***

The salon hummed with late-morning chatter — the comforting rhythm of blow dryers, the faint scent of hairspray, the quiet laughter that filled the air between customers. 

Pascale Leclerc had always thought of it as her second heartbeat. After so many years, she knew every sound instinctively.

Today, though, her attention was half on her client — a woman in her sixties who’d been coming for years — and half on the story unfolding in the chair.

“…and now my daughter doesn’t know what to do,” the woman was saying, voice hushed but tight. “Her ex is fighting for shared custody again. After everything.”

Pascale made a sympathetic noise, sectioning another strand of hair. “That must be awful for her.”

“It is. He barely saw the children before, but now he’s making demands because he’s remarried. It’s all through lawyers now. Just such a mess.”

Pascale murmured something comforting — she’d heard hundreds of stories like this over the years — but her eyes drifted toward the back of the salon.

Esme was tidying the sinks with quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled to her elbows, movements small and careful. She always moved like that… as though she’d spent years teaching herself how to occupy as little space as possible.

And yet there was softness everywhere in her.

In the way she soothed anxious clients.  In the way she smiled at old women who repeated stories.  In the infinite patience she showed Juliette.

When the appointment ended, Pascale brushed off the last of the hair clippings, thanked her client, and watched her leave.

Then she turned to Esme.

“Esme, do you have a moment?”

Esme looked up, startled. “Of course.”

Pascale hesitated for a second. She wasn’t usually one to pry (well, not much) but something in the conversation with her client lingered.

“I was just wondering,” she began carefully, “with Juliette… you have everything sorted for custody and paperwork, yes? I only ask because my brother is a lawyer. If you ever need someone to help with that sort of thing…”

“Oh,” Esme said quickly, shaking her head. “No, that’s… it’s fine. There’s nothing to sort.”

Pascale frowned. “Nothing?”

Esme gave a small, almost apologetic smile. “Her father isn’t on the birth certificate.”

Pascale blinked. “Pardon?”

Esme’s tone was calm — too calm, Pascale thought, like someone used to saying something painful out loud. “He didn’t want to sign it.”

“Didn’t… want to?” Pascale repeated, trying to keep the disbelief from her voice.

Esme nodded once. “Maybe he would’ve been interested if she were a boy,” she said softly, almost like she was talking to herself. “But she wasn’t. So he didn’t.”

For a moment, Pascale couldn’t find words.

The quiet hum of the salon suddenly felt too loud.

She’d known that Esme was on her own. But this — this deliberate cruelty, this indifference — made her chest tighten.

“Esme,” she said carefully, “he didn’t… Was he there when Juliette was born?”

Esme’s eyes flicked down, focusing on the towel she was folding. “No.”

Pascale’s hands stilled around the comb she was cleaning. “Not even then?”

Esme shook her head. “He said he had work.”

Work.

Pascale pressed her lips together, forcing down the immediate flare of anger that rose in her chest. “Mon dieu,” she murmured.

Esme tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s fine. We manage.”

“Fine,” Pascale echoed softly. There was nothing fine about any of it.

Pascale looked at her properly then.

Not just the polite girl from the salon. Not just the woman Charles had started orbiting like a lost planet finding gravity.

She saw the quiet vigilance in her posture. The instinctive apology woven into every sentence. The way Esme braced herself whenever someone offered kindness, like she was waiting to discover the cost attached to it.

And suddenly other moments rearranged themselves in Pascale’s mind. The panic over the roses. The way Esme flinched at raised voices.

 The way she seemed genuinely startled whenever someone helped her without expecting something back.

And she thought of Juliette — the way that baby lit up the entire salon whenever she laughed, how Charles’s face softened every time he saw her.

Pascale set down her comb, crossed the room, and touched Esme’s shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, ma chérie,” she said, voice warm but firm, “that man lost something precious. And you—” She smiled, faintly, sadly. “You made something beautiful out of it anyway.”

Esme looked up, eyes glassy for a second before she nodded. “Merci.”

Pascale squeezed her hand. “And if you ever need help with anything — papers, lawyers, babysitters, or just someone to listen — you come to me. Understood?”

Esme’s smile trembled, but it was real. “Understood.”

As Pascale watched her walk back to the sinks, she felt that familiar, protective ache settle in her chest — the same one she felt for her own boys.

Some men, she thought bitterly, should never have been allowed to call themselves fathers. 

But maybe — just maybe — life had a way of giving children better ones later.

***

The next discovery didn’t arrive like a revelation.

It slipped in the way most terrible truths did in a hair salon — between small talk and the sound of scissors.

A Tuesday afternoon. Quiet. Rain tapping softly against the windows, blurring the street outside into watercolor. Pascale had insisted on trimming Esme’s fringe..

“A hairdresser who never lets someone else cut her hair is suspicious,” she had declared, steering her toward the chair.

Esme had smiled and complied, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“You’ll go home for christmas?” Pascale asked lightly, comb sliding through soft strands. “Hyères?”

The hesitation that followed was small.

Barely a second.

But Pascale noticed it anyway.

“No,” she said gently. “There’s no one there.”

Pascale assumed what anyone would assume. “Ah. Your parents travel?”

The scissors paused mid-air.

In the mirror, Esme’s eyes flicked up — not startled, not defensive. Just… careful.

“They died,” she said quietly. “When I was ten.”

The word ten did something violent inside Pascale’s chest.

“…Died?” she repeated, softer now.

“Car accident,” Esme said, like a fact memorized from a file. “On the motorway. It was raining.”

The rain outside suddenly felt deliberate.

Pascale pictured her own boys at ten.

Charles with scraped knees and solemn eyes.  Arthur loud enough to fill entire rooms. Lorenzo already carrying responsibility like something stitched into his bones.

Ten.

Children were supposed to lose teeth at ten. Not parents.

“And after?” Pascale asked, very carefully.

There was another pause. Longer this time.

“Orphanages,” Esme said. “For a while. Then foster homes.”

She said it the way someone might list primary schools.

Ordinary. Administrative.

“How long?” Pascale asked before she could stop herself.

“Until I was eighteen.”

The comb slid once more through Esme’s hair, but Pascale wasn’t really seeing it anymore.

Ten years old. No parents. Institutions. Temporary beds.  Temporary families.

Temporary love.

“It was a long time ago,” Esme added gently, almost reassuring Pascale. “It’s fine.”

Fine.

There was that word again.

Pascale set the comb down more carefully than necessary.

“You were just a baby,” she said quietly.

Esme gave a faint smile. “I wasn’t a baby.”

“You were,” Pascale insisted, her voice firmer now. “You were.”

Juliette stirred in her stroller nearby, sensing something shift. Esme immediately bent to scoop her up, pressing her cheek to her daughter’s curls.

Protective.

Possessive, almost.

As though the entire world would have to pry Juliette from her arms first.

“I turned out fine,” Esme murmured, smoothing a hand over Juliette’s back.

But Pascale saw it.

The way Esme held her, as if daring the world to try again.

“You didn’t have anyone?” Pascale asked.

“There were social workers,” Esme said. “Some foster families were kind.”

Some.

“And some weren’t?” Pascale pressed gently.

Esme didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

It was there in the small tightening of her shoulders. In the way she braced herself for follow-up questions.

And suddenly, everything Pascale had noticed over the past months rearranged itself into a pattern she did not like.

The way Esme apologized for existing.  The way she hesitated before accepting help, as though help always came with a price.

The red roses.

The apologies wrapped in thorns.

Of course he had found her. Of course he had. Men like that had an instinct for women who had grown up believing love was conditional.

Pascale felt something cold and furious settle under her ribs.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Esme without asking.

For a heartbeat, Esme stiffened — the reflex of someone who learned that touch could mean danger.

Then she softened.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

“You are not alone anymore,” Pascale murmured into her hair. 

