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It was an unremarkable Thursday at the next Grand Prix weekend – they were again signing autograph cards at a long table in the Ferrari Motorhome. Charles tore the marker from the cardboard paper and waved his hand to relax it and attack the next stack with renewed vigor. Involuntarily, he listened to the conversation nearby: a few chairs away, Carlos was also looking fatefully at the work ahead, but he was distracted by his manager, showing something on his phone.
“Look at these photos! Have you ever seen them?”
Carlos picked up his mobile phone.
“Once I saw them, of course, but I’ve already forgot. Could you show them to my parents? They’ll be happy, especially mom.”
“What do you have there?” Charles asked curiously, deciding to take advantage of the pause.
Carlos started signing again, but Caco, his manager and cousin, was glad to have a new listener – one who seemed to be in a more complacent mood.
“Carlos’s parents’ old photos,” he launched into an explanation. “Fans dug up archival footage somewhere! Do you wanna look?”
Charles began to look at the photos with an interest when the phone was pushed towards him. He himself liked to participate in photoshoots and he knew a little about photo-art, so it was interesting to evaluate the retro theme.
He recognized Carlos Sainz Sr. immediately – his face looked younger but remained almost unchanged. Instead of gray hair, he had thick black hair, like his son now has. But the woman is nearby... Charles didn’t remember in detail how Carlos’ mother looks like. Of course, they crossed paths when she occasionally flew to the races, in the first year Carlos even briefly introduced them to each other. He was impeccably polite to her, otherwise they never spoke and then simply nodded to each other.
But the young woman he was looking at in the photo seemed to have stepped out of Italian films of the eighties. Charles didn’t watch the Spanish ones, but Senora Sainz could well have shone next to Adriano Celentano, but she posed next to her racer husband. Long black hair hung down to her shoulders, her face was noble and strong-willed. Charles mentally chided himself, deciding that he had been looking at one of the photos for an indecently long time – the one where the magnificent lady was dressed in tight black trousers and elegant boots.
“Your mom is so beautiful,” Charles sincerely admired, turning to Carlos, who was nevertheless distracted from signing the cards and was looking at him, as if expecting comments.
Carlos didn’t appreciate the compliment. He immediately jumped up, the felt-tip pen fell from his clenched fists, and even his nostrils flared slightly.
“Just try it!” he hissed in a threatening whisper. “Just try, do you hear?!”
Charles furrowed his eyebrows and returned the phone to Caco.
“Are you insane?” he asked without finding words.
“If I see you next to my mother– If you even lay a finger on her!”
Charles resisted the urge to twist his finger at his temple.
“You’re delusional.”
He started signing autograph cards again, Carlos was calmed down by his cousin in quiet Spanish. Of course, Carlos wouldn’t have to put into practice a threat that he didn’t even voice, but Charles clearly understood that if he had been born thirty years earlier, he would certainly have tried to get there before Carlos Sainz Sr. The young woman from the photo fit perfectly into his type he has already decided on.
Soon Charles forgot about the altercation with his teammate. That day Carlos clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and this happened to everyone, as well as to himself. But he still found those same photos and added them to bookmarks, as he would have done with photos of some other woman he liked – an actress, for example. Senora Sainz was beautiful in her youth, and he really liked her. More precisely, Senora Vazquez de Castro. Reyes Vazquez de Castro.
Monza
August 30, 2023
Charles was getting ready to go to bed when there was a loud knock on the door of his room. He had just come out of the shower – his wet hair was sticking out in different directions, there was a towel on his hips. He didn’t know who had come – Antoine and Andrea would have written in advance, Joris would fly in with Alexandra by Friday. If someone from the team needed him urgently, he would have especially warned. For example, they would call, but would not knock on the door.
The knock was repeated, so Charles became thoughtful. Did hotel security fail to contain particularly zealous fans? But it’s only Wednesday, and how can fans figure out a specific room? While he was thinking, the door was pounded again, and in addition he heard sobs – clearly female. Charles was brought up in such a way that crying women must be helped – although if it were before any races, even Friday free practices, he would rather call the reception. But now he jumped into sweatpants, pulled on a T-shirt and went to open it.
He did not throw the door wide open – after all, it really could have been a desperate fan, and all conceivable and inconceivable security protocols strongly advised against being alone with them – especially in your own room. But it wasn’t a fan who stood on the threshold. It was his teammate’s mother in person.
Reyes Vasquez de Castro – he remembered her full name – stood tear-stained, with dark circles under her eyes from smudged makeup. For some reason – in a luxurious dressing gown, thrown obviously not over a casual T-shirt. Charles didn’t have time to comprehend this and stepped aside, letting her through and thinking that she apparently needed some kind of help.
“Please, sit down,” he took her inside the room and helped her sit on the made bed, because he had already thrown clothes on the armchair. “Sorry for the mess, I didn’t expect to be hosting a lady. Can I purpose you a glass of water?”
Reyes nodded gratefully, wiping her face with one hand, and with the other primly straightening the silk hem of her nightshirt peeking out from under her dressing gown. Pouring water into a glass,
Charles thought for a second about whether he was doing the right thing – but leaving a woman like this in the lobby, where anyone could see her, was not in his rules.
