned to you, taking the suitcase off the bed and letting it roll on the floor. Not kind of expecting him to get that close to you after only stopping by the room, suddenly aware of how his stare could get your whole body drawn to him, succumbed to him, enchanted and gravitating around his brightness, you let yourself be courted by Pierre’s teasing fingers running up your arms. «I’m done now, so…» he said. «So?» «The bed is clear.» Throwing him an amused glance, about to laugh at how lewd his voice had sounded while hinting at the endless list of things you could do there, you pretended not to get his point. «Well, good job! We have somewhere to sleep tonight then.» «There’s no way, right?» Pierre squinted his eyes, hands still warming your skin caressed by the hot Italian wind blowing from the window. «Way to do what?» you asked, faking innocence once again. «I think you perfectly know.»

September’s heat had paired up with the warmth creeping up your ears while Pierre encircled your waist and inched over, causing butterflies inside your chest to awake your heart, moving past your thoughts to put them to sleep, as an overwhelming flow of love made you crave that heavenly attention and touch every second more. Pierre seemed to stop in his relentless chase of a kiss: he stood still, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, with your arms enclosed around his neck. There was no rush. The house was hollow and silent; only your breaths could be heard, mixed with the distant chatter coming from the street. Maybe that was the happiest and most peaceful corner of life he would ever know. Maybe holding your waist knowing that you were his wife, that he had settled his forever home, maybe spending his life with you was happiness. He struggled forming deep rooted love feelings towards you, yet could picture the two of you having kids so easily, travelling together, filling that empty house with memories. Maybe it was the fondest look in your eyes making every fantasy so incredibly near and easy. There was something, though, that Pierre didn’t find hard to spark at all. «Changed your mind?» you whispered, teasingly but soft. Attraction. Pierre was so desperately enamored with your body; to be fair, he had always quite been. Untouched by innocence, back at the time you would hang out in group, he would see you utterly oblivious to how other guys glanced at you and wonder if you had ever had sex before. The night of your first time together – the wedding’s – he had both been unfazed and surprised about noticing you weren’t a virgin: it totally made sense for someone as beautiful as you to have been with a guy, but at the same time he had no clue of who you had appointed as the one, and it was weird, because you used to hang out with the same people. He had always thought you had been in his universe, like a satellite, and had always taken your presence for granted, without ever considering he could be the planet on the margin of a totally different galaxy you shined in. Pierre was so intimately envious of a past you didn’t allow him in, and his only way to cope was making sure he could be your only future. «Not at all.» The fastest flicker of his eyes down to your lips was the warning, which you took in with delight: and Pierre was all over you, dragging you into his lighthearted desires and plans, igniting a shy flattering shade beneath your cheeks.

Pierre had insisted on entering the paddock hand in hand; in return, you had insisted on giving your right hand, standing on his left side. He had frowned just enough for you to capture it, not able to understand your request. «As you wish.» But you knew why: and your thumb gently stroking his wedding ring knew as well. Unexplainable excitement was the first feeling which had insinuated in you as you put foot past the turnstiles: Pierre had reminded you quite a few cameras would be following you in a bee line right around you. You were too happy to care, in your first outing as a married woman. As a married couple.

«Oh, hello to the royal couple!» You couldn’t stop yourself from eye-rolling at Charles’ comment, drinking Pierre’s laugh like a shot of bliss. «What, are you jealous?» They laughed and joked around, giving friendly pats to each other, while you watched them with a grin plastered on your face, enjoying the luck of spending time with people you loved. So many things had changed, but it still felt like you were still sixteen, walking without destination in group, young and careless, emptying your pockets full of dreams and using them as currency of exchange between each other. «Catch up with you later, I’ve got a meeting now!» «See you later!» you waved at Charles, as Pierre greeted him.

Entering Alpine’s hospitality you squeezed Pierre’s hand in fright: out of the blue, a deafening clapping concert made your heart fly across the room, as mechanics, engineers and other people from the staff celebrated you two. Pierre looked down at you, curious to see your reaction, still infected by the serene and uplifted atmosphere, swimming in delight as soon as your eyes clicked with his and saw you flattered. There was a bit of pride in showing you off like a trophy, proving everybody wrong with the assumption he’d never settle down and never find the one. Well, he didn’t really choose you out of love. But nobody was meant to know that.

«Congratulations, mate.» The voice reaching from behind your back made you turn, despite it being directed at Pierre. Your eyes flew high to Esteban’s face, enlarging in surprise: he wasn’t looking down at you, caught in the weirdly friendly interaction with your husband. But as soon as Pierre was dragged into pats and hugs by team members, you were left with a whole bag of memories and discarded feelings coming back to the surface, standing still next to someone you once knew. «It’s like the old times, isn’t it?» he casually said, as you both stared at the packed room, side by side. «No, Esteban. Everything changed.» Bittersweetly shoving your left hand before his face to make a definite statement, he carefully grabbed it and brushed your ring with the thumb, taking a close look. «I don’t believe so.» he let go of your hand, smiling politely. «What are you talking about?» you asked, kind of annoyed. «You still think you have Pierre all to yourself when we know nobody does.» «Don’t… don’t you dare talk crap about him in my presence. You know nothing.» Staring into the void, you tried to stay calm and collected, swallowing the phantoms of the past. «I respect that. But I just wanted to remind you of when you were the one talking crap about him in my presence.» «That was years ag-» «And I was there to listen to you.» You dropped the accusatory finger you had brought dangerously near his chest, mind invaded by guilt and yellowed pages of life. «I’ll still be here for you when Pierre messes up again.» «He won’t, Este.» «We’ll see.» he shrugged, glancing back at the room. «But I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have, and I know he is no easy character.» «I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you’re trying to do.» you raised a brow, skeptical. «I simply wanted to wish you good luck.» Esteban’s impassive tone left you with the urge of replying: as much as you were filled with doubts and fears, you somehow trusted Pierre and his promises and wouldn’t bear anyone implying stuff. Especially Esteban. Because, to a degree, he knew the situation better than any other. His eyes, that despicable spark of mischief, anger and regret inside of them told you things you didn’t want to hear. «The staff would like to get to know my wife if only my teammate would let her be.» Pierre’s amused interruption startled you, almost feeling caught red-handed with the most terrible crime: talking to a guy he trusted and had grown to hate over time. «Sorry, Pierre! My fault. I was… keeping up with the Gasly’s.» The awkwardness and the tension of the moment didn’t go unnoticed to any of you, and you mentally thanked Pierre’s hand resting on your waist, slowly guiding you away from Esteban, who still stared at you with a small courtesy smile. «We’ll have to bear his presence, I know. Trust me, if I could, I’d rather have him on the other side of the planet.» Pierre sighed defeated while whispering those apologies laced with hatred in your ear and a pang of nostalgia, guilt, sorrow pushed you a little closer to him. «He’s not a problem, Pierre. We know how to be civil.» He looked at you, faking amazement at your reply, nodding his head with raised brows. «You’re more mature than I thought.» «More mature than you are? For sure.» You expected him to laugh; instead, he grinned in silence, a strange sparkle wobbling in his irises. A part of you clung onto it, wishing it was a veil of tenderness, affection, or anything like it towards you. For a moment, you held the hope in your hands, and you carefully caressed it, cherished it, making room in your heart to plant it and nurture it there, as if that single twinkle could ever be the seed of love.

>>♥<<

Baku’s street didn’t seem as bumpy to Pierre, now that he was walking on it with a small group of engineers; the main straight heading to the finishing line seemed unnecessarily long, especially since he had just travelled the entire track and had the pitlane as destination. Left with nothing else to discuss with his team, he enjoyed the sun setting and painting the city gold, taking it easy and slow. «Pierre!» The Frenchman turned around and immediately grinned wide, waving to Charles jogging to him. «Track walk? Thought I’d see you speeding riding a bike.» Charles chuckled, adjusting his jingling bracelets. «I wanted to enjoy the atmosphere better.» «Yeah, me too.» They strolled pensive, no rush to be drowned by the buzzing life of the paddock. «I can’t believe it.» Pierre looked at his friend, who had a pleased grin painted and hung by his dimples. «What?» «This is your first race weekend married. And I was your best man. Isn’t it crazy?» «Time flies, Charles.» Pierre scoffed with a smile. «I saw you celebrated in the hospitality, earlier.»

As Pierre narrated the small party the team had organized to Charles’ ecstatic eyes, his thoughts lingered on you, on the myriads of unexpected congratulations he had received for choosing such a kind and fine woman and making her his. Though, there were moments he felt like he was just above an acquaintance to you. Pierre sighed. «What was that?» Charles asked. «Sometimes I think I don’t really know y/n. Not as much as I should, I mean.» «You do know her, though. You’ve been hanging out together since high school.» «Charles, I don’t even know who her first boyfriend was.» Pierre’s pinch of helplessness caught Charles by surprise, reciprocating his sudden stare with bewilderment. «Did- I didn’t even know she’s had a boyfriend.» the Monegasque stuttered. Pierre looked down at the asphalt. «Hoped you did. But you see? We don’t really know her.» «Well… You’re married now. You have all your life to get to know her.» Charles put his arm around Pierre’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging look. «Yep. That’s my best man right there!» Pierre reciprocated the grab and smiled as the two of them walked down into the pitlane, serving friendly smiles and beautiful shots to the photographers buzzing around the garages.

