𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧?, charles leclerc

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19

•𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁𝘆 𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗻?•

chapter 19 "𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗡"

all text in "italics" is another language (will be specified which)

ARTHUR LECLERC stared at her. He stared at her from across the room, hiding behind a tall, suited man doing odd, formal things with an empty champagne glass. He hadn't meant to, but the way she was most uselessly (and loudly) spitting out profanities about her teammate weirdly invoked something in him. He didn't think it was right of her to do that, but he sounded like a complete idiot, so he couldn't judge much. In fact, he input his own comments of her conversation with some other lady while sitting alone in a chair at a corner, beneath a hooded pedant. All the while, Nyra chatted his ear off next to him about some package, which he had entirely no clue about. It was only when Charles was mentioned that his neck snapped towards her.

"Charles? What about Charles?" Nyra's brows bunched as she realized he had not been listening. She had only been talking about the package, deliberately badmouthing Arthur so he would admit to sending it— something he was surprisingly adamant on not admitting— and it had taken talking about his brother for him to notice. Her eyes followed where he had been looking, and found Aaliyah talking to Maia, practically shouting curses at her teammate (who was quite a pain). She smirked, looking back at him and straight into his eyes.

"So, you like Maia, huh?" She watched his face contort, moving in every possible angle before swallowing hard.

"Yes." He said, his voice strained and choked, and she almost giggled at the pleasure she was receiving. In a flash, she had called Maia and watching him struggle under her dark gaze was the most fun she had had in a while. Meanwhile, she grabbed Aaliyah and pulled her to a table, throwing fake smiles and clasped one hand over her cast to avoid overly sweaty fingers smothering her palm.

Aaliyah sighed as they were out of sight, clearly breathing properly now. "I swear, this place is full of models, grandpas and some mixed species. There is no in between."

"What about Fred?"

She grimaced, pulling a face. "He's a tortoise"

Nyra held in a snort and clapped her free hand over her stomach. "Okay. Arthur isn't admitting to the package. He didn't blink once when I narrated it to him."

"What if he didn't do it?" She scrunched her nose in thought, the two girls standing in silence, away from all the bustle around them.

"It can't be anyone else. Maybe Pascale, but I don't think she would do that." She wrapped her hands around her neck.

Aaliyah hummed. "You never know. Mother-in-laws can be very demanding."

That enunciated a gasp from the Brazilian, who smacked her friend's hand in response. "I would never marry Arthur!"

Aaliyah rolled her eyes. "Not Arthur." She motioned her head to the side, and Nyra followed her direction. Charles bounced on his knees with his hands tucked deeply into his pockets, smiling as a grandpa spoke to him. Then she realized it was the first time she had had a proper look at him, and he really didn't clean up bad— not that she would say that to him. He wore a fitted black tuxedo and bowtie, the Ferrari logo sitting nicely on his chest. His hair was messed up in all the right places, but not too much that it looked like a birds nest. At that point, all she could think of was how much she wished it had been Pascale.

•

CHARLES SHRUNK beneath the gaze of every well-positioned man, though he himself was one and he was too humble to admit it. And despite him meeting the King and Minister a few years ago, he had never felt himself downsize as much as under the gaze of the Brazilian. He was only a few paces away from her, in the far right of the room. And as inconspicuous as they thought they were being, he could tell that they were talking about him, and that Nyra well knew that he had dressed to impress. What she didn't know was that she was the only one he had really been trying to impress, and if he hadn't done that now, he didn't think there was any point being here. It was mandatory, really, but attending the Ferrari event was the last thing on tonight's list.

He tried to smile and act as interested as he could be in the conversation, but he frankly had no idea who this man was, or why he was happily talking to him in Spanish. Nevertheless, he nodded and grinned at anything that sounded remotely positive and leaned slightly backwards, trying to get a glimpse of her. He had thought of simply excusing himself, but the man was quite old and seemed passionate about whatever it is he was speaking of. So, he decided to stay and listen without a word, eyeing the Brazilian as much as he could. And then he heard his savior from behind him, poking his shoulder and pushing him away, immediately initiating a conversation with the man. He crept out of frame and glanced back at Carlos, who threw him a sly wink while listening. He looked back forwards and froze as he felt warm breath on his neck.

"You could've just told me no one was buying your merch. I would've donated it to the neighborhood in São Paulo."

He smirked, looking down at Nyra. They were just inches apart, and if she didn't know the intensity of her gaze, he would tell her— and she would taste his words on her tongue. The proximity itched at his skin, and he wondered of the last time he had non-sexually been this close to a woman. In cases like these, he would usually take the reigns and grab her by the waist, and hungrily attach his lips to hers. Then she would react, fast because she wants it too, and imprint her lipstick all over his neck. Finally, he would take her home and hear her moans all night long.

But this wasn't that type of case.

Because Charles Leclerc didn't like Nyra Macedo.

He took a step back and prayed he imagined the swift flash of hurt in her eyes, and slight twitch of a finger.

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll take note for next time." He clenched his jaw and bit back an apology, then mentally slapped himself for thinking about apologizing. Since when did he start apologizing?

Nyra sighed shakily, then stepped back too.

"Good. You're learning, putain."