It wasn’t a question.

Esme’s hands tightened in the fabric of Pascale’s blouse.

“…Okay,” she whispered.

Pascale pulled back and cupped her face gently, maternal and certain.

Some children were born into families. Others are forged in absence. But there comes a point where someone chooses.

And Pascale Leclerc had chosen.

Esme’s ex boyfriend had thought he was dealing with a girl who grew up in foster homes, grateful for crumbs.

He had not understood what he was stepping into. If he ever dared to reappear, he would not be facing a woman alone anymore. He would be facing a mother.

***

Group Chat: Famille Leclerc

(Members: Pascale, Lorenzo, Charles, Arthur)

Pascale: Mes garçons ❤️

Arthur: this is either wholesome or dangerous

Lorenzo: What did we do?

Charles: I’m afraid already.

Pascale: I was thinking…

Arthur: oh no

Pascale: Arthur, behave.

Arthur: sorry maman continue

Pascale: I would like to invite Esme and Juliette for Noël.

Arthur: YES.

Arthur: I MEAN. That sounds very nice. Calm. Subtle.

Lorenzo: That’s kind, maman.

Charles: …

Arthur: oh he’s short-circuiting

Pascale: Charles?

Charles: You want them here?

Pascale: Of course I want them here.

Arthur: obviously

Pascale: She has no one in Hyères.

Lorenzo: She told you?

Pascale:Yes.

Arthur: oh.

Pascale: And Juliette will not spend Christmas without a proper family table. Not if I have anything to say about it.

Arthur: okay now I’m emotional

Lorenzo: Maman, we should ask gently. No pressure.

Pascale: Of course gently. I am not a barbarian.

Arthur: debatable

Pascale: Arthur.

Arthur: sorry 😇

Charles: I don’t want her to feel obligated.

Pascale: She won’t. I will make it clear it is an invitation, not an expectation.

Lorenzo: That’s important.

Arthur: can we also acknowledge how chaotic this will be baby + christmas + our family

Pascale: Babies belong at Christmas tables.

Arthur: I agree actually

Charles: I just…

Lorenzo: What?

Charles: It’s her first Christmas here. I don’t want it to overwhelm her.

Pascale: Charles.

Charles: Yes?

Pascale: You are not overwhelming. We are not overwhelming.

Arthur: we are absolutely overwhelming

Pascale: Arthur, silence.

Pascale: She will not be alone if I can help it. That is all.

Charles: Thank you.

Arthur: oh my god he said thank you

Arthur: he’s gone

Lorenzo: He’s thinking.

Pascale: He is worrying.

Arthur: same thing

Pascale: Charles.

Charles: I’m here.

Pascale: You care about her. That much is obvious.

Arthur: VERY obvious

Charles: Arthur.

Pascale: Then let us care about her too.

Charles: Okay.

Arthur: progress!!!!!

Lorenzo: We’ll keep it simple this year. No circus.

Arthur: speak for yourself I’m bringing chaos

Pascale: Arthur.

Arthur: fine. minimal chaos.

Pascale: I will speak to her tomorrow.

Charles: Maman—

Pascale: Gently.

Charles: Okay.

Arthur: I cannot wait to see Juliette in tiny Christmas clothes

Lorenzo: Arthur, focus.

Arthur: I AM focused

Pascale: We will set an extra place at the table.

Charles: Merci, maman.

Arthur: okay now I’m actually emotional

Lorenzo: It will be a good Christmas.

Pascale: It will. ❤️

***

The salon was warm with that particular December kind of warmth — artificial heat, cinnamon candles, the faint hum of Christmas music playing. Someone had hung small gold stars in the window.  Juliette kept trying to grab them whenever Pascale carried her past.

It was late afternoon when Pascale found Esme alone.

Esme was wiping down the counter, movements steady, controlled. She always cleaned like that when her mind was busy — small, repetitive motions that kept everything in order.

“Ma chérie,” Pascale said gently, coming around the counter instead of calling from across the room.

Esme looked up immediately. “Yes?”

There was something in Pascale’s tone that made her stomach tighten — not danger, never danger — but importance.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Pascale continued. “And you must feel absolutely free to say no.”

That never made it easier.

Esme folded the cloth once, neatly. “Okay.”

Pascale smiled, soft but deliberate. “For Noël… I was wondering if you and Juliette would come to ours.”

The words landed quietly.

Esme blinked.

Christmas.

A table. A house full of people. The Leclerc house, she assumed — voices overlapping, brothers teasing each other, plates clinking, candles lit. Charles at the head of the table or maybe half-standing to reach something. Arthur loud. Lorenzo steady. Pascale in the center of it all like the axis of a small universe.

She pictured herself there.

And Juliette.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Pascale misread the silence and hurried to soften it. “Only if you want to. I know it’s your first Christmas here, and perhaps you have traditions, or you prefer something quiet, or—”

“No,” Esme said quickly. “I don’t have traditions.”

The honesty slipped out before she could filter it.

Pascale’s expression gentled.

“I just thought,” Pascale continued carefully, “that no one should spend Christmas alone. Especially not a little one.”

Juliette, as if on cue, babbled from her playpen near the mirrors.

Esme felt something uncomfortable in her chest — a mix of gratitude and something closer to panic.

She wasn’t alone.

She was used to being alone.

That was different.

She swallowed. “That’s very kind.”

“It’s not kindness,” Pascale corrected softly. “It’s an invitation.”

Esme nodded.

And then the pressure came — not from Pascale’s voice, not from her expression. From something older.

You don’t say no when someone opens a door. You don’t decline a place at the table. You don’t risk losing it.

She could say no.

She knew that.

But the idea of declining felt like stepping backward into a version of Christmas she knew too well — quiet rooms, small portions, the sound of other people’s laughter through thin walls.

She imagined Juliette older, asking why they weren’t anywhere.

She imagined Charles at his family table, glancing at his phone.

She imagined the look on Pascale’s face if she said no — not anger, never that. Just disappointment carefully hidden.

“I don’t want to impose,” Esme said finally.

“You wouldn’t,” Pascale replied immediately. “You would be welcome.”

Welcome.

The word felt foreign.

Esme forced a small smile. “Okay.”

Pascale searched her face for a long second. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Esme said, steadier now. “We’ll come.”

Relief bloomed across Pascale’s features — warm, unguarded relief.

“Good,” she said softly. “Very good.”

She reached forward and squeezed Esme’s hand.

Ehe nodded because it seemed like the right response.

After Pascale stepped away to answer the phone at the front desk, Esme remained still for a moment, fingers resting on the counter.

She had said yes.

She wasn’t sure whether she had said it because she wanted to — or because she didn’t know how to refuse something that felt so fragile and precious.

Juliette squealed again, arms reaching up from the playpen.

Esme crossed the room immediately, scooping her up and pressing her close.

“It’s just dinner,” she murmured softly into her daughter’s curls. “Just one dinner.”

But even as she said it, her chest felt tight.

Not from fear of the Leclercs.

From fear of belonging.

Because belonging meant attachment.

And attachment had always, eventually, been taken away.

She kissed the top of Juliette’s head.

“We’ll be good,” she whispered.

And somewhere beneath the worry, beneath the instinct to brace for loss, there was something else.

A flicker.

Small.

Hope.

***

Esme tried very hard not to look toward the door every time the bell chimed.

It was ridiculous.

Charles did not live in the doorway of his mother’s salon, even if lately he appeared there often enough that Nadia had started threatening to add him to the staff rota.

Still, after Pascale asked about Christmas, Esme found herself listening for him.

She had said yes.

She had said yes to spending Noël with the Leclercs — with Pascale, and Lorenzo, and Arthur, and Charles. With Juliette at their table, probably in some tiny knitted cardigan Esme had already started making in soft cream wool.

It should have felt nice.

