Secrets || Lando Norris

002

Elianna

"I want you to go to the race."

The question if I should attend the race was the main source of my brain not having rest since me and Charles ended our call.

The pros and cons of it were crystal clear to me. If I would go, I could spend some time with Charles, which unfortunately we don't have much of.  And to take it from the business side as a content creator, it would be a good vlog.

However, if I go, I will have to expect a lot of journalists who will suddenly know my name. There will be articles about who I am and how I relate to Charles in the first place. Which, yeah, I can handle attention, but what if things escalate to a point where it's not going to be just friendly articles?

Or perhaps when I will go, wouldn't it somehow intervene into Charles's current relationship? Because Genevieve is sick - bless her soul - now I am the one to go. But obviously people will make a mountain out of a molehill and twist the situation completely.

Five years ago I wouldn't mind. I would pack my stuff, maybe scold Charles why hasn't he invited me sooner, maybe yell at myself why I haven't attended a race before, and go without any further thinking. But my actions from the past and my best friend had drilled a constant red exclamation mark into the back of my head that reminds me to think things through before I jump into the unknown.

I was yet again thinking too much to a point I completely zoned out and forgot about my surroundings, but was brought back to reality when a sharp pain ran through my fingers. I hissed and cursed at myself mentally for not paying attention to the vegetables I was cutting while preparing my lunch.

And apparently that wasn't the only thing that stopped me from making the meal. I heard the ringtone of my phone come from my living room - which is technically still part of the room I was in since the kitchen and living room are one room.

Taking the phone with my not cut fingers, I smiled at the caller ID before accepting, "Hi Zane, how are you?"

"Hi babe, sorry I didn't respond earlier, been busy with work," he said calmly, "How are you doing?"

Zane and I have known since the day I got lost and couldn't find my way home. He was the stranger I approached and let's say that things between us clicked immediately. After a few months of knowing each other, going out and all the courtesy, we started dating. He is the perfect epitome of a model - brown hair with short sides and longer middle, ocean blue eyes, straight nose, full lips, sharp jawline, lean posture...you name it, he has it.

"It's alright, I don't mind," I put the call on a speaker and took out the first aid kit before putting a patch over the cuts on my fingers. I'm lucky I wasn't putting more pressure on the knife, that wouldn't end up so good. "Actually after I tried to call you, Charles had called."

"Oh really? After what..half a year?" he attempted a joke but I furrowed my brows.

"He calls every weeken—"

"I know, I know, babe, I was just joking," He cut me off quickly, "Carry on, please."

"Well, we talked for a bit and he asked me if I want to go to his upcoming race," I waited for a second for him to say something. But when he didn't, I carried on, "I would like to, but don't know if I should."

"That's just up to you, babe," he sighed, "But you know how I view the sport he does."

Oh yes, I forgot about that detail about him. Zane doesn't like Formula 1, or any sport that resembles or is associated with cars. His reasoning is that it's just a few cars going around in circles, like sheep after peasant.