“Senora, please,” he handed her the water, and she began to drink in small sips. “Where is your husband?” He abandoned his cloyingly secular tone for a while.
“He’s still in Spain,” Reyes finally answered. “He’ll arrive tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll call Carlos now and he’ll escort you.”
“No!” Reyes shuddered. “You don’t need to say anything to Carlos. Both don’t need to know that I’m here.”
“Let’s say,” said Charles, a little surprised. “But what happened? And why did you come to me? This is strange, isn’t it?”
Madrid
August 28, 2023
“Your interviews only make things worse for our son!” Two days ago, Reyes quarreled with her husband, who hinted to reporters about negotiations with other teams.
“With all due respect, you don’t understand much about this,” Carlos Sr. answered authoritarian.
Reyes was helplessly angry. Her husband always consulted with her on any issues, and they made all decisions together, but this did not apply either to his racing or to the career of their son.
“It’s wrong to anger Ferrari before Monza!” she tried again. “They’ll take revenge, don’t you understand?!”
The husband just kissed her on the cheek and left. She sank into a wicker chair near the panoramic window through which the sun was shining. Recently, Reyes became interested in reading social networks in more detail than the banal viewing of the content of her family, Ferrari and Audi. The fan wars made her hair stand on end! Even now, the fans of her son’s teammate mocked her husband’s interview, but the worst thing was that she saw some truth in it and was afraid for Carlos Jr. Such an inopportune moment to release an information about other negotiations! It wouldn’t be surprising if Ferrari got angry, and these tifosi... If they booed her son for something he didn’t even say? For what his father said?
And in general, should the father to focus so much on the career of his son, who will turn thirty in a year? Reyes thought about this and decided to intervene herself. She needs to talk to Charles Leclerc – it’s his fans, who are spreading similar conclusions on the Internet. Charles seemed to her to be a good young man. He always greeted her in the paddock, and when they first met, he even kissed her hand – Reyes always considered this as the highest recommendation. Of course, during the races he was her son’s first and most important rival, but outside of them... Maybe he could appeal to his fans? So that they don’t speculate, don’t invent something that doesn’t exist, so that they understand that Carlos is a nice boy, that is, a worthy racer, and not the devil they paint him as? Yes, she needs to talk to Charles Leclerc. Moreover, she will arrive in Monza a day earlier than her husband – what if luck turns up?
And luck turned up – Charles became the first recognizable face she saw when checking into a small two-story hotel not far from the highway. He was surrounded by tifosi and signing autographs, and a plan was already beginning to take shape in her head.
Monza
August 30, 2023
“I wanted to talk to you,” Reyes answered almost meekly.
“To talk?” Charles leaned forward in amazement – inviting the guest to sit down, he himself remained on his feet. “Why here and what is this masquerade for?” He raised his hand, pointing to her appearance. “Sorry for being blunt, but you look like barely escaped from a crowd of drunken savages broke into your room.”
“How and where do you imagine our conversation?” Reyes answered the question with a question. “In a cafe so everyone can see us? Besides, there was a chance that you would slam the door, but if you think that I need help, you won’t. And I was not mistaken.”
“Women, huh–” Charles rolled his eyes. “It’s hard to understand all of you. I admit, you surprised me, senora.”
“Reyes. Just Reyes, please.”
“Reyes,” Charles repeated. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
She was silent, looking down and examining the richly woven lace on her intricate dress.
“Now it seems so stupid to me. My husband was right.”
“So, your husband still knows that you are here?”
“No, no,” Reyes grabbed herself by the shoulders with both hands, Charles simultaneously felt pity and sympathy, along with misunderstanding and caution. “Nobody knows and no one should know.”
“Then what is your husband right about?”
“The fact is that I don’t understand anything about racing, and men will figure it out themselves. So, I’m just a stupid woman who wants her son to succeed. Is it bad?”
“Not at all,” Charles finally fixed his gaze on the stool and sat down on it so as not to look at his interlocutor from above. “So, you came to talk to me about your son? For me to do what?”
Reyes waved her hand.
“No, it was a stupid idea from the very beginning. I understood this and I will leave.”
“No,” he said in a more decisive tone. “Since you have thought about the conversation and found yourself here, speak now,” Charles was thinking not about the archival photos of the woman who was sitting on his bed, but about the conversation that had happened with Carlos. Suspicions intensified, although he wanted to believe her. “You will talk. How should I know – maybe the Marca photographers are already waiting in the hall. You’ll run out of me in upset feelings and tell the Spanish journalists that I allegedly raped you, or at least tried.”
“How did you even get to that?!” Reyes jumped to her feet, and Charles also instinctively moved towards the exit to block her path, and he did not like these spy games. “Who in their right mind would believe me?! I’m old enough to be your mother!”
Her reaction was convincing, but it could still be some kind of carefully planned performance. In recent years, Charles has learned to be suspicious.
“And who will believe on the other side?” he played along. “You are a respectable married lady, why would you ruin your reputation? And to ruin it for me, it would be more logical to send one of your daughters.”
