On and Off the Track

S E V E N T Y

As the engines fired up and the roar of the crowd grew louder, I felt the ground vibrating beneath my feet. It was the sound of pure adrenaline, the kind of energy that made the air around me electric. I settled into my seat in the paddock, watching the team scramble in preparation for what would undoubtedly be one of the most intense races of the season. Charles was out there, helmet on, visor down, in his element. I had seen him like this before—focused, calm, ready. But today was different. It wasn't just about points or a podium; it was about history, legacy, and the tifosi. Ferrari's home race was sacred ground, and Charles carried the weight of that honour on his shoulders. Glancing up at the massive screens displaying the pre-race coverage, I caught a glimpse of determination in his eyes as the camera zoomed in on his face through his helmet. His heart was in this, fully and completely, and I felt a swell of pride. This was everything he had dreamed of. Beside me, Isa nudged my arm, bringing me back to the present.
"Can you believe this?" she said, grinning. "The atmosphere is insane. I've never seen anything like it." I nodded, still in awe.
"It's incredible. Being here with Charles... it feels like something out of a movie." Isa chuckled.
"You two are the movie." she joked.

As the race approached, my heart raced in tandem with the fans. The lights went out, and the cars shot off the line like bullets. The sound of the engines was deafening, but my focus was entirely on the red Ferrari cutting through the grid. Charles got a clean start, immediately pulling ahead, with Carlos right on his tail. The first few laps were intense, each turn taken with precision and skill. I watched, barely blinking, my hands gripping the armrests of my seat. Every overtake and defensive manoeuvre felt like a heartbeat. Every time Charles passed the grandstands, the crowd erupted into chants, waving banners and flags that filled the air with red.

Time blurred. The laps flew by, and I lost myself in the rhythm of the race. It felt like a dream, watching him lead at Ferrari's home, hearing the cheers that echoed in every direction. And then, in the final laps, with Charles still holding strong in P1, it became clear that this was his race. This was his moment. As the chequered flag waved, the paddock erupted into celebration. Charles had done it. P1 at Monza. The tifosi's roars reached a fever pitch, the grandstands shaking with the force of their devotion. I stood, overwhelmed with pride, my heart pounding in my chest. Before I could process the moment, the cameras shifted to me, catching my raw emotions as the broadcast lingered on my face. I was smiling, teary-eyed, filled with immense joy. Isa grabbed my hand, pulling me into a hug.
"They did it, Bronte. They really did it." she said, as Carlos came P2. I stood quietly in the back of the Ferrari garage, watching Charles step up to the mic for his post-race interview. The entire team buzzed with excitement, but my world seemed to slow, my focus narrowing to just him. He had done it. He'd won at Monza. As the cameras zoomed in on his face, his wide smile and the glint in his eyes told the story of a dream fulfilled. The interviewer asked the usual questions, about the race, the strategy, the pressure of performing in front of the tifosi. Charles answered each with his usual poise, but there was a raw emotion in his voice that was unmistakable. His words flowed with gratitude and triumph, a kind of joy that only comes from achieving something monumental.
"We knew this weekend would be tough, especially with Max right behind us. It was intense, but to win here... at Monza, with all the support from the tifosi... I can't describe how much this means to me," Charles said, glancing at the sea of Ferrari fans beyond the camera. "This is why I race. For moments like this." The interviewer paused, then asked,
"It's been a special weekend for you, Charles. Can you talk about what's driven you to perform at this level, especially here at Ferrari's home race?" Charles smiled softly, his gaze shifting momentarily to the crowd, and then, as if instinctively, his eyes flickered back to the hospitality where I stood. For a moment, it was as if he saw only me, like the world had faded away.
"There's a lot that drives me," he began, his voice dropping just slightly, more personal now. "The team, the tifosi, my family. But also... the people who are closest to me. The ones who believe in me, even when things get tough. I wouldn't be standing here today without them." My heart swelled, my breath catching in my throat. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes, my emotions overwhelming me. He was talking about me. I knew it in the way his voice softened, in the way his eyes had found mine across the room, even through the distance. As Charles continued speaking, his words became a background hum to my thoughts. I wiped at the corners of my eyes, feeling the rush of everything we'd gone through, every challenge, every high and low that had led us here. When the interview wrapped up and Charles took a deep breath, stepping away from the cameras, I was there, still standing, still wiping away my tears but smiling. He walked over to me, no words necessary, and pulled me into his arms.
"You're crying," he teased softly, brushing a thumb over my damp cheek.
"They're happy tears," I whispered, looking up at him with a glowing smile. "You did it, Charles." He didn't respond, he didn't need to. He just leaned down to kiss my forehead.