A lapse in judgement | Carlos Sainz x Reader
Genre | Angst (of course), Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.
Warnings | Mention of sexual activities, rejection.
Summary | The long-awaited dinner with your in-laws doesn't go as planned... Will you and your boyfriend manage to change their minds about your relationship?
Author's note | I'm back, bitches! This lovely prompt was requested, thank you for the idea Anon! I hope you all like it, please let me know what you think! ✨ (not proofread lmao)
Being the new girlfriend after the one who got away fucking sucks. Even when your lover was the one to end things. It's quite something to be the girl after the one he was supposed to spend his life with. Get married with. Have kids with. You wouldn't wish anyone to be in your place. Yet, here you are, all because you fell in love with him. Carlos Sainz. Him and his doe eyes. His impeccable hair. His charming smile. Frankly, you didn't stand a chance.
You knew who he was, of course. Formula 1 is among your fondest childhood memories, sitting in front of the TV with your siblings and parents. Each Grand Prix was a household event, and you could never bring yourself to part with the Ferrari-colored jacket you wore every race Sunday. It's been years since you've fit into it, but the memory is too precious. So, yes, you knew who he was. And you recognized him immediately when he walked through the door of your workplace, sunglasses perched on his nose.
You don't follow Formula 1 as closely as before. Just enough to keep up with the news. You don't pretend not to know who he is. What's the point in pretending?
"Back from Monza already?" you ask, wiping your hands on a clean towel.
He smiles. A polite smile, but one that seems to indicate he's not keen on chatting. Or at least, not about that. You ask him what he'd like, and he asks for anything with soy milk in it. He orders two, to go, and you smile again. Okay, you think. Understood. The exchange lasts no more than two minutes, and soon, the driver exits the coffee shop, leaving behind a lingering woody scent.
Weeks pass without crossing paths with him again, and honestly, the encounter has completely slipped your mind. That one early morning, though, you're sitting at one of the café tables, contemplating new drinks, new recipes to implement based on some customer feedback, when the little bell chimes behind you. You definitely need to stop leaving the door open to let the floor dry after your morning cleaning session.
You turn around, ready to inform the friendly customer that the café doesn't open for another twenty minutes, when you catch his gaze.
"I know you're not open yet," he starts, putting both hands in front of him. "I saw the sign. But I really need some coffee, and all the other shops are closed."
"I suppose I can make an exception for such an emergency," you say as you rise from your seat, smiling kindly at him. "What can I get you?"
"I don't remember the name of what you made for me last time, but it was incredible. There was..."
"I'm on it," you say, turning around. "Two?" you ask, feeling like you already know the answer.
You hurry behind the bar, preparing the two coffees, and you place them in front of him a few seconds later. He takes out his phone to pay and places it on the terminal, which emits a soft "beep." Then, he picks up one of the coffees before sliding the second one towards you.
"This one's for you," he says, and you barely manage to hide your surprise.
"Oh," you say. "If I had known, I wouldn't have charged you for the second one."
"But it wouldn't have been the same, then. I wouldn't have offered it to you," the driver says, winking at you before taking a step back. "Thank you so much for the favor. Have a good day!"
With that, he's gone. As you sip your hot coffee slowly, you wonder when you'll see him again next time. But already, your employees arrive and pull you from your thoughts.
"That guy outside kinda looked like Carlos Sainz, no?" Lucia, one of them, asks while tying her apron.
"You've seen him? I thought so, too," you reply with a smile.
The next time you see him is the exact opposite. You've just bid your last employee a good evening, and you're putting the chairs up on the tables in preparation for the morning cleanup. A knock on the storefront makes you look up, and you smile when you see him. You open the door, and he slips inside, slightly damp from the light rain falling outside.
"Have you ever heard of opening hours?" you ask while wiping down the countertop.
"Can't say I have," he replies with a grin, the sight making your stomach flutter.
"I think congratulations are in order," you begin, throwing the towel over your shoulder. "That was a clean win in Singapore."
"Thank you. It might be a bit late for a coffee, but would you like to grab a drink with me?"
The proposition takes you by surprise.
"Yeah. Right now. I know a place not far from here."
"Aren't you afraid of being seen or something?" you ask, arching a brow.
"Never with beautiful women, no."
You chuckle, rolling your eyes. You've been living in Spain for ten years, yet you don't think you'll ever get used to the natural flirty nature of its inhabitants.
"Give me ten minutes to change and close up, and I'll join you," you say, while he nods, sitting on one of the bar stools.
