heatwave | Charles Leclerc | re-writing

Chapter 4

Paris, October 2022 - Victoria Marino

We got out of the coffee shop, diving in the sea of people that were rushing through the streets of the French city.

"Have you ever climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower?," he wanted to know, turning his head to look at me.

His thick french accent masked with his well trained english was a motive to probably make fun of him if I got drunk. That throught ran across my mind, making my lips curve upwards.

"I think it is one of the most famous places in the world that I never visited," I informed, staring forward to avoid his green eyes.

"Okay, has been registered," he told me quietly.

We both remained silent, now bolting through the crowd as it felt like the world was ending and it was just me and him. I took a second to soak in the view that he was. Chocolate messy hair, piercing green eyes, dimples on his cheeks that would pop up every time he smiled, strong shoulders that were covered with his blue sweater, denim jeans that fit him perfectly and white sneakers. Ab old-looking watch on his wrist and a bracelet on the other.

"Where are you taking me to right now?," curiosity ran through me again.

"I can really tell that patience is one of your best traits of personality," he mocked, snorting as he shook his head.

"And being polite is one of yours," I debated, making his shoulders go up and down.

We walked down three blocks and brisked into the Saint-Honoré street literally the one where my favourite Versace store in the world was situated.

Charles stopped in front of the glass-windowed shop, his hand waving at the giant sign that spelled Versace.

"Yesterday, when I got into my hotel room, I did some research on your Instagram profile and googled your name and I eneded up running into some old interviews that you made," he confessed, a shy grinn on his lips, "I sucessfuly concluded that your favourite designer clothes are from Versace."

"Should I be scared?," I inquired, his brows knitted together. "That sounded too much like those creeps that are always comenting on my posts some facts about me that only my mother knows."

"Look if you aren't such a little cutie pie, miss Victoria," he sassed, his sarcastic tone made me chuckle, my hand covering my mouth, "comparing me to old creepy men," his hand met his chest, faking proudness.

I shook my head and left him planted there and walked into Versace, feeling him following my steps. I felt like I had just entered heaven and was about to meet God the exact moment I saw all the racks with clothes, jewelery and much more.

His hand laid on my shoulder, making me jump in the spot. "The deal is," he began, "you pick something, I pay for it."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his serious face sending me a need to just laugh.

"What?," I arched my brow as a reflex, "Are you actually crazy? Everything inside this walls," I pointed at everything around us, "are the double of the minimum salary in any country on the planet. I'm not letting you pay," I contested.

"I want to pay and I'm going to, it's part of the surprise," he clarified, insisting on his fucked up idea.

I don't know about you guys, but where I came from, you don't go around buying Versace stuff to strangers.

"Fine, you crazy motherfucker," I gave up, my hands up in the air. "Next time we hang out, I'll pay for every single thing, agreed?"

"Look at her, already saying that wants to hang out with me again, you really do love me, don't you?," he poked my waist.