Im here with you- CHARLES LECLERC

Twenty-Two

Angelina's POV

I sat in my dressing room, staring blankly at the mirror, my fingers nervously tapping on the table in front of me. It was finally here: the first semi-final of Eurovision. I was supposed to go out there and just do what I always did—sing. But all I could think about were the ways everything could go wrong. My heart was racing, and my thoughts kept returning to the same terrifying ideas: What if they don't like my song?

I couldn't help but think of Joost Klein and Baby Lasagna—Marko, as I called him. Their performances were full of energy, fun, and the crowd already loved them. I wasn't sure if "La noia" would have the same impact. What if the audience didn't connect with it? What if it didn't hit as hard as I'd hoped?

My hands shook as I imagined standing on that massive stage, staring at a sea of blank faces. No applause. No reaction. My throat tightened just thinking about it.

A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts, and the door opened slightly. Victoria peeked in, but before I could say anything, he came in—Charlie, or as I sometimes called him, Cha. He looked concerned, his eyes scanning my face as he rushed toward me.

"Nina," he said, his voice soft but serious. "What's wrong?"

The moment he was in front of me, his hands holding mine, I broke. Tears welled up in my eyes, and all the worries I had been holding in burst out.

"I... I'm terrified, Charlie," I admitted, my voice shaky. "What if my song isn't good enough? What if the crowd doesn't like it? Joost's song is so fun, and Baby Lasagna—Marko—he has this energy that I just don't. I feel like I'm going to fall flat out there."

Charles knelt down in front of me, his hands squeezing mine gently. "Nina, you're not going to fall flat. You're going to blow them away," he said, his voice full of warmth and confidence. "You've worked so hard for this, and your song has heart. It's real, it's you. And trust me, they're going to feel that."

I sniffled, wiping a tear away. "But... what if they don't? What if I mess up, Charles?"

He shook his head, looking straight into my eyes. "You won't. You've got me, Max, Checo, your dad—everyone is here for you. And we believe in you. You've done everything you can, and now it's time to show them who Angelina Mango really is."

I wanted to believe him. His words soothed the sharp edge of my anxiety, but the fear was still there. Before I could respond, my phone lit up on the vanity. I glanced at it, wiping away another tear, and saw the name on the screen: Dad.

It was a message from my father, Jos Verstappen. Our relationship had finally started to warm up in the last few months, and seeing his message right now hit me hard. I hadn't seen him much during the last few days because of rehearsals, but I knew he was here for Max and for me, too.

I opened the message and read it, my heart swelling:

"Go, my little Verstappen. I'm here cheering for you. Make us all proud tonight. You've already won in my eyes, no matter what happens on stage. You've worked hard, and now it's time to enjoy it. Max, Checo, and I are all here, right in front, watching you. You've got this. We love you."

I let out a shaky breath, my tears spilling over again. This time, they weren't from fear but from the overwhelming love and support I felt from my family. Dad was here for me, cheering me on.

I looked at Charles, showing him the message. He smiled softly, his thumb brushing away the last of my tears. "See, Nina? Everyone's proud of you already."

I took a deep breath, nodding. "Okay," I whispered. "I have to go. It's time."

Charles stood and kissed me softly on the lips. "You're going to be incredible, Chérie."

I kissed him again, feeling a rush of warmth and reassurance. "Thank you," I murmured, feeling a little steadier as I turned toward the door. It was time to face the stage.

The arena roared with excitement as I stepped onto the stage. The lights were so bright, they almost blinded me, but the energy in the room was unmistakable. My heart was pounding in my chest as the opening notes of "La noia" filled the space, reverberating through me.

For a brief second, my nerves flared up again, but then I spotted them. Right in the front row. Max, sitting with Checo, Christian, and Dad, all of them in the Red Bull seats. Max gave me a reassuring nod, his eyes shining with pride. I knew he was holding back tears, but seeing him there gave me the strength I needed. Dad, too, looked at me with a quiet, firm support that made my heart swell.

And then there was Charles, sitting in the front row as well with Carlos and Fred by his sides, his eyes locked on me with that soft smile that told me everything would be okay. He was my rock, and just knowing he was there made me feel grounded.

The music swelled, and I began to sing. Every word, every note, it all came pouring out of me. I didn't care anymore about the comparison to Joost or Marko. This was my moment, and I was giving it everything I had. My voice carried through the arena, and I could feel the connection growing with the audience, like they were right there with me, feeling every emotion I poured into the song.

I glanced at Charles again mid-performance. His smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling with pride. Max, on the other hand, had finally let go of his emotions—his face was streaked with tears, and I could see him wiping them away.

As the last note rang out, there was a beat of silence before the crowd erupted into a deafening cheer. I stood there, stunned by the sheer force of their applause.

"Grazie!" I shouted into the microphone, my voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you so much!"

I waved and blew a kiss to the audience, my heart pounding with joy and relief. As I stepped off the stage, I saw Max rushing toward me, tears streaming down his face.

"You did it!" he cried, wrapping me in a tight hug. "You were amazing, Nina. You were perfect."

I hugged him back, my heart full. "Thanks, Max," I whispered. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Charles' POV

Back at the hotel, I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing Angelina had been tonight. She had given everything on that stage, and I knew—without a doubt—that she was going to win. There was no way anyone could have watched that performance and not been blown away.

She had changed into her comfy clothes as soon as we left the theatre, exhausted from the emotional high of the night. Now, she was lying on her stomach, half-asleep, her face buried in the pillow. I sat beside her on the bed, gently brushing her hair away from her face.

She mumbled something incoherent, too tired to make sense, and I couldn't help but smile. She looked so peaceful now, completely relaxed after everything.

Leaning down, I kissed the top of her head, lingering for a moment. "You were incredible tonight, Nina," I whispered.

She stirred slightly, her voice sleepy and soft. "I love you so much, Cha."

I smiled, my heart swelling. "I love you too, Chérie," I whispered back, gently kissing her hair again. She had been amazing tonight, and tomorrow, we would celebrate her success together.