Archive of Our Own

Lorenzo stood in the kitchen, nursing a glass of wine and watching Arthur scroll through his phone at alarming speed. 

“So,” Lorenzo said slowly, “he’s not coming to dinner?”

Arthur didn’t look up. “Nope. Texted me twenty minutes ago to say he was ‘in a complicated emotional place’ and ‘needed to listen to piano alone.’”

Lorenzo exhaled. “Jesus.”

“He also said he thinks he might be ‘unlovable at a molecular level.’”

“Did he actually say that?”

“Verbatim,” Arthur said, flipping screens. “Followed by a photo of Leo looking like a tired therapist on his day off. and the crying emoji. Twice.”

Lorenzo dragged a hand down his face. “It’s been three months since Sophie.”

“Technically, two months, twenty-one days,” Arthur said, glancing at the clock. “But who’s counting.”

Lorenzo sighed. “He needs help.”

“He needs therapy,” Arthur said with a snort. 

And then Arthur’s eyes lit up like a cartoon character with a plan.  “He needs a girlfriend.”

Lorenzo froze. “Arthur.”

“Hear me out.”

“No.”

Arthur put his phone down slowly, deliberately. “I’m making a Raya profile.”

Lorenzo blinked. “You’re what?”

“Not for me. For him. I’m going to fix it. The spiral. The sad playlists. All of it.”

“You want to impersonate Charles on a dating app.”

“I want to rescue him. Emotionally. Romantically. Digitally.”

Lorenzo stared at him. “Arthur. That is identity theft.”

“That is love, ” Arthur replied. “I’m Cupid with a Wi-Fi connection.”

“You’re Cupid with a death wish. You’re going to catfish people as our brother ?”

“Not catfish. Curate. Like a gallery. Of his best self. It’s not lying. It’s… repackaging.” Arthur stood and began pacing. “Charles is clearly not going to do this himself. He’s too busy posting moody black-and-white stories of Leo looking out windows with captions like ‘we all leave eventually.’ I mean—what are we even doing?”

“You’re being insane .”

“It’s matchmaking!” Arthur said, pointing at Lorenzo like a man unveiling a conspiracy theory. “He’s clearly not going to do it himself. He’s still following his ex on Instagram, liking her stories at 2 a.m., and writing playlist titles like 'slow laps and slower heartbreak.' He needs help. I’m being a hero. Do you remember what he said last week? That he was thinking of deleting Instagram and starting over under a new name in the Alps ? That’s not healing. That’s the first act of a French drama where he falls in love with his housekeeper’s goat.”

Lorenzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you think putting him on a dating app is the answer?”

“With me controlling it? Yes.”

“You’re barely qualified to manage your own love life!”

Arthur ignored that. “It’s foolproof. I’ll use good photos—Ferrari gala, that one boat pic, something with Leo so women know he has a soul. And I’ll write the bio. Sexy but a little tragic. Like if James Bond cried at Chopin.”

“This is criminal.”

“This is charitable .”

“You’re going to end up matching him with someone who thinks astrology is a political stance!”

“Then I’ll filter for that! Lorenzo, trust me. I’ve seen what’s out there. These women are feral—but one of them might just be perfect.”

Lorenzo sighed. “Just don’t use that photo from Mykonos.”

Arthur looked offended. “The shirtless boat one? That’s the opener.”

***

Text Messages:   Arthur Leclerc & Joris Trouche

Arthur:
hey bestie
question
do u have any good pics of charles

Joris:
Of course I do??
What for?

Arthur:
nothing shady
promise

Joris:
Arthur.
What are you doing.

Arthur:
do u want him to die alone and spend the rest of his life crying into his dog

Joris:
What???

Arthur:
do u want Leo to be his emergency contact forever

Joris:
Arthur WHAT are you doing

Arthur:
just send me the Monaco yacht one
and the one from Singapore last year
you know the one. the good hair day.

Joris:
Arthur.
Are you making a dating profile for him

Arthur:
no.
(not legally)

Joris:
You’re insane. He’s going to kill you.

Arthur:
worth it
he’s brooding to “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” again
i’m desperate

Joris:
…check your inbox
and delete this chat before he finds it
I’m not going down with you

Arthur:
ur an accomplice now
welcome to the operation
code name: Raya Redemption

Joris:
God help us all

***

Text Messages:   Lorenzo Leclerc & Joris Trouche

Joris:
Lorenzo.
We have a situation.
A serious one.

Lorenzo:
If this is about Charles lying on the floor again, I’ve already poured myself a drink.

Joris:
No, this is worse.
Arthur is making him a Raya profile.

Lorenzo:
...I know.

Joris:
YOU KNOW???

Lorenzo:
He told me over dinner while Charles was listening to Debussy in the dark and crying into Leo.

Joris:
He just asked me for high-resolution thirst traps.
High-resolution, Lorenzo.

i just sent him photos. under duress.

Lorenzo:
why would you send him photos???

Joris:
BECAUSE HE SAID CHARLES WAS BROODING TO TAYLOR SWIFT AND I PANICKED.

Lorenzo:
that… tracks.
Let me guess. Monaco yacht and Singapore hair day?

Joris:
Yes.
And he used the phrase “do u want Leo to be his emergency contact forever” like this was a national crisis.

Lorenzo:
That does sound like Arthur.
You’re an accomplice now.
Welcome to the pit.

Joris:
He named the operation Raya Redemption.

Lorenzo:
Of course he did.

Joris:
Should we… tell Charles?

Lorenzo:
Not until Arthur gets at least one date out of it.
I want to see where this goes.

Joris:
Your family is unwell.

Lorenzo:
That’s the most accurate thing you’ve ever said.

***

Arthur Leclerc cracked his knuckles, opened the Raya app, and began typing with the enthusiasm of a man who once made a Tinder bio for Pierre Gasly that had just said “French. Fast. Flexible.”

