[3] MARANELLO || C. LECLERC

THIRTY FOUR

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CAMILLE

"Don't worry about it," I brushed my index finger across Charles' soft knuckles as we sat in the front of his Ferrari, pulled up outside of his childhood home. We were here to visit Pascale, who neither of us had been in contact with for a while. She spoke to Charles during race weekends, but we struggled to see her sometimes with such a demanding session. Pascale sent her middle son a message this morning to let him know that Arthur, his younger brother, would also be here. Charles still wasn't on the best of terms with his brother, although Camille knew he still loved him, after his revelation to Camille about his feelings. "He isn't going to say anything about it, not to you, okay? He might speak to me about it, and that's fine. We need to clear the air."

"Oui, mon amour." Ever since receiving that message from Pascale this morning, Charles was a little quieter and somewhat more distant, despite also being very affectionate, but silently. He was constantly pressing soft kisses to my lips, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close with a smile.

"Charles, please," I muttered, reaching across the car to grip onto his cheeks. I brushed the side of my index finger across his hot face, wanting to calm him and soothe him before we met with his mum and brother. "Please. Don't even think about it. Let me sort it, okay? I love you, and only you."

"I know," Charles seemed to flash a little smile, carefully placing his hand on my thigh. I shivered at the feeling, my mind flashing back to last night as I thought about how we spent quite some time awake, just appreciating one another. "I love you. Let's go."

I smiled at his quick show of courage, noticing that he'd seemed to settle a little. He really didn't have anything to worry about and I would reassure him about that all day. I knew how I felt and who I wanted. Charles and I were engaged, we were actively thinking about and planning our wedding. I knew what dress I wanted and most importantly, who I wanted to walk me down the aisle; Papa and Max both agreed to be there, by my side, to give me away to Charles. I was totally honoured to know that Max was up for it, that he wanted to be there. He told me it was just as big an honour for him as it was for me. I couldn't wait. Each day was one day closer and I was delighted about that.

Charles slipped his fingers through mine, our hands becoming tightly intertwined. He left me up towards the front door, pushing his key into the lock. I waited patiently behind him to step into the house. I couldn't wait to be embraced by Pascale again. She provided me with a homely feeling which I absolutely adored. I really appreciated how loving Charles' family were, but more than anything, I wanted to meet his father. I was still in awe of him, just through the stories Charles told me.

"Oh Camille, you pretty girl!" Pascale opened her arms for me as she exclaimed in delight, totally ignoring her son's presence for a brief moment. The smell of perfume on her blouse was strong. "Charles, sweetheart, how are you?"

"I'm good, maman," Charles often addressed his mum in French. I was so pleased that he spoke a language I actually understood; it was a shame he couldn't say the same about Dutch. "How are you?"

"So good now that you're both here," she squeezed her son's cheeks before looking at me again with a wide smile on her face. She was always so warm and welcoming; I admired her a lot because she was such a strong woman. She lost her husband to illness and two of her sons risked their lives as part of their job. She was so brave. "Your brother is in the front room. Arthur! Charles and Camille are here!"