Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, birth.
Pre-season testing had come and gone in a blur at the desert circuit. The season opener followed immediately after. Media days. Sponsor commitments. Travel. Strategy meetings. There had never been a “right moment.” And somehow, suddenly, it was March and Y/N was six months pregnant.
The Sainz family home in Spain was alive with noise. Cousins running through the garden, Y/N’s friends hovering near the dessert table, her mother directing catering like a general.
It was meant to be joyful. It was joyful. Just complicated.
Charles arrived a little later than most, fresh from simulator work and looking slightly out of place in civilian clothes among the sea of familiar Sainz faces. He greeted everyone politely, hugging Y/N’s parents, clapping Carlos on the back.
Carlos looked tired, pre-season always did that but he was smiling today. Genuinely smiling.
“This is going to be good,” Carlos said, squeezing his sister’s shoulders. “No more secrets about this at least.”
She forced a small laugh.
In the garden stood a large white balloon tied with blue and pink ribbons.
Charles kept his distance, hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he cared more than he should. Trying not to look at the gentle curve beneath Y/N’s spring dress and see something that belonged to him.
Carlos stepped up beside her as everyone gathered.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
He positioned himself close. One arm subtly hovering at her back like always, protective, grounding.
“You’re not doing this alone,” he murmured.
Phones lifted. Cheers rose. Someone started a countdown in Spanish.
A burst of blue confetti exploded into the air, raining down over the grass.
For half a second there was silence.
Screaming. Applause. Laughter.
“It’s a boy!” her mother cried.
Carlos let out a loud, disbelieving laugh and pulled Y/N into a tight hug, lifting her slightly off the ground before remembering and carefully setting her back down.
“A boy,” he repeated, emotional in a way he didn’t even try to hide. “I’m getting a nephew.”
He pressed his forehead to hers.
Charles stood a few steps away, clapping with everyone else, smiling because that was what he was supposed to do.
Watching Carlos stand there, protective, proud, central, while he remained on the outside of his own child’s celebration did something sharp and ugly to his heart.
He just wished desperately that he could stand where he was standing.
Eventually, the music grew louder, food was served, people drank too much wine in the Spanish sun. Y/N got tired first, slipping inside once the excitement settled.
Charles found her in the quiet of the hallway near the back terrace doors.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Just overwhelmed.”
“A boy,” she echoed, smiling faintly.
There was something different about it now. More real. More solid.
“He’s going to be incredible.”
She looked up at him then. Really looked at him.
“You were quiet,” she observed gently.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice though the house had mostly emptied now.
“Watching him stand next to you today…” He shook his head slightly. “It was hard.”
Her expression softened immediately.
“I know why,” he said quickly. “I understand why we haven’t told him yet. I do. But standing there clapping while everyone congratulated you…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
She felt the weight of it anyway.
“You are his father,” she whispered.
The last guests were saying goodbye in the driveway. Doors slammed. Engines started.
“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he admitted, voice rough. “I don’t want to be the secret guest at my own son’s gender reveal.”
Emotion flickered across her face. Guilt, longing, fear.
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
He stepped closer still, hands hovering near her waist but not touching.
“I love him already,” he confessed quietly. “And I...”
“I love you,” he finished, barely above a whisper.
The air between them shifted, heavy and fragile.
“Charles…” she started, but there was no conviction in it.
“I’ve tried to be patient,” he continued. “To give you space. To respect Carlos. But I can’t stand next to him pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
He reached up slowly, brushing a tear from her cheek.
This time, when his hands settled at her waist, she didn’t step back.
It was months of restraint finally snapping.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, grounding herself as his hand moved instinctively to her lower back, careful of her stomach.
They didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway.
They broke apart instantly.
Carlos stood at the end of the corridor, frozen.
His face drained of color.
His eyes dropped. Not to their faces.
To Charles’ hand still resting against her waist.
Understanding hit him like a physical blow.
Silence swallowed the house.
“Tell me,” he said, voice dangerously calm. “That this is not what it looks like.”
His gaze snapped to Y/N. “Since when?”
“Since when?” he repeated, louder now.
Charles stepped forward slightly. “It’s not...”
“Don’t,” Carlos snapped, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare speak.”
The protective brother was gone.
This was something else entirely.
“How long?” he demanded, voice cracking now under the anger.
Y/N’s hands trembled. “Monza.”
The word landed like a bomb.
“Monza,” he repeated hollowly. “So this whole time. All of it.”
Pre-season. Christmas. The appointments.
“You’ve been lying to me for six months?” His voice rose. “In my house. At family dinners. Today.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” she cried.
Charles stepped forward again despite himself. “I love her.”
“You stay away from my sister.”
“I can’t,” Charles shot back, emotion finally breaking through. “I’m not walking away from her or from...”
