𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐬 [charles leclerc]

chapitre quatre

       REGARDLESS OF BEING one of the smallest principalities of Europe, Monaco has her own way of attracting visitors to the city-state located on the French Riviera. Glamorous events, casinos, and, of course one of the most prestigious motorcar races in the world are established in the microstate near Italy in order to be labelled the 'billionaires playground'.

The Grand Prix has yet again returned to Monte Carlo and the first few weeks of May have been used to brace and prep every part of the sovereignty for said prestigious motorcar race; the constructing of the stands, podium, parc fermé and temporary garages that have become the pit lane.

       And that is exactly where the Blanchet girl was to be found after she finished her rendez-vous. Colette was quick to integrate with the people amongst the crowded paddock. With an all access pass hanging around her neck, Prada sunglasses etched upon her head, and an Alpha Tauri jacket lazily slung around her shoulders, the girl made her way around the stressed out staff and the gleefully attendees.

       The Grand Prix had finished about a half hour prior and the reigning champions had returned from the podium where they had proudly received their trophies. Colette's target, however, had not been able to secure himself a podium in the race but had settled with a good eight points with his Italian team.

       "Pierre Gasly!" She yelled, stretching the last syllable of his last name. The Frenchman looked away from his ongoing conversation and his eyes met Colette's from the distance. She happily waved to him as she picked up her pace, her Dior sneakers scratching against the pavement. He shook his head as he fought a smile, trying hard to ignore the infectious laughter from the Australian driver next to him. "Cuma stai ?"

       "There she is, finally gracing us with her lovely presence." Pierre Gasly chuckled, extending an arm to embrace his longtime Monegasque friend who had interrupted the two drivers' conversation.

       The wealthy, young adult had been surrounded with the motorsport, and therefore its drivers, since she could remember. The quick pace, the passion, the dangers. Her mother had been a great fan of the sport and dragged her whole family into racing, creating connections within the sport for life.

       "Missed me so dearly?" Colette let go off of the AlphaTauri race drive with a playfully feigned ebullience, hugging the Aussie whilst still grinning cheekily.

        "We always do, Coco." Daniel Ricciardo answered for the two, his trademark smile from ear to ear on his face as his accent made the girl perk up.

        "And I know you do, Danny," Colette patted him on the back with a smug grin playing on her lips. "Tough luck today."

       "Yeah, let's forget about that," Ricciardo pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose as he shook his head at the thought of his twelfth ranking in the race. "But I'm even more disappointed you weren't here to support." He lowered his glasses just enough to look over the rim, a stern face with raised eyebrows awaiting her excuse.

       "Technically I was there—the third turn to be exact," Colette defended her absence, taking a slight step back from the two to express her answer with her hands as well. Neither dropped the poker-face act, nor seemed to be amused as both crossed their arms at the same time. "Désolée, I will make it up to you."

       "Then I guess we'll see you in Baku." Ricciardo had noticed in the meantime that someone from his McLaren press team had been trying to get his attention as he was due for his media presence, journalists greedily waiting for the Australian's response to his race.

       "Dani—" Daniel quickly slipped away from the two French speaking friends towards the British motorhome, his loud laugh following his footsteps as he knew Colette attempted to have a rebuttal.

"I don't take 'no' for an answer." The McLaren driver swiftly turned around to see the exasperated Monegasque counter his statements from where she was stood. He was soon directed away from the pit lane to follow his mediateam to deliver his thoughts on the race he drove, saluting the brunette with a playful wink.

"And I know that!" Colette yelled back at the Australian one last time. "I suppose I will join you in Azerbeidzjan." She turned to the taller Frenchman who had been softly snickering at his friend the entire time, both earning questionable looks from passers-by. Colette's dark eyebrows furrowed together and Pierre's laughter quickly halted after, clearing his throat to play it off before nodding his head to start walking.

"As if you wouldn't enjoy it," Pierre finally snorted, nudging her shoulder before they slowly trailed towards the AlphaTauri motorhome.

"I never said that," Colette shook her head as she lowered the designer sunglasses on her tanned face. "I'm just—a busy woman."

"Right," Pierre nodded along as he put his hands in his pockets, fighting a laugh. "How is your marketing degree going? Or was it law? Did you actually finish your year in sport business management?"

"I am dearly sorry I have never known what I should do with my life." The girl feigned to be insulted, her mouth agape and a hand crossed over the place of her heart.

"I'm just messing with you, Coco," The driver grinned, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "But you are a diva," He pointed at her. "But now we can enjoy your crushing presence at the paddock."

"You are so sappy." Colette joined his laughter, sputtering at his mushy, sentimental words. The boisterous duo made their way past the other pit boxes, attracting a small crowd at each racing team. Pairs of eyes flew to the two as they enthusiastically talked to one another in rapid French after not having seen each other for a while.

"That is what I'm bringing to this friendship." Pierre uttered proudly, pointing with pinched fingers towards himself as he looked down at his friend.

"I thought that was the gossip from the behind the scenes at Grand Prix's?" She suggested whilst she brushed her dark strays of hair out of her face.

"Tu es la diablesse," He let go off Colette and acted offended at her words, as if she was using him for his intel. And she was the diva between them? The two seemed to settle from their lively bickering as they neared Pierre's team. "We're still on for dinner tomorrow night, right?"

"Absolutely," Colette nodded her head, her dark eyes lighting up and her features beaming up. "And I'll remind Fabian because I know he's forgotten," She paused for a moment to think about her other close friend, halting in front of the entrance of the Italian Formula One team. "Have you seen him today?"

"No, he's only texted me before and after the race," Pierre shook his dirty blond hair with a shrug. "I did hear about someone crashing one of McLaren's parties at a yacht." He thought out loud, a laugh erupting again between the two.

"That sounds very much like Fabian." Colette nodded her head, a hand placed on her chin as if she was in thought. They were stood in front of the garage conversing for several minutes but were quickly disrupted from catching up as Pierre, too, was called up for his media presentation with the impatient journalists.

"I've got to run, talk to you later," He excused himself, as he looked back from his communications manager. "Je t'adore." With two kisses on her cheek he left the girl just outside of the pit box, a proud glint shining in her eyes of her childhood best friend was accomplishing his goals.

"Te véuggio bén."