𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 - ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ

2

𝘌𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦'𝘴 𝘗𝘖𝘝:

I opened my eyes feeling the rays of sun hit my face. I squinted trying to get used to the bright lighting. I felt a pulsating pain in my head. I moved my hand trying to find my aspirins in my nightstand blindly. I knocked over a few things until I finally found them.

I took one out and swallowed it only using my saliva. I passed my hands through my face and stretched them out. I yawned and took my silk covers off me. Today was the GP.

The door opened and Olga walked in with a silver tray. It had a green juice on it. She placed it on my nightstand and I looked at her.

"Merci." I smiled.

"De rien mademoiselle Bennet." She smiled back. "I know you're hungover, the juice will help sooth the headache."

"Merci, Olga."

"Also, your mother requested your presence downstairs. She said you had an appointment."

I frowned in confusion.

"Do you know what that's about?" I asked and she shrugged.

"Je ne sais pas. But she looked serious about it." Olga spoke making me worry.

"Merci, Olga." I tried smiling and she nodded.

"Bonne chance." She walked out closing the door behind her.

I straightened my posture and looked out my window. I could see the busy Monaco streets and the tourists walking through the beautiful city.

I got up and walked towards my wardrobe. I grabbed a white dress, some white heels and a McLaren jacket to support the team.

I quickly did my hair and makeup and walked down the stairs.

"You're late." My mother remarked.

"Pardon. Bonjour." I quickly walked towards her. "What appointment did we even had?" I asked confused.

"I want you to meet someone, it's really important. I hope you behave like a lady this time." She glared at me.

"But today's the Grand Prix, I promised Daniel and Pierre I'd be there." I tried explaining.

"Don't worry, we're watching the Grand Prix." She replied and I smiled. "From Hôtel De Paris." She completed and my smiled faded.

"Non, je ne peux pas. I'm watching it from the McLaren pitbox." I contradicted her statement.

"Elodie. Don't start with the whining. We're watching it from there and I don't want a word. Understood?" She asked and I sighed and looked down. "Understood?" She insisted looking for an answer.

"Understood." I muttered.

"D'accord. Let's go, we're already late."

"Who's waiting for us?" I asked walking besides her.

"You'll see, chérie."

[...]

We arrived at the Hôtel de Paris and we got off the limo. We made our way to the entrance while paparazzi followed us throwing questions at me.

"We're you fighting?"

"Was Leclerc your boyfriend?"

"Did he cheated on you?"

"Have you talked to him?"

I ignored the questions pushing my dark shades up the bridge of my nose. We walked in the hotel and we were greeted by the manager.