𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈 | 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

𝐗𝐕

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November 11th 2018

ZAHRA NICHOLS

I found myself in a frenzy, racing against the clock to put together a look. Hair? Check. Makeup? Check. But the outfit? Well, that was the challenge.

"What the fuck do you wear to a Grand Prix?" I muttered to myself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I needed help, and fast.

Enter Rory, Amara, and Emmy, trust me, I would've picked anyone else if I could. 

"You need to wear something light, but still looks elegant and not too revealing," she explained, going for a more reasonable approach. Amara and Emmy nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I've seen it, they're gonna call you a whore if you give them the wrong impressions," Amara interjected, honestly she was just stating the truth.

"Okay so, what the fuck do I wear?" I urged.

And that was their cue to rifle through my wardrobe, tossing aside clothes recklessly. Finally, they pushed me towards the mirror to see the full outfit. A black and white checkered mini dress, gold jewelry on my neck and wrists, white ballet flats and a black tote. 

"Are you really not coming?" I pleaded. The thought of spending an entire day with Charles and Spencer was enough to send shivers down my spine. "I don't wanna spend a whole day with Charles and Spencer," I begged.

"Go find someone's girlfriend to hang out with," Emmy laughed, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. 

I sighed, then I made my way downstairs, mentally preparing myself for a day of racing and just the thought of being in a car with both Charles and Spencer. Charles was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he took in my appearance. "Do I look okay?" I asked, uncertain. His response was immediate, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes. "Perfect," he murmured.

The car ride to the track was an exercise in patience, to say the least. The scenery outside the window should have been calming, but the constant bickering between Charles and Spencer felt like nails on a chalkboard. I found myself retreating into my own thoughts, Charles and Spencer was just white noise.

As we arrived at the bustling circuit, the energy was electric. As Charles and I navigated through the paddock, a couple of cameras suddenly appeared in our direction, their lenses focused on us as if it was a grand entrance. It was a new experience for me, but surprisingly, I didn't mind the attention. I kept reminding myself it was all part of the excitement.

I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation nearby. One voice caught my attention—there was this blonde haired photographer with the most perfect British accent. She looked a bit older than me, and there was something about the clothes she wore. It was so classy, but fresh. She was just so cool. There's no other word. She might be the coolest person I've seen.

Charles disappeared to a bunch of interviews and meetings, and Spencer disappeared into a group of guys, I found myself adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. With no one to tag along with, I was left alone. Charles had suggested I stay the Alfa Romeo hospitality building, but where's the fun in that?

I wanted to make the most of my time here, so I set out to explore the paddock. I can confidently say now, that this is the place to be. Everywhere I turned, I was met with a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds—the talks of the people, the shutters of cameras, and the bright colors of team flags fluttering in the wind.