Hot off the Press | Charles Leclerc | F1

f i f t e e n

"This cannot be happening," Charles said, trying the door again. He tugged a hand through his hair, clearly panicking about the prospect of missing the qualifying session. "Did you lock us in?" he asked, turning on Fia.

"Me?" She was stunned by the accusation. "The last thing I want in the world right now is to be stuck in a room with you, Leclerc."

Charles banged his fist against the door, trying to get someone's attention. "I told you to call me Charles."

Beyond the frosted glass, the hallway was empty. Fia sat down with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to slow her breathing. "You used to call me Fiona," she pointed out.

"That was before."

"Before what?"

He stared down at her, the line of his jaw taut. She tried to work out what was going on in his mind, but his perfect face was unreadable as usual. He shook his head. "It does not matter."

An irritated puff of air left Fia's mouth. Of course, he couldn't answer a straightforward question. "Don't you have your phone with you?" she asked.

"I was about to get into the car, so no. Don't you?"

She held the black screen of her phone up. "It died earlier, and I didn't have a charger. I was hoping Adam would have one when he came back from lunch."

"Putain," Charles swore under his breath.

"How long until qualifying starts?"

"Less than ten minutes." He banged on the door again. When no one came to help, Charles sighed deeply and sat down next to Fia, who was chewing her lip.

"I'm sorry," she said after a few minutes of silence. "This is my fault."

"It isn't your fault." Charles leaned his head back and closed his eyes, exhaling. "You didn't know this would happen."

"I should have."

He opened one eye to look at her. "What does that mean?"

"I think I'm cursed," she said, trying to keep her voice light as she picked at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. It wasn't something she'd ever admitted before, but she realised as she said it that it was fundamental to how she understood herself. In her mind, it was an absolute truth: bad things always happened when she was around.

"You really think that?"

Fia shrugged and pushed herself up off the floor. "Yes, no, maybe. Who cares?"

Charles followed, unwilling to let her nonchalance go. "Hey," he said, catching her wrist. Their eyes locked, and she felt her pulse accelerate. She hoped he couldn't feel it under the pads of his fingers. "You are not cursed."

"That's easy for you to say, il Predestinato." She forced a smile.

"Fia—"

Suddenly, the door flew open, revealing a flustered-looking Carlos. "What the hell are you guys doing in here?"

Fia and Charles leapt back from each other, and Carlos looked between them, one eyebrow raised.

"How did you get the door open?" Charles asked, grabbing his helmet.

"The latch is broken. You can't open it from the inside; that's why no one uses this room anymore." Carlos gestured for them to hurry. "Qualifying will start any second. Dios mío, the whole paddock has been looking for you!"

Charles hesitated, glancing back at Fia.

"Go," she mouthed silently. "Good luck."

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