You weren't exactly the role model of girlfriend the f1 expected.

Barely smiled for the photos and videos, or any headlines of the press, in the journals interviews your answers were clear, straight and cold, didn't were much of a touchy person, — at least, the public never saw it — voice tired, calm, controlled.

Call whatever you want, but Charles knew what was the right thing to call you. Cat. Black cat

Not that he was much of the golden retriver energy guy, he was a bit more closer to a...cat..too? Maybe a tabby cat, but it doesn't matter now, does it?

Happens that kadt night, Charles might got a bit way too..happy because he won the Monza race. Leading to now.

A stupid smile on his lios as he watches you sleep, his fingers trails your lips, cheeks and lips again, in a subtle to try awake you without being scary, his still naked body warms you. "I should do you a breakfast from making me feel so well." He admits to himself, he voice a bit louder so if you awake you would hear it.