>>♥<<

«Hello?» «Uhm, am I disturbing you?» «Yes, absolutely. But I’m going to be the nicest just for you.» «Thanks for the usual teasing, Charles.» «What’s up?» «I… I’m deeply embarrassed, but I think I’m lost. I can’t find the way to the track.» «Never heard of Google Maps?» «I’ve tried, but I ended up exactly back at the hotel.» «Ooof. There’s actually someone out there who’s worse than me then.» «Ah, I wouldn’t have called you if Pierre wasn’t busy.» «Can’t I be busy as well?» «Cha’…» «I’m just joking. Are you at the hotel?» «Yep.» «’M on my way.»

The bubbly air of that Saturday morning brushed your bare arms, anticipating the warmth falling onto the grey asphalt, as you walked quickly alongside Charles, trying not to get stopped by fans too many times. «Why didn’t you come to the track with him?» «I think he tried to wake me up, but I… uhm… fell asleep.» «It’s incurable, right?» You both chuckled, still marching towards the paddock. «How is it going?» «Uh?» «With Pierre.» A horn startled you, while Charles waved towards the Tifosi on the other side of the street and smiled under his Rayban’s. «Good! I mean, way better than I thought.» Charles studied your expression, letting your own statement sink in. «You know, I talked with him yesterday. He asked me if I knew who your first boyfriend was.» «Did you tell him?!» you gasped. «Of course not, I’m not that mad.» he looked straight ahead. «But he seemed somehow disappointed. He really wants to know you on a deeper level.» «And tell him about my hookups as he did with us? No, thanks.» «Not necessarily about past relationships. There are so many things you could rediscover now as a couple, and he’d like to. He… he cares. Pierre isn’t the asshole you believe him to be.» «You know my reasons, Charles.» «I do, y/n. But I also know Pierre, and I’ve never seen him as determined and serious in any other relationship before.» A doubtful glance at him turned into an amused snort, as you saw Charles’ dimples already exposed for you to admire. «I should give him a chance, uh?» you joked, kicking a pebble. «Yeah, you definitely should.» «I hate you.» «What’s that for?» Charles chuckled. «You’re too convincing.» «Maybe you only wanted to hear someone else’s confirmation.» You took a moment to reflect, still looking at his green eyes, letting the sentence resonate inside of you. Perhaps you had only been waiting for a sensible reasoning to justify the senseless, self-destructive and visceral need of trying to build a stronger relationship with Pierre.

>>♥<<

Crossing the room, hands intertwined with yours, Pierre felt alert, almost knowing something about bringing you along to that small reception organized for commercial reasons only was intrinsically wrong. Until he spotted a pair of brown eyes lingering way too long on the fine straps grazing your shoulders’ skin. Esteban’s. Despite the years, despite trying, despite the countless shots he had given to their relationship, Pierre couldn’t let go of hatred: the memories of the three of you in the same couple of meters, in the same suffocating room were still a fresh wound which had reopened once more. Unaware of anything, you reciprocated with a reassuring smile Pierre’s tighter hold on your hand, an enquiring look on your face. He expected you to stiffen at Ocon’s mere sight; instead, you stood like a fragile yet flexible flower against the blowing wind, only caring about being… as marvellous as you were. Pierre had been learning it to his disadvantage each day a tiny bit more, trying not to read too much into your rosy cheeks and your fond, unmistakable stares. The delicacy and the grace you would use with others any time you got the chance to talk with people from the team, the paddock, the entire world, really, hit him in an unknown spot of the soul. Probably as hard as Ocon approaching the two of you with a champagne glass in hand did on his nerves. «Didn’t expect to see you here.» Esteban said, only addressing you. Chewing a lump of awkwardness, you threw the quickest glance over to Pierre to check his reaction after being deliberately ignored by his teammate. «Here I am.» you whispered, pressing your lips together with an embarrassed smile. «Wasn’t I clear enough when I told you to stay away from her?» A lightning struck the room. The bitterness in Pierre’s tone triggered a light-hearted laugh from Esteban, theatrically opening the arm and letting the small wave of champagne wash the resentments of the past away. «Come on, Pierre! How many years passed? We aren’t teenagers anymore.» His fingers grabbed your hand tighter, restraining himself from spitting words of fire against his former teammate once again: the bottled-up anger, though, had resurfaced much to Pierre’s surprise, and to yours as well, pressing the button “play” on the reruns of the day their entire relationship crumbled.

No matter what you could’ve done to avoid it, Pierre and Esteban were born to disagree. Nobody could stop that tickling bomb hiding in both their chests as soon as they would spend enough time together to let it explode. Even without you, they would’ve nurtured antipathy for each other; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it. Nestling against Pierre’s loving arms draping you all, you stared at an indefinite point of the packed, but still empty, room. «Do you think it’s my fault?» Pierre placed his chin on your shoulder to listen to your whispered rumbling, joining you in the contemplation of the void. «No, I don’t. He was a douchebag even before treating you the way he did.» It didn’t seem like he was lying, to be fair. You knew very little about the stormy past between the two, since you had met Esteban way later than you had befriended Pierre; he had never told you a thing about a terrible kid who grew up with like a brother and then discarded him due to insane competitiveness. Esteban was dead to him. A Mr. Nobody existing without any string to his life but hate and resentment’s. Unspoken truth, they both liked you and cared for you in very different ways, so it was only natural for them to notice each other’s evident preference for you and clash because of it; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it, deep deep down. «Can we please forget about him?» The careful urge of the sentence was paired with a swift brush of his hands taking yours, silently asking you to dance to the music now blasting through some speakers in the room. Maybe lightness was all you both needed to be happy.

Singapore’s humidity clung onto your lungs like a suffocating net, twirled around your trachea, squeezing it tight. With an invisible layer of sweat all over your skin, heat as well as worries and doubts made you melt before the evidence, before reality. Two weeks and you had already become a ghost. Imprisoned in the highest tower of the lies’ castle, your honeymoon had turned into a tour around the globe inside a golden cage: everybody saw you as the “trophy-wife”, a peculiar and exotic animal stupid enough to bear Pierre’s company, showed left and right, avidly and superficially looked at, never considered as a real person.

Any time Pierre would come home from unbelievably long training sessions and meetings of all sorts, you didn’t even have the strength to start an argument and cry your loneliness out. He’d absent-mindedly kiss your cheek, go take a shower and leave you to your unfinished essay draft sitting in the dust of your laptop’s memory. Eating some take-out he’d leave you choosing in religious silence, punctuated with brief chat, you’d often watch a movie on the couch: staring blankly at the screen, you’d focus on how foreign the touch of his arm around your shoulder would feel. An afterthought, quick enough to disturb the turbulence of your headspace. I simply wanted to wish you good luck. Luck. It would’ve never been out of love, but out of pure chance. As if Pierre could never learn to love anyone. Still, admitting to yourself Esteban was right would’ve been an unnecessary added humiliation. «We’re too slow in the middle sector, I’m understeering everywhere…» It was a secret you wanted to keep buried in your chest. «But you gain in the last sector, you see? Our top speed is good.» Not being reciprocated. An ineffable hurt. You miserably looked at your husband debriefing intensely with his performance engineer, standing at the back of the garage so that you wouldn’t be in the way of the many mechanics working around the car. Envious, you fixed your gaze upon the fan Pierre held in his hand, still busy talking and pointing at data on the screen. The air felt too thick to be breathed in, too dense to slide down your lungs and swoop your dark thoughts away. You had agreed to be his wife, due to the endless love you had. But what if he let that love slowly wither and die? What if you could grow out of love? What if finally having him was enough for you to become indifferent? What if neither of you could remain loyal to the promises you vowed?

Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes shooing the sudden dizziness away; and at the very same time, you felt a gentle weight lingering on your right shoulder, asking quietly for permission. You opened your eyes, obliged to wide them as soon as you saw it was Esteban. «Here, drink this.» A water bottle was handed to you, still struck by the soft eyes and the attention being addressed to you. «It’s electrolytes. With this weather I always make sure to keep hydrated, since it’s easy to lose liquids and mineral salts as well.» A thousand questions ran through your mind, to the point Esteban could almost see them being scattered from one pupil to the other. He invited you to drink once again, poking pride sitting in his chest as he had noticed you being in discomfort first. First than… him. The quick glance Pierre gave the two of you was enough to stir up even stronger satisfaction, a lovely victory in the endless mind-war they fought. «Thank you.» It came out stifled, high-pitched, a bit squeaky, but somehow filled with unexpected sadness. Pierre crossed the garage in a couple of strides, wearing a mask of concern you couldn’t read the authenticity of, shielding you with his body from the unwanted attention Esteban had provided you with. «Are you okay? You could’ve told me you were thirsty.» «Pierre, I’m fine.» you told him off, almost whispering. He darted a glance at his teammate once again as soon as his hand reached yours to grab the water bottle back, willing to take off the hideous smile he wore on his face. Lots of eyes inside the garage had observed the scene in silence, still glancing over you, as Pierre’s attentions and barely noticeable physical touch felt all too much to bear at once. You would’ve died for it, only a couple of months earlier. If only the wedding weren’t a well-thought plan, a pact between family friends, a tie nobody but you craved intimately and deeply because of the loving, totally disregarding the real practical reasons behind it. Ocon’s silhouette being drowned in his side of the garage made your mind slip back into the past, unboxing a metallic box of memories you had buried six feet underground.