Carlos takes you to a dancing bar, obviously run by friends since he spends five minutes shaking hands and greeting everyone as you enter. He leads you to the back of the bar, to a secluded corner where the music is much quieter, and you can actually have a conversation. You have no idea what to say. Where do you even start with a Formula 1 driver? Someone whose life is so different, so far removed from yours. Sensing your discomfort, Carlos takes the lead, asking you questions about your café, (Did you open it by yourself?) and about your life. (Where are you from? You have an accent).
The evening passes, and the drinks flow until you find yourselves tightly pressed together on the dance floor. Your back against his chest. His hands on your hips. Yours on his neck. Swaying to the rhythm of the music, all senses heightened. His lips don't take long to seek yours, and from the wall of the bar against which he pins you, you transition to his mattress, his warm body pressed against yours.
You don't sleep much that night. You don't know if you'll ever have the chance to see him again. To have him like that again. So, you lavish your lips on his, your body against his. And in the early morning, as you wake up entangled in each other's arms, and you almost expect him to kick you out... He climbs back on top of you instead, pressing warm kisses against your mouth, your collarbones, your navel... You arrive at the café thirty minutes late, with bags under your eyes. It's never happened before, and your employees are so surprised that none of them even think to joke about your poor state.
You don't hear a word from him for the next ten days. Occasionally, you glance at the app you downloaded, which informs you about upcoming races. You know he's in Qatar. You try not to let the little voice in your head win. The one that laughs at you. That tells you that you'll never see him again. He's working, you think. He's busy. Your life goes on, though you can't help but watch for him early in the morning and late at night, your eyes lingering on the storefront.
Then, one day, he comes back. Right in the middle of the shift. Seeing him walk into the café, Lucia lets out a scream and drops the cup she was holding. "Dios mio," she says, clutching her heart. Several seated customers turn around, but nobody seems to pay attention to the tall brunette with caramel eyes whose gaze is fixated on you, from across the counter.
"Soy milk?" you ask, trying to contain your smile.
And then, he starts coming every day. Every day he's not on the other side of the world, that is. By his seventh visit, Lucia can almost serve him his coffee without spilling any, her hands shaking so much.
Outside of the café, the two of you slowly start going to museums. To restaurants. To the cinema. But there's one place you both prefer. His bed. You spend hours there, exploring each other's bodies or talking about everything and nothing. Exchanging thousands of kisses or sharing your worst childhood embarrassments. Moaning against each other or talking about your very first pet. And one evening, as you were recounting how your respective parents had met, he asks you the question.
"Speaking of that, would you like to meet them?"
Your heart skips a beat. It's been six months since you've been seeing each other. Since you've been exclusive. Since you've been a couple, in reality, even if neither of you has dared to say the word. That one, and the other. The one that starts with an L. Even though you know you do... And you sense he does too.
"I don't know," you say, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Have you talked to your family about us?"
"Of course," Carlos says, pressing a kiss to your head. "They know I've been seing someone. And they know it's serious."
"Do they even want to meet me?"
"They haven't asked, if that's your question," your boyfriend replies. "But they never have, with anyone. They know it's something I like to do at my own pace."
You nod, and a few minutes later, the fateful dinner is set for the following Saturday. Already, the ball of anxiety that has lodged itself in your stomach grows. And soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of the door of the imposing Sainz mansion, your throat tight and your hand sweaty in Carlos'.
"Relax," the driver says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before stroking your thumb. "They're not that bad."
Carlos knocks on the door, and a young woman opens it before jumping into your boyfriend's arms. You recognize her instantly from the pictures in Carlos' phone. Blanca. As if pronouncing her name in your head had reminded her of your existence, Blanca turns her head, smiling politely in your direction.
"Nice to meet you," she says rather blankly before gesturing for you two to come inside.
You encounter his other sister, Ana, in the hallway a few seconds later. She isn't much warmer, not even offering a smile and simply saying "Welcome" before rushing to hug her brother. The reception from the two women surprises you a little, and doesn't really help you feel confident about the evening. Carlos doesn't seem phased by the situation, helping you out of your coat before guiding you to the living room where the two young women have already disappeared. You're about to walk through the door when your eyes stop on a series of frames hung across from the front door. Your heart skips a beat. Feeling you come to a halt, Carlos stops as well, following your gaze.
"Fucking hell," your boyfriend says before taking the frame off the wall and placing it upside down on the buffet below. "I'm sorry. This photo has been there for so long that they probably don't even notice it anymore," he adds, his tone apologetic.