He stopped himself too late.
The silence this time was catastrophic.
Carlos’ eyes widened slowly.
Y/N felt like the floor had dropped out from under her.
“Is it you?” he demanded, voice shaking now. “Is he...?”
Charles didn’t look away.
The word shattered whatever fragile restraint Carlos had left.
“You?” he exploded. “You did this?”
“It wasn’t just him!” Y/N cried.
Carlos ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, disbelief written across his face.
“You’re my teammate,” he said to Charles, hurt bleeding through the fury. “My friend.”
“And you’re my brother,” Y/N sobbed.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?!” he shouted.
Because we didn’t know how.
Because everything would change.
The house that had been full of celebration hours earlier now felt suffocatingly small.
Carlos looked between them, betrayed and furious and heartbroken all at once.
“You don’t get to hide something like this from me,” he said, voice low and shaking. “Not for six months.”
Charles stepped forward again, protective now in a different way.
“We were going to tell you.”
“When?” Carlos demanded. “After he’s born?”
That answer was too close to the truth.
Carlos let out a bitter, humorless laugh.
He looked at his sister one more time. Not angry now, just wounded.
“I don’t even recognize you right now.”
The words hit harder than the shouting.
Y/N sank against the wall, tears streaming freely.
Charles stood there, heart pounding, knowing one thing for certain.
Nothing would ever be simple again.
Seven full days of silence.
Carlos didn’t answer her calls.
Didn’t respond to her messages.
Didn’t even open half of them.
And then it was race week in Japan.
The paddock at the Japanese Grand Prix buzzed as usual. Media obligations, debriefs, the constant hum of engines but the Ferrari garage felt fractured.
Carlos and Charles were professionals.
They spoke when required.
No eye contact longer than necessary. No shoulder claps. No shared jokes. The chemistry that had once felt effortless now sat stiff and brittle between them.
Every camera in the paddock sensed it.
Back in Monaco, Y/N watched from her sofa, one hand resting on her stomach, anxiety clawing up her throat.
Six months pregnant and grounded by her doctor.
She couldn’t even be there to try and fix it.
Her phone remained painfully quiet.
Charles sent gentle check-ins:
How are you feeling?
Did you eat?
I miss you.
She answered, but shorter now. Guilt pressing on her chest from both sides.
By Sunday night in Japan, when the race was done and media wrapped, Carlos still hadn’t reached out.
By Tuesday, he was back in Monaco.
She didn’t wait this time.
She texted him one message:
We’re meeting. Tomorrow. 11am. Café de Paris. Please.
The terrace of the café was quieter mid-morning. Spring sun, light breeze, tourists wandering the square.
Carlos was already there when she arrived.
He stood when he saw her.
Concern flashing across his face before he masked it.
“You shouldn’t be walking around alone,” he said immediately.
She almost laughed at the irony.
“You’re not answering me,” she replied instead, taking the seat across from him.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“You lied to me,” he said finally.
Her jaw tightened. “I was scared.”
He scoffed softly. “You should have thought about that before.”
His voice wasn’t shouting now.
“You let me stand next to you at that party,” he continued. “You let me think I was protecting you from some faceless guy who didn’t want responsibility.”
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“He does want responsibility.”
“Oh, I know he does,” Carlos replied bitterly. “That’s almost worse.”
People passed by, unaware they were walking past the unraveling of a family.
“I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered.
Her hand drifted to her stomach unconsciously.
His expression softened just a fraction.
“How is he?” Carlos asked quietly.
The shift nearly broke her.
“He’s good,” she said. “Kicking constantly.”
“I need time,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “This isn’t something I just… get over.”
“I look at him every weekend,” Carlos added. “Every race and now all I can think about is that he’s going to be the father of my nephew.”
“Your nephew,” she echoed softly.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
“You could have trusted me.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
She opened her mouth and then froze.
Something twisted low in her abdomen.
Her face drained of color.
“Y/N?” Carlos straightened instantly.
She pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Something feels… weird.”
His chair scraped loudly against the pavement as he stood.
“What do you mean weird?”
“I don’t know,” she breathed. “It just - it hurts.”
Panic flooded his expression in an instant.
“Okay. Okay. We’re going to the hospital.”
“It’s probably nothing...”
“I don’t care,” he snapped, already pulling out his keys. “We’re not risking it.”
She stood carefully, another wave of discomfort making her grip the table edge.
His arm was around her immediately.
As they reached the car, she grabbed his wrist.
Her eyes were wide now, not just scared, but pleading.
For a second, pride and anger warred across his face.
Then he swore under his breath and pulled out his phone.
Charles answered on the second ring.
“She’s not feeling well,” Carlos said bluntly. “We’re going to the hospital.”
Then, sharp and immediate: “What happened?”
