Crash

Imola

"Do you ever think about running away?" Penelope whispered, her head resting on Charles's bare chest. She was so close to him that she could hear his heartbeat, a steady, reassuring sound that made her feel grounded. The curtains were drawn, but the sun was just beginning to come up, shards of orange light edging their way inside his apartment. She needed to get changed, put some clothes on and get ready for the day, but the bed was warm and the outside world seemed like too much effort today. 

"What would I be running from?" he asked, his eyes still closed. 

"All of it. You ever just imagine leaving everything behind and just getting away? Packing a bag and just picking somewhere on the map."

Charles pondered the question as he twirled a strand of her hair idly between his fingers. "I guess. Would have to be somewhere good, though."

"Like where?"

Another pause. "Spain, maybe."

"Why Spain?" Penelope asked, tickling his cheek until he opened one eye to look at her. 

"Because you've always wanted to go there. Plus, if I got bored, I could visit Carlos."

"You'd run away to Spain with me?"

"Sure. I've got what, ten, fifteen years of racing left? You're gonna make Olympic squad, that's a few years too. So we finish with that, then we can go anywhere. Me, you, our family..."

Penelope looked up at him through her lashes. "Family?"

"Yeah. Our kids, remember?"

"I do. Tell me, Leclerc, how many kids are we talking?"

Charles smiled softly at her, his hands still tangled in her hair. "I was thinking seven."

"You're joking," Penelope choked. "Absolutely not."

"Five?"

"No. Two, maximum."

 "Three? We can call it a compromise."

Penelope shifted her weight so that she was sat on top of him, the sheet covering her falling away. "Fine, three it is. But you better kiss me before I change my mind."

*********************

Once again, Penelope found herself standing on the tarmac of Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, her bags packed and ready to go. Charles was beside her, his eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses, but she could tell he was sad all the same. 

Penelope ran her eyes over her luggage, checking that she had everything. For once, they were actually catching the same flight, straight out to Imola where Penelope had a campaign to shoot and he of course had a race. Still, even though they were leaving Monaco together, it still felt like a goodbye. These small pockets of time they spent together were few and far between, and she knew that it was starting to get to them both. 

"Can you remember if I packed that dress that was in the dryer?" Penelope asked, trying to fill the unusual silence between them. "I think I did." 

Charles kept his eyes fixed ahead, just nodding. Penelope wasn't used to the silent treatment, especially when they hadn't argued in the first place. So far, the runway was clear of paparazzi, so it couldn't be that. They'd had a great week and a fun morning, he'd made her breakfast while she'd packed the last of her stuff and made sure he had everything he needed for race week. Everything was normal, just as it usually was, but he was acting different. 

"At least it's a short flight this time," Penelope said, checking the time on her phone. "Better than thirteen hours, anyway. Italy will be fun, too, all the-"