It did feel nice.

It also made her stomach twist every time she thought about it.

Because Pascale had invited her, yes. Pascale had meant it. But Pascale was not Charles.

And Charles—

Charles had been kind to her. More than kind. Patient, warm, careful in a way that made her chest hurt if she thought about it too long.

But spending Christmas with his family was different.

That was not coffee.

That was not a walk in Nice or cookies in the salon or Juliette stealing his sleeves.

That was family.

And Esme did not know if Charles wanted her there, in that intimate, glowing center of his life. Not really. Not when everything between them was still unnamed and fragile, built out of almosts and maybe-next-times and the soft pressure of his hand in hers.

What if he felt trapped?

What if Pascale had invited them because she felt sorry for Esme?

What if Charles thought it was too much?

She was folding towels for the third time when the door opened and he stepped inside.

Juliette squealed before Esme could even lift her head.

Charles’ entire face changed.

“Bonjour, mon petit chaos,” he said warmly, crouching at the playpen before he had even properly greeted anyone else.

Juliette immediately reached for him with both arms.

“Traitor,” Esme murmured, but her voice came out too soft to be convincing.

Charles scooped Juliette up with practiced ease, letting her grab at the collar of his jumper. “She has excellent taste.”

Nadia made a choking sound from behind the counter.

Esme ignored her.

Charles looked up at her then, smiling. “Maman told me you’d come for christmas.”

Esme’s fingers tightened around the towel.

“Oh.”

His smile faltered immediately. He shifted Juliette higher on his hip and stepped closer. “Is that okay? That she told me?”

“Yes,” Esme said quickly. “Of course. I just—” She swallowed. “I wanted to make sure it was alright with you.”

Charles blinked.

“With me?”

Heat crawled up her neck. “Christmas. I mean. Your maman invited us, and it’s very kind, but I know it’s your family and your traditions, and I don’t want to intrude or make things awkward or—”

“Esme.”

She stopped.

He was looking at her like she had said something impossible.

“You think I don’t want you there?”

She looked away first. “I don’t know.”

Juliette, sensing emotional tension and choosing violence, slapped Charles lightly on the cheek.

He didn’t even react beyond pressing a kiss to her tiny palm.

“I want you there,” he said, voice soft but certain. “Both of you.”

Esme’s chest tightened.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

She looked back at him.

There was no hesitation in his face. No politeness. No careful obligation.

Just joy.

Not dramatic joy, not loud like Arthur would have been. But it was there in the brightness of his eyes, in the way he couldn’t stop smiling even while Juliette tried to eat the drawstring of his hoodie.

“I’m happy,” he said, as if realizing she needed the words plain. “Really happy.”

“Oh,” Esme whispered.

His smile widened. “Actually, I am very happy. Because now I have an excuse to ask a very important question.”

Her nerves rose again. “What question?”

Charles turned to Juliette with solemn intensity. “What are we getting you for Christmas, mademoiselle?”

Juliette blew a bubble of spit at him.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Excellent point.”

Esme stared at him. “Charles.”

“What?”

“She isn’t even a year old.”

“She still deserves presents.”

“She will like the wrapping paper more than the present.”

“Then we get her excellent wrapping paper.”

Esme laughed despite herself, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Charles looked absurdly pleased with that.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Does she have a wish list?”

“She cannot speak.”

“She has opinions. We start there.”

From across the salon, Nadia muttered, “This man is gone.”

Pascale, who had been pretending to organize appointment cards for the last five minutes, murmured, “Completely.”

Charles ignored both of them.

“She needs something special,” he insisted, bouncing Juliette gently. “Her first Christmas with us.”

The words slipped out naturally.

With us.

Esme went still.

Charles seemed to realize a second later. His eyes flicked to hers, careful now, ready to retreat if he had crossed too far.

But Esme couldn’t speak.

Her first Christmas with us.

Not with your mother. Not at your house. Not as guests.

Us.

Juliette grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked.

“Ow,” Charles said mildly.

The moment broke just enough for Esme to breathe again.

“She needs winter pajamas,” Esme said, because it was safer than crying in the middle of the salon. “Maybe some wooden blocks. Practical things.”

Charles looked deeply offended. “Practical things? For Christmas?”

“She is a baby.”

“And yet she has excellent taste,” he said, kissing Juliette’s cheek as she giggled wildly.

Esme shook her head, but she was smiling now. Properly smiling.

The tightness in her chest had not disappeared completely. It lingered, because old fear did not vanish just because someone was gentle with it.

But it had shifted.

Less like panic.

More like anticipation.

Charles stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“I really want you there,” he said again. “Not because Maman asked. Not because anyone feels sorry. Because I want Christmas with you. And with Juliette.”

Esme’s throat worked around the words.

“Okay,” she said softly.

He smiled, and for one wild second she thought he might kiss her right there between the shampoo shelves and the appointment book.

Instead, he looked down at Juliette.

“So,” he said seriously, “wooden blocks.”

Esme laughed, wiping quickly under one eye before anyone could notice. “One small set.”

“And pajamas.”

“One pair.”

“And something fun.”

“Charles.”

“Esme.”

“She will be overwhelmed.”

“She will be adored.”

The words landed gently.

Esme looked at him — really looked — with Juliette on his hip, Pascale pretending not to watch from behind the desk, Nadia grinning like she was witnessing cinema.

“She already is,” Esme murmured before she could stop herself.

Charles’ expression softened into something almost unbearable.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “She is.”

Juliette squealed and shoved her rabbit into his mouth.

Charles accepted his fate with dignity. Mostly.

***

Group Chat: Les Trois Frères

(Members: Lorenzo, Charles, Arthur)

Charles: Maman officially asked Esme. She and Juliette are coming for Christmas.

Arthur: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Lorenzo: Good. I’m glad.

Arthur: OUR FIRST BABY CHRISTMAS.

Charles: She is not “our” baby.

Arthur: honorary niece. family baby. salon mascot. tiny queen.

Lorenzo: Arthur.

Arthur: I’m emotional. Let me live.

Charles: Please be normal when they come.

Arthur: Define normal.

Charles: Not overwhelming. No shouting “welcome to the family.” No crying when Juliette touches wrapping paper. 

Arthur: I cannot promise the last one.

Lorenzo: We’ll keep it calm. Dinner, presents, no pressure.

Arthur: Speaking of presents. I have done research.

Charles: That sentence has never made me feel safe.

Lorenzo: I also did some reading.

Charles: You too?

Lorenzo: She’s six months old. Age-appropriate gifts matter.

Arthur: SEE. Lorenzo gets it. We are RESPONSIBLE UNCLES.

Charles: You are not uncles.

Lorenzo: What were you thinking for Juliette?

Charles: Esme said wooden blocks. Maybe winter pajamas. Something small.

Arthur: BORING.

Charles: She is a baby.

Arthur: Exactly. She deserves wonder. I found a Montessori climbing triangle.

Charles: She cannot walk.

Arthur: She can prepare.

Lorenzo: Absolutely not. She’ll fall.

Arthur: Okay. What about sensory balls? Apparently babies like textures.

Charles: That’s actually fine.

Arthur: YES. One point for Uncle Arthur.

Lorenzo: I found a soft fabric book. No small parts. Washable. Good for motor skills.

Charles: That sounds good.

Arthur: Of course Lorenzo found the responsible gift.

Lorenzo: Someone has to.

Arthur: I also found tiny baby headphones in case Christmas gets loud.

Charles: …That is actually thoughtful.

Arthur: THANK YOU.

Lorenzo: That might be useful. Especially with you there.

Arthur: Rude but fair.

Charles: Esme doesn’t want Juliette overwhelmed.

Lorenzo: Then we keep the presents small. A few thoughtful things, not a mountain.

Arthur: Define mountain.

Charles: Arthur.