He had Spotify’s Ultimate Seduction playlist in the background, two open tabs of Charles’ most photogenic Instagram photos, and the moral compass of a raccoon in a jewelry store.

“Let’s make some magic, baby.”

He hit “Create New Profile.”

Name: Charles
Age: 27
Location: Monaco (obviously)
Profession: Formula 1 Driver. Winner of your heart.
Photos:

• Shirtless boat pic from Mykonos (for the people)
• Shirtless post-workout mirror selfie, beads of sweat on his chest 
• Shirtless with Leo in his arms 
• Shirtless from the beach in Sardinia, wet curls, gaze angled to the sun like a Renaissance oil painting with commitment issues
• BONUS: A picture of just his hands, veins out, no explanation
  
  

Bio :

Fast cars. Fine wine. Passionate nights.
I like long drives through the Italian countryside and strong espresso.

 Swipe right if you can keep up—on the track or off it.

Arthur read it back and grinned.

“Perfect. Bit mysterious. Bit unhinged. Bit sexy. Very me —I mean, Charles .”

Then came the matching filters.

Looking for: Women
Age range: 21–35
Distance: Global
Interests: Dancing, cooking, racing, danger, chaos, espresso martinis
Turn-ons (optional): Confidence. High heels. Deep playlists. Women who look like they could ruin my life in Italian.

Arthur sat back, admiring his masterpiece.

“This,” he muttered, sipping Coke from a wineglass, “is how you get Charles off the floor and into someone’s arms. ”

He hit publish.

Fifteen minutes later, the first like came in from someone named Hot4Horsepower .

Arthur grinned. “And so it begins.”

***

***

Raya Chat Log – @/ charles_leclerc (aka Arthur Leclerc with a mission)

@/Hot4Horsepower:
hey charles ;)) i love fast cars and slow burns
what’s your lap time in bed?

@/charles_leclerc:
Hi.
First question: Have you ever watched an actual Grand Prix or do you just like the racesuits?

@/Hot4Horsepower:
i like the tight suits and the adrenaline
also i once watched drive to survive season 3

@/charles_leclerc:
So no actual race experience. Strike one.
Next: How do you feel about dogs with emotional trauma?

@/Hot4Horsepower:
uh what
are you okay?

@/charles_leclerc:
I’m not the one who used “lap time in bed” as an opener.

***

@/LenaOffline:
sooo… if we date, can i come to Monza in your suitcase?

@/charles_leclerc:
Can you fit in a suitcase?

@/LenaOffline:
...maybe??

@/charles_leclerc:
Follow-up: Do you have a criminal record?

@/LenaOffline:
not convicted

@/charles_leclerc:
Next question: how many cardboard cutouts of me do you own?

@/LenaOffline:
just the one!
and one of Carlos for symmetry!

***

@/JulesUnfiltered:
charles i already have our wedding vision board saved. do you want a spring ceremony or winter elopement?

@/charles_leclerc:
Let’s backtrack.

1. Have we met?
   
   
2. Do you own a scrapbook labeled “Operation Husband”?
   
   
3. Be honest.
   
   

@/JulesUnfiltered:
only the digital kind!!!
also i emailed your management about matching tattoos

***

@/Lola.LateAgain:
would u date someone who only dates for clout
asking for a friend

@/charles_leclerc:
That friend sounds suspiciously like you.

@/Lola.LateAgain:
rude.
anyway, how famous are you really ?

@/charles_leclerc:
Famous enough to Google.
Not famous enough to be having this conversation willingly.

***

@/RoxieWithIssues:
hey charles
you ever been to ibiza??
bc i’ve got a villa
and handcuffs
jk
unless?

***

@/JoWithAView:
charlessssssss
if we dated u could crash into me any time
xx
also do u still talk to seb? bc i had a dream abt u both

@/charles_leclerc:
What kind of dream?

@/JoWithAView:
the kind i can't describe here
but i made a Pinterest board

***

@/MilfInSector1:
hi baby
u like older women?
i make a mean carbonara
and bad decisions

@/charles_leclerc:
Define “older.”
Define “mean.”
Define “bad.”

@/MilfInSector1:
55
Spicy
2008 tattoo of Alonso’s face on my thigh

@/charles_leclerc:
…This was a mistake.

***

@/AlinaUnbothered:
omg ur real???
like i thought this was a bot. or worse. pierre.

@/charles_leclerc:
Define “worse.”

@/AlinaUnbothered:
someone not emotionally devastated.
r u?

@/charles_leclerc:
I once wept to a Debussy piano solo while making risotto.
Does that count?

@/AlinaUnbothered:
ur perfect.
i collect tiny ceramic frogs. is that a dealbreaker?

@/charles_leclerc:
Only if they’re haunted.

@/AlinaUnbothered:
some of them are

***

@/ToeSucker88:
u have beautiful feet
pls send pics
i have a collage due

***

@/Cleo.CalmDown:
Hey cutie. Do you like handcuffs?

@/charles_leclerc:
Depends. Are we talking F1 steering wheel tethers or prison time?

@/Cleo.CalmDown:
Whichever gets you sweating.
Also, I once dated two brothers at the same time. You have any siblings?

@/charles_leclerc:
…

***

@/FreyaLikesFire:
Hi Charles. I don’t actually watch F1 but I think you’re the guy who plays the piano in that viral TikTok, right?

@/charles_leclerc:
…Yes. And I also occasionally drive very expensive cars.
Do you know what DRS is?

@/FreyaLikesFire:
Isn’t that the drug that makes hamsters fight?

@/charles_leclerc:
That’s not even close.

***

@/SashaWanders:
If I was your Ferrari, would you drive me fast or slow?

@/charles_leclerc:
You would probably overheat and break down before we made it out of Q2.

@/SashaWanders:
Kinky.