Disappointed. The disapproval you had read in Pierre’s face right as you showed up to the club next to the “new friend” you wanted to be joining your historical trio had your heart shattering like a glass of wine from a polished tablecloth, painting the floor in red diamonds. Pierre had dragged you in the middle of the dancing crowd, leaving Esteban hanging at the entrance before a confused Charles. «Why did you bring him here?!» «He’s… I wanted to introduce him to you and Cha’!» you yelled, in order to be heard amidst the chaos. «I know him already, and he’s an asshole. Now tell him to leave! I don’t want him anywhere near me!» «You can’t force anyone to leave a public place! And… And I want to spend time with all of you.» He bored his eyes into yours, letting the blasting music take over your thoughts. «I’m not hanging out with you if you buzz around him.» It was definitive. «Call me when you’re done wasting time with that piece of shit.» Giving you his back, you saw him dive into the sea of people, to find and rapidly grab the waist of the brunette who had accompanied him to the party; he didn’t even bother to be far enough so that you wouldn’t see him shove his tongue down her throat, a tangle of hands messily roaming, touching, squeezing yearning skin. Este’s hand softly intertwining yours guided you towards a quiet table, to which Charles sat waiting, with drinks for the three of you; and as much as you would’ve liked to be grateful for Charles’ delighted stare, for Esteban’s soothing words, your heart still drowned in bubbles at the bottom of your cocktail. He’s my boyfriend. Those were the words you were about to say at the door of the club, to Pierre. You had already anticipated the sweetness of the moment, the satisfaction in proving you weren’t his little puppy, a slave rebelled to the master showing him the jingling keys which had freed him. The mere need to prove him anything was the undeniable sign of slavery. You’d never be free.

>>☆<<

«Are you sure?» «Yeah…» «Here? Don’t you want to go-» You shut Esteban up pressing your lips on his, carrying on the messy make out session you had started in the club’s bathroom. «Y/n, are you really sure?» The kiss was interrupted once again, leaving you with an unbearable, unsatisfied yearn making your heart swell and explode in ashes of frustration. «Don’t you love me, Este?» you whined, your fingertip dragging his bottom lip down in the drunken attempt to seduce him even further. Of course he loved you. He had agreed to take your virginity away as you leaned your back onto a bathroom’s door, during the most boring and miserable of nights out, accepting to be humiliated by Pierre in front of you, his own girlfriend, and dancing awkwardly in the crowd before you dragged him there to pour out the unexplainable need of getting your brain fucked out. Esteban loved you purely, too purely, to be fair: he felt like a noob and inexpert, an amateur he was not, while listening to your heavenly choir of whimpers and profanities, with his fingers gripping tight your hips, as not to lose you. Deep down he knew he should’ve been satisfied and content, he should’ve enjoyed that piece of pleasure and love – but was it love to you? Esteban wasn’t quite sure – because he had managed to snatch you away from Pierre’s clutch, he had laid his hand onto someone he hadn’t had already: he had won where Pierre had lost. Still, thrusting into you as waves of pleasure rocked your body and transfigured your expression, Esteban only felt like he had lost you, indeed, like he had never truly had you, not even physically. And when your warm hand caressed his cheek, he got the confirmation: you pitied him, because no matter how bold the “boyfriend” tag could be, your heart could only crave, think of and wish Pierre.

The break-up was, nonetheless, harmful. After damning yourself, considering how nice and kind Esteban was to you, how sweet some of the moments you had spent together had been, you had come to the conclusion that no other feeling in the world could replace or overshadow the consuming love you felt for Pierre. You didn’t need it to be easy and satisfying; as hurtful as it could be, you only needed him. And to his own dismay, Esteban knew it.

«Can you drop me off at that bar over there?» you pointed at the end of the street. «Why?» «I simply need to hand this to Pie-» «Oh, no, just save it. I should’ve known.» You frowned, looking at his tensed arms. «Is there something wrong?» He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel ‘til his knuckles turned white. «Absolutely not! My girlfriend only runs after another guy who also happens to be a moron and doesn’t give a shit about her while I’m being the third wheeler to my own relationship!» Esteban harshly braked in front of the bar. «Y/n, we’re done.» «What?» you gaped, still stunned by the whole conversation. «I don’t want to be with you anymore. Now get out of the car.» Beyond bewildered, you searched for sincerity and honesty in the brown chocolate eyes you had often lost yourself into, stung by hurt as you found them. «Are you seriously breaking up with me for this? I just need to return this hoodie to him!» Esteban’s eyes bore yours outraged, almost incredulous to your words. «Can’t you see the problem? Can’t you notice how you’re chasing after him and are not willing to treat me nearly the same as you treat him? You share clothes with him and you’ve never even asked once for my hoodies!» «Did you want me to?» «That’s not the point, y/n! The fact is it seems like I never cross your mind, whereas Pierre is always in your thoughts. Sorry, but I can’t bear to see you love him more than you love me. I can’t do this anymore.» Gasping for air and for words, you found none: you witnessed helpless as Esteban got out of his seat and reached to your side to open the car door and invite you once again to get out. «Y/n, don’t force me to be drastic. Come on.» «You’re being nonsense! Este, please, you can’t do this!»

Watching your first relationship crumble under the weight of painful lies, you desperately held onto the car door, despite Esteban’s hand trapping your wrist, firm. «Y/n, I told you to get out.» As you pleaded him, whispering “sorry”s like prayers, few tears pricked your eyes, which seemed to sort the opposite effect of what you had hoped for. Esteban, blinded by hurt and rejection, pulled your wrist towards him in an attempt to drag you out the car, and as an unconditional reflex you cried out to him, a tear cutting through your cheek. «Este, please… Please, don’t do this to me!» «You didn’t care about hurting me, why should I care about hurting you?» As he spitted out these words, scornful, he managed to pull you out the car with a jerk, eliciting a chain of heavy tears to reach the ground, which blurred your vision. Esteban was still talking to you, wrist aching to be freed underneath his hold of steel, but your mind refused to make sense of any of the insults directed at you, as much as your eyes couldn’t clearly distinguish his angry face. You had stopped fighting him, though, surrendered to the sad truth he had unveiled despite you trying to cover it up. A truth made of lies. Exposed to your own blade, humiliated and full of regret, you stood still, frozen, incapable to react. And it was then that you saw Esteban’s body being crashed violently onto the chassis of his car with a loud thud. Your wrist was suddenly snatched from the grab, and you swiped some tears to witness clearly the scene unfolding before you. Pierre holding Esteban by the collar. Pierre was shouting onto his face, unleashing his fury, barking his disgust and hatred; and though you and him both expected some sort of reaction from Esteban, you both watched him stay silent at the accusations. «Don’t ever touch her again! Don’t you even try to show up again, understood? Go fuck yourself and stay away from us!» Pierre shouted, putting a protective arm around your neck and bringing you close. But he couldn’t protect you from those brown eyes, which swallowed down the secrets you weren’t ready to share with Pierre. Esteban judged you in the harshest way possible: leaving you to your own conscience. «It’s okay, now. You don’t have to cry anymore.» Pierre wiped your face off, pulling your head to him for his chin to rest upon, rubbing your back with his hand, as you watched Esteban get back in the car and disappear in a cloud of smoke. «He won’t bother us anymore, I promise. You’re safe, with me.» What a paradox: safe in your captor’s arms.

You let yourself be cradled by Pierre’s honey-laced reassurances, trying to digest the shock of the whole situation bit by bit, failing not to feel sorry for having deceived Esteban and yourself. You had believed you loved him; which wasn’t and could never be true. And the awareness weighed on your chest even heavier while being held in Pierre’s arms.

HOT NEWS: Alpine’s driver Pierre Gasly is told to had been seen very intimately close to another woman during a formal gathering with top sponsors of the team. Has the recent marriage with y/n cracked already?

𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛.

>> 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 “𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕”. 𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕... N𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖’𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜… 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍: 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢? 𝙸𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎’𝚜.

Paralyzed on the spot, you let the phone gently thud against the kitchen counter. It was nothing you didn’t expect to happen to you; you had lived through it even before whispering with soft eyes “I do” at the altar, when you used to scroll his Instagram picture-perfect shots with his girlfriends, but the timing he had chosen was way off your forecast. The thunderstorm had darkened your sky too early. You hadn’t seen it coming, you hadn’t heard a single roar of the wind in the distance. Nothing. Pierre had given you nothing either to hate or to love. Somehow, a small part of you felt sickly relief in knowing you could finally turn your eternal suspicion into hatred: you wished you could mold it in shape, form sentences to dagger him with, cries to let out your throat with violence. Nothing came. Nothing.

You stood by the counter as you let the bloody red liquid boil into the pan; staring at it, you absentmindedly kept stirring the sauce, not able to do anything else. Your ringtone blasted through the empty kitchen and it pierced your ears unexpected, instilling in your nerves a hit of anxiety which caused your hand to hit the pan; it dropped inevitably off the stove, collapsed to the ground, poured its vermilion content on the luminous tiles. Dodging quickly enough not to have the pan falling on your feet, still hearing your phone ringing, your chest benched inward with a deep, exasperated sob, sharply taking in air to fill your shaky body with. Waves of tears ran down your eyes, arms still half-hanging in the void, as if you waited for someone to pick you up and nail you to a cross, to cease your unsubduable sense of betrayal. It all crushed down on you, eyes closed, stilling liquid sadness, which ricocheted between the walls of the emptiest and loneliest flat in the world. The phone stopped ringing. It seemed to calm you down at first; the silence left you with curiosity to see if the nightmare was over, opening your eyes back to the disastrous sauce on the floor, which was supposed to be ready for dinner. With caution, your trembling fingers grabbed the phone from the marble counter, and you jumped on your feet as it started buzzing and ringing against your skin once again. A name appeared, impressed on your retina. You couldn’t help but suffocate a sob: the grab on the phone tightened together with the clench wrenching your heart, making it as small as a crumble.