Arthur: Fine. A hill.

Lorenzo: No hill.

Arthur: A tasteful slope.

Charles: One present from each of you. Maximum.

Arthur: ONE?

Charles: Yes.

Arthur: For a baby’s first Christmas with us?

Charles: Arthur.

Lorenzo: He’s right. One each. Otherwise Esme will feel uncomfortable.

Arthur: Oh. Yeah. Okay. One each.

Charles: Thank you.

Arthur: But can mine be excellent?

Charles: Obviously.

Arthur: I’m thinking sensory balls plus tiny earmuffs.

Lorenzo: That’s two.

Arthur: The earmuffs are a public safety measure.

Charles: Approved.

Arthur: YES.

Lorenzo: I’ll get the fabric book.

Charles: Good.

Arthur: What are you getting her?

Charles: I don’t know yet.

Arthur: Liar.

Charles: I really don’t.

Arthur: You’ve absolutely been thinking about it.

Charles: Maybe.

Lorenzo: Something simple. Don’t try to outdo everyone.

Arthur: He’s going to buy the child Monaco.

Charles: I am not.

Arthur: A tiny Ferrari?

Charles: No.

Arthur: A tiny race suit?

Charles: No.

Arthur: A tiny helmet?

Charles: Absolutely not.

Lorenzo: Good.

Arthur: What about a plush car?

Charles: She has a rabbit.

Arthur: She can have two emotional support objects.

Charles: I’ll think about it.

Lorenzo: And Esme?

Charles:What about Esme?

Arthur: What are you getting her?

Charles: That’s private.

Arthur: OH MY GOD.

Lorenzo: You already have something in mind.

Charles: Maybe.

Arthur: IS IT THE SEWING MACHINE?

Lorenzo: That’s actually a very good gift.

Arthur: I KNOW. I’m invested.

Charles: I haven’t decided.

Arthur: You have decided emotionally. You just haven’t paid for it yet.

Charles: I hate how accurate that is.

Lorenzo: Just make sure she doesn’t feel overwhelmed by it.

Charles: I know.

Arthur: This Christmas is going to destroy me.

Charles: Please do not cry at dinner.

Arthur: No promises.

Lorenzo: I’ll sit next to him and control him.

Arthur: You cannot control love.

Charles: You are getting one sensory toy and baby headphones. That’s it.

Arthur: Fine. But if Juliette smiles at me, I’m her favorite.

Lorenzo: This family is not ready for a baby at Christmas.

Charles: No.

Perhaps you’ll die like this.

Beneath his scrutiny. Blue gaze glued onto you like it belongs, dark brows bemused and brooding with skepticism. It only takes him half a second to recognize that you found amusement in it all, picking up on it the first time your lips spiked into a cunning smile. 

“I know you.”

His words sound nothing like a confession, neither a lie, but more so—a fact. 

“Do you?”

There’s something sly in the way you spoke, the way you moved as you shook his hand, lingering for a moment that made his head spin. Did insanity taste this way? Like one is about to reach an all time high before cruelly falling into the great abyss? God, even your mere scent had him twisted in knots of familiarity. But he doesn’t dwell on it, no, not now.

Max blinks, forces himself out of this bubble, and shakes his head sheepishly. “I-I-I’m sorry, I probably have you mixed up with someone else.” 

Kelly chuckles beside him. Here he goes, so very like him to try and spook off the new nanny. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bit jet lagged, is all.” Moving on, the brunette jumps up, clapping her hands excitedly. “You can’t even begin to imagine how happy I am now that you’re here. You’re about to change my life.”

“I mean—that is the point.” Your eyes flicker with something undetectable. “I’m looking forward to meeting the girls.”

“Right!” she exclaims, as if she had momentarily forgotten the true purpose for you being here. “If you want to go ahead and set your things down, I’ll run up quickly and grab them. I’m pretty certain Lily is awake by now, and Penelope is playing with her dolls.”

“Fine with me.”

She turns her head, clearly elated. “Sweetheart, do you mind showing her where she’ll be staying from now on?”

The Dutchman shifts. “Sure.”

It isn’t until you two set off in the opposite direction that he feels the same curiosity as before. It nudges him all the way to your room, kicks him as he opens the door, and pushes him to finally speak up again when you enter first. “Look, it’s not my intention to creep you out or anything, but—I feel like I know you…”

A giggle slips past you as you barely lift your head to look at him, dropping a duffel bag onto the Queen sized bed. “You’re a funny man, Mr. Verstappen.” Sitting down on the cushiony mattress, you peer up this time, soft and not at all guarded as a minute ago. “Did you know that we each have roughly about seven doppelgängers somewhere out in the world?”

His mouth slants. “First of all, just call me Max. And second of all, what does that have to do with anything?”

A shrug.“That you could’ve just met someone who looks a whole lot like me,” you claim like a matter-of-fact. “After all, I’ve definitely met guys who look like you: tall, blond, blue eyes.”

“That sounds rather generic,” he adds with a small chuckle. “Come on, just tell me.”

Pink lips press down into a fine line while your hands rest on each side of yours. “Well, I really don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve never met.”

“We must’ve.”

“How are you so certain?”

It’s rather foolish to admit out loud that he doesn’t actually have a clear idea as to how you two could possibly know one another, so he chooses to not say anything. The silence engulfs you both, clings awkwardly as the sun begins to dim from the window close by. 

The blue glow—it was past six at this point—paints the high point of your cheekbones as you stand. “Forgive me for crossing the line or whatnot, but…” Tsk. “You lack a whole lot of trust.”

He stays still.

You nod. “I mean—it makes sense, I’m not judging you for it. A stranger moves into your million dollar home almost overnight in order to take care of your two kids, and you’re doing what every other parent would rightfully do. Ask questions, that is.”

Is that what he’s doing? 

He winces apologetically. “I’d greatly appreciate it if we kept this between us. I really don’t need another reason for Kelly and I to argue.” He scoffs lightheartedly. “She already thinks I’m against this whole arrangement as it is.”

“Well..are you?” you challenge with a teasing smile.

Max scratches his temple. “I’d like to think not, but that wouldn’t quite make me the honest man I claim to be,” he jokes, voice thick in his rich accent. “You seem like a nice girl, don’t get me wrong, but I sort of thought her and I would’ve figured this all out together.”

The sound of a baby crying rings from upstairs, making the blue eyed man perk up. He shifts against his feet for a moment, but not long after, the crying stops. He visibly relaxes after that. 

“If you were to ask me, I’d say she already has it figured out,” you point out. “Looking after a newborn isn’t the simplest of things to do, especially when your partner is gone half of the time.” Pause. “She deserves the help, don’t you think?”

A wave of shame flashes across his features completely, allowing him to focus on the fact that you were right. The majority of Kelly’s pregnancy, he was traveling for work, he barely made it on time the day of her labor, and not long after, he was off racing again. None of that could’ve been as easy as she made it out to be, and she has made her decision on hiring you for help. Believing that they could’ve done this on their own—on her own—was a huge misconception on his behalf, and he sees that now.

The Dutchman tilts his head in an upward motion with a curved smile. “I see why she likes you so much already.”

-

Nice tattoo.

The sound of his groggy morning voice makes you look up from your bowl of cereal, so sweet, you can already feel your teeth rotting. It just so happens to be Penelope’s recent hyperfixation. You hum against your spoon. “P insisted on a hibiscus,” you share, glancing over your shoulder to where the pink and orange glitter tattoo hugs your skin. “Cool, eh?”

He grabs a plate, then the milk, pouring it with a yawn. “Got any real ones?”

“Not really my thing,” you respond, circling the piece of metal around the soggy marshmallows that have long melted. “Ink poisons the blood stream.”

Max snorts. “You actually believe such lies?”

