heatwave | Charles Leclerc | re-writing

Chapter 18

Abu Dhabi, November 2022 — Victoria Marino

Charles helped me out of the taxi, his hand warm against mine as the dry desert wind tangled in my hair. The night was hot, buzzing softly with the quiet hum of city lights. He had promised me dinner somewhere special, and I hadn't questioned it, just nodded, eager to spend the evening with him.

The restaurant stood tall and sleek, hidden behind a minimalist glass facade and bathed in soft amber lighting. It looked expensive, too expensive. I already knew I'd have to fight him to split the bill or at least leave the tip.

We walked through the front doors and found the place nearly empty. Quiet. Intimate. A waiter approached us immediately, dressed immaculately in black and white, and led us to a table near the back where city lights shimmered faintly through the windows.

We sat down, and another waiter arrived moments later with a soft smile.

"Good evening. May I take your drink order?"

Charles glanced at me.

"What do you want to drink?"

"I don't know... maybe wine?"

He nodded, eyes then shifting to the waiter. "We'll have a bottle of your best red, please."

"Right away, sir."

The waiter left, and I couldn't help but smile.

"The people here are so polite."

"They are," he said, leaning back in his seat. "But their rules are strict as hell."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be happy living here. Lie - I probably would. Life here is clean, rich, everything's fast and shiny. But damn, the laws are so tight for literally no reason."

He smirked. "I'd rather be happy in Monaco or Milan."

"Playboy," I teased, making him laugh.

He fell quiet for a beat, fingers playing with the corner of his napkin.

"I was thinking yesterday...," he began, eyes not meeting mine.

"You're always thinking too much."

"Well, I'm an overthinker. It's in the job description. Anyway, I was considering that maybe we could start doing stuff like, I don't know, kissing in public. Hand holding. Just stop hiding, you know?"

I thought for a second. "For me, that's alright."

His eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

I nodded, feeling a small warmth rise to my cheeks.

"You know, it's kinda funny how things got to this point. Since I was, like, fifteen, people have labeled me a sex symbol. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing - being compared to women like Angelina Jolie, Megan Fox, even Adriana Lima - it's wild. I used them as inspiration all my life. But then suddenly, people start throwing your name next to Gisele Bündchen or Naomi Campbell, and it stops feeling real. Like, you forget you're even a person anymore."

He blinked at me. "What does this have to do with public affection?"

I raised an eyebrow. "If you didn't interrupt me every five seconds..."

"Sorry," he said quickly, leaning forward to take my hand across the table. His thumb brushed lightly over my fingers. "Please keep talking."

I looked down at our joined hands.

"All these women had one thing in common. The moment they dated someone, the world turned on them. They were sluts. Distractions. Puppets. And I know that's what the world has planned for me, too. Hell, it's already started. But I've been thinking... if they call me a slut for loving you? Then maybe, for once, it's worth it."