The bet | Charles Leclerc

• Nineteen •

Friday

The hot Australian breeze hits my face, sending heat to my already flushed cheeks. In a sundress, photographers take pictures of me from left, right and center inside the paddock.

I know exactly why; my interview with Hamilton has gained everyone's attention. But having this many eyes on you, is extremely intimidating.

Phone in hand, ready to call Richard at any given moment, I practically run away from this situation, and those godawful camera flashes.

A week has passed since Saudi Arabia. A week has passed since I last saw Leclerc, since I felt his lips against my own.

Stop Isa.

But I can't. Throughout the whole week, I've only been able to focus on one singular thing, or well someone.

Leclerc.

It's like he haunts my mind, circulating my thoughts again and again. And I can't push it away. No matter how fucking hard I try.

"Hey Richard!" I forcefully coat my voice in a chirpy tone, calling Richard in a panic as the photographers follow after me.

"Hello Isa?" Richard replies through the phone, the suspicion clear in his voice, even through the choppy audio.

Anyone in their right mind, would know I'm not a chirpy person.

"Could you maybe come rescue me?" I ask him, turning my head to find an even bigger horde of photographers. "I have a case of persistent photographers"

A loud, disappointed sigh leaves Richards lips on the other end of the line. "Fucking stalkers" He mumbles under his breath, a loud scramble following.

"I'm on my way love, meet me at the office okay?" Richard assures me, his voice as soothing and comforting as it always is.

"Thank you Rich, really" I respond, trying not to sound as panicked - and fucking annoyed - as I truly am over those photographers.

I get it, I'm Max Verstappen's sister.
I get it, I'm a successful journalist.
But does that really allow them to invade my privacy like this? Taking pictures is one thing, but following me is a whole new degree..

After a couple minutes of speed walking and the sound of camera flashes, Richard finally comes into my vision, by his usual office.

He looks worried sick. Great.

"You okay?" He whispers to me, as he quickly throws an arm around me, leading me away from this chaos.

"Yeah, course" I answer, smiling weakly at Richard. A couple of photographers can't take away my shine, I won't let them.

Richard opens the office door for me, his smile just as weak. I take a step forward, heading inside. "Isa is it true you're seeing Charles Leclerc in private?!"

My whole body freezes. Stone cold, eyes wide and breath ragged. What?

I stare blankly at the photographer in front of me, a microphone in her hand, and a wild excitement in her eyes.

What happened to me being the journalist?
The worst part about is that I see myself in her.
I'd be the exact same if I heard those news.
If I wasn't myself of course.

"I'll contact the police if you guys don't back off!" Richard threatens them all, pushing me inside, as he gives them all an annoyed death glare.

Once I've gotten inside, once I've gotten to safety, realization hits me hard in the guts. They know. They fucking know.