Carlos hesitated before adding, quieter now, “Drive safely.”
They both pretended that hadn’t meant anything.
Carlos helped her into the car, jaw tight, hands steady on the wheel despite the fear simmering beneath.
As they pulled away, she closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the strange sensation.
Carlos glanced at her every few seconds.
“You’re okay,” he muttered, like he was convincing himself as much as her. “You’re both okay.”
But neither of them felt calm.
And somewhere across Monaco, Charles was driving faster than he probably should have heart pounding in his ears.
The hospital room felt too small for three people carrying that much fear.
White walls. The steady beep of a monitor. The faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
Y/N lay propped against stiff pillows, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, the other resting protectively over her stomach.
Carlos stood on one side of her.
Neither looking at each other.
The doctor moved efficiently, asking questions, checking vitals, pressing gently along Y/N’s abdomen while she tried to breathe steadily.
“It started suddenly?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” Carlos answered immediately.
Charles clenched his jaw but said nothing.
The tension between them was almost physical, thick, electric, impossible to ignore.
The doctor moved the monitor into place, spreading gel across Y/N’s stomach.
All three of them held their breath.
A strong, rapid heartbeat filled the room.
Y/N exhaled in a shaky rush.
Charles’ knees nearly gave out.
Carlos closed his eyes for a brief second, relief washing visibly over his face.
“The baby is perfectly fine,” the doctor said firmly. “Strong heartbeat. Good movement. What you felt was likely ligament pain or a muscle spasm. Very common at this stage.”
Y/N let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“Everything is okay,” the doctor repeated.
Only then did the room begin to feel breathable again.
After a few more checks and reassurances, the doctor stepped out.
Silence lingered in the wake of the closing door.
Carlos turned to Charles.
Charles hesitated only a second before nodding and stepping outside.
The door shut behind him.
Inside, Carlos moved closer to the bed, his composure cracking now that the crisis had passed.
“You scared the life out of me,” he said, voice rough.
Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes immediately.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I thought...” He stopped. Swallowed. “I thought something was wrong and all I could think was that I hadn’t fixed things with you yet.”
“I don’t want to be mad at you anymore,” he admitted quietly.
The words hung heavy between them.
“I tried,” he continued. “I tried to hold onto it. But sitting in that room just now… none of it mattered. Not the lying. Not him. Just you and the baby.”
She reached for his hand.
“I never meant to push you away.”
He looked at her stomach, then back at her.
“He’s my nephew,” Carlos said firmly. “No matter what.”
Emotion overwhelmed her completely.
“And he’s going to grow up knowing his uncle is slightly overprotective and probably very annoying.”
She let out a watery laugh.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to hers like he had at the gender reveal.
“But you don’t shut me out again,” he added softly. “Not like that.”
“I should let him back in before he wears a hole in the corridor.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
Carlos paused at the door, looking back at her.
“I’m still not happy about how this happened,” he admitted.
Charles was pacing outside, hands tangled in his hair.
He stopped instantly when the door opened.
Carlos stepped out, closing it gently behind him.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other.
“You can go in,” Carlos said finally.
Charles searched his face. “She’s okay?”
“She’s fine. Baby’s fine.”
Relief crashed over Charles so visibly it almost hurt to watch.
As he moved to step past, Carlos spoke again.
“If you ever hurt her,” he said evenly, “I will forget that you are my teammate.”
Carlos studied him carefully.
“You’d better not,” he added, softer now. “Because whether I like it or not… you’re in this.”
It wasn’t full forgiveness.
But it wasn’t rejection either.
Charles nodded, understanding the weight of what that meant.
Then he slipped back into the room.
Y/N looked up when he entered.
His composure shattered the second he saw her.
He crossed the room in three steps, taking her hand carefully like she might disappear if he moved too fast.
“You’re okay,” he breathed.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, emotion overwhelming him.
“I thought...” His voice broke. “I thought I was going to lose you both.”
“You’re not getting rid of us that easily,” she whispered.
He laughed shakily, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
There was a different kind of quiet in the room now.
“He doesn’t want to be angry anymore.”
Relief flickered across Charles' face.
“That’s… more than I expected.”
“When you ran in here today,” she said, “there wasn’t a second of doubt. Not about you.”
He looked at her carefully.
“I’m not hiding anymore,” he said quietly. “Not from him. Not from anyone.”
“I love you,” he said, steady now. “Not just because of the baby.” His hand rested gently on her stomach. “But that helped.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
It felt different saying it now.
Not rushed.
Not secret.
Not stolen in hallways.
He leaned in and kissed her softly, carefully, reverently.
No fear of footsteps this time.
When he pulled back, he rested his hand over her stomach again.
She smiled through tears.