>>♥<<

«Charles…» He didn’t hesitate to take in your wandering hands, flinging towards him and holding onto his shirt. Right as he had read the news, he had reached out to you: for he had witnessed you breaking down because of Pierre too many times not to know you would, eventually, need a leaning shoulder. He wore the friend’s armor with the usual embarrassment of being both friend to you and to Pierre; he was used to balancing between two sides, trying not to pick one, working as a bridge to keep you walking in the same direction. Charles always felt helpless before your broken heart: he knew Pierre and how he would’ve never done anything to hurt you, but still, he had, undoubtedly, and there was no defense Charles himself could put up. Especially if he had you weeping and sobbing in his arms, so painfully close to his heart. «I can’t do this anymore, Charles.» «I know, y/n. I know.» He swallowed hard, caressing your hair, searching for comforting words even though he was damn aware there were none. «W-why? Where did I go wrong?» Charles’s heart panged at your words: he immediately took your face in his hands, wiped tears off it with both thumbs and silently hoped to find an answer. The truth is he hadn’t a single one of them. Glancing at you, Charles wished he hadn’t been excited and bubbly about the marriage as he had been; he had nurtured so much joy, watching the relationship timidly sail the month before the wedding. He had pictured you and Pierre being the couple everyone would envy, perhaps even building a family together. He had got enamored with the way your wedding dress fitted you, how the golden ring adorning your hand had lit up your smile and your complexion even more, how every piece seemed to be finally falling into place.

In a few weeks’ time, he had witnessed the cast away of hopes. Charles wanted to tell you Pierre would’ve never done anything like it, he would’ve sworn it, if only facts didn’t force him to question everything he presumed to be sure of. «I know you’ll hate me for it, but…» he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear, «…we should know exactly what happened before judging him so harshly.» «Charles! Do you think I really want to know the details?» your chin twitched. «I don’t need to know where… how… and since when they started fucking.» Shaking your head while picturing the atrocious scenes in your head, you put a hand on your forehead, face dropping down, incapable of tolerating Charles’ eyes boring into yours with an awful mixture of pity and sorrow. «It disgusts me.» you said, even feeling your stomach upset. Charles watched you spit out hatred as he rubbed a hand on your upper arm, slightly squeezing it in reassurance. He was friend with both of you and wasn’t keen on the idea of losing either, nor choosing where to stand. Somehow, he couldn’t pick a side. «Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve to be loved?» Charles looked at you sternly, almost scolding you for such a question. «No doubts you do.» he said, definitive. «But Pierre knows that too. Before being his wife, you’re his friend.» He placed his firm hands on both your arms, searching for eye contact as he kept addressing you with a gentle tone. «He’s always loved you and respected you, even if it might have been hard to notice.» «He’s never going to love me… He never will.»

You both stood in the hall of Charles’ suite: the silence wrapping the luxury furniture was punctuated by your quiet sobs, your shaking breath, the strenuous beating of your heart. The air was warm; it flushed your cheeks and Charles’ as well. After a more attentive look, his green eyes seemed dull and tired. The night was already projecting its dark shadow onto the sky, and it was the sign which put your soul into a state of guilt: right after Charles had called you, you had run to him without a single worry of disturbing him. You had left a mess in the kitchen. You hadn’t prepared the dinner Pierre had asked you for, like the perfect lovely wife you had been up until that moment would request you to. As much as you could try to hate him, a solid and unbreakable part of you held onto the hopeless love of him, never ending source of suffering, yet inevitable. At the thought of your condemnation, you sobbed and cried a little louder, pulling Charles’s shirt near you, defeated, exhausted, distraught.

>>♥<<

The quiet sound of clinking metal timidly reached you and awoke you; you stirred, onto the couch, feeling a bit sore from sleeping all night in the same position, cranked. The sun filtered through the curtains, lighting your cheek right as you got seated. The room seemed to wheel ‘round you, on and on: thoughts started racing the new circuit of your mind, lap after lap, causing you to shut your eyes and block the incessant flow which was making you dizzy. Putting memories in order, you recalled the events. You had spent the night at Charles’ place: he had offered you to sleep in his bed, but you had decided not to profit of his generosity. In the quiet darkness of the suite, you had thrown your phone on the carpet, nestling against the squared pillow, shying away any thought concerning Pierre. But you had failed and wondered, haunted, if he might have been searched for you. After all, you weren’t home, when he clearly expected you to be there. He might have noticed. Or maybe not. Perhaps he had been taken care of by that daddy’s girl; maybe he had left you a text saying he wasn’t coming home either, leaving you wasted and rotten together with your nicely cooked dinner. If only there was a dinner to see rotting ; the red liquid crusting on the kitchen tiles printed on your mind like a crime scene you wanted to forget. The idea of your house being empty crashed your insides and twisted them in helpless disappointment. Still sitting, you eyed the phone, lying backwards on the floor, turned off since last night. What was the point of switching it back only to be flooded with more rumors you would never be ready to face?

You then finally stood up in the middle of the living area, looking around you like a stranger, and followed the noise coming from the small kitchen. There you found Charles, jogging around the counters, attempting to cook. You checked the time on the clock hung up on the wall: Monday, 1:12 p.m. «Oh, finally! Good morning!» Charles chirped, interrupting the trance status you had swamped into. «Good morning. Are you cooking lunch?» you asked, getting closer to the stove. «Yep! Some pasta with pesto for lunch!» You gulped at the mention of food. «I just woke up, Charles… I don’t know if I want to eat so much for breakfast.» «I’m sure you’re going to be hungry as soon as you see my delicious plate.» he chuckled, right before quickly removing the lid to the pan which was about to overflow in white bubbles. Done with stirring up the water, he turned towards you, who were already seated at the table, and leaned his palms onto the marble behind him. «How do you feel?» he asked. You rubbed your temple. «Tired.» Charles sighed. «You should’ve slept in my bed and let me take the couch as I-» «I’m not tired physically, Cha’. I slept quite good.» He nodded to himself in silence, looking down. «I see.» You drowned in the white noise of the pan boiling and the kitchen fan filling the otherwise dead silence, mentally visualizing the blurry picture you had been shocked by. The dizziness grew stronger and a large, deep pit in your stomach opened like a black hole swallowing your feelings. «I’ll talk to him about it as soon as I see him.» You heard Charles’ voice, but didn’t listen, as the cooking water roaring against the steel was the sound you had tuned into, and it grew louder and louder, almost unbearable to your focused hearing. With a quick glance, you saw the white foam resurfacing behind Charle’s silhouette. «Charles, the pan!» you urged. «Oh, fuck!»

>>♥<<

You stared at the plate, keeping it at a distance ahead of you with your fingertips, listening to Charles’ chewing, which never seemed that loud. The chewing stopped, together with his fork clinking against the ceramic, and you felt his eyes fixed upon you. «You need to eat something, y/n.» «Sorry, Charles, I have a messed-up stomach… After all the things I read…» «I know, but please, just have a few bites.» Charles gently pushed the plate back near you. «I can’t see you like this.» It was meant to be an unheard thought, just above a whisper, but the kitchen was so silent you could listen to his breathing. The shining fork on the tablecloth, a small piece of penne pierced; half a bite. Eyes closed, and Pierre was still there. Maybe he hadn’t even texted you: he hadn’t wondered about you at all, but left without warning, completely indifferent to your absence. The invisible wall built brick after brick in the last two weeks suddenly turned gray and heavy, painfully present. Pierre would never love you. The fork crashed against the plate, hand covering your mouth; Charles raised his eyes and stopped his every movement to observe you once again. He saw you hesitantly get up from the chair, quite unsure about what was going on, until the air punched your stomach and caused it to fling upwards, together with all its content. With no time to reach the bathroom, panic building in your chest, you abruptly turned towards the sink behind you, fingers unable to stop the wave climbing up your throat.

Charles got up, as you intended hearing his chair screeching. Not quite sure about what was happening, he first let his arms raise up a bit only to be lowered back down, helpless, indecisive, confused; then he got near you, pulling your hair out of the way, trying not to feel grossed out by the scene. «’m sorry…» you mumbled, breathing through your nausea, hoping the worst had passed. «Are you okay?» he rushed. You shook your head in denial. «Y/n, what’s up?» Your marriage was in shambles after a couple of weeks only and an insufferable urge of hiding from the entire world pulsed like a drill in your head. «I don’t know, but I’ve kind of been feeling sick the last couple of days.» «Are you ill?» Charles sighed, sorry. To think he was lying in somebody’s arms, cuddling in someone else’s warm touch, careless enough to forget about your existence and your feelings, your ego so easily, paired up with the sudden shock and horror of throwing up in front of Charles, put you in the worst state of anxiety and despair. Then, the realization. A sly thought, slithering tantalizingly amidst your scattered mind. What if…? You gripped the counter so hard your knuckles turned pale, washed out, eyes wide opened and bewildered, in fright and disbelief. Your heart ran wild, as your thoughts did, while a sigh of hysteria and awareness triggered your cry.

