lemon and mint | Charles Leclerc

🍋third lemon - bonus🍋

Italy, August, 2027

Pia's POV

I look into the sun, the breeze playing with my hair, and I can taste the ocean on my tongue. We are at the coast, watching the waves crash into the cliffs, and I think about how much I love being here. How much everything makes sense. How much we belong here.

The picnic blanket is laid out a few meters away from the edge of the cliff. I look there, watching my husband with our little daughter. She is sitting on his lap, giggling just like I do whenever Charles is around. She has a little green bucket hat with frog ears. I always thought I would be the one spending money on unnecessary things for our kid, but I was mistaken. It was Charles. He brings home something after every race weekend.

I see her gently reaching out for Charles' hand, trying to catch it with her tiny chubby fingers. She doesn't even walk yet. I think I've never seen Charles more anxious than about her first steps. He is terrified that he might miss such a significant moment in her life.

I remember how one day I found them in the living room. She was clumsily toddling on the parquet floor. Neither of them noticed my presence, which made it even more magical. Charles leaned closer to her, softly whispering and encouraging her to get up and take a step or two. She giggled as she heard her dad's French. She babbled something back, and Charles smiled at her. Softly, gently, with all the love.

And when he wasn't home, he urged me not to let her toddle around too much because otherwise, she might take her first steps without him.

The ocean breeze feels so nice, blowing against my skin. It's a really hot Italian day, and the breeze is one of the few things that makes it bearable. Well, Charles also has two big thermos bottles filled with cold water, ice, lemon, and mint. He always makes sure his girls have everything they need.

Charles gently takes her hands and starts clapping with them, which causes her to giggle—a sound my husband loves dearly. Everything has revolved around her these last few months. Charles doesn't care about his sleep schedule, but he is really careful with hers. He doesn't really bother with his eating plan, but he checks if she's hungry more often than necessary. At times, I want to ask him if he wants to breastfeed her on his own.

I love watching them in the early morning. She wakes him by crawling on his body, and when he wakes up, he lifts her up to block the sun rays shining into his face with her body. He thinks that I don't notice, but I do. Every single time. He moves from the reach of the rays and cuddles with her—giving her little kisses on her cheeks. She laughs so much when his stubble scratches her cheeks.

She's a little miss moody whenever my husband isn't home. Well, she isn't the only one. I miss him as well. So, we have our girly weekends. We start the morning by playing the piano—an essential part of our living room, standing next to the French windows with a view into the garden and sea. I always play something Charles composed. That music seems to bring peace to both of us before playing with little formula cars, teddy bears, or dolls. Somewhere between exploring Charles' trophy cabinet and biting the pillows on the sofa, my phone rings, and I know exactly who is calling. Charles. I watch as a happy smile appears on her face when she sees him on the display of my phone, walking chaotically through the paddock. Two Leclerc girls sitting on a sofa, listening to whatever Charles has to say. Probably that he is looking forward to being home again. That he would like to catch the first plane and come back home to us.

I can recall the night when he suggested taking a year or two off to spend it with us. His voice was quiet but firm, each word measured, as if he had already made up his mind and was just announcing it now. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the baby projector casting stars across the walls. I watched the gentle movement of constellations dancing over his face, and it felt surreal—almost as if he wasn't talking about giving up his dream but just making a casual observation.