Fake It Till You Make It - CL16
The Princess of Monaco is wild and out of control. She needs to stop being in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Charles Leclerc has had a spot of bad press since his very public break up. He needs some good PR. What better way to fix their problems than to pair them up?
Fake Dating turned real dating trope
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For the purpose of this story, I have fabricated the royal family of Monaco. I have created the members of the family, their roles and what they do, using only the fact that Monaco has a royal family
ROYAL MESS
In the early hours of the Morning on Friday, the 19th of May, Princess Y/N of Monaco was found lying in the street outside of MK Club Monaco after what appears to be a wild night out. Fans of the princess know this is no new occurrence for her.
When asked, employees in the club were quoted as saying: “It is always a delight to serve the princess. She is always polite and kind when ordering from the bar, always offering to pay for the drinks of those around her."
"Princess Y/N is fun to party with, sure. But she takes it too far, gets too drunk, and leaves us all wondering how far is too far?" Said one club patron to our reporters.
It leaves us all wondering how far is too far for the Princess of Monaco? When will her family finally take action against her partying ways?
Pictures such as these are not uncommon for the Princess of Monaco, showing us just how far royal privilege goes. It is at times like these where we thank any higher power above us that she is just the spare
Y/N's brother threw the newspaper down in front of her. His jaw was tense and his eye twitched, having just read out the entire article. "Seriously?" He said and leaned forward on his desk, staring down at his sister.
"I don't know what you're so upset about," Y/N muttered as she picked at the dirt beneath her nails. "You're not in the article."
Her brother, Herni, Prince of Monaco, let out a huff. He wanted to grip his hair and pull out of frustration, but he couldn't do that, he had to be pristine and perfect.
For years he and his family had been working to try and improve Y/N's image. It was no easy task. Well, Y/N certainly didn't make it easy. The royal family had tried to control the press, control what the night clubs were saying; they had tried to control Y/N, but none of it was working.
Henri was at his wits end.
He stood straight and turned around, looking towards the window. "How do you not understand that your actions reflect our entire family? That this shit makes all of us look bad, not just you?"
"Like the article said, I'm just the spare," she spat back, not looking up from her nails.
"Oh, don't give me that shit." Henri tried to keep his composure calm, tried not to lose his shit, but Y/N was making it very, very hard. "You're just a spoiled, little brat," he hissed.
Y/N let out a dry laugh. "I'm the selfish one? Seriously, Henri?" She called and he shot her a dirty, venomous look. So, she continued. "Who was it that threw a tantrum like a child when he didn't get the Ferrari 250 GTO for twenty-third birthday?"
Her brother glared, easily hiding his surprise that she remembered the name of the car he had so desperately wanted seven years ago.
But then Henri dropped his glare. She was just lashing out because she was pissed off about the article, he realised as he sat in his seat. "Go on, get out of here," he said to her, his head falling into his hands. He grabbed the newspaper article and slipped it back into his desk drawer.
Y/N didn't have a job. She was twenty-two, living fast and living off her family. Her family had tried to force her to get a job, but that had only pushed her into being more wild and out of control. Henri, though, he had a job. Their father had given him the important task of keeping an eye on Y/N and putting out her fires. It was an exhausting job, one that had him losing sleep.
He had to do something, he had no idea what.
There was one thing Henri could force his sister to do. And that was attend the Monaco Grand Prix.
Every year Henri and Y/N went to the Monaco Grand Prix. Y/N could still remember the first time she ever attended the Monaco Grand Prix. She was just ten years old, an eighteen year old Henri holding her hand as they walked through the paddock. She remembered standing up on the podium, watching as her brother gave a trophy to Jenson Button, and going to give Fernando Alonso a trophy of his own.
This happened every year. And, every year since she was a little girl, Y/N looked forward to seeing Fernando Alonso. The Spaniard always seemed to remember her, always greeting her with a kind, wide smile. Although Y/N loved the races, this was her favourite part of the weekend.
Because she really did love the races. As much as she tried to act nonchalant, Henri knew she loved it, loved the sounds of the cars as they came driving past.