Charles, who had opened the tap in the meantime and had handed you a piece of paper towel to clean yourself up, slowly put down his hand and frowned, disturbed by how exasperated you sounded. «Please, please, it cannot be… It can’t be true.» you chanted low and quick, but slow and high enough in tone for Charles to understand your words. «What can’t be?» Charles asked, searching for your attention and your eyes through your erratic movements: you rinsed your mouth with water, closed the tap and swiftly dried your face with the piece of paper he was still holding. You stared at him intensely, as much as he did: he immediately read the fear overwhelming you, but still failed to see the reason, which you hoped to be able to communicate without giving it form with words. A couple of seconds were shared in that exchange of terrified glances; and before he was able to say anything else, Charles looked at you pacing quickly to the couch, raising all the pillows in search of something. «Where’s my purse?» you asked, frenzy. «I- I don’t know!» «Did you see my wallet at least?!» You picked up your phone from the ground and pressed in hurry the switching on button, cursing as it took an insufferable amount of time to turn on. Charles stepped right behind you, glancing left and right, pondering your request quickly. «What do you need money for?» Charles shouted, set in panic by your erratic behaviour. With a swift turn, you stared at him once more, eaten alive by anxiety. «A pregnancy test.» You could hear his soundless breath of surprise as he left his mouth ajar, as well as his brain’s gears in motion, getting a grip of the situation. «You… You two…» You gave Charles a regretful and desperate stare, pleading him with your eyes not to judge you harshly for falling into Pierre’s trap, chin twitching, tears pricking your eyes. «It was our wedding night. I just… I just wanted to be happy.»

You broke down in tears before you could end the sentence, covering the face and the shame it displayed with your hands. Charles froze, trying to clear his mind and think of the next step he should take; your cries, though, only distracted him from doing so. «Y/n, hey, come here.» He carefully engulfed you in a hug, shushing you, in an attempt to calm you down. «I’m going to buy a test now, okay? Stay here, sit on the couch and relax. I’ll come back in a second.» The lightweight kiss he pressed onto your head as you plopped down onto the sofa, spent, felt distant and muffled, as much as the door closing shut behind his hurried figure. You stared into the void, replaying the night of the forbidden love over and over again, in search of any possible mistake you two made, to no avail: you had been so enchanted by Pierre and buzzed in bliss that the rerun became fader and fader, the memory even more distant, as if it were a mere fruit of imagination, as if you and Pierre had never been happy together. Before you could realize it, Charles was already flinging the door back open, pouring the content of the whitish plastic bag onto the table, unwrapping the test and placing it in your hand, closing your fingers shut around it.

«Okay, so… It says to hold the stick downwards, so maybe it’s better if we use a cup or something.» Charles opened a cabinet of the bathroom and took out a plastic cup, which he handed to you. «"If testing early, use first urine of the day"… Well, that’s perfect, because you’ve just woken up! “Don’t drink lots of liquid”, done as well… I think we’re good to go.» Sniffing, you stared at Charles, in wait. «W-why are you looking at me like that?» he nervously chuckled. «I need to pee.» «Right!» He immediately rushed out of the bathroom, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.

He leaned against the door, impatiently waiting for you to signal to him to enter back again, which you didn’t. After a couple of minutes, Charles knocked, not able to bear any more silence. «Y/n? Can I come in now?» No answer. Charles put his ear against the varnished wood, trying to capture any sound, knocking once again. He got startled by a sudden yelp echoing from inside the bathroom. «Y/n?» Charles was about to put his hand on the knob, when he heard the lock being sealed under his helplessly slow fingers, which vainly tested the knob in a rush, too late. «Y/n? Please, open the door!» As if it weren’t enough, his phone started ringing and buzzing in his pocket: moving a couple of steps away from the door with a loud sigh, he was struck by the caller. «Pierre?» His name pierced your ears like the tick of a bomb: the pregnancy test in your trembling fingers, you bore your stare into the bright lines signalling the positivity of it. A child. Pierre had just cheated on you and, of all the moments, the pregnancy news had sprung at the most inconvenient time. «Have you heard from y/n? Do you know where she is? I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but she doesn’t answer.» «Yes, she is…» Charles swallowed hard and glanced at the wooden door, still perfectly closed and sealed. «She’s here with me, at my place.» «Oh, thank God. How is she?» «What?» Charles almost choked at Pierre’s enquiry. The thought of your benching figure throwing up in his sink was still vivid and his shirt was somehow slightly damp and stretched. Pierre sighed. «She trusted the news, I suppose…» Charles’ end fell silent for seconds, in which he stared at the door opening and showing your silhouette marked with tears, emotionless, holding the pregnancy test upwards so that he saw the result right as you stepped close to him. «I’m coming over. Don’t let her go, okay? See you soon.» Pierre concluded, impatient. «Bye.» You both stood in silence, thoughts taking over the room. «How can I raise a baby without a father?» The sudden question melted Charles’ heart. «Y/n, it’s going to have a father: Pierre would never leave you alone, even if you two weren’t married and the child weren’t his.» «But I don’t need him as an uncle, I need him as a father and a husband who’s present and loves us both!» To that, Charles couldn’t answer anything: he couldn’t swear Pierre’s love for you, it wasn’t in his power, though he would’ve liked to reassure you in any way possible. He hugged you for the umpteenth time, cradling your never-ending weeping self, mentally uncovering the weight of tragedy: not only you might be hurt by Pierre refusing your affection, but preferring someone else’s physical, carnal company. Discarded, thrown away like a valueless thing, having to face one of the biggest challenges of a woman’s life without the certainty of support from the man you loved.

Charles noticed a swelling point near his heart, tormented by the whole situation, which soon turned into utter panic as you twisted abruptly into his arms, startled by a loud knocking on the door. «Who’s that?» you asked, holding the pregnancy test to your chest and looking around, trembling and confused. Some other knocks thundering through the suite. «Charles! Open the door!» You daggered your eyes to the Monegasque, torn between utter terror and betrayal: why had he made him come over when he was supposed to keep you safe from the whole world, especially from Pierre’s cruelty? Charles stared at you, motionless, waiting for you to make the first move and implicitly give him the consent to unlock the door. «He cannot know.» you stated, attempting to sound firm, and failing to conceal panic. «But-» «You owe me this, for allowing him to come here in the first place. Don’t you dare to say a word about it.» Charles shook his head, eyes full of disapproval yet showing pity; then, without adding any other word, he watched you fiddle with the pregnancy test to hide it beneath your shirt and approached the door to let Pierre in. «Where is she?» Pierre urged, hurried. Your sitting silhouette towered on the couch right in front of him: your profile contrasted the long curtains of the living room and the pale, greyish tones of the weather outside casted on your skin a livid, gloomy shadow. He knelt down before you, trying to get your eyes to look at his, but he was met with the deadliest still stare he had ever seen: your glossy irises worked as a push for his hand to reach and stroke your cheek, but you shied away his touch. «Can you leave us alone for a few minutes, Charles?» The Monegasque mumbled a “Sure” under his breath, drained by the whole situation.

Pierre never stopped observing you with attention, which cost you a lot of effort into not locking gaze with him; and when you finally did, a clench of rage shut your jaw, annoyed by his behaviour. «Aren’t you tired?» «Tired of what?» you spitted out. «Of consuming yourself after a false accusation.» You reluctantly strayed away your eyes from him once again, unluckily charmed by his proximity. «But you’re not consumed, right? You expected it from me, you were waiting for me to make a mistake, weren’t you?» he sarcastically added. «You swore you would love me and trust me until the end of your life, but you didn’t hesitate to buy into whatever lie someone spread to ruin my reputation once again!» «Your reputation! Always your fucking reputation first! And what about mine? Don’t you care about how people will think of me from now on?» «I’m not saying I don’t care, I want to point out the fact that some bastard sold the news on purpose to damage me!» «I don’t give a shit about who did that, you cheated on me!» «I DID NOT! For fuck’s sake, this is what I’m trying to tell you! Someone took an out-of-context picture at a dinner where photographers weren’t allowed to try to ruin me and our relationship as well! Are you so stupid to fall for it too?»

At this point, you were crying without containing anymore; after the heated altercation, you stopped and felt your chest sting with hurt pride and feelings. «I’m stupid for having fallen in love with you since the day I met you.» Your words seemed to stun Pierre: his lips had parted in surprise at your confession, as much as his eyelids had uncovered completely the majestic blue eyes now bored into yours. The silence which followed your unwanted declaration made you curl into a ball, sobbing loudly to yourself. As soon as you felt a pair of arms embracing you, you fought back to avoid them with little whines and cries, only to be defeated by its comforting warmth: you let Pierre seal your bubble of despair, like a shield. «I’ll prove to you I did nothing, y/n, I promise. Nobody should’ve dared to write about us the way they did.» What Pierre reckoned to be soothing words weren’t reassuring to your ears at all: the missed reaction to your hopeless love for him fuelled your fears concerning the buried, but growing life in your womb. How could a child live without love? How could you? A sudden wave of nausea made you break the embrace Pierre had engulfed you in, bringing a hand over your mouth yet another time, eyes shut. «Don’t you feel good? What’s wrong?» he unconsciously put his hand on your thigh, affectionately squeezing it, as he asked. «I cooked some pasta and it tasted awful. My fault.» You quickly glanced at Charles, who had rejoined the room, getting near the couch. His stare on you was stern and tender at the same time, communicating both his blame and his will to help you cover up the pregnancy, for the moment, at least. «You’ll never learn how to cook, right?» Pierre snorted. «Probably not.» Charles huffed a smile, happy to have brightened the mood of the room a tiny bit. «I’m a bit hungry, though. Got anything in the pantries?» Pierre asked. «I’ll go check!»

