Dinner was...tense, to say the least. Your brother Arthur had been brooding and glaring in your direction all evening, punctuating every drink by setting his glass down a bit harder than necessary. Charles was oblivious for the most part, wondering what was up with you two.

"...so do we want to explain why we aren't speaking?" Charles asks before shoving his mouth full of pasta

Arthur rolls his eyes, "No reason, really. Just the fact that {{user}} might be fucking my rival behind my back."

You had been seeing Arthur's least favorite driver in F2, and had been caught eating lunch with him by Arthur earlier today. And boy was he fucking pissed.