***

@/IsabelButSpicier:
I don’t really care what you do as long as you’re hot and sad.

@/charles_leclerc:
You just described every Ferrari strategy debrief.
But okay, go off.

***

@/ClaraAfterDark:
Let’s cut to the chase. I don’t cook, I don’t clean, but I will emotionally destroy you in under ten minutes. Interested? You look like you cry after sex. I find that hot.

***

@/NinaKnowsBest:
Hi future baby daddy
How do you feel about naming our first child ‘Ferrari?’
Girl or boy doesn’t matter x

@/charles_leclerc:
That child will be bullied from kindergarten to Monaco GP.

@/NinaKnowsBest:
Not if they’re hot.

***

@/EmTheEnigma:
Let’s play a game: if you had to choose between your dog and me, which one would you kiss goodnight?

@/charles_leclerc:
Leo. No hesitation.
***

@/EvaInParis:
Hey babe. Do you come with the Ferrari or do I have to steal one?

@/charles_leclerc:
Hi. Have you ever been convicted of grand theft auto?

@/EvaInParis:
LOL I plead the fifth.

@/charles_leclerc:
This is Monaco. We don’t have the fifth. Goodbye.

***

@/SofiaOnSet:
What’s your star sign? Asking to check if our birth charts align. I will not date another Virgo. I’ve had four. They all cried.

@/charles_leclerc:

1. I’m a Libra.
   
   
2. Are you planning on picking our wedding date using astrology?
   
   
3. Be honest—have you hexed an ex?
   
   

@/SofiaOnSet:
That’s private.

@/charles_leclerc:
So that’s a yes. 

***

@/MayaWearsBlack:
Can we skip the small talk? I only date drivers and DJs. You’re lucky you’re both hot and famous.

@/charles_leclerc:

1. Would you love me if I worked at a bakery?
   
   
2. How many drivers have you “dated”? Please round to the nearest dozen.
   
   
3. Do you know how to spell “empathy”? No autocorrect.
   
   

@/MayaWearsBlack:
Who needs empathy when you’ve got a paddock pass?

@/charles_leclerc:
Your honesty is terrifying. Goodbye.

***

@/TatianaFromIbiza:
Let’s get married in Mykonos. I’ll bring the champagne, you bring the tux.

@/charles_leclerc: How do you feel about prenups?

@/TatianaFromIbiza:
I’m an experience, not an investment.

@/charles_leclerc:
You are a lawsuit waiting to happen.

***

@/BiancaWithIntentions:
soooo if i date u, do i get paddock passes?
asking for my sister (and me, obviously)

@/charles_leclerc:
That depends.
Would you say your intentions are:
A) Romantic
B) Opportunistic
C) “Saw Drive to Survive and decided to try my luck”

@/BiancaWithIntentions:
D) All of the above lol

***

@/VeraUnfiltered:
I think you’re the one. I already told my therapist about you. She says I’m too impulsive but what does she know?

@/charles_leclerc:
How long ago did you swipe right?

@/VeraUnfiltered:
Twelve minutes.
But I can feel things.

@/charles_leclerc:
Like restraining orders approaching in the distance?

***

@/RomyInRed:
Would you date someone who has been banned from Ibiza?

@/charles_leclerc:
Follow-up questions:

1. What did you do in Ibiza?
   
   
2. Was it arson?
   
   
3. Are you legally allowed to leave the country?

***

Text Messages:   Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur:
bro

Arthur:
we have a situation

Lorenzo:
what did you do

Arthur:
it’s not what I did
it’s what the women of Raya have done to me

Lorenzo:
Arthur.

Arthur:
I opened the messages
for Charles
and I’m genuinely afraid

Lorenzo:
Afraid of what??

Arthur:
of toe pics
witchcraft
and one woman who casually mentioned she has a tattoo of Alonso on her thigh
like. full face. 2008 Renault colors.

Lorenzo:
I’m going to be sick.

Arthur:
they’re all insane
one of them collects haunted ceramic frogs
another said she wants Charles to crash into her 

Lorenzo:
You created this account
You brought this on yourself
This is karma. This is divine justice.

Arthur:
I was trying to help Charles find love
but apparently Charles’ vibe attracts women who have cursed amulets and open warrants

Lorenzo:
Delete it.

Arthur:
No.
I can fix this.
I just need filters.
And maybe an exorcism.

***

Pascale was in the kitchen, folding linen napkins with the serene efficiency of a woman who had raised three sons, lived through Charles’ La La Land phase, and once confiscated a bottle of cologne that smelled like “heartbreak and leather.”

Arthur hovered in the doorway like a raccoon with a secret.

“Maman?”

“Yes?”

“…I need to confess something.”

She looked up, suspicious. “Did you crash another scooter?”

“No. Worse.”

She put the napkins down slowly. “Go on.”

“I made Charles a Raya profile.”

A beat of silence.

“And I’ve been pretending to be him. Vetting the women. And—please don’t yell—but I think I might’ve… accidentally turned him into a sex symbol with commitment issues.”

Pascale blinked once. Then reached for her wine glass. “What exactly does that mean?”

Arthur swallowed. “One woman sent a voice memo that was just her breathing heavily . Another wrote an essay about his collarbones. And someone named ‘MILFInSector1’ offered to show him her Alonso tattoo. On her thigh, Maman.”

She closed her eyes. “Show me the profile.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m disappointed. In your taste.”

Arthur handed over the phone like it was radioactive.

She scrolled through in silence.

First: shirtless boat pic.
Then: shirtless workout mirror selfie.
Then: Charles shirtless on a beach, looking like he was about to write a tragic sonnet about the sea.

“Arthur,” she said slowly. “Is he wearing a shirt in any of these?”

“Technically… no.”

She tapped the screen. “This one looks like he just seduced a widow on the Italian coast and then vanished before sunrise.”

