Julianna Dumont, a world-famous singer, takes interest in a crowd member (Charles Leclerc) at one of her concerts. What happens when their lives cross, and the vastly different worlds of a performer and professional racer intermix?
Started: 21.03.24...
"Good morning, beautiful," I hear Charles' deep morning voice in my ear as my eyes begin to open. Hot.
"Mm, good morning, handsome," face still buried in his bare chest.
"Slept well?" he asks, stroking my hair.
"Very well," I reply, snuggling into him even more.
"Well we can't stay here forever, my love," he says in response to my movement. "We have a flight to Miami in the evening,"
"Right," I say, still groggy.
I agreed to go to Miami to watch the Grand Prix this weekend; the album was coming to a clean finish and I have some extra time to spare. Plus, I've just missed the whole experience of watching the races in real life.
Charles gives me another kiss on the forehead before sitting up and moving off the bed. "I'm going to get ready first,"
"Okay," I reply. "Hungry?"
"You don't have to cook, really," he answers preemtively.
"No, Charles," I refuse, getting up myself. "I want to,"
He looks at me with soft eyes, that have sleep lingering by their corners. "Thank you, baby," before disappearing to the bathroom.
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We get in the car, Charles driving this time, and are about to make our way to Nice. It takes about an hour to get there so I immediately take charge of the music, connecting my phone to the car's bluetooth.
"What do you wanna listen to?" I ask Charles as he pulls out of his driveway.
"False God by Julianna Dumont," he says without missing a beat, forcing a laugh out of me.
"Why are you laughing?" he jokes. "You really should play it,"
"Fine," I give in, playing the unreleased finished studio recording of the song. "You're lucky. You get to listen to all this before it comes out."
"I am indeed," he laughs.
I grab his free hand in my own as I shuffle through my playlist, looking for songs to queue. 'False God' eventually ends, and 'striptease' by carwash comes on.
"I haven't listened to this in awhile," I say. "It reminds me of Nice, though,"