“Guess so.” Pushing your chair back, you make your way to the sink quietly, wash your plate, and dry your hands. “Is it okay if I take the car out to the store? Need to restock on a couple of things.”

He blinks, finding it nearly comical how you can end a conversation, just like that without batting an eye. He nods. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

By now, it’s been five months of you being here, and yet, he doesn’t know a single thing about you. You never seemed to talk about yourself, always kept a wary distance towards any personal questions, like you could sense them before he could properly ask. It was quite theatrical, he must admit, but he can’t help but itch with curiosity. Which is why he doesn’t find his offer weird, of course. He’s only trying to get to know you.

“You know what? Let me go with you.” He grabs the keys to his car. “I’ll drive.”

But the drive is tense for him, not for you. While he turns on his blinker with a frozen jaw, you cheerfully make silly faces over at Lily who was awoken when he hit a large pothole. Lucky the tire didn’t pop. Max taps a finger against the steering wheel. 

“She loves you.”

“Mmm—sure hope so,” you joke with a chuckle, scooping her small hand against yours. “We’ve spent quite a lot of time together, I’d be horrified if she didn’t.”

He softens when Lily attempts to talk, though everything is more of a babble. “Don’t worry. You’re on the top of her list of Favorite People. Last weekend, when you were out with your friends, she lost her mind. For the longest time, Kelly and I couldn’t get her to stop crying.”

“You could have called. I would’ve canceled my plans.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” he hums out. “I mean, we’re her parents. You’re just the nanny.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. He doesn’t miss the way you flinch as if you’ve been pinched angrily. But equally enough, in a split second, whatever offense was drawn onto your face was long gone, replaced with a tight smile.

 “You know, next time either of you need help trying to calm her down—call me.” You click your tongue. “It’s a bit sadistic having her cry it out, don’t you think?”

The absolute nerve.

The moment he parks the car in between the white lines, you’re quick to unbuckle yourself, then Lily. Carefully, you hoist her into her baby sling and walk up to the entrance, pulling a shopping cart along the way. He barely even has a fair chance to register what just happened.

He knows that what he said was wrong. Degrading, even. But you weren’t any better. Either way, just to be safe, he gives you your personal space, wanders until it’s time to pay. The older lady at the register coos at the five month old as soon as she spots her. “What a beautiful baby girl, look at those eyes!” When she looks up at you and Max, her gaze lightens up far more. “You two must be proud parents.”

“Oh, she’s not the mo—”

“I’m not her mom,” you correct her warmly, swiping the credit card. “I’m only a nanny.”

He recoils with guilt. “T-T-Thank you.”

If the drive there was the slightest bit awkward, now it was far beyond humiliating, especially now that Lily sleeps and there’s no more common ground tying you together. 

“Penelope has been asking me to teach her how to rollerskate,” you say after a minute or so.

Max hums gently, not trying to intimidate you. “Yeah, she’s been begging us for a while now, but neither Kelly nor I know how.” A beat. “It’s a good thing you do, though.”

And all is well.

You smile, catching his gaze past the small mirror as he finally reaches the driveway. 

-

Ever since becoming a Dad, traveling for work has gotten a whole lot harder. It’s a challenge in a world of its own.

“What do you mean you’re not home?”

Kelly winces, her face close to the screen. The background is blurred, the noise is rather loud, and all he wanted to do was see his daughter. “I’ve already told you, I’m at a birthday dinner.”

“At two in the morning?”

She shrugs. “Is it two? Jesus. Guess I haven’t noticed.” Someone close by chants her name like a slur, evidently drunk. She laughs, responds back in Portuguese, way too quick for him to understand, and before he knows it, the line goes dead. 

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters beneath his breath. And it’s late, he really should be resting, saving up the very little energy he has left, but something within him is urging him to make the call. So he does.

You don’t pick up straight away. Not by the first ring, nor the second or third, but close to when the voicemail message is about to start. When you do, the first thing he hears are sniffles, then the sound of you clearing your throat. 

Hello?

There’s a crack to it, which causes him to sit up straight against his place on the cold carpet. “What’s wrong?” he shoots fiercely on high alert. His insides are screaming, his heart is pounding, and he’s already picturing the worst. Was it Lily? Was it Penelope? “Talk to m—”

“I think I might’ve broken my leg.”

This definitely was not what he was expecting. “O-Oh. Okay then.” Static. “Well, are you alright? What happened?”

So you begin to tell him: how you were on your way to fetch Lily’s stuffed elephant—you had forgotten it outside—but that you missed a couple steps and landed with the harsh reality that you should’ve just left it alone, it’s not like she was asking for it anyways.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you sob before going quiet. He figures you’re probably busy focusing on the fact that you just cursed in front of him, and for some odd reason, he finds your panic endearing. “I don’t even know why I’m crying, I just know that I am.” A hiccup. “But enough about me—did you need something?”

He seems to have forgotten, tongue numb. He feels bad that you’re going through all this trouble alone. Sure, you’re being paid to do so, but it’s inhumane to have you suffering all by yourself when Kelly could have been there to at least give you a hand. Suddenly, the thought of his girlfriend irritates him. 

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. Although…”

On the other side, you release a wet laugh. “My very best. I’m doing my very best, thank you for asking.” There’s a silence that follows, one where he can’t even distinguish any breathing, and for a second, he thinks he might’ve lost a signal. “I think I’m just a little stressed. Overstimulated.”

“Hey—”

“I’m not even blaming the girls for it, God no. But it just gets a bit too much at times. I reek of spit up. I can’t get this glitter to wash off no matter how hard I scrub. And my undereyes are darker than the actual pits of Hell.”

He’s heard this could happen. Baby blues, that is. Only, he never thought someone as independent as you could ever get it. He’s seen you with the girls, and you always seemed to have things under control. Always woke up with an easy grin, ruled the day with activities that made P forget she was studying for her upcoming exam, and all while feeding Lily homemade apple sauce you spent making the night before. How could he have been so selfish to overlook your distress? 

“I shouldn’t be complaining to you about my job—which I love! I love my job, I swear I do!” you yelp. “Just—forget I said anything, yeah? I just needed someone to talk to…”

“And I just needed to hear your voice.”

What. The. Fuck.

In record speed, he facepalms, eyes screwed shut in a manner that makes his skin tight and raw. Why would he say that outloud? It’s not like he planned it anyways, it just sort of slipped out before he could stop. And whether he’s twisting with humiliation or not, you laugh it off. 

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you mumble. “Almost makes me feel bad for lying to you.”

And just as before, he spikes up on edge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, yeah. I feel bad for crying to you,” you respond with a soft chuckle. “Do you realize how humbling it is to sob to your boss over the phone? It’s a total nightmare, I tell you.”

“No, you never said crying, you said lying—”

The static scratches his ear viciously. “Crap. I hate to be rude, but I gotta go—Lily just woke up.” He hears the way you jog up the stairs speedily. “Call back tomorrow and I’ll make sure the girls are awake for you to see, alright?”

You hang up.

And he doesn’t know whether he’s reading into the situation too much, it wasn’t like he could see you or anything like that, but he never once heard any kind of wince that indicated pain. 

Almost as if the fall never happened.

Which leaves him to wonder, when neither Kelly or him are around—who's watching their kids?

-

His phone buzzes the next day in the middle of an ongoing conversation. Lando’s filling him in on his recent endeavors and he wasn’t paying much attention to begin with.

“Maxie!” Penelope shouts as soon as he picks up. “I lost another tooth!”

“Wow, P, that’s great,” Max responds, smiling at the sound of her squeaky voice. His thumb slides over to FaceTime, to which she answers eagerly, showing off the small gap in between her baby teeth. He laughs. “Awesome.”

“That must be a couple euros, don’t you think?” 

“Just about.” A beat. “Hey, where’s your sister?” Right on queue, Lily appears, dressed in all pink and a small hat over her head. She giggles as soon as she spots him. “There she is!”