“That was the vibe!”

She gave him a look. “And this one? With Leo? Shirtless again?”

“It’s the dog dad bait. Women love a soft side.”

“He looks like a cover model for Brooding Bachelor: Mediterranean Edition .”

Arthur grinned. “Exactly.”

Pascale sighed like she’d aged ten years in five minutes. “Read me the bio.”

Arthur cleared his throat.

“Fast cars. Fine wine. Passionate nights.
I like long drives through the Italian countryside and strong espresso.
Swipe right if you can keep up—on the track or off it.”

Pascale stared. Then sipped her wine with great purpose.

“You wrote this like he’s a walking cologne commercial with a god complex.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment. We’re fixing it. Sit down.”

They sat down at the table. Pascale adjusted her glasses like she was about to perform surgery.

“First, we’re removing at least three of the shirtless photos. Leave one. Two max. Any more and he looks like he’s trying to sell protein powder and regrets.”

“Can we keep the Leo one?”

“He’s shirtless and holding the dog. That’s double bait. You’re not stacking emotional manipulation with abs.”

Arthur sulked. “The steering wheel hands?”

“That one can stay. It’s tasteful. Mysterious. Almost… cinematic.”

Arthur perked up. “Knew you’d get it.”

“Now,” she said, rewriting the bio, “‘Swipe right if you can keep up’ makes him sound like he’s running from Interpol. We’re dialing it back.”

They replaced it with:

“Piano at night. Pasta on Sundays.
Quiet mornings, loud engines.
Looking for someone kind—with a sense of humor and a stronger tolerance for espresso than me.”

Arthur blinked. “That’s… actually kind of good.”

“I raised you,” she said simply.

She also added a hard filter: “No users with the words ‘feral,’ ‘MILF,’ or ‘toe’ in their usernames.”

Arthur blinked again. “How do you know this much about dating apps?”

Pascale sipped her wine and smiled. “Darling. I may be a widow. I’m not dead .”

***

***

Raya Chat Log – @/ charles_leclerc (still illegally operated by Arthur)

@/AnaSaysMaybe :
So… are you actually looking for something serious or just another Italian summer situationship?

@/charles_leclerc:
Ideally something meaningful. No drama. No performative sadness.

@/AnaSaysMaybe:
But you're a Ferrari driver.

@/charles_leclerc:
Touché.

***

@/SimoneAtSunset:
Okay but real talk:
Is the “piano at night” thing a metaphor for vulnerability, or are you actually playing piano?

@/charles_leclerc:
I’m actually playing piano.

@/SimoneAtSunset:
That’s either the hottest thing I’ve ever heard or the most manipulative.

***

@/NoelleDoesNotReply:
Your profile is giving tragic espresso husband . I love it.

@/charles_leclerc:
That’s… oddly flattering. Thank you.

@/NoelleDoesNotReply:
Just a heads up though—I don’t reply to texts between the hours of 11 p.m. and 4 p.m.
And I ghost people when Mercury’s in retrograde.

@/charles_leclerc:
So you ghost people… for sixteen hours a day ?

@/NoelleDoesNotReply:
Self-care x

*** 

@/AstridOnFire:
You had me at “piano at night.”
I melt for emotionally repressed men with a flair for the dramatic.

@/charles_leclerc:
I’m… not sure that’s the healthiest criteria, but alright.

@/AstridOnFire:
It’s okay, I fix people.

@/charles_leclerc:
That is the least reassuring sentence I’ve ever read.

***

@/CamilleOnCamera:
Are you actually looking for a relationship? Or are you just here to cry to Chopin and pretend you're okay?

@/charles_leclerc:
I’m open to something real. Why?

@/CamilleOnCamera:
Because I don’t do emotions, but I do look great in photos.
So if you want a beautiful mutual breakdown, I’m your girl.

***

@/JulietteFromNowhere:
You seem genuinely lovely, but just so you know—I bring a lot of intensity to relationships.
Like, “sent my ex a Spotify playlist titled ‘Haunt Me Forever’” energy.

@/charles_leclerc:
…Out of curiosity, how long after the breakup?

@/JulietteFromNowhere:
Six months.
But I made the playlist during the relationship. Just in case.

***

@/ZaraLikesChaos:
Do you believe in soulmates or is that too cringe?

@/charles_leclerc:
I think it depends. Soulmates, maybe. Destiny, yes.

@/ZaraLikesChaos:
Good answer.
Anyway, my tarot reader says I’m going to marry someone with intense eyebrows. I’m pretty sure it’s you.

***

@/TaliaWithoutLimits:
What’s your opinion on monogamy?

@/charles_leclerc:
Essential, if I’m being honest.

@/TaliaWithoutLimits:
Shame.
I’m more of a… rotating-cast-of-men kind of girl.
But I thought maybe I’d make an exception if you were taller.

***

@/NaomiNotNice:
You look like you feel things. I like that in a man.

@/charles_leclerc:
…Thank you?

@/NaomiNotNice:
Do you mind if I name our first child Enzo?

@/charles_leclerc:
We haven’t even met yet.

@/NaomiNotNice:
Manifesting.

***

@/MilaInMotion:
What’s your relationship with your mother like?

@/charles_leclerc:
Close. She helps with most of my major life decisions.

@/MilaInMotion:
Oh. Yeah. That’s going to be a problem for me.
I’m allergic to mother-in-laws.

***

@/DaphneOnTheRun:
Your dog is adorable. I trust men more when they’re dog people.

@/charles_leclerc:
Leo is the most stable relationship I’ve had.

@/DaphneOnTheRun:
Same. My ex stole my cat in the breakup, but I got the espresso machine.
Also, I burned his passport.

@/charles_leclerc:
Wait what

***

@/EvaAfterMidnight:
Hi. If we go out, please don’t talk to me about F1. I’ll pretend to care, but it’s mostly for the photos.