While Charles walked away and left you alone once more, you sniffed and dried your cheeks, gazing down, looking away from Pierre’s burning and suddenly careful stare. «I called you a thousand times yesterday.» he spoke low, as not to be heard. You shook your head, smally. «I think you know why my phone was switched off.» «I came back home and I saw the mess in the kitchen.» he ignored your words. «What? Were you disappointed about not having dinner served?» Pierre pressed his lips together, holding back the quick answer rolling off his tongue. And then he decided to let it out. «I was worried about you.» No, he wasn’t, you told yourself. He’s trying to fool me. Still, the heartfelt tone he used to deliver the sentence rose a commotion deep in your soul: the gentle chords of golden love vibrating for him only were put in restless motion at the sound of the confession. It was just so small, but your entire feelings could feast with it for months, for years, after bearing starvation for as long. «I’ve already talked with my lawyer to sue the journalists and the source of the rumour for defamation.» he caressed your cheek, slowly, as not to startle you with the touch. «I won’t let anyone come between us. Soon it’ll be again just you and me, only us.»

As much as you would’ve liked to trust his whispered words, soft as you had never heard him talk ever before, your choked lie laid untold and yet high like a wall in the room. Pierre leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, fingers still lingering over your face. Flushing your eyelids down, you recalled the same tenderness being offered to you on other occasions, too short to your liking, too faintly impressed in the memory’s film, too brutally in contrast with the bittersweet tumult raging inside of you. «I need you by my side.» Maybe you had imagined it, as it left Pierre’s lips lighter than a whisper; or, maybe, it was the first time you had witnessed some kind of fragility and sweetness in him, just so that you could fall for him even deeper and harder.

The following days, the tension you anticipated to lay between you and Pierre was replaced by a layer of anguish and plainness, wrapping you like a wet, cold cover: the pregnancy test you had hidden carefully haunted your thoughts throughout the day, making you insensitive to Pierre’s attempts at building back again a sense of familiarity, and kept you awake at night, gripping the sheets tight, shaking away the loneliness of the present and of the future.

You knew you didn’t have much time before being forced to tell Pierre: but you had never been as scared to lose him as you were, walking side by side into the paddock, sitting on a stool in the garage, avoiding your husband’s stare while he kissed your cheek, gentle. The weight of your mind drew your gaze down, to the floor. «It’s so cold in here, isn’t it?» You peeked upward at Esteban entering the garage, rubbing his arms as to shake them up from coldness; to be fair, Texas’ air was far from cold, and you struggled interpreting his sardonic smile. Pierre turned around to throw an annoyed look at him, as he gathered the upper part of the suit higher to zip it up. Having gained both of your attention, Esteban fixed his eyes on you, in mischief. «It’s so sad to see a couple being so distant and cold to each other…» You frowned, surprised by the unusual tone of his voice and the sparkle of malice shimmering on his features. Esteban tilted his head, still looking at you, his expression now turning to an unbearable shade of pity, masked by a sinister grin. «Poor y/n… I had told you Pierre would mess up.» «It’s none of your business, you don’t know a fuck!» Pierre shouted, crossing the garage to face him directly. «And stop addressing her like you’ve known her forever.» he added in a lower tone, threatening. Esteban glanced at you back again, letting out an amused scoff. «Didn’t you ever tell him?» «Stop talking to her! Take it out on me and leave her out of this!» The increasing tone of Pierre’s voice, as well as Esteban’s cornering words, made you stand up from the seat and left your mouth dry like the desert, no chance to reply. «Pierre, she can decide on her own if she wants to talk with me or not, you don’t control her. Is he always acting like that with people getting close to you?» Pierre, of course, anticipated your reactionless self. «No, only with dickheads like you! Fuck yourself and don’t get near to her!» «Isn’t it a bit pretentious for someone who cheated on his wife?» The sentence sorted the effect Esteban clearly was expecting: Pierre’s fingers gripped his suit tight, pushing him a few steps backwards due to the threatening force he used. «IT WAS YOU! You made the picture, you were there!» «Pierre, please…» your voice, shaky and feeble, made Esteban laugh. «Stop fucking laughing! Who gave you the right to ruin both our lives?!» «Oh, trust me, Pierre, if I wanted to ruin her, I had a far more interesting story… Which I think you should hear.» With one, fierce shrug, he got rid of Pierre’s tight grab, pointing his eyes back at you. «I was her boyfriend, back in high school, when you used to hang all out together with Charles.» You stood lifeless, dreading the moment Pierre would turn to give you a disappointed or maybe even mad look; but he didn’t. Esteban kept going. «You’ve always had her on your tail, but you never noticed she was in love with you… I’ve never seen anyone more pathetic.» he let out a snort. «She had so little self-respect to let me take her virginity away in a club’s bathroom… She used me like a fuck-toy and then discarded me. This is the girl you married.»

The whole garage fell silent, since nobody dared to interrupt the helpless flow of words. An involuntary yell escaped your lips as Pierre ferociously crashed Esteban’s back onto the back wall, finally getting a reaction from the mechanics and engineers, trying to get in between the two to separate them. Pierre was screaming in French, at the top of his lungs, defending you – unbeknownst to you; Esteban simply stood without reacting much, as he had done years earlier at the same physical attack he had experienced, but this time his revenge was consumed. He knew he had won after hearing Pierre shouting it was over; seeing him approaching you with big strides and hugging you, leaving the box without uttering any other word. Reading your expression on the verge of crying, a sick pleasure overtook him. He had won the war.

«Cheers, les gars!» «Cheers!» Amongst the choir of glasses jingling, toasting in delight, you raised yours without being able to reach everyone’s cup, then obliged to set your eyes on the non-alcoholic beverage you had ordered. You had received numerous side-eyed glances and mocking exclamations for even daring to ask for a banal juice on the celebration night of Pierre’s new contract with Aston Martin, which came after the unexpected departure of Lance. «Someone will have to drive us home tonight, and I don’t think Pierre is going to spare himself…» you half-joked, as an excuse. Everyone bought it with a loud chuckle, except for Charles, who didn’t miss any of your movements, bearing the incommensurable weight of truth on his chest.

He had been texting you quite a lot in the last few days: you had informed him of the explosive moments lived inside Alpine’s garage, ultimately leading to Pierre signing with Aston for next year; he had asked you, in turn, how things were now going with Pierre, if you trusted his version of the story. A few nights earlier, while reading Charles’ texts, you had looked down at Pierre, who was peacefully heaving against your chest. You couldn’t tell whether he had fallen asleep to the soothing head scratches you had been giving him since you had snuggled on the bed, as silence and quietness lingered in the air. “Did you tell him?” Pierre’s arm encircled your waist, radiating warmth all throughout your core: it served as another subtle reminder of the news yet to be shared. Though, you had never felt more terrified: it was the first time in years that you perceived Pierre’s affection being that close. Announcing the pregnancy might have taken away the precious blossom of his love, which you now couldn’t live without. Charles knew your fear, he could read it well between the lines, and he hoped you would soon rely on Pierre to get the support you’d need.

Drinking plain juice didn’t prevent you from joining friends on the dance floor, gripping handfuls of hair and shaking it to the thick, hot air of the club. Standing still at the edge of the crowd, sipping on a cocktail with eyes fixed on the group – on you, mainly – Charles and Pierre talked, undisturbed. «What are you looking at?» the Monegasque asked with a smirk. Pierre didn’t answer, he didn’t stray his irises from your dancing silhouette, drowning and resurfacing in the crowd. «She’s beautiful.» «As if you haven’t been telling me this for the past ten years, Pierre.» Charles chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink. «It’s different, now.» «How so?» Pierre hesitated before answering, gathering the right words to express his muted feelings. «Last Monday, when I came back home and I couldn’t find her, I freaked out as I’ve never done before. I called her twenty-five times, left a fucking voicemail – who does that anymore? I just didn’t know what to do, I was panicking. I slept on the couch thinking she’d wake me up after coming back at night.» «I should’ve warned you she was with me, sorry.» Pierre lightly shook his head. «No, I think I deserved that, for all the times I treated her bad.» After a small pause, Charles, frowning, prompted another question. «So what’s changed?» «I… I’m falling in love with her.» he breathed out in realization, enchanted by your vision, watching you move like a fairy amongst the large group of his friends enjoying the blasting music. Charles couldn’t stop himself from snorting and laughing. «What?» «That’s a lie.» Pierre looked at him puzzled; Charles took another sip, smiling in delight and amusement. «You’ve always loved her; but you didn’t know what love was yet.» «Said the philosopher!» Their laughter was so bright and loud that you turned your head towards the two of them patting each other friendly. Pierre’s features were painted in deep, rich warm tones, under the dim lights of the club; the sudden need to refuge in his arms and rest your lips on his draw your eyes to him like an undefeatable magnet, whose force he seemed to feel as well. «I think I know now.» Pierre said, gaze turned back again on you.

