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chapter twenty one. backstabber.
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It's exactly two nights after Austria — to Althea's surprise, the last few races had been a blur. To be fair, they'd all blended into one because of the triple header.
Even Austria had been a blur — there was his win, a win that Althea was still recovering from. Her voice had been strained and she glances at George and then at the calendar in her phone.
She swallows the forming lump in her throat as she opens her mouth to form a sentence but it dies in her throat.
He glances at her. "You okay...?"
She lets out a strangulated sound and nods. "Yep." she choked out.
Augustine's name flashes on her screen — much to Althea's surprise. She pressed the answer button and held the phone up to her ear. "Hello...?"
"Hey, it's me. Can we talk...?"
"Like on the phone or...?"
Augustine pauses. "Can you meet me at Cafe de Paris..?"
Althea makes a sound of agreement and looks at George. "Yeah." she says softly.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
By the time Althea arrives, Augustine is already sitting there with a croissant in front of her. "You came." Augustine says quietly.
"You called." Althea says almost solemnly.
"So... Silverstone is coming up." Augustine starts.