Outside the room, somewhere down the corridor, Carlos sat alone for a moment longer than necessary.
But no longer standing in the way.
May in Monaco felt softer than usual.
Eight months pregnant, Y/N moved slower now. One hand constantly resting at the underside of her bump, the other bracing against doorframes or counters out of habit.
Charles had unofficially moved in weeks ago.
One overnight bag turned into a drawer.
The drawer turned into half a closet.
Half a closet turned into him knowing exactly where she kept the tea towels.
This afternoon, soft music played from her phone while sunlight streamed through the balcony doors.
They were building the crib.
Or rather Charles was building it.
Y/N sat cross-legged on the nursery rug, surrounded by instruction manuals and tiny folded baby clothes she’d been reorganizing for the fourth time.
“You’re holding it upside down,” she said calmly.
She laughed, the sound light and unburdened in a way it hadn’t been months ago.
The nursery was painted a soft cream, subtle blue accents scattered around. A tiny Ferrari onesie hung over the rocking chair, courtesy of Carlos, who had pretended it was “purely ironic.”
Charles tightened the last screw dramatically.
“There,” he declared. “Solid. Safe. Structurally impressive.”
She pushed herself up slowly to inspect it.
He was beside her instantly.
“I am careful,” she sighed, though she accepted his hand anyway.
They stood in front of the crib together.
It made everything feel real in a way the hospital appointments hadn’t.
“He’s going to sleep there,” she murmured.
“He’s going to wake us up at 3am from there,” he corrected gently.
The baby shifted suddenly, a strong roll across her stomach.
Charles’ head snapped down. “What?”
His hand was there instantly, spreading across her bump like it belonged there.
He laughed under his breath. “He does that every time I talk.”
“Already dramatic,” she said fondly.
He crouched down in front of her without thinking, pressing a soft kiss just above her belly button.
“Be nice to your mother,” he murmured to her stomach.
She ran her fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by how natural this felt now.
No secrecy.
No hiding.
Just them.
“Are you scared?” she asked quietly.
He stayed there for a moment before answering.
He stood, resting his forehead against hers.
“But not in a bad way,” he added. “In a… I don’t want to mess this up way.”
“Because you show up,” she said simply. “Every appointment. Every craving. Every meltdown.”
He smiled softly. “You cried because we ran out of orange juice.”
“It was specific orange juice.”
She shifted slightly, wincing.
His smile faded instantly. “What? Are you okay?”
“Yes. Relax. He’s just using my ribs as a trampoline.”
Charles crouched again, speaking directly to her stomach now. “Sir. That is unacceptable behavior.”
Later that evening, they ended up on the sofa, her feet in his lap while he gently massaged them.
The TV played quietly in the background, neither of them really watching.
“You know,” she said sleepily, “Carlos texted me today.”
“He wants to come by tomorrow. Said he found something for the baby.”
Charles smiled faintly. “That’s a good sign.”
There was no jealousy in his voice anymore. Just acceptance.
Carlos had been… careful since the hospital.
And that was enough for now.
Charles leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her ankle.
“You’re incredible, you know that?”
She rolled her eyes gently. “I’m swollen and hormonal.”
She studied him for a moment.
“You’re going to be a really good dad.”
The words hit him harder than pole positions ever had.
He leaned forward, kissing her properly this time. Slow, steady, full of promise rather than urgency.
When they pulled apart, he rested his hand on her stomach again.
“Three more weeks,” he murmured.
He grimaced. “Don’t say that.”
She laughed softly, settling deeper into the sofa.
Outside, Monaco glowed in the golden light of early evening.
Inside, surrounded by half-built furniture and folded baby clothes and quiet anticipation, it finally felt peaceful.
And for the first time since Monza, everything felt exactly where it was meant to be.
June arrived wrapped in heat and noise and impossible glamour.
The streets of Monaco were lined with yachts three rows deep, balconies draped in red, engines echoing off stone buildings like thunder trapped in a canyon.
For Charles, the Monaco Grand Prix was everything.
And this year, it felt bigger.
He was starting from pole.
Carlos lined up in P3, directly behind the front row, calm but sharp. The Ferrari garage buzzing with cautious optimism.
Eight and a half months pregnant and absolutely refusing to miss it.
“You are not walking the full paddock,” Carlos had said immediately when she arrived Friday morning.
“I’m not fragile,” she repeated for what felt like the thousandth time in nine months.
Charles said nothing, just hovered on her other side like a silent bodyguard.
Between the two of them, she barely had to carry her own bag.
By Sunday, the tension was electric.
The Ferrari garage felt like it was holding its breath.
Charles kissed her carefully before heading to the grid, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Don’t move too much,” he murmured.
She rolled her eyes. “Go win your race.”
Carlos squeezed her shoulders before leaving as well. “Text me if you even think something feels weird.”
