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26

"There she is, finally." A buzzed Lewis Hamilton enthused as he wrapped his around the shoulder of his protege. "And Presley too!" He added as he saw the famed fashion designer enter behind the Grand Prix winner. The latter was more focused on her phone than the world champion waiting to hug her. 

Charles raised a brow from across the bar with what Presley decided to be old-fashioned in his hand. The brunette knew from the messages they had exchanged that he was disappointed that she had not watched the whole race and had snuck out with Milo to do what the Ferrari driver saw as 'just shopping.'

"If it isn't the Young Fashion Designer of the Year!" Milo beamed as Presley was finally embraced by Lewis Hamilton, who placed a kiss on her forehead. "What was my sister boring you with?" Milo questioned before also greeting Scarlet. 

Presley laughed, but Scarlet interjected and spoke before she had a chance, "Oh nothing, just girl talk." Scarlet winked to her older brother, who wretched his throat mockingly. "Eurgh, grow up, Milo." The younger sibling mocked. 

The dynamic between Scarlet and Milo Crusoe had always fascinated Presley, and from the moment she met the two of them, the fascination had only grown. She loved how they bickered back and forth, but it was never malicious. In fact, in the entire time, Presley had known either of them, she hadn't heard a bad word about the other, ever. 

By the time Presley had made her way through the celebratory crowd, she had:

Been quizzed by Max Verstappen about why Milo was offered the stylist treatment when all he received were sunglasses from the new Steiner & Jaxon collection.

Listened to Juno's story about how Sebastian Vettel asked her to design a helmet for him.

Laughed with Milo as he told Lewis the story about the awkward run-in with Jaspar at the boutique.

 And watched Beau and Daniel's 'shot off'.

When Presley finally reached her husband who was mulling over a new drink. She took the stool next to him at the bar and placed her hand on his shoulder. "What's got you looking so glum?" Presley asked before pressing her lips against his cheek. She was surprised to feel how cold he was. "You had a good race, and you got a podium; you should be celebrating with your friends." She added. 

Charles shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of the old fashioned he had in his hand. He turned his head to look at his wife, who, unlike him, looked perfectly primed and dressed. There wasn't a hair out of place, and her face was beautifully painted with what he had come to learn was her favourite makeup look. A gentle bronzed glow, pink lip gloss, and layers of mascara made her green eyes pop. 

Presley tugged on the rose gold necklace she wore. "Are you OK, Leclerc?" She asked, now worried at the attitude of her husband. 

"I was just hoping when I was on the podium I'd look down and see you, that's all." Charles glumly replied. "But you weren't there." He turned to his wife, regret smeared on her face. Suddenly he felt terrible, but he also knew he shouldn't. This was how he felt, and it was only fitting that he told her. 

Presley chewed on her lip and raised her hand to get the bartender's attention. "Can I get a glass of red; cabernet sauvignon, please?" The bartender nodded and poured her a large glass. "Thank You," She smiled as he passed her the orb of wine. 

She looked at her dishevelled husband, who ruffled his tawny brown hair. "I'm sorry about that, Charles; I didn't really think about it like that," Presley admitted with a deep sigh. "I did watch it, though, and Milo was giving me running commentary." She jested, prodding his shoulder. 

A scoff left the lips of Charles, who instantly regretted the noise. He knew it would poke unwanted questions, and considering this was his fourth drink, perhaps the answers he gave would be more snippy than he would intend. 

Presley picked up on his scoff just as her husband knew she would. "I'm sorry, Charles, but please don't be like that." She remarked as she placed her hand over his. He quickly swept it away but turned to look at her. "I just wish you had been there with me and not with him," Charles answered, his words slightly slurred, which in this case might actually play to his favour. 

"What, Milo?" Presley laughed, not realising that just the mention of his name annoyed her husband. "OK, I think maybe you've had enough to drink for tonight." She indicated and pushed the tumbler away from him. 

There was no true reason for Charles to be annoyed at Milo, but something was bugging him. He couldn't put his finger on it; he knew that it was probably nothing. It was most likely the combination of tiredness, alcohol and a slither of jealousy. Perhaps insecurity.

Besides, Milo had been such a good friend to the Ferrari Driver, and even though he always seemed to be at the butt of the jokes between Milo and Lewis, he knew that they were more like brothers than friends.

Charles shrugged his shoulder and peered at the girl whose whole attention was finally on him. His eyes glistened in the dimly lit bar coming alive with the racers celebrating. "How about you and I get out of here, and we can make a plan for the next race," Presley offered as she cupped his cheek. "And I will watch from Ferrari, with a freaking I love Charles shirt on?" 

His mood changed, and a smile appeared on his face for the first time that evening. There was a spark in Charles' eyes, and he wondered if he had been too hard on his wife; after all, they had been married less than a month, and she was not used to actually having to attend races. Nor did Charles want to force her into doing so. He knew, and he loved, that Presley was passionate about her career, and he also knew very well that her father would never forgive him should he make her choose between fashion and him. 

"You mean it?" Charles beamed, "You don't have to wear the shirt," He hummed and twiddled his fingers.

She shook her head, "If that's what going to put a smile on your face, then that's what I will do." 

Had Charles just won this? He definitely felt victorious; however, he had pouted his way into victory, which didn't feel right. Charles looked to his wife, who had finished her glass of wine and stood up. 

"Now, do you want to get out of here?"