This year, Henri kept Y/N in front of him as they walked through the paddock, waving at the drivers and the teams. The Grand Prix was full of celebrities, as it was every year. And, as with every year, Y/N and Henri were the talk of the town.
In the Red Bull garage, Y/N and Henri met Tom Holland, the Spider-Man, who was awestruck. He couldn't quite believe it as the youngest member of the Monaco Royal Family stood in front of him, talking to him about his role as Peter Parker.
At the Aston Martin garage, Y/N ran straight into Fernando's arms. "There she is," he said as she hugged him back. The bond Y/N had with Fernando was special. They'd saw each other only once a year at the Monaco Grand Prix and, in a weird way, it was like he had watched her grow up right in front of his eyes.
He knew of her partying ways and it worried him, just like it would a father to his daughter. "How have you been?" He asked, his Spanish accent thick.
As Henri moved onto the Ferrari garage, his favourite garage, as Y/N chatted to Fernando. Her favourite garage was wherever Fernando was, and she wasn't afraid to admit that. They caught up on the last year and Fernando introduced her to his teammate, a man Y/N had only met briefly before.
In the Ferrari garage, Henri said hello to Carlos Sainz. Carlos and Henri had always been friendly, that friendliness growing into some kind of friendship when he moved to Ferrari.
But then then was Charles Leclerc.
Herni loved Charles. He had several of his old F1 cars, including one of his Sauber cars, in his private collection. He'd been following Charles's career closely as he represented their country. The day he had his first win in Monaco was going to be a big day for Henri.
"Ah, Charles!" Henri called as he spotted him, already in his race overalls.
The overalls themselves were red and white, matching the flag of Monaco. Charles grinned when he saw Henri, striding over to the prince. "How are you? How is your sister?" He asked as they walked together through the Ferrari garage.
Henri pulled a face. "She is... she is Y/N," he answered with a curt nod. "Anyway, how about you? How is your season going?" He asked.
Charles gave a pained smile, and that was answer enough for Henri. "Ah," he said as they continued to walk. "Well, today will be your day."
The pair continued to chat as they walked through the paddock, catching up like old friends. Because, by this point, they were old friends. Herni asked about Charles's family and his plans for the summer break, and about his girlfriend.
Again, Charles gave Henri a look. "Ah, no girlfriend," Henri said and Charles nodded.
"I got a bit of bad publicity from it," Charles said. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."
Suddenly, Henri got an idea. An incredible, wonderful, terrible idea. He looked at his friend, wearing a grin, and said, "I think we can help each other out."
It was clear Charles was confused. So, Henri continued. "My sister wild and out of control," he said. "She needs somebody to get her imagine under control, and you need some good publicity. Take my sister on a couple of dates, take her to some grand prix and it'll make the both of you look good."
Charles suddenly frowned. "What? Henri, we can't do that," he said.
Henri checked his watch. The race was bound to start any moment now, he needed to grab Y/N and go sit. "Think about it," he said to Charles, wished him good luck, and went back to the Aston Martin garage to find his sister.
Henri didn't say anything to his sister as they watched the race. They watched Charles go from pole to second, Henri trying not to let the disappointment show on his face as he watched Y/N give Charles his second place trophy.
There was a good few weeks where Henri didn't hear anything from Charles. So, he didn't say anything to Y/N, whilst also trying to get her under control.
It wasn't working; Henri was close to begging. He kept an eye out for Charles's name in the press, looking for that bad bit of publicity he was talking about. And there was a lot of it, international news outlets accusing Charles of cheating, saying his bad start to the season was because of Karma.
It wasn't looking good for him, thought Henri as his phone vibrated.
He picked it up and read through his messages.
Charles Leclerc
I'm in
***
It was rare for Y/N and Henri to eat dinner together. He was always busy and she didn't give a shit. But, today, Henri insisted.
They sat across from each other, a ridiculously long table between them. Any attempt at conversation was near to impossible with the distance between them.
So, with no thought of decorum, Y/N picked up her dinner and moved down the table coming to sit right beside her brother. "What were you saying?" She asked as she tucked into her dinner.
Henri cleared his throat. "I've been speaking with Charles Leclerc."
"Okay?" Y/N looked up at him, her brows furrowed. "Good for you, Hen."
