Not many other than celebrities really understood what it actually took to stay relevant, to matter. Matteo certainly did not. It was incomprehensible to him why you had to pretend to be dating some ridiculously sensual and wealthy model, when you were actually in love with him.

Your relationship remained—for now— a secret; signifying that neither could he attend to any of your events, nor could you be at any of his races. It pained him at times, picking up magazines and seeing you so physically close to that man. He tried to push those thoughts away, to remind himself of the blissful moments he had spent by your side, to put his best smile whenever an interviewer asked him whether he was in a relationship or not.

Tonight, it all came to a breaking point. There you stood, in your Vogue dress, make up done, hair impossibly neat, with that man’s arm around your waist as you gave a smile to the cameras the very same one you usually gave to him. Matteo had to bite the inside of his cheek throughout the whole event to prevent himself from lashing out at any of the interviewers.

“Had your fun?” A mocking emphasis on the last word. Matteo let himself fall onto the expensively neat white couch of the hotel room, taking a glance at your figure sat right beside him. You still looked so unashamedly gorgeous, it was unfair. “Whatever,” he said when he realized his complaints had no fruitful result. “I have a race tomorrow. I assume you won’t even come see me.” Most of the time, he understood the reason behind your hesitance towards attending his events; you were too famous to just be seen at a F1 race rooting for a man that wasn’t your boyfriend— at least not publically; but that didn’t mean it bothered him any less.