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"Geneviève, nous sommes un peu en retard," my father's voice carried a note of urgency that could be heard all the way upstairs. "We need to leave for Nice Côte d'Azur Airport soon if we want to catch our flight to Bahrain."
(Geneviève, we're running a bit late)
I hurriedly gathered my belongings, feeling a twinge of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation for the start of the Formula 1 season. "Je sais, Papa, juste donne-moi une minute," I replied, zipping up my bag and double-checking that I had everything I needed.
(I know, Dad, just give me a minute).
As I dashed downstairs to meet my impatient father, my purse slipped from my grasp, tumbling to the ground with an audible thud. "Génial," I muttered under my breath, relieved to find that nothing had spilled out in the process. Quickly scooping it up, I hurried to catch up with my father, determined not to delay our departure any further. (Great)
My dad stood in the foyer, near the entrance door, his phone pressed to his ear. "It's not a good look," my father remarked with concern evident in his tone, "We need to address this before it becomes a bigger issue, but later, right now i'm heading off to the airport." Ending the call, he glanced over at me, "Êtes-vous prêtes? (are you ready?)
"Oui," I replied.
As the door swung open, flooding the foyer with the golden light of the late afternoon sun, my father's reassuring smile cut through the rush of anxiety. His eyes, a reflection of confidence, met mine briefly before he uttered the words I needed to hear. "Don't worry, Genviève, we'll make it in time," he said, his voice a soothing balm to my nerves.
In moments, we were installed in the plush interior of our waiting car, the scent of leather mingling with the faint aroma of fresh cologne. The soft purr of the engine filled the air as our chauffeur expertly navigated through the labyrinthine streets of Monaco. Buildings whizzed past, their opulent facades a testament to the wealth and prestige of the principality.
As we wound our way through the bustling city, my father's optimism was palpable. "We're making good time," he noted, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. And indeed, with each passing moment, the tension in my shoulders eased ever so slightly, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation for the journey ahead.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I ventured to inquire about the phone call my father had just concluded. "Is everything alright?" I asked tentatively, unable to suppress the curiosity that bubbled within me. "You seemed a bit tense on the phone."
My father glanced at me, a faint furrow forming between his brows before he sighed softly. "It's just some work-related issues," he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "But nothing we can't handle." Despite his attempt to brush off the concern, I could sense a lingering tension beneath his composed demeanour.