"Just listen, please," he insisted and Y/N fell quiet, returning her attention back to her food. "Its been decided by your PR team, dad, and I, that it would be best if you were seen to be with someone more... presentable. And our friend Charles if also in need of a bit of good press at the minute."
"So you want me to fake date Charles Leclerc?"
Henri nodded his head. "Not fake date him, exactly. Just be seen with him."
Y/N sat back, tapping her fork against her plate. "Okay, why should I?"
Grinning, Henri used his fork to scoop everything into a pile on his plate. "Because, if you keep up with your partying lifestyle, we're cutting you off."
She said nothing. Throwing her fork down, she pushed her chair back and stormed off.
That was the thing with Y/N. She didn’t care for propriety or her image. She did what she wanted, without much thought of how it made the royal family of Monaco. She was the weekly scandal in the newspaper, the wild child.
Henri’s head fell into his hands.
For the next week, while Charles was away from Monaco at another race, Henri set everything up. He booked out a restaurant for them, picked out something for his sister to wear and prepared her for her date with a script. Henri was controlling everything. He had every move planned out and had Y/N run through it with him several times.
He was a complete control freak.
For the date, Henri gave his sister a set of rules. Charles was his friend, after all, and this was a PR stunt. Anything he could do to prevent Y/N from embarrassing the royal family any further.
That was how she found herself in an empty restaurant, an almost empty glass of wine in front of her. Charles Leclerc hadn’t arrived at the restaurant yet; fashionably late, Y/N assumed. She was five minutes away from leaving.
But then he walked in. It was not possible for this man to look bad, Y/N realised as he strode towards her. His outfit was simple, a white shirt, buttoned almost to the top (just revealing a bit of chest) and a pair of black trousers. His hair had that usual fluff, that he seemed to achieve effortlessly.
Y/N had seen pictures of him online since his career began. He always looked good, so it was no surprise he did now.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said as he sat in the seat opposite her.
As if to prove a point, the princess finished her drink and placed her glass down. There was a flash to her left, a camera going off. But she didn't care - Henri could put out the fire he created.
Henri had given her a script, but Y/N wasn't going to follow it. That was boring. "Your brother is in F2, right?" Asked Y/N as food was brought over to them (Henri had decided what they were going to eat when he booked out the restaurant, arranging the food to be brought over as soon as Charles arrived).
Charles looked at her, clearly confused. "Um, yes," he answered. "He's with the Ferrari Drivers Academy," he said and took a sip of his own drink. "What is it that you do?"
She snorted. She hasn't meant to snort, but she couldn't help it. "I'm a princess, what do you think I do?"
But it wasn't clear. To Charles, it seemed like all she did was party. According to her brother, all she did was party. So Charles couldn't be blamed to think that.
He didn't answer her. This dinner wasn't going too well. That much was clear to everyone.
Letting out a sigh, Y/N sat back in her seat. "We need to make this look good," she said, glancing to her left. At the paparazzi not quite hidden in a bush outside of the restaurant. "You know what the news articles will be, right? 'Monaco Royalty... something something else."
Charles thought for a moment. The restaurant wasn't the right setting, this was clear.
So, he finished his drink and looked across the table, at the princess sat opposite him. "Do you want to get out of here?"
Fuck yeah Y/N wanted to get out of here. She grabbed her coat and, together, she and Charles walked out of the restaurant. A crowd of paparazzi followed them as they made their way to Charles's Ferrari SF90 Stradale.
It was a beautiful car, one Henri had wanted for the longest time. He he was going to flip his lid once he learnt that Y/N had been inside of it.
The paparazzi continued taking pictures of them as they drove off. "Where are we going?" She asked as he drove her through the streets of Monaco.
Y/N and Charles found themselves in a bar, three drinks deep. They talked casually, more like acquaintances than anything else.
Nothing happened in the bar, they just got to know each other a little better, without the awkward conversation of a formal dinner. Y/N found out about his love for music and he learnt that she was more than a just a party girl.
The next morning Y/N woke up in one of the many guest rooms with a pounding headache. She didn't remember getting back to the palace and was still in her dress from the night before. "Shit," she groaned, the light shining through her windows hurting her eyes.