It’s a dialogue he doesn’t understand, but he lets her speak it anyways, nodding up and down as if she’s holding a real conversation with him. Though, as soon as she slips the phone past Penelope’s grip and into her mouth, you’re quick to intervene. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough,” you say with a small giggle, waving at him.“Thought I’d call you first. Just in case you forgot later on during the day.”

Max shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have, but that was a sweet gesture on your behalf, thank you.”

The entire interaction catches Lando’s attention, making him peer over, just enough to see, but not be seen. His eyes widen, mouthing—that’s your nanny? Max has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 

“We were just about to go on a walk.” Lily’s tiny fingers tangle in between your hair, pulling down on it before you wince and gently free yourself. “Got the stroller ready and everything.”

“I’ll be on my rollerskates!” Penelope cheers, out of view, but he can hear all the ruckus. 

You laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. “Pray for me.”

Already am, the young Brit whispers from his chair, theatrically pressing his hands together, watercolor eyes glimmering with a look only he seems to get whenever there’s a pretty girl around. Max aims a cold glare, making him snicker and continue scrolling through his phone, already accepting that their chat was over. 

Hearing a click, he looks back towards his own screen just in time, noticing Lily is strapped in with an eager look in her eyes. He makes sure to snap a screenshot. “Please make sure Penelope doesn’t go off too far ahead. She has a tendency of doing so.”

All three of you exit the house, rays of sunshine causing you to squint for a second before placing a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of your nose. You hum in agreement. “She knows what not to do, trust me,” you respond, steps starting to pick up as Penelope glides besides you. “You see: I threatened to take away her dessert if she didn’t follow instructions.”

The Dutchman lets out a loud chuckle, and what he doesn’t see is Lando furrow his brows with a sense of surprise because never—ever—has he heard Max laugh quite like this. As if his worries don’t exist. As if he’s truly happy. Something unstrained. 

Flirtatious, one might even say. 

“You Clever Girl,” he says with a slick grin. “That’ll get her to listen—why haven’t I thought of that before?”

You nod, full with grace. “Most things slide past you, Max, that’s why.”

He squints, the image slightly pixelated, but it's quick to clear back up again. “Why’d Kelly not join you all?”

“She’s still asleep!” the young girl shouts over your shoulder, long hair blowing against the wind. 

“Are you serious?”

You wince. “She got back home a bit late yesterday,” you fill him in. “She was at a—”

“Birthday party. Yes, I know, she told me.” 

A flicker of secrecy shoots past your eyes as you nod slowly, almost unsure. “Right. Some kind of party is what she had said this morning before going off to bed.” Lily squeals. “Word of advice, Max?” Another loud sound. “You ought to start paying closer attention to things.”

With a slight frown, and as instinct, he turns around, spotting Lando sneak a peek over his shoulder, listening into something that has nothing to do with him. He shoots up against his seat, eyes narrowed with accusation. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The McLaren driver yawns, feigning boredom. “Nothing at all, why do you ask?”

“Go. Away.” 

“Fine,” Lando mutters, deep beneath his breath and finally walks away, shoulders slumped.

Max shakes his head, eyes suddenly tired and heavy. He can tell you want to laugh at the encounter, but decide not to when he groans and runs a large hand across his face, tussling his hair along the way. “He eavesdrops as if his life depends on it, that boy.”

“Let him live,” you joke harmlessly. “He’s quite cute.”

“And taken,” he adds with a soft shrug. “Has been for the past few months, though, he fails to remember from time to time.”

“Aww,” you ponder. “What a shame.”

Before he could help it, an upcoming question blossomed over him, all of a sudden. He tries to convince himself that it’s nothing but an innocent curiosity, no more beyond that, but he also doesn’t really know that with complete certainty. “Do you, um…have a boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t have been complimenting him if I did,” you retort. “I’m not a homewrecker.”

“I never thought of you as one,” he shoots out quickly. “I was simply wondering.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me about my personal life,” you sing, fixing your sunglasses when they tempt to slide down. The sound of wheels clicking reminds him that Penelope was close by, too. But why should he be worried about being heard? He isn’t saying anything wrong. 

“Where’s the trouble in being curious?” he lets out sheepishly, feeling a warmth run up his neck. 

Shoes crunch against the dirt as you continue to push the stroller. A trickle of sweat drips down your own neck as you quickly dry it off with the hem of your shirt. He’s quick to pull his gaze away for that one. 

“Curiosity isn’t really the problem,” you say flatly. “It’s thinking you’re entitled to answers.”

He blinks, taken aback by your sudden bluntness. Just when he thinks he’s getting to you, something just always seems to happen, reminding him that you weren’t an easy character to unlock, although he still hasn’t figured out why. 

“I shouldn’t have asked, you’re right,” he mumbles, not denying what you hold over him. Maybe he does think he deserves to know. Just a tad bit. Is that really the worst thing? “It’s just that…well. You never talk about your private life. What do you like to do during your days off, whether you have siblings or not, you know? That kind of thing.”

“Is that a requirement I should fulfill in order to keep this job?” you ask. “Please. Enlighten me.”

Christ, when did things start to spiral here? Everything was going fine just a second ago. He swallows nervously. “I-It’s not, I was just trying to unde—”

Ow!

The sound of Penelope’s cries quickly followed, loud and painful. Coming to a halt, you put the phone down, running out of frame. The call is starting to break up, but was it all a part of his delirious imagination when he heard Penelope sob out—

You pushed me over on purpose!

“Here. Let me see, P,” you say, ignoring her words. “You’re fine. You will be, at least. We just need to get you back home and sanati—”

And again. Just like the night before—the call falls through.

Blue eyes reflect back against the pitch black screen, breaths shallow with confusion. A cough is what ultimately gets him to look up, and against the door frame, Lando still stands, tall and firm, like he never really left. 

The Brit clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re nanny…she’s hot.” A hazardous pause. “But bloody creepy, mate.”

Max overflows with worry, fingers drumming against his lap. 

“So it’s not just me who thinks so, right?”

-

This couldn’t be going any worse.

“We can’t just fire her because you’ve got a ‘gut feeling’—which by the way—isn’t a real thing, Max!” Kelly screams, skin pink with frustration over this constant back and forth. It’s exhausting, truly, fighting all the goddamn time, and always about the exact same thing: you. She pushes her hair back. “You’re just looking for any sort of reason to get rid of her at this point, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that!” he argues back like a bull with its horns. “It’s just…she’s just…an eerie girl, is all!”

She shoots a deadpan expression. “I happen to like that so-called ‘eerie girl’.”

“Pft, no, you don—”

“Yes! I do!” she hisses sharply, eyes dark with threat. “She’s good at her job. The girls love her. She’s the only one I talk to when you’re not around. What more could I want?” She’s frantic already, hands shaking with rage and hair messy. “She’s the perfect nanny!”

His voice gets stuck in his throat. Jammed. “Then explain Penelope’s fall, huh? I heard her that day. She said she was pushed over on purpose!”

“What little kid doesn’t blame others for their own mistakes?” Kelly retorts. “Plus, P is fine, is she not? She was rollerskating, Max. She’s a beginner. Accidents happen all the time!”

“Listen,” he spits out, closing the distance between them both, causing his girlfriend to flinch. “Just because you won’t look after the wellbeing of your daughter doesn’t mean I won’t be looking out after mine.”

The very little warmth that was left in her eyes slowly gave out in that very moment. And he didn’t even feel sorry about it. 

“Vá para o inferno.”

With that, pushes past him. Leaving him standing there, alone in their shared bedroom. 

-

It takes him a while to go back downstairs after that, but when he finally does, he finds you sprawled down on the floor, coloring next to Penelope. Lily lays on her tummy closeby, itching and kicking to grab a crayon, but fails poorly. You push her stuffed animal to her, watching as she squirms, biting down on its head. 