From the garage, she watched the formation lap. Heart pounding harder than she expected.
Pole position on home soil.
The roar when the lights went out shook the glass.
Charles launched cleanly.
Held the lead into Sainte Dévote.
Carlos tucked into P3, holding position, strategically patient.
Lap after lap, it became a tense chess match.
No room for error on these streets.
By lap 35, Charles still led. Carlos had climbed to P2 after a bold undercut worked perfectly during pit cycles.
Y/N shifted in her seat, one hand on her stomach, nerves buzzing.
The baby had been active all morning.
Probably reacting to her adrenaline.
She stood slowly, stretching her lower back.
A strange sensation tugged low in her abdomen.
On track, Carlos was closing slightly. Not attacking, just present. Strategic. Covering off threats behind.
Charles’ engineer came over the radio: “Gap to Sainz 1.4. Keep it clean.”
Everything under control.
Then a warm sensation spread suddenly, unmistakably.
The world tilted for half a second.
A Ferrari engineer turned toward her.
The words barely left her mouth.
Her voice cut through the chaos.
The nearest engineer blinked. “Y/N...”
“Not until after the race.”
Another contraction tightened across her abdomen, stronger now. She inhaled through it, steady, determined.
“They’re leading,” she said through clenched teeth. “It’s Monaco. You tell them now and they’ll throw it away.”
“That’s not your decision,” someone argued gently.
“It is,” she shot back. “It’s my body. I’m not in distress. I can stay here.”
Medical staff arrived within minutes, assessing quickly.
Vitals stable. Baby’s heart rate strong.
“She should go to the hospital,” the medic said carefully.
“I will,” she replied, breathing through another wave. “After the race.”
On track, Charles carved through the swimming pool section with surgical precision.
His engineer’s voice was calm. Controlled.
“Gap to Sainz 1.2. Pace is good.”
Carlos hovered close but respectful. No unnecessary risk.
Ferrari on for a historic 1–2.
In the garage, Y/N had been moved to a quieter back room, seated, monitored.
Charles’ race engineer received a notification.
He glanced toward the medical team through the glass.
“She’s stable?” he asked quietly.
Protocol said inform the drivers.
But she had made it clear.
And medically she was stable.
On track, Charles asked, “Everything okay?”
A beat too long passed before the reply.
“Everything under control. Focus forward.”
But there was no time to question it. Not here.
Lap after lap ticked down.
Y/N checked the monitor beside her, steady heartbeat filling the small room.
“See?” she whispered to her stomach. “Just wait for Papa.”
She gripped the side of the chair, sweat beading at her temples.
A nurse knelt in front of her. “You’re progressing.”
“You really don’t want us to inform them?”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“He’s waited his whole life to win here,” she whispered. “I won’t take that from him.”
Out on track, the final ten laps began.
Charles’ voice came over the radio. “How’s the baby?”
His engineer kept his tone neutral. “Everything is fine. Focus on the car.”
The roar from the grandstands was deafening.
Charles exited the final corner cleanly, crossing the line first.
Ferrari 1–2 as Carlos followed him across.
The garage exploded in celebration.
Except in the back room where Y/N doubled over with a sharp cry.
“That’s it,” the doctor said firmly. “We’re going. Now.”
She nodded, tears spilling freely now, half pain, half relief.
Out on the grid, Charles climbed from the car, adrenaline still pumping.
He barely removed his helmet before an engineer grabbed his shoulder.
He didn’t wait for the rest.
Carlos saw the shift immediately and followed without question.
They reached the medical room at the same time.
Charles pushed the door open.
She was standing, supported by a nurse, hair slightly damp with sweat, eyes glassy but determined.
He crossed the room in three strides.
“You didn’t tell me,” he breathed.
She gave him a shaky smile.
Emotion crashed over him all at once.
“Yes.” A contraction stole her breath mid-sentence. She gripped his suit instinctively.
Carlos stood frozen for half a second before stepping forward.
“Long enough,” the doctor replied. “We’re heading to Princess Grace now.”
Charles slid an arm carefully around her, completely forgetting the cameras, the podium, everything.
Carlos grabbed her bag without being asked.
As they moved down the corridor together, the distant sound of podium celebrations echoed faintly from the harbor.
But none of them cared anymore.
Princess Grace Hospital was too bright.
Monitors beeped steadily, nurses moved with calm efficiency, and somewhere outside the delivery room doors, the city was still celebrating a Ferrari 1–2 at the Monaco Grand Prix.
Inside, Y/N was terrified.
“I can’t do this,” she gasped, gripping the rails of the hospital bed as another contraction tore through her. “Charles, I can’t...”
“Yes, you can,” he said immediately, though his own voice trembled.
Her nails dug into his hand.