She sat up and ran her hands through her knotted hair. Painkillers. She needed painkillers and she needed them now.
With no clothes to change into, she searched through the drawers for the much needed painkillers. And when she didn't find any, she made her way to her brothers office. "Henri," she sang as she pushed her way inside. And then she was leaning against the door, holding his head.
"I did it, I went on a date with Charles Leclerc."
"Well done," Henri said as he sat back in his chair. "He's taking you to Canada next week, so pack warm," he said and went back to his work.
Y/N glared at her brother and stormed off, making her way back to bed.
***
Canada. The only reason Y/N agreed to go was to see Fernando Alonso. She was there as Charles Leclerc's guest, but she didn't care. She ran straight to the Aston Martin garage, ran straight over to Fernando.
The Spaniard was surprised to see her, that much was clear. "What're you doing here?" He asked as she threw her arms around him.
Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm here as Charles's guest," she answered.
Fernando's eyes went wide. "Really?" He asked, his brows furrowing.
"I know," she answered.
It really was a surprise. Fernando had never even seen the princess of Monaco so much as interact with the Monégasque driver. He knew Prince Henri was a fan, but he didn't know Y/N was. So, he asked about it.
She didn't want to lie to Fernando. But she had to seel it. For the sake of the tabloids, she had to sell it. "Well, we met at the Grand Prix, hit it off, and the next thing I knew, we were going to dinner together."
"Dinner together? Wow," said Fernando. "So, do you want me to go easy on him out there?"
Grinning, she shook her head. "You do what you need to do to bring home a win for us Aston Martin fans," she said.
They said their goodbyes and Y/N made her way to the Ferrari garage.
It wasn't as if she and Charles knew each other; they'd drunkenly discussed things, but that was it. But now, she was playing the girlfriend, tucked into his side as he kept his arm wrapped around her. Before the race he held her close and she tried her best not to look uncomfortable. Play the part. All she had to do was play the part.
During the race she stayed in the Ferrari garage, watching alongside Charles's brother. Y/N had met Arthur before, she just couldn't remember where.
"So you're dating my brother?" Asked Arthur as they watched the race.
Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the screen and nodded her head.
"How did that happen?"
She just pretended not to hear him.
This went on and on, the pair going on the odd date in random countries and Y/N joining him at races. But they were putting on a performance around each other, trying to play that part. They weren't being themselves and, therefore, not getting to know each other.
She'd joined Charles in Silverstone. They'd held hands as they walked through the paddock, smiling and waving at cheering fans. Their relationship was public knowledge now and, first the first time in the last four years, she wasn't in the tabloids for a bad reason.
Henri had arranged a date in Monaco for the pair once they got back from the British Grand Prix. They flew back with Pierre Gasly, an old friend of Charles. Y/N had only met Pierre earlier that year, in Monaco when her brother had introduced them.
Pierre was good fun for the flight home. But, by the time they got there, Y/N was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and shut her eyes. Looking at Charles, their was no doubt that he was just as tired as she was; he was the athlete after all.
As he drove, he blinked continuously and rapidly, his tiredness evident. Her apartment was just around the corner, she realised as they were stuck in traffic. It wouldn't be the worst thing if they blew off the dinner, right?
"I live near here," she said, looking at him.
Charles blinked as he looked at the stationary cars in front of him. "Am I not taking you to dinner?" He asked, somewhat surprised.
"Well, I was thinking we could go back to my apartment and eat some pizza," she said.
"But what do we have to gain from that?"
That was right, everything they were doing had an objective. Everything they were doing had a purpose. Having dinner in her apartment, where there were no cameras to watch them, had no purpose.
"We wouldn't die on the road from you being so tired if we went back to mine."
Charles realised she had a point. When the traffic began moving, he took her directions and drover to her apartment. They made their way inside, practically collapsing on the couch.
"Sorry for the state of it," Y/N muttered as Charles sat on the sofa beside her.
Her apartment really was a mess. Clothes, dirty dishes, pizza boxes everywhere. It wasn't very royal of her. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly as Y/N gathered up the dishes and placed them on the counter in the adjacent kitchen.
