Chapter 47 - 2022

                                    

                                          
In the spirit of true Monaco excess, a pre-race ceremony is held, attended by the whole Monegasque royal family. 
Me and the rest of the drivers are ushered into two lines, surrounded by spectators and members of the royal guard and household. Monaco flags are flying from building windows on all sides, and I can't help but chuckle at the huge picture of Charles, printed on a poster on the ground. 
Speaking of Charles...
I lean in to Max, who's stood next to me, and whisper. 
'Where's Charles?' 
He shrugs, whispering back, 'Don't know, but I'm sure he's on his way. He wouldn't miss this.' 
I nod, glancing around behind me. 
Where is he? 
A moment or so later, a commotion goes up from behind the crowd of spectators, cheers and shouts. The people waving flags from their windows go nuts, and the gathering of people on the ground literally parts seamlessly. 
Found him. 
Charles comes through the gap in the crowd, accompanied by so many assistants, you'd think he was a royal himself. He's greeted by the Prince and Princess, who embrace him like he's their own child. It's sort of hilarious, how people treat him here. He's more than just a celebrity, he's an icon, a sensation. No wonder he feels under so much pressure. 
He finishes talking to the royals and heads into the circle of attendants. I expect him to come over our way and join the line of drivers, behind the royal family. But he doesn't. Instead, he is positioned right at the front, standing on the poster of himself. Alone, at the head of everything. 
'Holy shit.' I murmur, without really meaning to. 
'There's Charles.' Max whispers, trying not to laugh. 
'Funny. Why is he in front of the royal family?' I ask, still keeping my voice low. 
'What d'you mean? He's part of the royal family.' 
'Don't joke.' 
'At this point, I'm not joking.' 
I switch my attention back forwards, quietening down as the Monaco National Anthem starts to play. I can't help but watch Charles, race suit half on, hands behind his back, head held high. I can only see the back of him, but I can imagine what he looks like right now. 
And I have to admit, it's attractive. 
In fact, it's fucking hot, enough to make heat rise in my cheeks. 
I would never admit it to anyone but myself, but everything about him in this situation makes me regret giving him up. In the absence of fear and shame, the old magnetism that existed between me and him seems to reappear, sending my thoughts out of control. Of course, I'd never do anything about it. Our relationship is different now; there's more at stake. But there's no harm in thinking it, right? Just appreciating from afar?
Look but don't touch. 
And really, when he's stood like a fucking king at the front of his army, it's difficult not to look. So, it's hardly my fault, is it. 
'You're staring.' Max whispers.
'No I'm not. Shut up.' 
-------------------
'Just shut up until I need to pit.' I radio in. 
Stress is running rapidly through me as I negotiate the tight turns of the Monaco circuit. Street circuits are the worst, because if you screw it up, there's no gravel or grass to catch you. You fuck up, you're in a wall. For some off reason, city races are Charles' favourite. The man seems to just love crippling pressure.