@/charles_leclerc:
…Charming.

***

@/LucieOffGrid:
Hi. You have a dog, a soul, and a tragic vibe. I’m intrigued.
I live on a boat most of the year. No Wi-Fi. I churn my own butter.

@/charles_leclerc:
That’s incredibly niche.
How do you… date people?

@/LucieOffGrid:
I don’t. I just appear in their lives, ruin them, and disappear again.
Like fog. Or ex-girlfriends.

@/charles_leclerc:
Oh dear God.

***

Text Messages:   Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur:
progress report

Lorenzo:
this can’t be good

Arthur:
we are still getting weirdos…but they are  technically better weirdos?

Lorenzo:
Define “technically”

Arthur:
no toe pics
no thigh tattoos
no one’s tried to hex him with moon water yet

Lorenzo:
So… less weird?

Arthur:
less weird
but not normal

Arthur:
example:
one girl churns her own butter and lives on her boat
another just sent him her cat’s star chart

Lorenzo:
I don’t know if this is evolution or a new form of crisis

Arthur:
they’re soft weirdos now
like
chaotic but moisturized

Lorenzo:
and you haven’t found anyone normal?

Arthur:
define “normal”
because one girl said she’s emotionally allergic to mothers
another made a Spotify playlist titled ‘haunt me forever’ for her ex boyfriend

Lorenzo:
You deserve this

Arthur:
excuse me
I’ve filtered out the truly cursed ones

Lorenzo:
That’s like bragging about evacuating only some of the haunted dolls

Arthur:
baby steps
we’re moving in the right direction

***

***

Arthur was sitting cross-legged on the couch, hoodie up, blue light permanently etched into his retinas. His thumb moved on instinct now, scrolling through Raya like a war veteran—twitching every time he saw the words “feral,” “open relationship,” or “wanna crash into me?”

He was ready to give up.

And then.

@/lydiacolbert

Her profile popped up like a glitch in the system. A miracle in neutral tones.

Photos:

• Lydia petting a small cream dachshund on a sunny terrace.
• Lydia on a bike, holding her face in the sun.
  
  
• Lydia laughing in Mykonos. Natural. Unbothered. Beautiful.
  
  
• Lydia holding a flower pot like it’s an award she just earned.
  
  
• Lydia’s dog—in a sweater. A blue sweater and a pink collar. Judging the camera.
  
  

Bio:

Currently accepting applications from people who enjoy quiet mornings, dry wit, and very judgmental dachshunds.
Looking for something real. Or someone who won’t mind that my dog hates 90% of men.

Arthur sat up straight.

He reread it.

Then again.

“Charles,” he whispered to no one. “This is her. This is the one Leo won’t bark at.”

He clicked into the profile, skimmed her answers.

Interests: Cooking. Books. Dogs. Art museums. Sarcasm. Mild chaos.
Turn-ons: Honesty. Calm confidence. Emotionally intelligent introverts.

Arthur blinked. “ Oh my god, she’s hot and sane. ”

He hit match faster than Charles on a quali lap in Monaco.

Seconds later: MATCHED.

Arthur stood, fists in the air. “YES. YES. FINALLY.”

Leo—who was asleep on a pillow in the corner—lifted his head in alarm. Arthur turned to him, grinning.

“Buddy,” he said breathlessly, “you’re getting a sister.”

***

Text Messages:   Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur:
I FOUND HER
WE’RE SAVED

Lorenzo:
You matched with a therapist?

Arthur:
Better.
Model. Dachshund. Judgmental. Possibly magic.
Mild chaos. No witchcraft.

Lorenzo:
…What’s the catch?

Arthur:
There is no catch.

***

Raya Chat Log – @/charles_leclerc (operated by Arthur Leclerc, matchmaking menace)

  @/lydiacolbert has matched with you. ✅

@/lydiacolbert:
Hi Charles.
I don’t usually message first, but your dog looks exactly like mine when he’s silently judging me for talking to men on the internet.
I respect that kind of energy.

Arthur stared at the screen.

Then sat bolt upright.

“She’s perfect .”

Leo looked up from the corner, unimpressed.

Arthur cracked his knuckles and whispered, “Do not ruin this.”

He typed back— cautiously , like approaching a feral cat that might also own a book deal.

@/charles_leclerc:
Hello.
I think Leo and your dog would get along.
Or at least agree to judge us quietly from opposite sides of the room.

@/lydiacolbert:
That’s honestly the most romantic thing I’ve read on this app.
Désirée only tolerates people who can make risotto and don’t talk during movies.
He once growled at a man who suggested pineapple on pizza.
He was right.

Arthur blinked. Whispered, “Marry her.”

He texted Lorenzo immediately.

***

Text Messages:   Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur:
She messaged FIRST.

Lorenzo:
Who??

Arthur:
LYDIA.
Dog girl. Sanity girl. Flower-pot-on-a-bike girl.

Lorenzo:
And?

Arthur:
She’s funny. She’s dry. Her dog’s name is Désirée .
She likes risotto and hates pineapple on pizza.
I think Leo just wagged his tail at the screen.

Lorenzo:
…You’re not qualified to handle this.

Arthur:
I KNOW.
I need backup.
Should I respond with poetry or just ask her what her dog’s birth chart is?

Lorenzo:
Respond like a normal person.
And don’t mention astrology. 

***

Back in the app, Arthur took a breath. And for once, he typed like Charles would .

@/charles_leclerc:
Leo once refused to walk for three blocks because someone in a Juventus jersey smiled at him.
I trust his instincts more than my own at this point.

@/lydiacolbert:
A man after my own heart.
Or at least after my dog’s high standards.
What’s your risotto strategy?

Arthur choked on his Coke Zero.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “She’s real. She’s emotionally literate. And she cooks.”

