One Shots | Formula 1

OP♥

"Don't push it"- Requested

I smoothed down the hem of my designer gown, I couldn't help but wonder how on earth I ended up in this situation. Here I was, walking arm in arm with Oscar Piastri, the brooding and enigmatic Formula 1 driver, as his fake girlfriend on our way to a glamorous gala. It was like something out of a cheesy rom-com, except my life wasn't a movie – it was a chaotic mess.

It all started a few weeks ago when my agent called me with an unexpected proposition. Apparently, Oscar's PR team needed someone to play the role of his girlfriend for a high-profile event to boost his public image. And somehow, they thought I fit the bill perfectly. I mean, I've done my fair share of modeling gigs, but pretending to be in a relationship with a famous race car driver? That was definitely a first.

At first, I was hesitant. Okay, more than hesitant – I was downright skeptical. But then my agent mentioned the exposure it could bring to my modeling career, the opportunity to rub elbows with A-listers, and suddenly, my reservations began to fade away. Plus, let's be real, who wouldn't want to be seen on the arm of someone as ridiculously good-looking as Oscar Piastri?

And so, I found myself saying yes to this crazy scheme, diving headfirst into a world of fake smiles and staged affection. And you know what? It worked like a charm. Suddenly, my Instagram followers skyrocketed, I was getting booked for more photo shoots than ever before, and people actually started recognizing me on the street. It was like I'd won the lottery, except instead of cash, I was cashing in on my newfound fame.

But as the saying goes, all that glitters is not gold. Sure, my career was thriving, but my personal life? Not so much. Oscar and I might have looked like the perfect couple on the red carpet, but behind closed doors, we were anything but. His cold demeanor and indifferent attitude grated on my nerves like sandpaper, and try as I might, I just couldn't seem to break through his icy exterior.

I tried making small talk, cracking jokes, even sharing embarrassing childhood stories – anything to thaw the ice between us. But it was like talking to a brick wall. Oscar was polite enough, sure, but there was always this underlying tension between us, like we were two magnets repelling each other with every step we took.

And yet, despite all the ups and downs, here we were, stepping out of the limo and onto the red carpet, our arms linked together in a picture-perfect display of fake affection. As the flashing cameras captured our every move, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone could see through the charade, if anyone could tell that beneath the smiles and designer clothes, Oscar and I were nothing more than strangers playing a part.

As we stepped into the lavish ballroom, the cacophony of chatter and laughter enveloped us, drowning out the pounding of my own heart. The event was everything I had imagined – opulent decor, dazzling lights, and a sea of impeccably dressed A-listers mingling effortlessly. But as we made our rounds, navigating through the sea of socialites and celebrities, I couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of boredom that threatened to consume me.

With each passing minute, the conversations grew more tedious, the small talk more mind-numbing. I plastered on my best fake smile, nodding along to the endless stream of banalities, all the while longing for an escape route. But every time I glanced over at Oscar, hoping for some sign of solidarity or at least a hint of amusement, I was met with the same impassive expression, his steely gaze fixed on the horizon as if he were a million miles away.

Two glasses of champagne later, I was ready to throw in the towel. My head was spinning from the endless chatter, my feet aching from hours of standing in heels, and my patience wearing thin. I discreetly tugged on Oscar's arm, hoping to catch his attention and make a break for it, but he remained steadfast, his grip on my arm unyielding.