>>♥<<

Exiting the bathroom, you saw Charles waiting right near the door frame, arms crossed, distressed expression, wetting his dry lips as soon as you got near him. «Is it all good?» he asked. «Jeez, Charles! Can’t I just go to the bathroom now?» «You ran away at the speed of light! Pierre was confused and I had to stop him from following you.» Sighing, you quickly rubbed your temples. «Listen… I don’t like lying to Pierre. You need to tell him, y/n, he has to know.» His pleading voice twisted your stomach in a pang of regret and fear. «I want to see a doctor first… And I need to come back home for that.» «Why don’t you try with a clinic here?» You darted your eyes at Charles, half in disbelief, half surprised at the idea. «I can help you find one, I’ve got some contacts. Plus, I think you should check as soon as possible if everything’s okay with…» «With me, yes.» you breathed out, feeling Pierre’s heavy stare on you both. Before you knew it, he was making his way amidst the crowd with a frown, seeing you and Charles confabulate away from indiscreet ears. «He’s coming.» you whispered. Charles, visibly frustrated and failing to hide it, huffed and waited for the storm to run over both of you. And it came. Pierre’s body was burning a few centimeters away from you, igniting shame and terror, knowing you were putting the newfound trust on the line, like a fool. But it isn’t your fault, a part of you said. «Why did you stop? I want to hear about the State affair too.» Not willing to test Charles’ trust for the umpteenth time, you jumped in before he could add anything to his deadly stare directed towards Pierre. «I was telling him I’m tired and I’d like to go home, but he thinks we should stay here a bit more since we’re celebrating you.» A soft caress of his palm was enough to melt the hurried tension entangling your muscles, sure he had bought into the lie after seeing a veil of fondness cover his blue eyes. «Oh, don’t worry, I was thinking of calling it a day too. We can always party more than once, after all.»

>>♥<<

The shirts had slipped away swiftly in a matter of seconds, as your shivering skin warned your senses. You kissed in passion, somehow already accustomed to each other’s pace, yet so new and undiscovered beneath the physical layer of quickened breaths, intense heartbeats and roaming hands. Pierre dragged your head up with his long lasting, tantalizing kiss, trapping both your wrists with a smirk which spread further blush on your cheeks. «So that piece of douchebag was your first time?» He didn’t seem to wait for an answer, as he leaned down to your neck, tasting your skin open-mouthed. You simply moaned, incapable of uttering a word. It was the first time he enquired you about the awful talk you had had in the garage with Esteban and, noticing the unexpected silence on the topic for days, you had simply guessed he would never tackle it again. Still, getting drunk had probably loosen him up more than he would ever admit. «Pierre…» «What? I’m just curious.» «I don’t want to be reminded of that day.» you whined, already out of breath. Mischief gleamed in Pierre’s blue irises, pupils enlarged to take in as much of you as they could. You were able to interpret his intentions a few seconds after his stare: he buried his face behind your earlobe, teasing your skin with his teeth, just enough to gather a shot of blood cursing pleasure and electricity with its flow right where he was leaving kisses. «Is it because you don’t feel… proud of yourself?» he murmured against your neck. Guilt tangled in the middle of your chest, words and acts painfully reminding you of the infamous night. Only after years, you could realize how despicable and poor your choice had been; though, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame it. After all, it had led you to embracing Pierre as close as you would’ve never even imagined in your wildest fantasies. «Is it because you think you acted selfishly?» A sweet yet poisonous bite was left just above your collarbone, another soft breath escaping your control. «Because you hurt people around you?» Now Pierre looked hungrily at you, halting just a few centimeters from your parted lips, letting your focus drift towards his quick hands unbuttoning your jeans, as if they didn’t know any better. The stormy meaning hidden behind those words seemed senseless to you, impossible: and still his irises showed turmoil… Hurt. You were almost about to mouth a question, something along the lines of “What do you mean?”, maybe you even did; but you couldn’t tell, because Pierre thrusted his body upon yours all of a sudden, diluting your thoughts in a stain of useless reasoning, moans and whimpers the only incoherent reactions. «Is it because… you wished you were with someone else?» The floodgate of your heart crushed open: it rocked your body in such an intense wave that you had to hold onto Pierre, gripping his shoulders tight, while he kissed down on your neck once again, lavishly, anywhere he could print his love on you.

Overwhelm of senses almost ended up in a gracious state of numbness, in which Pierre seemed to be the only actor: he handled you with ease and carefulness, though intoxicated by the physical contact, and before you had realized, the night was consumed, the abatjour casting a gentle warm shade on your bare, entangled bodies. Drunk in love, you chuckled in silence, warmed by Pierre’s touch. «What’s that?» he asked. «I… When I’m with you, I feel both anxious and so happy I could die.» «Why is it funny?» «Because it’s childish. I’m still crushing on you like a kid, I only know extremes.» He hummed, pausing for a few seconds. «Why do I make you nervous?» he then enquired, again. «Because I’m scared to lose you.» It sounded so fragile that Pierre involuntarily tightened his arms around you, drawing you nearer. And deep in thought, he stared at the void. «I think I know how you feel.» «What?» you turned your head around to look at him, as if you hadn’t paid attention to his words. «I’ve felt this way too, since… forever.»

>>♥<<

The faint sound of fingers typing filled the kitchen, otherwise silent. You had woken up early, after rolling in the sheets for hours, not sleeping much; you had had a little bit of breakfast – as much as your upset stomach would allow you to – while you scrolled the online page of one of the clinics Charles had suggested you, searching for a cell phone number. You stopped, engraving the digits in your mind. If you had dialed, a spiral of appointments’ calls, check-ups and exams would follow, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it from tumbling and assaulting you. Pierre would know soon. The mere thought scared you to death. As you saw Pierre's ruffled hair and creased eyes peeked out inside the kitchen area only to direct the slow and unsteady steps towards the bathroom, you bolted as fast as a lighting. «No, the bathroom is mine!» You stomped the door in front of his face, preventing him from stealing the precious space and time to clean yourself.

Pierre quickly eyed the laptop on the marble counter, figuring out you must've been up for quite a while; a stained mug and tiny crumbles were other signals of your silent presence, lingering around his numbed senses through the waking. He had missed the warmth of your body, the securing hold of his arms around your waist, the sweet scent cursing through him while resting his head close to yours, near enough to perceive the undeniable pull drawing him like a magnet. «You're lucky I love you!» he yelled, in order for you to drink in his amused tone. You wished you didn't. That only sentence made your guts twist and horribly enhanced the dizziness, obliging you to grip the sink tight. You had waited so many years for those words to have a meaning and now you might have it. Still, you found yourself to dread them. You were about to ruin everything.

He had not intended to; he had tried, vainly, to stop himself from looking at the screen of your laptop, but the gaze dropped involuntarily, fast, the quickest glance, while placing the mug on the counter. And the first words he read only invited him to linger on the page further. A clinic. A phone number written in bold cyphers. «Y/n?» Resurfacing from the trance status you had fallen into while lazily brushing your teeth, you answered with a whine. «Can you come here for a sec?» You deeply inhaled in annoyance, sure it was either to pull a prank on you or to get some help with the absurdly expensive coffee machine Pierre had asked for in the suite - and didn't quite know how to use yet. The puzzled look on his face told you right away all you needed, as much as his fingers brushing the laptop’s pointer pad. «Why were you searching-» «Why are you going through my stuff!?» You flung yourself onto the pc, pulling it away from his touch and his sight, hoping that could be enough to erase the content from his thoughts. As you imagined, it didn't. «What's that for? You left it spread open, how was I supposed not to see it?» Pierre followed your gushing figure placing the laptop back in the bedroom, closing the door after you two. «Can you please stop a second and explain to me what's going on?» Your body seemed to slip under Pierre's touch, then ultimately gave in, anxiety paralyzing all movements but trembling. Immediately noticing your distress, he stroked your hair in reassurance, trying to calm himself down as well through the action. «Y/n, I'm not asking again. What's the clinic for?» You avoided his stare as much as answering. «Did something happen? I need to know, y/n.» he wetted his lips, visibly frustrated. «It isn't just you, now. It's both of us. We're in this together.» After minutes spent crafting the most realistic lie, painfully witnessing Pierre being tender and caring only to be fooled by you, you were finally ready to utter a word. «I had booked a routine appointment with a gynecologist before I knew about the trip, but we aren't getting home soon, and I didn't want to miss it.» Pierre's forehead distended like a folded sheet laid spread and fresh onto the mattress, irises still concealing a hint of doubt. «Why didn't you tell me?» «I thought it'd be embarrassing… for both.» «It isn't to me.» he said, softly. «And you can talk to me about anything, you know that.» You rested your cheek upon his palm, enjoying the caress with eyes closed, quietly accepting the lie still holding up the invisible wall of miscommunication you purposely built. «Especially when the topic is dear to me.» Pierre's smug tone lifted a stone from your shoulders, as well as dropping it in your chest, heart swimming in a lake of mixed emotions. You would’ve liked to cast a spell and stop the flow of time, because bittersweet guilt and happiness were the telltale signs a fairytale was possible, after all, almost within reach. And you had ruined it.

