Every month, like clockwork, Carlos would waltz into the Sainz family home — a familiar rhythm that had become almost comical in its consistency. The front door would swing open, the afternoon sun catching in his hair, his smile bright enough to light up the whole hallway. His eyes would sparkle with a mix of excitement and mischief, as if he knew the pattern he was creating and found it amusing.

And, right on cue, at his side stood yet another boyfriend. Another nervous yet hopeful face. Another young man about to run the gauntlet of the Sainz household.

First, it had been Max. Max with his sharp jawline, piercing gaze, and that air of quiet intensity. He’d stepped forward with confidence, offering Carlos Sr a handshake firm enough to make an impression, but not so firm as to challenge.

He’d called him “sir” without missing a beat — unprompted, respectful, even a little old-fashioned — and Carlos Sr had found himself liking him almost instantly despite his guarded nature.

Max had talked strategy at dinner: racing lines, tire management, fitness regimes. Serious, driven, focused — the kind of boy a father could approve of. But just as Carlos Sr had learned to appreciate Max’s serious tone and passion for perfection, he was gone.

Then came Charles. Charles, with his easy charm and boyish good looks. All soft curls, dimples, and effortless warmth.