“Purple or green?” 

“Yellow,” Penelope answers instead, but still not tearing her gaze away from her part of the page. “Make it pastel.”

You nod, but more so to yourself. The RedBull driver doesn’t make a noise, barely even breathes properly, but it doesn’t matter. Lily has already seen him. 

Pushing up against her chubby arms, the baby attempts to crawl to him, but gives up when he makes the move towards her. Max smiles fondly, picking her up into his arms and hovering over you and Penelope who continue as if nothing.

Make sure to not miss the bumblebee, you hum. It’s so tiny, you can barely even see it.

I see it, alright, she says with a giggle on the horizon. Actually, can you show me where it is again?

“How about some ice cream?” Max proposes, benign. “My treat.”

“Can you pass me the orange?”

“P…” he tries again. “Don’t you want any?”

“No, thank you,” she finally answers, blinking up at him once before looking back down. 

His brows furrow with concern. “Why not? You love ice cream.”

“I just don’t want any right now, thank you,” she answers, this time much more harshly. 

In an instant, his piercing blue eyes dart towards where you lay. “What’d you tell her?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Ignoring you despite asking, the Dutchman squats down, leveled with the young girl and Lily perched atop of his lap. You continue on your side, scribbling. “What’s wrong, Penelope?”

He watches as her eyes begin to water, how her chin starts to wobble. His heart drops at the sight, reaching for her as an instinct, only to get pushed away. “Why don’t you and Lily just go by yourselves? She’s your real daughter, anyway.”

“What?” he croaks, shrinking back. “That’s not true—”

But she doesn’t give him a chance to reach the end of his sentence, just feverishly stands and runs off in the direction of her room. He was about to follow after her if it weren’t for you clearing your throat. 

“Just…leave her alone. For the time being, at least.”

Irritation spikes within him as he hears you talk. Still. Coloring. As. If. Nothing. His teeth grind together. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“It's not that you can or can’t,” you sing once before connecting your eyes to his, not daring to be the first one to look away now that you have him. “It's just that you shouldn’t.”

“What the fuck did you tell her?” he accuses with a trace of venom. 

“I already told you, I didn’t say anything, it’s what she heard. Which was everything,” you defend. “In case you haven’t noticed, the walls around here are paper thin.” 

“Oh God,” the Dutchman groans, placing Lily back down on her stomach. He fixes himself on the floor as well, head between his hands. “Fucking hell.”

“Should the flowers be teal?”

He looks up, face full with disgust. “Are you really asking me that right now?”

You shrug. “You’re worried over nothing. She’s six. She’ll get over it before you know it.”

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to because I shouldn’t have said what I said in the first place.” His shoulders droop as if he’s carrying a bag of rocks. “I was angry, I never meant to imply that Penelope was some nobody to me—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you hiss—correct—and bring your finger up against his lips. “Thin walls.” He freezes beneath your touch, soft and slender. You don’t linger, though, just drag your hand down and go back to what you were doing. Max’s pulse must’ve stopped in between those very seconds. “How else could you have expected her to react?” 

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t go up and check on her—”

“I already said, it's best you don’t,” you advise when he attempts to get up. “Let me do it.”

“No, really, I should be the one to ta—”

But you’re already standing, leaving him with no other option than to look up at you like some golden statue. It doesn’t help that you stick your hip out, a lazy hand laid over your waistline. “Have a little bit of faith in me, okay? I’ll smooth things over for you.”

And that you do. 

But later, even when you finally get Penelope to come out for ice cream—Max drives, of course, and one would have thought nothing happened if they were to take a fast glance, overlooking her bloodshot eyes—he can’t help the uneasy feeling of it all.

That he knows you heard what he said about you too: so why didn’t you say anything about it? 

And that, somehow, makes a chill run down his spine.

-

It happens two weeks later. He was back home for a few days.

Kelly has gone out with her sister, Penelope was at a sleepover, and Lily was taking a fast nap. He finds you outside, bare feet dipped inside the pool, and a cigarette lit in between your fingers. He nearly laughs at the sight, slightly surprised. Amused.

“Let me get this straight: you believe that ink poisons the blood stream, and yet—you smoke?”

Looking up at the sound of Max’s voice, your lips curve in an upward motion, disconnecting from the white stick. “That must make me a hypocrite then, right?” 

“Hardly,” he hums. “It makes you human.”

You laugh, inhaling deeply before exhaling a large grey cloud. The sun has gone down a bit, but he can still see it. How it expands through the air and disintegrates into all sorts of directions. The baby monitor rests on top of your lap. 

“Was I not one before?” you ask with a hint of mockery. He ignores you, focuses on the way you hold the blunt loosely. You wave him off. “Kelly said I could as long as it was nowhere near the baby. Fair deal, I suppose.”

“You’re quite the class act,” he comments carefully, gaze lingering with wariness. The silence hangs heavy and as thick as thieves. The sound of you kicking your legs against the warm water ripples a couple of times before you let out a cough. “Hey. Can I say something without you getting offended?”

“That would depend,” you respond. “How bad are you planning on hurting my ego?”

Max takes his time, weighing his words on the tip of his tongue before inching closer to where you sit. An arms length, really, but he was almost certain that he was beginning to taste the tobacco himself. His tall frame over yours is enough to make you look up, raising a neat brow, patiently waiting for him to speak. 

“Everyone thinks you’re great. Kelly swears you’re her right-hand person. Penelope is obsessed over the fact that you know how to bake her favorite kinds of sweet treats. And Lily? Well. She’s only a baby. She loves just about anyone.” He pauses. “But tell me why…”

I just don’t see it.

You stare back blankly, taking another hit as he continues with a soft shake of his head. “From the very start, I didn’t buy it. Nope, never did. There were a few times I got close—so damn close—but somehow, you always either did or said something that reminded me why I couldn’t fully trust you.”

“I’m not responsible for that, Max,” you point out, plain and simple. “I could only do so much.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “But why don’t we start off with the truth?”

A small scoff erupts from you, almost mixed with something of a snort, like you found this entire interaction a complete waste of time. “Which is?”

Max narrows his eyes. “That we know each other, don’t we?”

“Jesus, this again?” you groan, tearing your gaze and rubbing your eyes sore. “Must I learn Dutch and explain to you once more that we don’t?” Reaching towards your neck, you begin to massage it as it starts to cramp from holding it up for so long. “What’s with you and insisting that we do?”

“Did we go to school together at one point? Were you a friend of Victoria’s?” he questions desperately. “I don’t understand—”

“You’re crazy,” you say, standing up to your full height and staring up at him with an eye twitching. “What is it about your past that makes you worried someone will come back and get even with you?” 

His lips twitch.

An unsettling smile forms as you wag a steady finger up at him, like an owner training its dog. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

Max flinches. “I’m not—”

“What is it?” you push eagerly with bright eyes. “What did you do?” The wind blows against your hair, kicking it towards your face, forcing you to squint before you push it away. “I promise I won’t tell. I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

“This isn’t about me,” he finalizes with a threatening tone. “This is about you, and what you’re hiding.” The Dutchman reaches for your wrist, the one that holds onto the dying cigarette, and tugs you close enough to learn that you have a tiny mole beneath your left brow. It’s faint, but it’s there. “We’ve met before, and you know it.”

“Do I?” you taunt with a smug grin.

His blood boils as he rips away from you. “Stop saying shit like that!” he exclaims. “You know it, and I just—I just c-can’t seem to remember for the life in me!” His breathing pattern shifts. “When Kelly first introduced us—that day in the kitchen—you knew that I had recognized you, and you made it your job to throw me off. You. Played. Coy. You got the girls to adore you…so why can’t you just tell me what I did to you and why you’re here?”