“I know,” he whispered, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “I know. Look at me.”
She shook her head, tears streaming freely now. “I’m scared.”
He moved closer, pressing his forehead to hers despite the chaos around them.
“You are the strongest person I know,” he said firmly. “You carried him for nine months. You protected him. You protected me. You can do this.”
Another contraction hit. She cried out, body tensing.
“Breathe with me,” he urged. “In and out. Just like the classes. Remember?”
She tried. Failed. Tried again.
“I’m right here,” he repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside the room, Carlos stood like a wall.
Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Still in his race suit.
Anyone who walked past instinctively gave him space.
He hadn’t said much since they arrived.
Just one quiet sentence to Charles before the doors closed:
Now he paced once. Then stopped. Then paced again.
Every sound from inside made his chest tighten.
He’d faced race starts at 300 km/h without flinching.
Inside, hours blurred together.
Sweat. Tears. Encouragement. Pain.
“I can see the head,” the doctor announced.
Charles kissed her temple. “That’s it. That’s our boy. You’re almost there.”
“You can,” he insisted, voice breaking now too. “One more. For him.”
She screamed through the final push.
The room shifted instantly.
Y/N collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing in relief.
Charles froze for half a second as the nurse lifted their son into view.
“He’s healthy,” the doctor confirmed.
Charles let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a broken sob.
They placed the baby on Y/N’s chest.
She stared down at him in disbelief.
“Hi,” she whispered shakily. “Hi, baby.”
Charles pressed his hand gently over both of them, overwhelmed beyond words.
“That’s our son,” he breathed.
When the nurse asked if he wanted to cut the cord, his hands trembled.
“Yes,” he said, voice thick.
He stepped forward carefully, following instructions, cutting the cord that had connected mother and child for nine months.
Sealing something permanent.
Later, once Y/N was cleaned up and the baby swaddled securely, Charles stepped into the hallway.
Carlos was on his feet instantly.
Charles couldn’t even speak at first.
Carlos’ shoulders dropped in visible relief.
Inside the room, Y/N looked exhausted but glowing, cradling her son.
Carlos stepped in slowly, like he was afraid to disturb something holy.
His nephew blinked up at him, tiny fist peeking out from the blanket.
“Hey, campeón,” he whispered.
Y/N smiled softly. “Do you want to hold him?”
Carlos hesitated only a second before nodding.
Charles carefully transferred the baby into his arms.
The moment the tiny weight settled against his chest, something in Carlos cracked completely.
His eyes filled instantly.
He let out a shaky breath that turned into a quiet laugh.
“He’s so small,” he murmured.
The baby shifted slightly, settling.
Carlos looked down at him like he’d just been handed the most fragile treasure in the world.
“I’m your uncle,” he whispered thickly. “And I am going to embarrass you so much.”
Charles watched them both, emotion swelling in his chest.
Carlos glanced up at him finally.
There was no anger there now.
And something close to pride.
“You did good,” Carlos said quietly.
It meant more than any trophy.
In a hospital room overlooking the harbor of Monaco, with the echoes of race celebrations still faintly drifting through the night, their world had quietly, completely changed.
The sea along the Spanish coast glittered beneath a soft golden sun, waves rolling lazily toward a stretch of private beach lined with white flowers and drifting linen.
It was intimate. Warm. Intentional.
The Sainz family gathered on one side. The Leclerc family on the other. Laughter mixing with the ocean breeze.
At the front, Charles stood, navy suit tailored perfectly, hair slightly longer than he used to wear it.
He looked calmer than he ever had on a starting grid.
He’d pretended to complain about it.
“Out of everyone you know?” he’d said. “You pick me?”
Charles’ answer had been simple.
Carlos adjusted Charles’ collar now, brushing invisible sand from his shoulder.
“You’re shaking,” Carlos muttered.
Charles exhaled slowly. “I just don’t want to mess up the vows.”
Carlos’ expression softened.
“You won’t,” he said. Then, quieter: “You’ve been proving yourself for three years.”
Charles glanced toward the small wooden arch at the end of the aisle, draped in white fabric that fluttered gently in the breeze.
Soft. Acoustic. Familiar.
At the top of the aisle stood Y/N.
The dress was simple. Flowing silk that caught the light, lace tracing delicate patterns along her shoulders. Her hair loose, slightly windswept already.
And beside he stood Santiago.
Three years old. Dark hair slightly tousled. Wearing a tiny beige suit and very serious expression.
He held her hand tightly.
“I walk Mama,” he had insisted earlier.
The guests smiled, some already teary.
Carlos’ jaw tightened as he watched his nephew take his role very seriously, carefully stepping down the aisle like it was the most important mission of his life.
Charles’ breath left him entirely.
Three years ago, he had stood in a hospital room terrified.
