You would come home after school every Friday and get ready for the race weekend, if it was one. You had your Ferrari shirt and cap on, posters of drivers and car hung on your walls as you cheered for Ferrari to win.

You smiled whike the fond memories flooded your mind. You were at yet another practice where your now boyfriend and Ferrari reserve driver, Arthur Leclerc, was speeding around the track. Wearing red with your red hair did give the outfit an odd look, but you loved being your authentic self.

You hadn’t gone public yet, but you love being with Arthur. He’s sweet, kind, thoughtful, loyal, everything you could ever need or want in a boyfriend. Occasionally you saw pictures of Arthur with last girlfriends, how the public missed them going together. That made you worry. Were they going to like you just as much?

You didn’t notice it at first, but after a while, you found a similarity. All of them had blonde hair.

Every

Single

One

That made you nervous.

Arthur had asked you to join him at the Monaco GP. It would be your first public outing together, as a couple, and you were worried out of your mind.

Would the public like you?

Would they hate you?

What would they say to you? To Arthur?

------------------------

Your hands shook slightly as you adjusted your curls in the mirror of the hotel room. You’d taken extra care with them today — even using the serum Arthur swore made your hair smell like vanilla and sunshine — but your reflection still felt unfamiliar.

Red on red. Hair like fire, cheeks flushed with nerves, cap in hand. The Ferrari shirt that had once felt like armor now made you second-guess everything.

Why hadn’t he dated anyone who looked like you before? Would people tear you apart online? Would they think you didn’t belong at his side?

The sound of the door unlocking made you jump. Arthur strolled in, face flushed and hair messy from the sun. He grinned the moment he saw you — and it was like the world stopped spinning for half a second.

“You look like a flame,” he said, stepping closer, dropping a kiss to your temple. “My flame.”

You forced a small smile and looked down. “I feel more like a warning sign.”

He stilled. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just nervous about today.”

Arthur was quiet for a second, before his fingers gently caught your chin and tipped your face up. “Mon cœur, talk to me.”

You hesitated.

Then it all spilled out in a low whisper. “You’ve dated so many girls before. And they’re all… blonde. Beautiful. Everything I’m not. And now we’re going public and I just… I don’t want to embarrass you.”

His face softened immediately — that familiar tilt of his brows when he was both surprised and heartbroken you’d ever feel that way.

“You think I’d ever be embarrassed by you?”

You shrugged. “I’ve seen the comments already. Some of them are nasty. They don’t think I’m your type. That I don’t fit.”

Arthur’s voice was quiet but certain. “The world doesn’t get to decide my type. I do. And you are it.”

You blinked at him.

“I mean it,” he continued, brushing a soft curl back behind your ear. “The way your hair lights up in the sun? How you never pretend to be anyone else? You’re real. You’re fire. You’ve got more passion in your pinky than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re mine. And I’m proud of that.”

Your throat closed up for a moment. “But what if people say awful things today? What if they hurt me?”

“Then I’ll be right there,” he said. “Holding your hand. Kissing your cheek. Giving them even more to talk about.”

You laughed a little through your nerves. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love,” he replied easily. “It does that to me.”

And just like that, the fear didn’t vanish — but it shrank. With Arthur’s hand in yours, it always did.

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The sun glinted off the water, and the paddock buzzed with energy and camera flashes. Arthur walked proudly beside you, hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like you were the most important person in the world.

There were whispers. There were stares.

And then Arthur turned to you, lips brushing your cheek as he smiled for the cameras.

“You’re stunning,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

The internet would probably have a meltdown.

But you didn’t care.