Mon Amour | 𝑪.𝑳

Part 26

The Spanish Grand Prix was hot.

Lyla had deducted this statement after waking up covered in her own sweat, a disgusting thought that had made her jump into the shower almost instantly.

Since it was Carlo's home grand prix, the Spaniard had demanded that she spend the weekend with Ferrari.

Free practice the day before had gone extremely well for nearly every team - Ferrari was finally living up to the expectations that came with its name and Lyla was happy to be able to finally stand in the back of the garage with her headphones on and not feel the insane tension which had originally been manifested into everyone's body.

With Qualifying beginning in half an hour, the teams were making last minute preparations and drivers getting into their zones. The Ferrari garage was quiet other than the hum of music in the background from whoever had their playlist playing through the speakers. Carlos was stood at the side of his car talking with his mechanics and engineers whilst Charles was sat on the floor in the corner of the garage, head leant back against the wall and eyes closed as he rested his arms on his knees.

Lyla was sat on the stool nearby, casting a watchful eye around the garage. Her eyebrows raised when she was brought into a conversation with the mechanics that sat next to her, the sound of their laughter echoing through the air of the garage easing the stress that was slowly beginning to build its way up through the walls.

"If we get top three you owe us drinks." One of the mechanics points to Lyla.

"Why me?" She gasps, hand on her chest. "Why do I have to buy the drinks?"

"Because your the one who started this bet in the first place." Another one speaks.

"Ah, but it was you who decided to make the bet on which Mercedes would come out on top."

"Touche."

"You still owe us drinks."

"I do not!" Lyla hits her palm on the table. "I am not buying you drinks!"

Before their conversation could continue (more like bickering match), Lyla's attention was drawn to Charles who was looking at her from his position on the floor. The young woman shook her head, jumping down from her chair and approaching the Monegasque who gave her a small smile in greeting.

Lyla took her seat on the floor next to him, their knees touching as she sat at his side. Charles' head dropped onto her shoulder, both of them silent as he closed his eyes again and started to imagine the track. Imagining that he was in the car, when he had to break, when he had to accelerate, when he had to change gears and when he had to turn the steering wheel and in what direction.

The young woman gently rest her head a top his. Not making a single sound or movement other than blinking and breathing so she didn't break him from his routine. Instead, she stared off into the garage in front of her - taking in the sight of the mechanics bustling around getting ready for pit stops and to get the cars ready for qualifying or the engineers taking in data and going over it with each other, glancing at all the computer screens. Her eyes fell onto Carlos, who glanced over to her and Charles and smiled at them, the Spaniard winking cheekily at Lyla which made her roll her eyes at him before he turned away again.

Being a Ferrari driver - you had expectations to live up to.

The minute you wore those red race suits and sat in those bright red cars you were apart of history.

There were people who expected you to immediately excel in the team like Michael Schumacher. People who expected you to immediately become a driver like Nigel Mansell. People who expected you to be tactical like Alain Prost when you got behind the wheel.