Ice and asphalt [Charles Leclerc]

69

After Jeddah, I flew back with Charles on his jet. He had two weeks off before the Australian Grand Prix, but he made sure the jet stopped in Milan to drop me off before heading to Nice and then back to Monaco. The gesture wasn't lost on me. It was thoughtful, almost tender in a way, like he wanted to make sure I was taken care of before returning to his own routine.

In those two weeks, I hadn't seen him at all. My work in Bergamo had me tied up, and a trip to Monaco wasn't feasible. It wasn't like before when I would drop everything at a moment's notice to be wherever he was. Things were different now—carefully measured steps forward, no rushing, no romanticized notions. But I hadn't dared to check the comments on social media. I knew exactly what they'd say, what was brewing online. Everyone had already pieced together that Charles and I were "together" again—or so they thought. They didn't know the truth, that we were still figuring it out. All they saw was the surface, and in true internet fashion, they had filled in the gaps with their own assumptions.

Charles flew to Australia, and I stayed in Bergamo. I'd settled here for the time being, living in a quiet house with Angelina, my skating coach since I was seven. She'd always been more like a second mother to me. Over the years, our bond had deepened, not just through training, but through life—her steady presence had kept me grounded when the world around me felt like it was shifting too fast.

Now, back in Bergamo, I focused on my work and routine, but still, a part of me felt the ache of missing Charles. But I wouldn't let myself dwell on it. Not yet.

Charles updated me about the race in the simplest of terms, his texts brief but happy: "Carlos won. Can you believe it? Two weeks after surgery." It was incredible, and I felt a pang of pride for Carlos, knowing how much he must've pushed through. But still, the distance between Charles and me felt palpable, the gap not just physical but emotional.

Now, three weeks since we last saw each other, I'm packing a bag to go to Monaco. Marta had invited me to a late celebration lunch with her and Riccardo. Their daughter Chiara had just turned one. It felt surreal to be seeing Marta again after so much time—though we'd stayed in touch after Charles and I broke up. She was Riccardo's girlfriend, one of Charles' closest friends, and despite everything, our friendship had remained intact. Over the years, we'd taken countless vacations with Charles' tight-knit friend group, and she had always been a steady presence.

Before, I would've stayed at Marta and Riccardo's apartment when I visited. But this time, things were different. Charles and I were speaking again, and though the lines of our relationship were blurred, there was enough between us now that it felt natural to stay at his place.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? I can go next week when you're feeling better," I say to Angelina, who's curled up in her bed. Ulla hasn't left her side in two days, the dog's usual energy replaced with a quiet attentiveness as if she knows Angelina's unwell.

"Yes, I'll be fine," Angelina says, her voice weak but insistent. "Take Ulla with you and don't forget the gift I bought for Chiara."

I hesitate, watching her carefully. She's in her sixties now, still spry and full of life most days, but something feels off. I can't shake the nagging feeling in my gut that leaving her now might be the wrong choice.

"Louise, go," she says firmly, seeing the doubt written all over my face.

"Okay," I reply softly, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. "Call me if you need anything."

I grab Ulla's leash and the gift for Chiara before heading out to my car. Flying would've been quicker, but the three-and-a-half-hour drive feels better. There's a freedom to it. No fixed schedule, no pressure to leave at a specific time. Ulla, who doubles as my service dog for anxiety a detail I'd never admit to Arthur because I'd never hear the end of it, curls up in the passenger seat as I pull out of the driveway and onto the open road.