Hot off the Press | Charles Leclerc | F1

F o r t y - f i v e

"This is a ridiculously cute picture," said Sadie, looking at the photo of Fia that Charles had taken in his Pista. She held Fia's phone in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. "You're so lucky that he let you drive that thing. Are you almost ready?"

"One second!"

Fia finished fastening her earrings and joined Sadie on the balcony of the fancy hotel suite they were staying in, courtesy of Paul's credit card, apparently. Sadie said he owed Fia a nice birthday present after how he'd treated her when they first met. Fia wasn't going to complain, even if it was the most expensive, over-the-top hotel in Monaco. It wasn't like Paul would miss the money or even notice it was gone.

After Sadie had woken her up with an overflowing tray of room service and given her a stack of birthday cards and presents, they had spent the rest of the day in the hotel's luxurious spa. Now, with glowing skin from their facials, they were about to head into the city, though Sadie refused to say where they were going or why. She insisted on Fia borrowing her clothes—a pale pink mini dress and a pair of too-high heels—which made her think they would probably end up in Jimmy'z.

The glittering city of Monte Carlo stretched beyond the balcony, glamorous and unattainable, the kind of place most people will never belong. Fia spotted Charles' building in the distance and wondered what he was doing. He hadn't spoken to her all day or even texted her to say happy birthday.

"When do you think you'll tell him about your job?" Sadie asked. She still had a knack for sensing what Fia was thinking, even after their time apart.

Leaning over the balcony, Fia shrugged and sipped her champagne. She had tried to tell Charles after the race, but he'd been so disappointed in the result. She couldn't bear to make the day any worse for him.

"You should do it sooner rather than later. You know how it feels when someone keeps something like that from you. Better to tell him yourself than let him find out."

She glanced at Sadie's engagement ring. "I know."

The words had arranged themselves inside her head hundreds of times in thousands of combinations. The problem was getting them to come out of her mouth. They got lodged in her throat like hard-boiled sweets every time she tried.

"Anyway, now isn't the time to talk about that. We have a party to go to."

"A party?" Fia gulped.

Sadie glanced at the street far below them. "Drink up. I think our ride is here."

____ 🏎️ ____

A sleek executive car picked them up from outside the hotel. Inside, a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon awaited them.

"This is so over the top," Fia said, fighting back a smile.

"Brilliant, though, isn't it?"

They uncorked the bottle and asked the driver to put their old uni playlist on, which made the situation seem even more hilarious and bizarre. Blondie and Britney Spears blasted through the speakers as they drove through Monte Carlo. Sadie opened the sunroof and they pushed their heads through, their hair streaming behind them in the balmy air. All Fia's worries were blown away; she imagined them twirling into the air, left behind. They didn't matter—not for this one night.

'Bad Girls' by M.I.A. started playing, and they sang along, laughing when people stared at them disapprovingly as they drove past. Fia felt like the champagne she was drinking: fizzy, full of bubbles. The sky above was the colour of a ripe peach, and the evening around her was liquid; it might flow in any direction, and she didn't yet know what form it would take. All she knew was that she was floating in it, letting it carry her.