to ask for your hand (I just pray that its mine) | Chapter 4 excerpt
After clinching his third career win at the Vegas GP, Carlos wakes up to a wedding band on his finger and his teammate, Charles, wearing the exact match.
WIP | 4/5 | 28,797 words | Accidental Drunk Marriage in Vegas AU | Fluff | Angst | Drama
Down below, the circuit was a bright outline against the night. Another season, another gruelling race in Singapore.
The skyline was an architectural marvel. It was stunning during the day, but at night? it looked like a rare jewel sparkling against the black velvet night. To witness such magnificence on top of the Marina Bay Sands—dipped in the infinity pool, no less—with no one else around was a indeed privilege.
In his mind, he traced the track, imagining his car passing through Anderson bridge, making the tight left at 13 to the Esplanade Drive. Then the apex at 14, then 15, 16—a splash from the other end of the pool startled him. Charles?
Carlos was pretty sure it was Charles, the rookie this season. They never really ‘talked’ before. Their conversations always happened in passing, going along the lines off, ‘How are you? Good? How’s your car? Not good on the tires.’ He knew little about him—only that he was from Monaco and that he was set to replace Kimi at Ferrari next year. A rookie replacing a world champion. Unheard of. This kid must be a huge deal.
“It’s a beautiful city, no?” Carlos ventured. He winced inside, remembering Papá's advice about small talk and F1 drivers.
Charles jolted, his hand flying to his chest, accidentally splashing water to his own face. “Oh my god, you scared me.”
Carlos chuckled. “You’re quite jumpy, eh?” he teased, settling on the ledge next to him.
“A little,” Charles admitted with a sheepish smile. “What are you doing here? It’s a bit late, no?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I didn’t get much sleep on the flight here.”
“Tell me about it. 20 hour flights are no joke.”
“True,” Charles said. “Any tips for tomorrow? I’ve never raced here before. My first time. So, I’m a little nervous.”
A smirk crept up Carlos lips. “Have you passed out in a race before?”
“Uh, no? I don’t think so.”
“Well, here, try not to. It’s almost guaranteed.”
”What? That’s impossible.”
“Also, you might drive blind on some corners.”
“Don’t even get me started about the rain. Singapore is a totally different race if it rains.”
Worry flitted through Charles' eyes, swallowing a lump on his throat. “Oh yeah?” he said, trying to hide his discomfort.
Carlos held onto his laughter. He nodded seriously, “yeah. Seven DNF’s last year.”
Charles visibly got more anxious, the horrors of last year’s race flashing in his eyes. “Ah, putain,” he muttered under his breath.
Carlos’ laughter eventually bubbled forth.
“What? Why are you laughing?” Charles questioned, his brows knitting together.
“I was kidding. It’s not that bad, I promise.”
“I—Oh… you were trying to scare me.” Charles smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Making fun of the rookie, I see.”
“Don’t worry,” Carlos wiped the tears from his eyes. “Vettel and Fernando did it to me in my rookie year too. Except they waited a day before telling me it’s not that bad. I remember not sleeping that night.”
Charles laughed, and Carlos was struck. There was something about his laugh that resonated deep in Carlos’ chest, like the melody of his childhood summers spent racing bicycles down sun-dappled streets, the wind tousling his hair as he pedalled faster. It was the echo of his first karting victory, the taste of victory sweet on his tongue as he stood atop the podium, trophy held high, amid deafening cheers and applause. It was Miguel’s call, on his last day, asking him to meet at the lake so that he could steal another kiss from Carlos. There was something in Charles’ laugh that made Carlos yearn to hear it more.
“Well, I guess I’ll consider myself lucky that it was not Vettel or Fernando then,” Charles said.
“Yeah. Lucky. Just sleep well and drink lots of water before the race and you’ll do fine. I’ve seen you drive. You’re good. I trust that you can make it.”
Charles's eyebrows lifted, his head tilting slightly to the left like a puppy hearing something strange. “Really?” he asked, “you think I’m good?”
Carlos can count in one hand the amount of times he complimented another driver. It wasn't that he didn't recognise talent in others—if he was being honest, there were plenty of drivers far better than him. But he rarely voiced such acknowledgements. It’s like offering your enemy an edge.
So when he did compliment Charles, it surprised him, almost catching him off guard. There was no logical explanation for it.
Perhaps it was because Charles was young and it was his first year in F1. He could vividly recall his own struggles as a rookie. Maybe, in his own way, it was him trying to help his younger self.
Or perhaps it was how easily Charles just opened up to Carlos. Paired with his dimples, the sheepish smile, and those earnest blue eyes pleading for advice. Carlos felt an instinctual urge to protect Charles.
Or perhaps, it was something else entirely.
“You don’t?” Carlos dodged the question.
"I do. It's just that... It's rare to hear it from another driver. Everyone else says I'm good, you know? 'You're so talented, Charles. So fast. You are destined to be in F1,'" he recounted. "But they say it from the outside looking in. They don’t really get it. But when another driver say it, it means a lot more. Because they understand. You understand."
Carlos nodded slowly, the weight of Charles' words settling on him. He knew that feeling all too well. The constant need to prove his own worth, that he deserved to compete with the best of the world, that it wasn’t all because of a privileged upbringing.
“Of course,” he said idly. “So, how does this feel? All of it—the hype, the pressure, the Ferrari seat next year?”
A hesitant smile touched Charles' lips, fleeting as the Monegasque breeze. “When I drove for practice for them last year, I felt like I was going to explode in the car. I felt buzzing in my ears and my hand couldn’t stop shaking. I thought I would crash. I’m quite happy that I didn’t.
“But what’s interesting was how it all felt strange to me. All my life I’ve dreamed of driving and winning in that red car. Not only me, my father and my godfather too. I carry all their dreams with me. Now that I have the chance to do that… it’s…” Charles trailed off, searching for the right words.
“Overwhelming," Carlos offered, a hint of longing creeping into his voice. "Being in that red car… it’s something else."
The last sentence hung heavy in the air, the weight of his secret, of his father's expectation, sat heavy in his gut.
Charles chuckled, a soft, nervous sound. "Yeah. It's like everyone expects me to be a champion overnight. But then there's the pressure from myself too, you know? Like I have to live up to all these expectations, not just mine but everyone else's too." He ran a hand through his hair, anxiety swimming in his eyes.
Carlos leaned back on the ledge of the pool, studying Charles. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that surprised him. This young prodigy, who seemed to have it all figured out, was wrestling with self-doubt just like everyone else.
"Hey," Carlos said gently, "You'll be alright. You're here for a reason. You have the talent, the drive... you'll get there eventually.”
A flicker of gratitude sparked in Charles' eyes. "Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate that. Coming from you, it means a lot."
The compliment hung in the air for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Carlos couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Charles disarmed him.
"Are you hungry?" Carlos finally asked, surprising even himself with the question. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"
Charles’ eyes sparkled and his lips curved up, making Carlos’ chest feel warm, like it was about to blow open. Whether it was a good or bad sign, it didn’t matter because there was only one thing he was sure of:
He wanted to see Charles smile again.
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