hitched•cl•

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Presley's head was pounding, and the sunlight creeping through the panoramic windows was not helping in the slightest. She rubbed her hurting eyes, the mascara covered lashes sticking together as a yawn left her throat.

As she slowly sat up in the large bed, she noticed the tanned arm resting across her stomach. "Fuck." This wasn't Juno, nor Milo, who she had often woken up next to when she and her blonde best friend had passed out in the same bed. The first thing she did was peer under the covers; they were both naked.

There was little time to digest her surroundings as the man whose arm was slung across her began to stir. A mop of light brown hair pushed back by a red bandana turned to face her, and that was when she realised that this was Charles Leclerc's room.

"Presley?" Charles muttered with confusion plagued in his tone. He raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed his temples. "What time is it?" He asked before rolling over to try and locate his phone amongst the folds of the duvet.

Her throat was dry, she reached for the mini bottle of fuji water on the bedside table, and that was when she noticed the rock on her finger. A painful scream left her, which caused Charles to groan both out of pain and shock.

Presley didn't give him any time to ask why she had screamed. She flung her left hand into the face of the dishevelled and barely awake driver. What had happened last night? "Is that - did we? Fuck." Was all he could remark.

He looked at his hand, and he, too, had a golden band around his left ring finger. Charles shuffled up in the bed and rested against the headboard. The girl twisted and sat on the edge of the bed; she pulled the sheet around her body as she plopped her feet down onto the flooring. She found a white shirt on the floor, which she guessed was owned by Charles, and next found her underwear that had somehow found its way onto the dressing table.

The whole evening was hazy; Presley couldn't remember much after the fourth drink she had had with Juno at the Bellagio whilst they danced around trying to get the perfect boomerang in front of the fountains.

As soon as nausea hit, suddenly, the memories of her grinding up against the Ferrari driver infiltrated her mind. From the pool party to the colourful shots that she and Charles had consumed, the rest of the evening was still a blur.

How had they been so stupid? Alcohol. Alcohol was the answer.

Presley sat down on the edge of the bed and flung her body back so that her head was resting on Charles' chest. Without evening thinking, he ran his fingers through her dark brunette hair. Despite the aching head, the actions of the Monegasque were very soothing, but that was about the only comforting thing about the situation that they found themselves in.

She turned to look up at him, a sigh leaving her lips. "I reckon this is just another one of Milo's jokes?" Charles nervously coughed as he nodded. He didn't believe his words, but he also couldn't believe that he was married, so he chose to be positive. "He and Lewis are always playing jokes on me." He added to enforce his belief.

Presley, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. The ring on her finger looked expensive, and she should know - she had already turned down Jaspar's proposal last Christmas, and they had been on and off ever since. "OH MY GOD, JASPAR?!" She burst out, causing the man she was leaning on to jump.

The brunette heard mutterings and mumbles, leaving Charles's lips, "I think we got married." He broke with a raspy hitch in his throat. "Here, look." He added and pushed his phone into her face.

It was open to Instagram, and there was a video playing of the good looking couple standing in front of a very cheap Elvis impersonator in fits of giggles. Juno was in tears holding a small bouquet of flowers in the background, and Milo was rocking Charles' shoulder to apparently hype him up.

"You may kiss your bride, and I may now pronounce you Mr and Mrs...?" The Elvis announced as he looked at Charles and me, "Leclerc", Her new husband slurred before dipping her back and passionately kissing his wife.

Now the panic set in, and it only got worse when they realised that Carlos had accidentally live-streamed their wedding; they had both posted photos of the entire night. From the first drinks to buying wedding rings and then announcing to the world via Instagram that they were married.

"So I guess we are married." Charles gulped as he held his bride's hand before letting his rest down. "What should we do?"

Wasn't that the morning's question, or whatever time it might be. However, the answer was not simple. The only thing Presley wanted to do was run to her best friend, who she hoped might have some advice, although before tonight, if either of them were to marry in Vegas on a whim, they both agreed that it would have been Juno.

The brunette quickly sat up, the pain rushing through her body, and shuffled off the bed. She collected her things from the messy room, "I'll see you later?" Presley confirmed, "I just need to- um, I'll see you later, Leclerc."

Charles knew that what happened in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas. Still, once he had received a message from Max Verstappen forwarding him an article showcasing the drivers' nuptials, he knew that this was one story following him home. Charles just wondered whether his new wife would be coming with him.