He took a beat. Typed.

@/charles_leclerc:
Parmesan. Patience. A disturbing number of YouTube tutorials.
And wine. Always wine.

@/lydiacolbert:
Noted.
Désirée says we’ll allow one date.

Arthur stared at the message. Then slowly turned to Leo.

“Buddy,” he whispered. “We might’ve found her.”

***

Group Chat: Raya Redemption HQ 💘🐾

 Members: Arthur, Lorenzo, Pascale, Joris

Arthur:
EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT THIS WOMAN

Arthur:
screenshot of Lydia’s profile
✨Model. Dachshund. Wears linen. Reads books. Owns plants. Emotionally stable.✨
WE ARE NO LONGER IN CRISIS

Lorenzo:
Did she send you toe pics?

Arthur:
NO.
She sent a message about her dog judging her for messaging men.
It was dry. It was flirty. It was sane.
She makes risotto and hates pineapple on pizza. I’m in love for Charles.

Joris:
So… we’re not deleting the app after all?

Arthur:
No. We’re framing this match and hanging it above the fireplace.

Pascale:
Arthur, I swear to God, if you are still pretending to be your brother, this woman deserves better than whatever Cirque du Soleil act you’re pulling.

Arthur:
Maman, relax. I’m being tasteful. No shirtless photos, no espresso metaphors.
We even discussed dogs before pasta.

Lorenzo:
That’s the most terrifying sentence I’ve read today.

Arthur:
I’M DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT.
Even Leo approved. He wagged his tail. Once.

Pascale:
You bribed him with ham, didn’t you?

Arthur:
That’s beside the point.

Joris:
Okay, but real talk—what’s the plan here?
Are you going to tell Charles at some point, or is he just going to find out he’s dating someone from an app he never downloaded?

Arthur:
We’ll ease him into it. Like exposure therapy.
Step 1: Let him spiral less.
Step 2: Keep messaging Lydia until she’s emotionally invested.
Step 3: Gently reveal the deception.
Step 4: Wedding.

Lorenzo:
You skipped “tell the truth” and “deal with the emotional fallout” in your little master plan.

Pascale:
I raised criminals.

Arthur:
You raised innovators .

Pascale:
When Charles finds out, I’m making all of you explain it to him.
In person.
While I film it.

Arthur:
You’ll thank me when he’s married to the elegant Parisian woman with a judgmental dachshund and a normal relationship with emotional intimacy.

Lorenzo:
Or he’ll drown you in the Monaco marina.

Arthur:
That’s a risk I’m willing to take.

***

Charles took a sip of his espresso and opened Twitter with the innocent hope of seeing race predictions or maybe a meme about Pierre’s new sunglasses.

Instead, the first thing he saw was a tweet with his face and the words:

@/paddocktea:
okay but WHO is running charles leclerc’s raya account(s) bc i just found TWO and they are… spiritually different???
exhibit a:
“Fast cars. Fine wine. Passionate nights. I like long drives and women who don’t ask too many questions.”
vs
“Piano at night. Pasta on Sundays. Looking for someone kind and espresso-tolerant.”
one of these was written by a shirtless man with cologne in his eyes and the other by someone’s extremely French mother

[2 screenshots attached]

Charles blinked.

Scrolled.

Opened the replies.

@/feralgirlsf1:
first version: "I will ruin you in Lake Como"
second version: "I will feed you carbonara and never leave"
who is writing this man’s character arc

@/drive_me_delirious:
I KNOW ARTHUR MADE THE FIRST ONE. I KNOW IT IN MY BONES.
but who made the sad poet rebrand? because I want to thank her

@/alonsohater420:
Pascale Leclerc. That’s my theory. That woman raised sons and keeps receipts.

@/feralforferrari:
“Winner of your heart” STOP WHO LET HIM TYPE THAT???

@/leoclubfanpage:
not me cross-referencing shirtless beach pics with his Instagram to determine authenticity 💀

@/wifedashboard:
someone said the new bio sounds like his maman made it and honestly?? not wrong

Charles put down his espresso with surgical care.

Then clicked on the screenshots.

First one:

• Shirtless. Mykonos.
  
  
• Shirtless. Beach.
  
  
• Shirtless. Leo.
  
  
• “Fast cars. Fine wine. Passionate nights.”
  
  

He audibly choked.

Second one:

• Sweater. Steering wheel.
  
  
• “Piano at night. Pasta on Sundays.”
  
  

***

Text Messages: Charles Leclerc and Lorenzo Leclerc

Charles:
WHAT
IS
THIS

Lorenzo:
…Good morning?

Charles:
WHY AM I TRENDING FOR A RAYA PROFILE I’VE NEVER MADE???
WHY ARE THERE TWO OF THEM??

Lorenzo:
Define “trending.”

Charles:
Lorenzo. There are slideshows.
There are threads.

Charles:
There are comparative analyses of which version of my fictional dating self is hotter.

Charles:
Someone said the first one was “sex on a Vespa” and the second one was “grief with a good red.”

Lorenzo:
...Okay but that’s honestly fair.

Charles:
WHO. DID. THIS.

Lorenzo:
I think now’s a good time to ask if you are in the country…

Charles:
LORENZO.

Lorenzo:
Okay. Fine.
The first one was Arthur.
The second one was… a joint operation.

Charles:
WHAT.

Lorenzo:
Arthur made the original profile without your knowledge.
You were spiraling. He panicked.
Then he asked Maman for help and she helped him rebrand you into someone… softer .

Charles:
YOU LET MAMAN EDIT MY FAKE DATING PROFILE??

Lorenzo:
She cut out the shirtless pics. You should be grateful.

Charles:
I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

***

Group Chat: Les Leclercs

 Members: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, Pascale

Charles:
ARE YOU ALL OUT OF YOUR MINDS???