Now he stood here, watching his son walk the love of his life toward him.
Santiago reached the front first, looking up at Charles with solemn approval.
“You look nice, Papa,” he whispered loudly enough for the first few rows to hear.
Laughter rippled gently through the guests.
“Thank you, mate,” Charles managed.
Y/N stepped up beside him.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just them.
The waves. The sun. The sand beneath their feet.
Carlos stepped forward, gently guiding Santiago to stand beside him.
The officiant began speaking. About love, about timing, about journeys that don’t always follow the path you expect.
Charles never looked away from her.
When it was his turn, he took her hands carefully.
“They say Monaco is my home race,” he began softly, earning a few knowing smiles. “But home has never been a place for me.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“You chose me when it wasn’t easy. When it was complicated. When it scared us both. You gave me a son. You gave me a family. You gave me something bigger than anything I could ever win.”
Santiago leaned gently against Carlos’ leg, watching with wide eyes.
“I promise,” Charles continued, voice thick now, “to choose you every day. In the chaos. In the quiet. In the in-between.”
“You are my best decision.”
She laughed softly through tears.
When it was her turn, she took a steadying breath.
“You once told me you don’t like losing,” she said gently. “But loving you has never felt like a competition.”
A ripple of soft laughter moved through the crowd.
“You stood by me when I was terrified. You held my hand when I didn’t think I was strong enough. You’ve been patient. Steady. Constant.”
She glanced briefly toward Santiago.
“You are the best father I could have ever imagined for him.”
“And I promise,” she continued, voice steady despite the emotion, “to love you in every version of life we get. The loud seasons. The quiet ones. The ones that scare us. And the ones that feel like this.”
The officiant stepped forward gently.
“Do you, Charles, take Y/N...”
“I do,” he answered immediately, not waiting for the full question.
Laughter broke out again.
The officiant smiled. “And do you, Y/N...”
She didn’t hesitate either.
The words settled into the warm sea air, simple and absolute.
And just before the officiant could continue Santiago tugged on Carlos’ hand.
The reception bled seamlessly from sunset into twilight.
Fairy lights strung between palm trees flickered to life as the sky turned soft pink and gold. Long wooden tables filled with candlelight and laughter stretched across the sand. Glasses clinked. Champagne flowed freely.
More than one aunt tried to top up her glass.
She smiled politely each time. “Just sparkling water for me.”
Carlos, meanwhile, had fully embraced his best man duties. Already one drink ahead of everyone else and telling an exaggerated story about Charles nearly fainting in the delivery room three years ago.
“I did not faint,” Charles protested from across the table.
“You sat down very quickly,” Carlos shot back.
Santiago, perched between cousins, giggled loudly despite not understanding the joke.
The night swelled into music.
Spanish guitar gave way to something louder, more rhythmic. Shoes came off. Suits loosened. The Leclerc brothers dragged Charles into the center of the dance floor while Carlos clapped in encouragement.
Y/N watched them, warmth flooding her chest.
After a while, Charles slipped away from the chaos and found her near the shoreline, toes in the cool water.
“You disappeared,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around her waist.
She nodded, then hesitated.
They walked farther down the beach, away from the lights and music, until the sounds of the party softened into background hum.
The moon hung low over the water.
Charles turned to face her.
“You’re scaring me a little,” he admitted gently.
She laughed nervously, twisting her fingers together.
Then she reached for his hand and placed it low on her stomach.
His brow furrowed slightly.
But the world shifted all the same.
She swallowed, smiling now. Nervous but glowing.
“I found out two weeks ago. I wanted today to just be about us. So I waited.”
Then he laughed once in disbelief.
His hand tightened slightly against her stomach as if expecting immediate confirmation.
“Are you... are you okay?”
Then he exhaled shakily and pulled her into him, lifting her slightly off the sand before carefully setting her back down.
“We just got married,” he said against her hair.
He pulled back just enough to look at her properly.
“I love you,” he said, almost stunned. “You know that?”
He kissed her. Slow, warm, full of something deeper than excitement.
When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Santiago is going to lose his mind.”
When they returned to the reception, the DJ was calling everyone closer.
Charles led her to the centre of the sand. The music shifted to something slow. Romantic. Familiar. He placed one hand at her waist, the other holding hers carefully. She rested her free hand over his shoulder. They swayed gently, the ocean breeze tangling in her hair.
Halfway through the song, small feet padded across the sand. Santiago wedged himself between them with absolute confidence. “I dance too.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Charles immediately scooped him up, balancing him between them. “Well of course you do,” he said. The three of them swayed together under the lights, a small imperfect circle of love in the middle of the beach.
Carlos watched from the edge, something soft in his expression.
When the song ended, applause rose again.