You know he's trying to reassure you, but his words have the opposite effect. You've briefly talked about your exes. Well, more about his. Isa. The girl he was with for seven fucking years. The one his parents loved so much. Seeing a photo of them together right before meeting your in-laws is like a knife to the heart. A reminder that you're the new girl. The one replacing her. You muster a smile that you know is fake at Carlos before continuing on your way. As you arrive in the living room, his two parents stand up from the couch, rushing to their son to hug him.
The embraces last a few seconds, until they turn to you.
You greet them politely, handing his mother a huge bouquet of flowers and his father a bottle of fine wine, as they thank you with strained smiles.
"I also brought chocolates from my shop for you," you continue, turning to his sisters sitting at the dining table. "They're from a small producer in Andalusia, a real treat..."
"How kind of you," Blanca says dryly.
You miss the glance that Carlos shoots his sister, behind you. A stern look. One that scream "be careful". One Blanca pretends not to see.
"Let's sit down," Carlos' mother announces, gesturing for everyone to take a seat.
Intimidated, you stick close to Carlos, sitting next to him. The table is beautiful, adorned with fine porcelain and various flowers. You smile as you spot silver napkin rings and pick up the one in front of you. Your next breath gets caught in your throat when your eyes land on the letters engraved in the metal. Isabel.
"Ah yes, sorry," Ana begins, following your gaze. "We didn't have time to make a new one. I hope you don't mind."
"It's fine," you say, looking up and smiling at her.
"So, dear, what do you do?" Carlos' father asks. "Carlos told us about a café, but we didn't quite understand."
"I opened my own café a few years ago. We also serve fresh pastries that I bake every morning. It's really taking off; I have several employees now, and I'm planning to open a second one soon..."
"Did you study culinary arts?" her mother asks.
"Uh, no, I don't have any degree," you reply with a nervous laugh. "School just wasn't my thing."
Ana and Blanca exchange a glance, and you lower your head, feeling your cheeks flush. You feel Carlos' hand on your thigh, and you cast him a grateful glance, which he doesn't see, his eyes fixed on his sisters.
"And so, the two of you met at the café, is that right?" his father resumes.
"Yes, that's right," you reply with a smile. "In May, the first time."
"In May?" Ana asks, looking at her brother. "Weren't you still with Isa?"
"Are we gonna mention her all night?" Carlos snaps.
"It's just a question, no need to get upset," Ana replies, rolling her eyes.
"Did you know who he was?" Blanca asks, holding your gaze.
"Uh, yeah, I recognized him. But I served him like any other customer," you recount.
"It must be weird," Ana continues, as your attention turns from her sister to her. "To see a celebrity walk into your little café."
"It's actually not so little," Carlos says. "It's pretty well-known in Madrid. Lots of customers."
"Never been," Blanca says curtly.
Carlos's mother gestures for her daughters to follow her, and the three women disappear in the kitchen before returning a few minutes later with their hands full of various dishes.
"Carlos told us you love to eat," his mother continues, giving you a genuine smile. "It's good that he didn't choose a very slender girl, for once," she adds, as you tilt your head. Was that supposed to be a compliment?
"What are your plans after the café?" Carlos' father asks, chewing on a piece of chicken. "Now that this first project has worked out?"
"I beg your pardon?" you ask, genuinely confused.
"What are you going to do with your life now?" Ana asks.
"Well... I'm going to keep running the café? It's my sanctuary, my biggest project. I'm so proud of it, I'm not going to give it all up now."
"Oh," his father replies, eyeing you. "I'd understood it was temporary. That you were a kind of investor."
"No," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "That's... That's what I do."
The silence falls over the table, punctuated by the clinking of utensils. After a short while, Carlos's mother clears her throat, meeting your gaze.
"Forgive our questions. We're curious to get to know the person Carlos shares his life with. You have to understand, after seven years... You always know what you've lost, but you can never know what you've gained."
"And that was quite a loss," Blanca chimes in, sipping on her wine.
"You can't trust anyone these days. You never know if they love you for you or for your wallet," Ana states, looking at her perfectly manicured nails.
"Or your contact list," Blanca adds, shooting a glance your way.
"Okay," Carlos suddenly says, throwing his napkin on the table before getting up. "That's enough. We're leaving."
"What?" you say, looking up at him.
"They're clearly not ready for this. We'll come back when they finally understand that my ex is just that - my ex. Get your things, love."
You stand up, feeling your legs tremble, as Carlos' hand find the small of your back, pushing you towards the hallway.
"Don't be ridiculous," his mother says, standing up as well. "You can't expect us to forget seven years just like that."