Charles didn't want to ask, but he was wondering how the apartment of the Princess of Monaco was so disgusting. He hadn't even realised she had an apartment of her own, assumed she just lived at the palace.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Asked Y/N as soon as she had ordered the cheese and pepperoni pizzas. It was a safe choice, considering she didn't know what Charles wanted. "I've got beers, wine, spirits, anything you want."
She didn't hide her surprise when Charles requested a beer. "I thought you were all... fancy and stuff," she said as she handed him the opened bottle.
"The princess of Monaco is passing me a beer and she thinks I'm fancy," he said with a laugh.
But he was undeniably tired. His laugh turned into a yawn and Y/N turned on the television. They watched in silence as they waited for the pizza to arrive.
"I didn't think you'd be allowed to eat pizza," said Y/N as she checked her phone, checked where abouts the delivery driver was. Just a few minutes away. "You know, considering you're an athlete."
"I won't tell my trainer if you won't," he answered.
Just a few minutes later and Y/N was running to get the pizza. She didn't have to worry about disguising herself, running down to the lobby of the apartment in her comfiest pyjamas. She wasn't like her brother, where he was always prim and proper; she hid in plain sight.
When she came back up with the pizzas, Charles was already snoring lightly on the sofa. Y/N would have left him to sleep, left him on the sofa, but he hadn't eaten since his race. As soon as he'd eaten something, she'd let him go to sleep.
So, she gently woke him, placing one of the pizza boxes in front of him.
Again, they were in silence as they ate. But the food was giving them some sort of strength and energy and, by the time they were finished, neither were quite ready to go to sleep.
So, they talked. They talked and talked, properly getting to know each other. Charles told her stories of his karting days, of his friendship with those on the grid. Y/N told him about her childhood as a princess and her friendship with Fernando Alonso. She didn't get into the subject of her partying habit, not when she realised she didn't miss it.
"No way," Y/N scoffed, sipping her beer.
Charles laughed as he nodded his head. "Seriously. I woke up shouting 'box box'!" He insisted.
She let out a laugh of her own. "Looks like I'll need to have words with the strategists."
Their evening continued much in this fashion. She hadn't realised he was an artist, not until he showed her some music that he hadn't yet released. He was a talented pianist, and Y/N couldn't stop herself from calling him a tortured artist.
There was no way she was going to let him sleep on the sofa. That would be like letting the Queen of England sleep in the dog house. So, she let Charles sleep in her bed, a wall of pillows keeping them separated.
***
There was a shift in their relationship dynamic after that. Things came easier to them. They were still faking it, but they weren't putting on a performance anymore. It was natural.
When they weren't together, she found herself texting him. Any time she had something to say, she texted him, without caring whether he had time to text her back yet. When Y/N wasn't at a grand prix, Charles was pictured laughing at his phone, and everybody knew who he was texting
CL16
what do you want your contact picture to be?
Please don't make it something embarrassing
Oh come on, Charles
I doubt there are any embarrassing pictures of you
okay i take it back
oh god
look at this little guy
you were so cute
what happened?
Hey!
I'm still cute!
The ladies love me
sure they do, sunshine
She found herself sending him anything and everything that made her laugh. Whether they knew of this shift, it wasn't clear.
But Henri certainly did.
The next part of this story takes place during the Belgian Grand Prix. Y/N hadn't attended. She'd been to the last few and, for once, her brother wanted to spend time with her.
"I'm impressed," Henri said as they sat on the balcony, tea in front of them. "You're selling this whole relationship really well."
But his sister wasn't listening. Instead, she was giggling down at her phone as she texted. "Y/N," Henri prompted and she looked up from the phone. "Can you put it down? I'm trying to have a conversation with you."
Reluctantly, Y/N put her phone on the table. "What were you saying, Hen?" She asked and picked up her little tea cup. The rim was decorated with pink, yellow and purple flowers.
"I was saying that you've really made this relationship with Charles look real. If I didn't know better, I really would think you were dating," said Henri. He straightened his posture and sipped his tea. "What is he doing during summer break?"
