Crash

Suspicions

Penelope stayed at her grandmother's house for the majority of the day, helping her to prepare food for the dinner party she was hosting later that night. They'd had a long conversation about whether Penelope was going to bring Charles along, to introduce him to her family and give him an insight into what life could be like down the line. Her grandmother had insisted that he came, and no matter what reason Penelope tried to give, the answer was always the same: "We don't leave anyone out. Everyone comes to dinner. No exceptions."

It left her with few options. If she convinced Charles to come, assuming he'd even want to, then it would be a night of interrogation from her brothers, who would go out of their way to learn every single detail about him. But, on the other hand, if she didn't ask him, her grandmother would hold a grudge for the rest of the year. She didn't want that. 

The house was unusually noisy when she walked through the door. Normally, she lived alone bar Jane, who only stayed a few nights a week. But as she made her way up the stairs, the sound of Charles talking on the phone drifted towards her. It was nice to come home to someone, to not be alone like she had been for the past year. 

However, as she got further up the staircase, her appreciation began to shift to curious worry. Charles wasn't just talking on the phone, he was in some form of heated argument, speaking in a language that Penelope could just recognise as Italian. When she glanced through the crack in the bedroom door, she saw him pacing the length of the room, throwing his arms in the air as he launched into a new wave of speech. 

It took a lot of willpower for her not to pry, which was partly aided by the fact that she couldn't speak any Italian. Even if she did decide to stay and listen, she couldn't understand what was being said anyway. It unclear to her whether he'd even heard her come in yet, or if he was embroiled in his conversation that his presence had gone over his head. 

By the time Penelope had showered, changed and pinned her hair up to get ready, the argument finally started to wind down. She managed to make out a name, Mattia, which she remembered was the team principle for Ferrari. Maybe it was a work thing, but it seemed very passionate to not have something personal entwined in there too. 

Just as she was fumbling with the zip of her dress, Penelope heard the bedroom door open, footsteps echoing on the hardwood. "Charles? That you?" she called, knowing that it was.  

The steps shifted, growing closer. She met his eyes in the mirror as he entered the bathroom, and it struck her how tired he looked. His hands were warm as they rested on her waist, a soft kiss planted on her cheek. 

"I didn't hear you come in," he said, giving her a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. 

"Oh, it's okay, I haven't been back long. Were you on the phone? It sounded intense."

In the reflection, he averted his gaze. "Just Mattia. He wanted to talk about Bahrain. I have to fly out this weekend, gives me a whole week there to prepare before the race."

Penelope tried to ignore the voice in her head telling her that he was hiding something. "Feels like a lot of shouting to talk about flights."

Charles laughed, but it was strangely nervous. "Stressful time, that's all. Everything's fine, don't worry about it." His fingers ran down her back, finding the zipper of her dress and pulling it upwards. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," she said, deciding not to press him any further. "I have something to ask you, actually."

"Should I be nervous?"

She was going to say no, but changed her mind. "Depends. How do you feel, theoretically, if I asked you to come to dinner with me tonight?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'd say yes. Of course."

"Okay...and uh, what would you say if my entire family circle happened to be there? Oh, and it was at my Abuela's house. Theoretically."

As she spoke, his expression brightened. "Penelope, are you inviting me to Jonas Family Dinner?"

"You don't have to come," she said quickly, her cheeks burning. "It's soon, I know, and my family can be a lot-"

"Of course I'm coming! I can't believe you want me to meet your family. You're into me, aren't you?" 

Penelope rolled her eyes, still blushing. "Head over heels. Now go! If we're late, my Abuela will kill us both."

****************

"I can't believe you're not nervous," Penelope muttered as they walked up her grandmother's driveway, hand in hand. It was 6:55, meaning they weren't late, and they'd even had time to stop off at the florist and get a bouquet as a gift. It had all been his idea, which made Penelope want to burst into tears. There was something so sweet about him putting in effort to win her family over, and her bad feeling about his phone call earlier had almost completely ebbed away. 

"I'm excited," he said honestly. "I've heard so much about these dinners, now I get to go to one? Can't wait."

As they waited at the door, the sunlight shining down on them, Penelope took a moment to just look at him. His hair was styled the same way it'd been the night she'd first met him, and he was wearing the black shirt she liked, just tight enough to show the ripple of his chest. He looked beautiful, like something out of a photoshoot, and her nerves melted. She didn't like Charles because of the way that he looked or his job, she liked him because of who he was. There was suddenly no doubt in her mind that her family were going to like him, too. 

The door creaked open. "Hola mis amores!" Mirabel welcomed, giving Penelope a maternal smile as she ushered her inside. "Ay, tan bella..." 

When she saw Charles standing beside Penelope, her eyes widened. She let out an excited cry, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly, rocking side to side. Charles shot Penelope a look as if to say 'can't breathe', but he still smiled, hugging her back. 

"Hola, Charles, Penélope me ha contado mucho sobre ti."

"Abuela, Charles doesn't speak Spanish."

Mirabel hit his arm playfully. "¿No hablas español? We'll change that in no time."

Charles grinned, winking at Penelope. "I speak a few words. Penelope has taught me the expletives."

She shot him a wide-eyed look. "Not true, Abuela. Sometimes he can understand common words that cross over with English or French or Italian."

Mirabel looked impressed. "Three languages? This is good. Ah, now I hope I remember but you grew up in Monaco, yes?"

He nodded. "Yes. I come here for work or to see Penelope. She is worth the trip..."

The sound of their voices got further away as Penelope stayed in the hall, unfastening the straps on her shoes. As she was slotting them into place, she noticed something strange. There were five pairs of men's shoes, not four like there should have been. 

"Abuela?" Penelope called, starting to follow towards the kitchen. "Have you got a boyfriend I don't know about? Who else is-"

Penelope froze. Her eyes locked on the couch, where her brothers were standing as they greeted Charles, shaking his hand and exchanging jokes. It seemed to be going well, but in that moment she didn't care. Because stood in that huddle were all four of her brothers, not three. 

"Frankie?" she said quietly. 

"Hey, Nell," he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Long time no see."

******************