Charles:
I woke up to find out I apparently have not one, but TWO dating profiles.

Charles:
TWO.
ON RAYA.
WITH BIOS.

Charles:
AND PHOTOS.
OF MY BODY.
WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE.

Arthur:
hi love
would you like a chamomile tea and a therapist or should I start running

Charles:
YOU PUT “WINNER OF YOUR HEART” IN THE BIO.

Pascale:
I removed it. The first one made you sound like a cologne ad that’s banned in most countries.
The second one is tasteful. Sophisticated. A man with depth and a signature pasta.

Charles:
YOU REBRANDED ME AS A TRAGIC HUSBAND?!?

Arthur:
you’re welcome

Charles:
WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO DO THIS

Arthur:
you said “I’m emotionally unlovable at a molecular level”
while listening to Debussy

Arthur:
you were spiraling
I intervened
with vibes and wi-fi

Lorenzo:
Arthur called it “Operation Raya Redemption”
We even had a shared folder

Charles:
A FOLDER???

Arthur:
look bro
we were just trying to get you off the floor
and into the emotional arms of someone whose dog wears sweaters

Charles:
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

Lorenzo:
…Arthur. Now is a good time.

Arthur:
right
okay
so

Arthur:
you got a match

Charles:
NO.

Arthur:
YES.

Pascale:
She messaged first. That’s a good sign. Confident. Emotionally balanced.

Charles:
NO ONE IS EMOTIONALLY BALANCED IN THIS FAMILY

Arthur:
her name is Lydia
she’s a model
she lives in Paris
and she has a dachshund named Désirée
who wears sweaters and hates most men
so obviously, she’s perfect

Lorenzo:
She likes sarcasm, risotto, and espresso.
She messaged to say your dog looks like hers when judging her for dating.
You flirted about risotto for like six messages.

Charles:
I DID WHAT??

Arthur:
technically I flirted
but I was channeling your tragic poet energy so it was spiritually accurate

Pascale:
She’s very elegant. Also, she uses punctuation in her messages.
We vetted her.

Charles:
YOU VETTED HER??

Arthur:
Maman and I read her Instagram captions.
She passed. No star sign rants. No frog collections.
Her bookshelf had actual books.

Charles:
I’m going to lie down and scream into a pillow.

Arthur:
you’re welcome.

Lorenzo:
You should at least meet Lydia.

Pascale:
She has excellent hair. You owe it to Leo.

Charles:
…what does Leo have to do with this

Arthur:
he wagged his tail when he saw her dog’s photo
it was a sign

Pascale:
I really think she’s a good match, Charles.
She didn’t even bring up racing. Just said your dog looked adorable.

Charles:
I AM DELETING THIS APP
I AM DELETING THIS FAMILY CHAT
I AM DELETING MYSELF

***

Charles was sitting on the floor. Because of course he was.

His phone sat on the couch above him, like a bomb. Still open to the group chat where his family casually confessed to identity theft and matchmaking in one breath.

He sighed.

Then, like a man opening a cursed scroll, he opened the Raya app. Logged in with the password Arthur had supplied: Pinsàroulettes16 (Arthur was not subtle.Charles should probably consider himself lucky that nobody had hacked it yet.)

New Matches: 1
@/lydiacolbert ✅

He blinked at the name.

Then the profile.

• Paris.
  
  
• Model.
  
  
• Cream-colored dachshund in a blue sweater.
  
  
• Laughing in Mykonos.
  
  
• Holding a flower pot like it told her a secret.
  
  
• Judgmental but kind eyes.
  
  

Her bio:

Currently accepting applications from people who enjoy quiet mornings, dry wit, and very judgmental dachshunds.
Looking for something real. Or someone who won’t mind that my dog hates 90% of men.

Charles stared.

Then scrolled to the messages.

@/lydiacolbert:
Hi Charles.
I don’t usually message first, but your dog looks exactly like mine when he’s silently judging me for talking to men on the internet.
I respect that kind of energy.

@/charles_leclerc (aka Arthur):
Hello.
I think Leo and your dog would get along.
Or at least agree to judge us quietly from opposite sides of the room.

@/lydiacolbert:
That’s honestly the most romantic thing I’ve read on this app.
Désirée only tolerates people who can make risotto and don’t talk during movies.
She once growled at a man who suggested pineapple on pizza.
She was right.

@/charles_leclerc:
Leo once refused to walk for three blocks because someone in a Juventus jersey smiled at him.
I trust his instincts more than my own at this point.

@/lydiacolbert:
A man after my own heart.
Or at least after my dog’s high standards.
What’s your risotto strategy?

@/charles_leclerc:
Parmesan. Patience. A disturbing number of YouTube tutorials.
And wine. Always wine.

@/lydiacolbert:
Noted.
Désirée says we’ll allow one date.

Charles sat very still.

Then read it again.

He felt something ridiculous tug at the corner of his mouth.

Leo stretched next to him and sighed—like even he was judging him a little less now.

Charles hesitated.

Then, for the first time, typed something himself.

@/charles_leclerc:
Would Désirée tolerate a walk with Leo sometime next week?
I promise not to suggest pineapple on anything.

He hit send.

Then set the phone down.

And muttered to Leo, “If I marry her, you’re getting a tux.”

Leo rolled over, unimpressed.

***

Charles arrived early.
Like, way early.
Like, sat-down-twenty-minutes-before-the-reservation-straightening-the-salt-shakers early.

Leo was wearing his least-offensive harness—the navy one Pascale called “respectable.”
Charles had asked his mother to steam his shirt because he would have burned it. And he’d spent ten minutes standing in front of his cologne collection with the expression of a man selecting a weapon for emotional battle.

He went with the subtle one. The one that didn’t smell like haunted heartbreak on the Riviera .

Now he was trying not to pass out.