She shrugged her shoulders. Summer break was something they'd only briefly talked about, while Y/N was in his apartment, trying out his sim rig (spoiler alert, she was fucking terrible at sim racing. But it was still good fun, pretending to be her pretend boyfriend). He'd invited her on his yacht by literally saying, "join me on my yacht during summer?"
It was an invitation Y/N couldn't turn down, so she just said, "sure."
Henri continued. "Why don't you invite him to the palace for dinner?"
That was too much of a step into real relationship territory. Immediately she shook her head. "You do know that he isn't actually my boyfriend, right?" She pressed, placing her teacup back down onto the saucer.
Henri waved her off. "I know, I know," he said. "It would just be nice, you know?"
Suddenly Y/N felt a little sick. This was skidding way too far into relationship territory. Fake boyfriends didn't have dinner with her family, fake boyfriends didn't take him to her apartment just because he could.
The next time she saw Charles, Y/N was on his yacht. She laid in the sun, arm across her stomach and her eyes shut. It was lovely, so fucking lovely.
Charles sat beside her, passing her a drink. "Thank you, Charlie," she said with a smile as she sat up. "Best fake boyfriend ever." He patted her knee and stayed at beside her as the yacht gently moved on the water.
They spoke and, as they spoke, Y/N realised they never spoke about how fake their relationship was. In fact, Charles wasn't acting as though their relationship was fake. Even as they walked to his apartment, through the building and away from prying eyes, he still held her hand.
When she sat on his yacht, talking to him about whatever, he kept his hand on her knee.
As they day got later, the two began drinking. "To us," He called and tapped his glass against Y/N.
"To us," Y/N repeated and drank her drink. They slept on the yacht that night, with Y/N changing from her swim wear into something a little warmer as the sun disappeared.
They ate together, drank together, and just spent time together. It was nice, giggling and leaning on each other. Charles just loved spending time with her, it seemed. He gave her his hoodie when she shivered and, when that wasn't enough, he tucked her into his side.
They were both getting tired and were both ready to go to bed. Y/N glanced up at him from her place against his side. That was when he leaned down to kiss her.
Y/N stood up immediately. "Woah, what the fuck?" She cried as she jumped away from him. "Charles, what the hell are you doing?"
"I... Just thought..."
"Well you thought wrong!"
Y/N stormed off, heading to the bedroom. She set up the bed, placing the cushions between them. They'd slept in the same bed several times since that very first time in her apartment, but hadn't since.
The next day, she got Charles to take to back to the marina. Whether paparazzi saw them or not, she didn't care as she stormed away from him without so much as a goodbye.
OFF THE RAILS
Just when we thought things were looking up for the Monégasque Princess, it seems she is, once again, off the rails.
Princess Y/N has spent the last few months seemingly dating Formula One driver, Charles Leclerc. In this time, it appeared that the princess had halted her wild ways. The clubs she so often frequented were quiet without her presence.
But, after a rocky night on his luxury yacht, the couple appeared to go their separate ways. The Princess was seen storming away from the yacht on Monday morning.
Fans had been hoping that this was just a little spat between the popular couple, but after the Princess was spotted partying in Monaco just the night previous, fans soon lost hope.
She'd done so well staying in the medias good books for the last few months. But, ever since that night on the yacht, Y/N needed to get out. She needed to get out and have a wild night.
She'd never been a relationship person. When Charles had gone to kiss her, she'd been terrified. Why be in a relationship person when every relationship you've had was somebody trying to screw you over?
Because she had loved every minute with Charles. Every fucking minute. For once it felt like she wasn't being used, and they weren't even in a relationship. But Y/N couldn't see a future with him, not one where at least one of them didn't get hurt.
So, she ran away from it. She ran from him and her feelings, ran back into the embrace of the bottle. She partied the night away without caring who saw it.
Of course Charles saw it. It was the first thing he saw when he opened any form of social media. Her face plastered across his screen. Her in a low cut dress that perfectly showed off her figure. He sucked in a breath. She was meant to be his girl, and she didn't want him.
Even though they weren't together anymore, Y/N did stop with the partying. She calmed down immensely, no longer appearing in the tabloids. No longer appearing anywhere, actually.