“You know how to be rude,” Reyes, still standing, crossed her arms over her chest and blew away a strand of hair that had stuck to her face. “Both my daughters recently got married! And not one of them would do such a thing!”
“That just leaves you,” Charles chuckled skeptically. “The daughters are settled, second youth–”
Reyes raised her hand to slap, but apparently, she was not very experienced in this – his reaction was faster. Charles grabbed her wrist, then the other one, and pulled her closer to him. The belt of her dressing gown had long since come undone; he couldn’t resist looking down.
“My apologies. I usually don’t allow myself to talk to women in this tone,” he leaned over and touched her hand with his lips.
“These words don’t cancel the previous ones,” Reyes said, without making, however, an attempt to free herself. “They’ll never believe what you end up to me. Someone like you would never covet an old woman.”
“I don’t see an old woman here – that’s the first thing,” he led her to the bed and pulled her along with him, taking her palms into his, and then voiced his old thoughts.
“Me too,” Reyes rolled her eyes coquettishly. “But I need you to refute this.”
“And I refute it. Secondly, I saw your old photos. If I had been born a generation earlier, I would have made it before your husband.”
“So it’s like,” she clearly softened and sat more relaxed, a dreamy half-smile appearing on her lips.
“Reyes, will– will you– let me?” one his hand lay on her waist, the other one slipped through the hair, running to the neck.
“Si–”
As soon as their lips touched, everything instantly became much clearer than any conversation. The dressing gown finally fell from her shoulders to the floor, she leaned forward, he pulled her closer, settling her on his lap. Charles realized that this was not the girl from that photo, but at the same time it was her – he felt it, or maybe he knew it, now more than ever.
No, not the girl from that photo: he wanted exactly this woman - absolutely luxurious, smelling of expensive perfume and desirable, responding to his kisses with all the fervor. She also wanted this, answering with all passion, and Charles did not really believe in what was happening, because he stopped thinking as soon as he heard “yes”, stopped comparing, although from the very moment of her arrival he eagerly peered into her facial features, looked into her eyes, saw not the fading that she was trying to hint at – he saw a magnificent blossoming into which one could now dive headlong.
He continued to kiss her, still on the lips, but he was already hanging on top, letting a stream of her hair pass through his fingers – no, not gray, but rather dark brown, and not searing black, like in those photographs, like Carlos’…
Charles suddenly stopped, seemed to freeze for a moment, and pulled away with a jerk, then sat up and pulled her along with him. Now Reyes looked at him quizzically.
“We can’t,” he said.
He honestly didn’t think about Carlos’ words, which he didn’t finish, but he just needed to think with his head – usually he was good at it, but now this skill was somehow late.
“But we’re already doing it,” Reyes said slightly mockingly. She settled down on the no longer perfectly made bed with her legs, her cheeks were flushed, the silk burgundy hem no longer covered her knees, the bodice dropped almost to the point of obscene – Charles himself tried to do this, but, fortunately, did not manage to leave any marks.
“Not in this universe – you understand it too.”
Reyes straightened up and returning her slipped straps to their place.
“I’ll leave,” she said this for the second time that evening and lowered her feet to the floor, putting on her slippers. “But yes, you definitely know how to be rude and obnoxious, and you lie about not interacting with women in this completely disgusting way.”
“You’re offended,” Charles also stood up after her, and Reyes raised her head, placing her palm on the doorknob.
“Si.”
It was a second chance, and he didn’t take it. There were no paparazzi in the hall, and she left, stealthily wiping away the tears that had come out. She managed not to burst into tears like a teenager who had just been rejected by the most popular guy in school, but in her room she was still dabbing her eyes with tissues. He paced his room and was angry with himself because he had done absolutely everything wrong in the last hour.
Not in this universe, not in this life, even if everything were limited to one time - but they have already allowed themselves too much. In this life, she will remain with her husband, he will remain with Alexandra, or with another girl from the Monte Carlo bohemia, who will certainly be so like her in her youth.
Madrid
September 5, 2023
“And you told me that my actions harm our son?!” Carlos Sr. rattled when he and his wife had already arrived from Monza and were drinking coffee.
“You know what Carlos has that Leclerc never will? The honor. Congratulations, Carlos, today you have shut up a lot of mouths,” read the quote on Twitter, which Reyes heartily liked and was very pleased with what she had done.
“By the way, I was right,” she said, putting the cup on the saucer with an unusual rumble.
“What?! What were you right about?!” basically Carlos Sr. was not emotional, but in some situations the Spanish temperament took over.
“Your interviews angered Ferrari, and they were allowed to fight. Here’s the thing.”
“And you liked this stupid tweet, inflaming the situation even more! This– this– He was pushing Carlos off the track!”
“Both were good. After all, I’ve been watching racing for almost forty years, and I understand something.”
“You’ll remove this damn like!”
“We’ll see,” Reyes gave him a disarming smile. “More coffee?”
***
The next morning a large bouquet of red roses awaited her. Without the sender’s signature – but with a note printed on the gift insert.
“It’s an honor to give you these flowers, senora. Will you ever forgive me?”