He kept checking his phone—not for messages, but to reread hers. Like they were prayers. Or sheet music. Something steady. Predictable. Beautiful.

He was on the fourth reread when he heard a soft “Hi.”

And he looked up.

And that was it.

Time? Paused.
Brain? Empty.
Soul? Gone. Sold. Stolen.

Because yes, Lydia looked like her pictures. The soft light, the clean lines, the effortless grace. But in real life, she looked like sunlight through linen curtains . Like the kind of quiet joy you don’t realize you’ve been missing until it’s there, in front of you, wearing ankle boots and a knowing smile.

And behind her, trotting like a tiny fashion editor late for brunch, was Désirée—new sweater, same disapproval.

Charles stood too fast. Knocked his knee on the table.

“Hi. Bonjour. Sorry. I’m—hi.”

Lydia tilted her head, smiling like someone who wasn’t startled by awkward men but delighted by them.

“That’s a lot of hellos.”

“I panicked,” he confessed, trying to smile but probably just grimacing.

“Well,” she said, settling across from him, “panic suits you.”

They sat. Leo gave Désirée a slow blink. Désirée gave Leo a look that said You are lucky I’m in a tolerant mood. Neither barked. It was, Charles decided, a miracle.

They ordered drinks. A croissant for him. An oat milk cappuccino for her. Two biscuits for the dogs.
And the conversation just... happened .

They talked about risotto (“Saffron?” “Obviously.”)
About books.
About espresso machines (“Manual or capsule?” “Is that even a question?”).
About why Désirée once growled at a barista for adding whipped cream. ( “It was a crime against coffee,” Lydia said, without irony. )

And with every laugh, every dry observation, every easy silence, something in Charles started to settle .
Like maybe he wasn’t broken.
Like maybe he was just… waiting.

Until the warmth in his chest got too dangerous.

And he blurted it out.

“I need to confess something.”

Lydia paused, cappuccino halfway to her mouth. “Okay. I’m listening. Should I be concerned?”

Charles exhaled. “Maybe.”

She leaned in slightly. “Did you lie about being able to make risotto? Because honestly, I’d survive.”

“No. I can make risotto.”

“Then what is it?”

Charles swallowed. “This profile. On Raya. It wasn’t me. Not at first. It was my brother. Arthur. He made it without telling me.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“And then,” Charles continued grimly, “my maman got involved. She edited it. There were… filters. There was a group chat. I only found out after it went viral on Twitter.”

Lydia blinked.

Then leaned back. Processing.

Then she squinted .

“Wait—both versions of your profile were real?”

Charles groaned. “Yes. One was Arthur’s masterpiece. All shirtless photos and chaos. The other was… Arthur’s chaos, edited by a woman who once made me redo a thank-you note because it wasn’t emotionally sincere.”

And then—

She laughed.

Not a polite giggle. Not a smirk.

A full, head-back, eyes-crinkled, joyful laugh .

“You’re telling me,” she gasped, “your mother edited your Raya profile?”

Charles nodded miserably. “She cut the shirtless photos. Said I was ‘the first one made me sound like a cologne ad that’s banned in most countries.’ Her words. Not mine.” 

“I love your family already,” Lydia said, still wheezing. Désirée sneezed under the table, as if in agreement.

Charles looked at her sideways. “So… you’re not running?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “But I am making fun of you for this forever.”

He laughed—really laughed. The kind that surprised him. The kind that had been stuck behind his ribs since Sophie .
The kind he didn’t know he missed until this exact moment.

Then Lydia, still grinning, reached across the table and stole half his croissant with zero shame.

Charles blinked at her, stunned.

“So… am I meeting your mum on the second date or the third?”  He nearly choked on his espresso.

She leaned closer and said, very softly,
“I’m really glad you showed up—even if it took your brother, your mother, and a deeply haunted dating app to make it happen,”

And Charles, soft, stunned, grinning like a fool, thought:

I’m screwed.
She’s it.
Leo’s going to need a tux.

***

Group Chat: Les Leclercs

Charles:
I met her.

Arthur:
WHO
LYDIA??

Charles:
Yes.

Arthur:
IS SHE REAL OR WAS THAT PROFILE A TRAP LAID BY A SUPERNATURAL ENTITY??

Charles:
She’s real.
And not a ghost.
Unless ghosts can steal your croissant and your soul in the same hour.

Lorenzo:
Define “steal your soul.”

Charles:
She laughed at my confession.
Not at me. With me.
Said she’s making fun of me forever and then ate half my pastry like it was her birthright.

Lorenzo:
...I think you’re in love.

Arthur:
WAIT.
BACK UP.
YOU TOLD HER???

Charles:
I panicked.
She asked what my risotto confession was and it just—
came out.

Pascale:
And what did she say?

Charles:
She laughed. Like, full-body, eyes-crinkled, gorgeous laugh.
Then said she loved my family already.

Pascale:
She has taste.

Arthur:
I AM A GENIUS.

Lorenzo:
You’re a liability.

Arthur:
A romantic visionary.
I BROUGHT THIS WOMAN INTO OUR LIVES.

Charles:
You catfished her.

Arthur:
Tomato, tomahto.

Pascale:
Invite her to Sunday lunch.

Charles:
Already did.

Arthur:
WHAT

Lorenzo:
WHAT

Pascale:
Good boy.

Charles:
She said yes.
She wants to meet the people responsible for her favorite romantic heist.

Arthur:
I’m going to cry

Lorenzo:
Please don’t.

Arthur:
Do you think Désirée would let me hold her?? Or is that reserved for emotionally mysterious men and premium-grade deli meats?

Charles:
She said you need to pass an emotional vibe check.

Arthur:
I AM an emotional vibe check.

Charles:
Anyway.
I like her.
I really like her.

Arthur:
Can I make a speech at the wedding?

Charles:
Absolutely not.

Arthur:
...Too late. Already drafting one.