Charles swirled his spoon around in the cup of coffee sitting in front of him, but he kept his eyes fixated on the doorway. His stomach was a ball of nerves, but if anyone were to ask, it was because he needed to redeem his race weekend after the disappointment of Singapore – not that he was about to face the girl he loved.
He had arrived early, but he was surprised not to see that Presley had decided to do the same, and in Charles' head, the only reason he could land on was that his wife didn't want to leave his best friend's bed.
And then she walked through the door. Her brunette hair curled and swept onto one shoulder. From a distance, Charles could make out that she wore her makeup the same she always did, but instead of a glossy pink lip, matte red – Ferrari red?
Presley spotted her husband in the busying hospitality and made her way over. She was nervous, and she wasn't afraid to admit it. However, the fashion designer had more reason to be so. Pictures had circulated from many media outlets showing Charles and Jaspar in fits of laughter yesterday, and in her mind, it was only so long before she ran into him.
Awkwardly she stood at the head of the table until Charles stood up. He timidly wrapped one around her shoulder. Immediately her familiar perfume hit him, and that shook him. It was a scent he hadn't been able to get out of his head, and here it was once again on the girl that made his heart skip.
"Hey, Leclerc," Presley smiled, and she took a seat. There was already a mug of tea on the table for her that Charles had ordered. Although it was now getting cold, she appreciated the thought. "Thank You for agreeing to talk." She added, and now the nervous tension began to form.
Charles looked at his wife, her emerald, green eyes seemed duller than he remembered, and there was no curl to her lips. In fact, whilst she still looked beautiful, Charles had never seen her so grey. There was a look of exhaustion glazed across her face. However, that could be for many reasons, and Charles chose to pick the ones that didn't make him the reason.
He shrugged his shoulders, "Well, we are married, so I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt." Charles smarmily remarked. "Plus, I have missed you," He added, slightly softer.
It wasn't a lie. The Ferrari driver felt like a part of him was lost when she had upped and left; nevertheless, he also couldn't hide his disgust at her actions since she had left. Not only had Presley been spotted with her ex-boyfriend, but she was also playing house with his best friend of all people. It left a bitter taste in Charles' mouth.
Presley pursed her lips. "I was sort of expecting an apology from you, if I'm honest." She bit back, which came as a surprise to her husband. "I don't care how much you hate me; you had no right to post those pictures." She informed him with a forthright tone.
Charles knew that this was going to be something she wished to talk about, and even though he had read the riot act by Lewis, he still wasn't sure why he was in the wrong. The easiest thing would be to apologise for it, and he intended to do so, but not before finding out exactly what happened on New Year's Eve.
His blue eyes looked at his wife; she couldn't meet his eyes. "I am sorry about that, it was wrong, but I was just surprised to find out that you and Milo had been hooking up for 18 months." Charles snapped, "Cheating on two boyfriends isn't a good look, well, one boyfriend and one husband."
Presley shook her head profusely, "That is not true, not at all." She told him. "I haven't cheated on you, Leclerc."
Charles scoffed. She was lying, and he knew it. "Jaspar told me all about it, so don't bother trying to fool me."
When Jaspar had first messaged Charles, he threw it away because he wanted to trust his wife, but as time went on, he found it hard to do so – and then she left his race to go shopping with Milo. If Jaspar hadn't run into them and spotted Presley hanging off Milo's arm, then perhaps their secret relationship would have remained unknown.
In exasperation, Presley brought her hand to her head, "And you believe him? The guy pinned me against a wall and threw a wine glass inches from my head?" She replied, her voice breaking as she tried to hold back frustrated tears that threatened to drop. "Well, then I suppose there is nothing I can say to change your mind."
Charles rolled his eyes. These were the dramatics Jaspar had warned about him; Jaspar advised him that the pretty brunette would never tell him the complete story because she couldn't remember which lie she had told. Still, a part of the driver wanted to comfort her. He hated seeing her break in front of him, but he was also angry at her.
"You can tell me what happened that night and why you ended up in bed with Milo?" Charles pushed. He wanted to know the details of New Year's Eve. He desperately wanted to know why she picked Milo over him. "If I knew the details, then I might forgive you."
A tear dropped from her eyes, and she quickly wiped it away. "What's the point? You've already made your decision." Presley sobbed and looked down at the pot of tea that she hadn't even poured. "You know what, you're exactly like Jaspar." She snarled, "My dad was right; I should pick a nice guy like Milo."
That was the moment that Charles lost it. He shoved his empty coffee mug straight off the table past Presley's arm and narrowly missed her. It hit the floor with a smash. Her eyes followed the movement, and she shuddered when it hit the ground. That was enough to make her jump out of her seat. That noise, the look in Charles' eyes, the way he slammed his fists down on the table. It took her back.
Presley took a deep breath and composed herself. She stood up and looked her husband directly in the eyes. "I wanted this to work, but I'm done, expect a call from my lawyer." She fumed and picked up her bag.
"You're only doing this to continue sleeping with Milo and not feel bad about it." Charles stormed. His words were laced with hurt, but the overwhelming feeling was anger.
Presley shrugged her shoulders and pinched her nose, "Good Luck with your race today. I hope you win; we might not have worked out but...yeah,"
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