>>♥<<

A thought had been flying around his mind all day: jogging lightly before free practice, revising the track with his performance engineer, laughing and joking around with other drivers ahead of media duties. It hadn't bothered him, it hadn't shown; not even when he came back to the hotel and didn't find you there as he expected. It slipped from his consciousness even while drifting into sleep, your scent dazzling and lulling him. It harboured beneath the surface, though, and its stealth presence made itself evident - yet misunderstood - on Saturday morning. «Where's my shirt?» Pierre asked abruptly, entering the bedroom in a hurry. Despite him trying to get you to get up multiple times as he got ready, you were still lying in bed, sick to the core, unwilling to admit it, exhausted already by the day. «Y/n, c'mon, we need to go!» Pierre huffed, poorly concealing the annoyance. You whined, weakly raising the duvet in order to get seated. Before Pierre could snort again and feel even more dissatisfied with the sudden lack of energy you showed, he hesitated on your dark eyebags, on the slow movement you dragged your limbs with, on the aura of fatigue encircling you. He stepped closer, taking your arms and lifting you up, guiding you to the kitchen steadily, but still rather quickly. As you took a seat, he placed before you an amount of food – for breakfast – which you would've always considered sufficient and that now seemed exaggerated. «If you're not hungry, drink at least. You need to keep hydrated.» Pierre's demanding voice partially saved you from the impasse of refusing food, so you obligingly sipped the cup of coffee he had pushed towards you without adding a word.

From that moment onwards, Pierre eyed you with a carefulness unknown before. He only realized now how sluggish and overall low-key you had been behaving: though, the restless rhythm of flights, hotel check-ins, suits packing and racing sessions were draining enough to present themselves as valid reasons for your lack of verve. Taking your purse underarm in a hurry, you crossed eyes with Pierre’s. «I’m ready, let’s go.» Dumbfounded by his sudden aplomb, you stood in silence, hair barely brushed, shirt carelessly half untucked in your jeans; you didn’t stray your stare from Pierre’s while he slowly took your hands in his, a strange thoughtfulness guiding the movement. The silence said more than you two were capable of. It seemed to be thrown back in time to those longing, perusing stares you studied each other with, always analyzing expressions and reactions, never sure of getting it right yet desperately needy of the other. You both swam comfortably in that tacit conversation, exchanging fears, doubts, loving care; but Pierre knew it was time to go – it had been for a while, already – and couldn’t restrain himself from clearing his throat. «Yep, I told you. Let’s go.» you whispered.

>>♥<<

It had been Charles' idea, to have a brunch all together inside the paddock: he had found a small sort of restaurant, right in front of Pirelli's backdoor, unfrequented by VIPs and paparazzi. If you didn't know Charles well enough, you would've guessed he simply wanted to check on you; but him craving some good old company and wanting to shy away from the crowd of the track was the most likely scenario. Hanging out together, the three of you, felt like a fever dream, every single time: the memories would merge, the jokes and the laughs would crack on their own with such a flow and an ease unexplainable to anybody else. Sitting next to the most important people of your life was a luck you would never take for granted. «…should buy one. What do you think?» «I think that’s awesome, really.» You became self-conscious of the wedding ring pressing Pierre’s name onto your skin as an endless kiss, recalling the ebbing moments of the day you became one. «Y/n?» Again. The wave knocking at the pit of your stomach, the sudden harmony of smells emanated by your dishes was quick to stir your quiescent sickness. «Y/n? Did you hear the question?» Charles’ voice obliged you to answer. «Uh? Yeah, yes, I did.» you composed yourself as quickly as you could. «I think it’s a beautiful opportunity for you.» «We’ll help you, if we can do anything for it. Like, if you need taste testers, we’re more than happy!» Pierre chuckled. You forced a smile too, in order not to contrast your husband’s bright expression. However, it all spiraled when a pile of used tires – the F3 free practice had finished less than a half an hour earlier, you reasoned – was dragged in a small interstice near Pirelli's building, leaving an unbearable smell of burned rubber. You felt yet again nauseous, making it blatantly obvious clasping your mouth and nose, focusing on your breathing, eyes closed. Pierre and Charles' stares laid on you in a single motion, both catching on what was happening (with different awareness, clearly). Pierre couldn't let the memory of your missed breakfast fade into nothing, and his racing mind quickly figured you must be ill; he trapped your free hand in a grab which you immediately complied, he got up and kneeled next to you, seeing you didn't give any signs of the clench in your stomach loosening.

In the meantime, Charles quietly and politely asked you if you needed a glass of water, if you'd want to go to the restroom, to which your silence only fueled his helplessness and sly embarrassment. «I'm okay, guys.» you breathed out, finally removing your fingers from your lips, but still too scared to open your eyelids and be attacked by their sharp stares. «No, you're not, y/n. You've been sick for at least a week.» Pierre's statement worked as a tymbal clang to both you and Charles, so that you looked at each other briefly but intensely, wondering whether the ticking bomb laying untold amongst you three had just exploded without you noticing. “Tell him” was painted in capital letters, bold, inside Charles' green irises.

Internalizing the truth impossible to fool, you let Pierre's fingertips gently move your chin towards him, since you had enchanted in reflection on Charles. Suddenly confronting your husband's – yes, because he was your husband – unexplainable beauty like it was the first time you really saw him, the news seemed to brim out your lips, overflowing with contrasting emotions you weren't able to conciliate. Gathering all your courage despite the trembling of your chin, you reciprocated the hold of Pierre's hands: it was building up, from your chest up to the throat, bypassing the rationality check. «I need to tell you something.» It was nothing but a whisper; Charles, unknowing to either you or Pierre, slowly got up from his chair, standing near you and placing his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. Pierre waited in silence for your words, pupils scattered all around your features trying to get the smallest hint of which nature the news was. The tears pricked your eyes as soon as the thought hit your synapsis. «I'm pregnant, Pierre.» Releasing the pent-up distress, finally relieved by the burden of secrecy, you cried freely, ready to face the consequences of the news.

A part of you expected an endless chain of angry sentences and despair, complaints, immaturity. And the part of you who didn't expect such a reaction, or at least hoped for a better outcome without much conviction, still managed to astonish before the taken aback but sweet curve of Pierre's eyebrows, unbelievably moved by your words. «Really? Are you sure?» His mistrust annoyed you slightly and made you scoff through tears. But before you could answer with a snappy remark, he was all over you, hugging your sadness away, melting in an embrace that swiped bad omens, that dissolved the clouds of doubt in a sparkling, bubbly dust of relief. Pierre left a long peck on your forehead, which only freed tears from running ceaselessly. «I can't believe it…» he whispered out of an uncontainable smile. Your body and soul, both in shock from experiencing the most releasing happiness, trembled like leaves under the wind of Pierre's affection. He glanced at Charles, looking for confirmation, which he found expressed through the dimples of his best friend; then focused back again on you, whose reaction Pierre couldn't quite make out. «You're happy, right?» he asked, almost fearful of the answer. Sobbing a laugh, you leaned against his hand cupping your cheek and enveloped it with yours, fond. «Of course I am.» He paused, taking a full look at you in excitement and amazement, letting the thought settle in his heart. «When did you find out?» he asked, cupping your cheek as a fragile corolla of petals. Your mouth dried out, your throat was still knotted; thankfully Charles beat you on time in answering. «Almost two weeks ago.» You waited for it, you anticipated the hatred and the – righteous – disappointment in getting to know that his best friend had witnessed and received the news first. Fear invested you once again, through sobs and hiccups. «Y/n… Look at me.» It all seemed to down on you at once: sat in your weakness, you had disclosed all your cards and were now the most vulnerable you’d ever been with him. Not even when you had promised in front of your families to love him for the rest of your life, not even lying in his embrace and cuddling with him after breathing out affection and pleasure on top of each other’s skin; no rejection could hurt you more than now, while carrying two lives inside of one body, two souls, doubling the sorrow. His serious demeanour only spiked up your anxiety, as you realized you weren’t ready at all, neither emotionally nor mentally, to face him yet.

He shut his eyes closed, he prepared himself to talk; you braced yourself for the impact of the cruel reality. It had been fun, until it had lasted. This is no fairytale, you chanted to yourself, lulling your crying soul. «I love you.» You looked at him dumbfounded, waiting for the answer to be completed with a "like a friend", or something of the sort which would've stabbed your heart with pain as he would always do; but a peaceful silence followed his words, and the longer you stared at each other, the deeper the realization would set in your heart. The promise you had been waiting for since the day you had met Pierre, which you expected to hear at the altar, was now vowed to you, him still kneeled down. «When…?» you involuntarily voiced your reasoning, not able to make sense of it, caught by total surprise. «Since forever. It just took me a while to realize…», he then glanced at Charles. «… and the help of a friend.» Spontaneously, you flung your arms around him, heart aching in joy and bliss. You watered and creased Pierre’s shirt, feeling life flourish just by listening to his words; to seal them, he plastered a kiss on your reddish, smooth lips, and heaven reached earth. «A baby, uh?» Pierre said almost to himself, placing his spread hands on your belly. You couldn’t help but have eyes brimming with emotion, gently brushing with your fingers his: was there anything which could make you happier and more strongly bonded together? «Charles… I think we’ll need plenty of your ice-cream in the near future.» «Hey!» you patted Pierre’s shoulder, amusingly offended. «Oh, for sure. I’ll make you a discount, since you’ll buy it in large quantity.» «Guys!» you laughed, trying to stop their endless flow of jokes. With your left hand still pressed onto Pierre’s, you gazed down at your wedding ring, shining and glimmering under the sunlight. Maybe, no matter how unhoped and unplanned, yours was truly a fairytale.

to @gaslysainz: Thanks again for the request! I really hope you’ll like it…I’m not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I couldn’t work on it any further 😂 I’d be glad to know what you think 🥹❤️

AND TO ALL OF YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND FOR BEING PATIENT! I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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