Charles tried his best to forget about her. He didn't sleep around, he just put all of his energy into his work. He took sponsorship deals, did photoshoots and spent all of his time training. All to get Y/N out of his head.
Well, it didn't work. Charles couldn't forget about her. It was taking everything in him not to go to her apartment and tell her how he had fallen for her while they were supposed to be pretending to date.
Charles messaged Henri, asked how Y/N was doing, but Henri didn't seem to know.
That was because she hadn't been seen outside of her apartment in weeks.
When Henri told Charles, he knew he had to do something.
After attending the Italian Grand Prix alone, Charles made his way to Y/N's apartment. He had all of his things, having not made his way back to his own apartment.
When he knocked on her door, there was a moment before anything happened. He listened out, listening as she got off of the couch with a groan and walked over to the door.
The girl that answered the door was the girl that Charles was in love with, but she was hard to recognise. Hair a mess, bags under her eyes, wearing clothes that hadn't been washed in days.
When she pulled open the door, her face dropped. "Oh," she muttered, leaning against the door, not letting him see the mess inside. "What are you doing here?"
"Your brother told me you're not doing good."
"So?"
She was so quick to shut him down, to try and get him away from her apartment.
But, Charles pushed on. "So, I came to check on you. I'm worried about you."
Finally, she pushed open the door and allowed him inside.
The apartment was a state. Trash everywhere, dirty clothes about the floor, all of her dishes used and piled up around the apartment. There was half eaten food that was definitely rotting.
"Shit, Y/N," said Charles as she pushed the door shut.
She glared and threw herself back down onto the sofa. "Oh, fuck off," she said.
Charles sat on the end of the couch. It was the only place in the apartment that filthy. "I just want to help you," he said and began picking up the clothes on her floor.
And then Y/N sat up, causing Charles to stop what he was doing. "Why? Our entire relationship was fake, so why do you care?" She spat.
"Because." Charles stood up a little straighter, dropping her clothes into a little pile. "Because I love you. I know we were only fake dating, but it felt so real! And I realised that I actually do love you! I want to date you for real! I want to be the best real boyfriend ever, not the best fake boyfriend ever!" He exclaimed. "I don't know why you're so opposed to the idea. Those dates we went one, the ones after that first night in your apartment, they were amazing. I wouldn't have invited you to my yacht if I didn't seriously like you."
Y/N scoffed sarcastically. "Sure you do, Charles. Sure you, a world famous Formula One driver who can have anybody he wants, wants me, the troubled spare, the princess that nobody wants." She said it quietly, picking at her nails.
He leaned down in front of her, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. "I do. I really do want to be with you. Princess Y/N of Monaco, I want to take you on dates and I want you to join me at races. I want to show you off in the paddock and I want to take you on my yacht, kissing you with your permission. I want you, Y/N."
But the way she looked at him, she looked ready to cry. "I can't do heartbreak," she said and pulled her hand away from his. "Not with you, Charles. I can't handle you breaking my heart," she said and stood up.
Charles suddenly pulled her close. "I won't break your heart," he whispered and kissed the top of her head. "Now, go take a shower. I'll sort out... all of this."
Y/N did just that. She turned on the water and hopped into the shower as Charles picked up the rubbish. Mainly empty wrappers and bottles of soft drinks. There were plenty of pizza boxes that he shoved behind the bin, just for the time being. After that, Charles picked up her clothes from the floor. He shoved what he could into her washing machine and turned it on, leaving to pick up the plates.
When Y/N hopped out of the shower, the apartment wasn't clean. But it was better. The floor was now visible. As Charles cleared up the space between the couch and the television, Y/N set about washing the dishes.
"Pizza?" Charles offered as he walked over with some half full glasses and cups.
But Y/N shook her head as she scrubbed a bowl that was once full of cereal. "You know, for the first time in a while, I'm not feeling like pizza."
"We'll get you something better, then," Charles said and set about ordering food.
They sat on the couch, Y/N in the last of her clean clothes, tucked into his side. "If we're gonna try this, we'll need to go on proper dates," she muttered, her head against his chest. "And, eventually, you'll need to come and have dinner with my family."
Charles let out a laugh. "Relax, chérie, we're gonna take it one step at a time."
One step at a time.
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