Charles passed Santiago back to his grandparents before Carlos stepped forward. “My turn,” he said, offering his hand to Y/N. She took it instantly. The music shifted again. Slower, nostalgic. They moved easily, like they always had.
“You look happy,” Carlos said quietly.
He studied her face carefully. “There’s something else,” he noted.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had champagne.”
She hesitated. Then leaned closer.
“You’re going to be even more insufferable soon.”
His brow furrowed. Then widened. “No.”
Carlos stared at her for a long second. Then laughed. Loud and full and disbelieving. “You two really don’t waste time.”
His expression softened, emotion rising unexpectedly. He pulled her into a tighter hug. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured.
“For building this. Even when it was messy.”
She blinked back sudden tears. “You’re going to have two nephews to spoil,” she whispered.
“Or a niece,” he corrected with mock seriousness. He pulled back, brushing a thumb quickly under his eye. “You deserve this,” he added quietly.
Out on the sand, Charles watched them. Protective instinct long replaced by something steadier. Family.
When the song ended, Carlos kissed her temple and guided her back toward her husband. Charles slipped an arm around her immediately.
Carlos clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Round two,” he muttered quietly.
Carlos just smirked. “Relax. I’m not blind.” Then he walked back toward the bar.
Charles looked down at his wife.
“Of course he knows.” She smiled.
Under the lights, surrounded by laughter and sea air and dancing family, it felt like the beginning all over again.
Just steadier. Stronger and bigger than before.
The drive back to Monaco felt different this time.
Charles drove carefully, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, the other occasionally reaching across to squeeze Y/N’s knee. In the back seat, bundled in the smallest pink blanket Carlos had dramatically insisted on buying, was Colette.
Colette Leclerc. Six pounds of perfection. Dark hair like her father’s. The same stubborn little pout Santiago had as a baby. Tiny fingers curled into fists like she was already ready to take on the world.
Y/N kept twisting around in her seat just to look at her.
“She’s breathing, right?” she whispered for the fifth time.
Charles laughed softly. “Yes.”
Her eyes welled immediately.
Hormones. Exhaustion. Love. Probably all three.
When they pulled into the driveway, the front door burst open before the engine had even fully stopped.
Barefoot. Hair messy. Shirt on backwards.
Behind him, Carlos stepped out much calmer but only barely.
“Let them get out of the car, Santi,” he called, though he was already walking down the steps.
Charles stepped out first. “Gentle,” he warned immediately.
“I know!” Santiago said, bouncing in place.
Y/N carefully lifted Colette from her car seat and turned so Santiago could see. He went completely still. “Oh.” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just pure awe. “She’s tiny,” he whispered.
They walked inside together like a small procession. Charles hovering at Y/N’s side, Carlos practically guarding the hallway like security.
In the nursery, sunlight spilled through the curtains. Y/N sat in the rocking chair, Colette tucked against her chest. Charles crouched down beside Santiago. “Okay,” he said softly. “You can touch her hand. Just very gently.”
Santiago nodded very seriously. He reached out one finger. Colette’s tiny hand stretched instinctively and wrapped around his finger. He gasped like she’d performed magic. “She’s holding me.” His voice wobbled.
Carlos cleared his throat loudly from behind them. “She’s strong,” he muttered.
Santiago leaned closer. “I’m your big brother,” he informed Colette solemnly. “That means I protect you. From monsters and boys and Papa when he’s annoying.”
Charles looked offended. “Excuse me?”
Y/N laughed softly, tears pooling in her eyes.
Santiago looked up at her suddenly. “Can she sleep in my room?”
“Not yet,” Charles smiled. “She needs Mama at night.”
Santiago thought about that. “Okay. But when she’s bigger.”
A few minutes later, Santiago climbed into Charles’ lap while Y/N adjusted Colette’s blanket. “She smells nice,” he said thoughtfully.
“That’s because she’s a baby,” Charles replied.
Carlos answered that one. “Yes.”
Santiago looked slightly concerned. “Okay. That’s okay. I’ll help.”
Y/N’s heart physically melted.
Charles pressed a kiss into Santiago’s hair. “You’re already the best big brother.”
Santiago puffed up proudly. Then he leaned forward again, watching Colette sleep. “She looks like you,” he told Charles.
“Does she?” Charles asked softly.
Carlos burst out laughing.
Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.
Y/N looked at her little family. Her husband kneeling beside her, her son completely enchanted, Carlos standing there like the world’s most protective uncle.
Three years ago it had been chaos and secrets and fear. Now it was this. Light. Warmth. Home. Charles leaned over and kissed her gently. “Welcome home, Colette,” he whispered.
Santiago rested his head against his father’s shoulder, still staring at his sister like she might disappear if he blinked. “She’s ours,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Y/N smiled. “She’s ours.”