"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to respect my partner. But apparently, that's too difficult."
A few seconds later, Carlos is backing out of his parents' driveway, one arm around your seat, his gaze fixed on the rear window. In the passenger seat, you fidget with your fingers, staring at your hands and biting your lip nervously. His brows are furrowed. Jaw clenched. None of you exchange a word until you hit the main road, headlights from passing cars casting shadows on your faces.
"I'm so sorry," he finally says, stroking your thigh. "If I had known..."
"You couldn't," you reply, placing your hand on his. "I don't blame them. Seven years is no small thing."
Turning his head, his gaze meets yours.
"I won't pretend that those seven years didn't matter to me, that they meant nothing. Even though I don't have any romantic feelings for her anymore, she will always be a part of me in some way," he says, as you feel your heart tighten in your chest. "But she no longer occupies my thoughts. She's no longer imprinted under my eyelids. It's not her fingers that give me chills, her voice that makes my heart race. All day long, I think about you. I talk about you. Even at night, I dream of you. You're right beside me, so close, and yet it's not enough. You still find a way to get closer, to flow through my veins, to infiltrate every breath, every heartbeat."
"Sometimes I wish I could see myself through your eyes. That girl sounds exceptional," you say, laughing as you wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes."
"She's quite something," he replies, eyes on the road. "I can't wait for them to realize."
After the disastrous first encounter with your in-laws, over six months pass before Carlos comes join you on the terrace of your shared hotel room in Jeddah, placing a coffee in front of you. Bending down to sit beside you, the pilot winces, a hand on his stomach.
"Are you okay?" you ask, running your hand through his hair.
"I feel so fucking sick," your boyfriend says, a painful grimace on his face.
"Shouldn't you see a doctor, babe?" you ask, stroking his arm. "You look awfully pale. And you haven't eaten since yesterday morning."
"I can't keep anything down," Carlos replies, throwing his head back before closing his eyes.
"Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro," you start, earning a small grin from your boyfriend.
"I just love when you call me that."
"There's no way you're getting in that car tomorrow," you insist.
You didn't think you'd be so right. Well, not to this extent. Hurrying through the corridors of the hospital, two large aluminum trays in each hand, you dodge doctors and nurses along the way, weaving through visitors until you reach the door marked with the number you're looking for. You knock on the door, slipping inside before turning around to close it behind you.
"I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I got both," you begin, still facing the door, handle in hand. "The paella was quite easy to find, but I admit I had to cross the entire city for..." your sentence dies in your throat when, turning around, your eyes meet those of your mother-in-law. Then your father-in-law's. And your two sisters-in-law, crowded in Carlos' small hospital room.
"Oh," you utter, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd be there. I'll leave you alone," you start, turning around once again.
"No! Stay," Carlos' mother says, rising to take the trays from you.
"We're really happy to see you again," his father says, rising as well to embrace you. "Carlos was telling us how well you took care of him. Thank you so much for being there."
"That's the least I could do," you reply, feeling intimidated. "He would have done the same for me."
"I may love you, but I'm not sure I would have slept in that armchair. Or changed your blood-soaked bandage," Carlos replies, eyes half-closed, still under the influence of anesthesia.
"You did what?" Blanca asks, turning to look at you, eyes wide.
"Well, his nurse was busy and it started leaking," you shrug.
"You slept here?" his father asks.
"They wouldn't let me at first, but I didn't feel like leaving him alone in a foreign hospital."
"She annoyed the staff so much they just gave up on throwing her out," your boyfriend lets out in a laugh.
"I didn't annoy anybody," you reply quickly, fearing what his family might think.
"You threatened an intern to tie yourself to the chair."
"I didn't do that," you half-laugh, shooting your boyfriend a warning look.
Seated on the side of Carlos' bed, bickering with your boyfriend while running your hand through his hair in a loving gesture, you don't see the glance exchanged between the Sainz family.
"We were thinking about something, before you arrived..." Ana begins, her eyes finding yours. For the first time, you're not met with her harsh, cold gaze, but with gentle eyes. "We have a family house in Mallorca. We thought it would be nice to all go there together, so Carlos can recover in peace. We would be very happy if you joined us."
"It'll be a chance for us to get to know you. And to apologize for our pathetic behavior last time."
"Carlos chose you," his mother starts, smiling warmly at you. "And we all understand why."
You could cry with happiness at the thought of finally being accepted, being welcomed into the family of the person you've shared your life with for almost a year now. At no longer being the new girl. The one after the love of his life.
At the though of maybe, simply being the one.