There’s a way about you, something that makes his heartbeat quicken. How it drums harshly. He hears it. And he bets you can too.

With knitted brows and round eyes, you blink. 

Pure. Corrupt. Innocent. Malicious.

And it sure as hell confuses the fuck out of him.

“You’re really starting to scare me, Max,” you whisper beneath your breath, nose pink.

Have you been sleeping enough?

-

The following morning, as he’s brushing his teeth, he comes to a shameful realization: he owes you an apology.

His flight had been unbearable the night before, he was exhausted beyond belief, and he took it out on you and blamed you for things that sounded outright absurd the more he replayed the events from a few hours ago. The way you looked at him with uneasiness, as if you truly figured he would have drowned you if it really came down to it. He was twisting with guilt the second you peered up from the stove, holding out a plate of pancakes. 

“Eat them while they’re nice and warm,” you cheer like a ray of sunshine. “There’s maple on the table, but be careful. Lily spilled it, so it might still be a bit sticky.”

He blinks, partially out of barely waking up but also from how shocked he was with you acting as if nothing had occurred. Perhaps it didn’t. “Have you eaten?” he asks awkwardly, sitting down on an open chair. 

You shake your head. “I was about to, though.”

He nods. “Where is everyone?”

“Well, Penelope left for school a few minutes ago, and Kelly took Lily to her check up.” Grabbing a plate, you serve yourself breakfast before claiming a seat next to him. “Can you hand me the bowl of fruit, please?”

This entire conversation was offputting. “Sure,” he responds, giving it to you with a tight smile. “I wish I would've woken up earlier and gone with them.”

“Mmm, yeah. But you arrived so late yesterday that Kelly thought it was best to just let you sleep in.” The fork clinks against your plate as you jam it into a slice of mango. “I’m sure they won’t be out for too long.”

The RedBull driver grimaces as his mind begins to race with humiliation. “Okay, can I just start off by saying that I’m sorry about—”

A soft sigh escapes past your berry tinted lips. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.” He aligns himself to you, leaving you with no other choice than to look at him, seeing how serious he was taking this apology of his. “I shouldn’t have lashed out on you the way that I did, and for that, I’m sorry. I-I-I think I’ve just been away for too long, a-a-and I was partially delirious, I think, so I spoke utter nonsense that had no significant meaning. I was rude to have argued that you weren’t a good enough addition to this family, of course you are, are you kidding me?”

Blush feathers onto your cheeks with his compliment. “Thank you for saying that, but you really don’t have to. I figured your words weren’t meant to hurt my feelings.”

The tension on his face fades away once you confess to that, making him flash a sheepish look. “From now on, I’m on your team, just like everybody else.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” you tease, bumping your knee against him as a silent truce. 

He flinches at the most minimal touch of yours and gulps, already pulling away and sitting straight. “Let’s get along.”

“Haven’t we?” you question with a sense of confusion. “I mean…I thought we were?”

“Right. But I want to get to know you better.”

“What else is there to know?” you mutter, frowning. “I’m not quite as interesting as you might think.”

“That simply can’t be true,” Max notes with a funny look in his eyes, like he doesn’t believe you at all. “You’ve barely shared anything with us about your personal affairs.”

“I’m considerate enough to know what not to bore you with it,” you state. “It doesn’t matter, anyways.”

“It does to me,” he confesses in a soft whisper that makes your eyes narrow suspiciously and your lips part. “For the sake of knowing who’s living in my home.” This comes across as more of a lighthearted joke. “Have you always lived in Monaco?”

“Oh. Um. No?” 

The Dutchman keeps a chuckle to himself. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“No,” you clarify. “I haven’t.”

He nods. “What was your life before this job?”

A moment passes by. “I used to work as a paralegal at a law firm.”

“Did you?” he asks with genuine interest now. “Did you like it?”

“At the time. Yeah.”

“But then?”

“I quit and became a nanny,” you respond back with a lame shrug. 

Max hums in deep thought. “Would you ever leave and go back?”

“That’s a good question. But no. I don't think so. Living behind a screen isn’t really for me.”

“But changing diapers is?”

A gentle laugh echoes as you toss your head back and grip your chair to hold yourself from sliding off. “Must be!” His own lips twitch with a tempting smile and his gaze follows to where you cut your pancake into smaller pieces. “Must be…” you repeat.

“Do you think I’m a good dad?”

The dining room comes to an uncomfortable silence. You hadn’t expected this question of his, but now he had asked, and now you were staring at him as if he handed you a gun. “Who am I to determine whether you are or aren’t?”

“You can be honest,” he reassures you. “I won’t get mad.”

And it takes a long time for you to finally answer, but when you do, you don’t hold back. 

“You’re halfway there.”

With that, you decide you’re done eating, walking your plate over to the sink and beginning to wash the porcelain dish as delicately as possible. You’ve already scratched too many. 

Max’s stomach churns with the words that seem to live in the forefront of his mind. Soap slides down your arms before you rinse and dry off. “Why is that?” he can’t help but ask, blue eyes swirling with peculiar interest. “There must be some sort of explanation to it.”

“You said I could be honest?”

“Right.”

A slow grin stretches across your pretty face. “Yet you never said I could be brutal.”

His breath hitches. “So be it—be brutal with me.”

A steady beat. “You do love Lily and Penelope, that much is true. The only problem here is that you love them in theory. In pixelated photos. In static filled phone calls. In promises. But Max—children don’t live in theory. They live in moments.”

And you’re not in most of theirs.

His mouth runs dry as you continue. “Look—everything I know about love is not much—but I do know that it’s a feeling. Not something that can be scheduled. It’s in the way you’re able to recognize Lily’s cries. Is it because she’s hungry? Tired, perhaps? Is she looking for Kelly?”

Is she looking for you?

His palms begin to sweat.

“The reason as to why you even asked this question in the first place is quite simple—you doubt yourself. You know that what you’ve been giving them is mediocre care, but how long is that going to cut it? It’s easier to tell yourself that that’ll be enough, but soon they’ll grow up—and soon they’ll see for themselves…that you were never truly there.”

A droplet hits the sink.

Slowly, you face him, eyes calm, but there remains a heavy burden that seems to drag him down with you. “But hey. You’re making millions annually. That must suffice, no?”

Max swallows a rough patch, and it costs him. It travels like a piece of cardboard, but what else was he supposed to do? I mean, he asked for your perception, and how can he admit that it knocked him to the ground so fast? You knew how to do it, too. With your tone as sweet as honey, but as real as the fear in his eyes. Was he really living out his best years on track rather than being with his family? 

“Funny, isn’t it?” you speak. “The things you forget, and the people who don’t?”

And for the first time—he sees it. He truly, truly sees it. 

All the hatred in your eyes.

It flickers by so fast that he physically has to pinch himself to believe that it was ever even there in the first place. The way it flashes cruelly, similar to a lightning strike that was meant to hit him. It’s impossible to ignore now that he has a name for it.

Wrath.

Not the kind that disappears after a month or so. No. Rather the kind that lingers for years, the kind that engraves itself into your bones. This isn’t a simple strip of anger that fades, it’s one that roots deep in pain. As if you’ve been personally wronged in a way that would haunt you until your very last breath. It accuses him of something. Punishes. 

He notices now how the girl standing in front of him isn’t a friendly face from his past. She’s an upcoming storm, with secrets that lay beneath her skin. And yet? No sense of fight or flight kicks in.

“You’re not crazy, Max,” you whisper, eyes sharp. “We do know each other…”

Max’s blue gaze flashes. His mind races.

 He knew it. He knew it. He fucking knew it. 

“But I won’t be the one to admit from where,” you say, breaking away with a deceiving smile. 

And you know what? That might be what ends up making you lose your mind.

-

It’s a figment of his imagination at this point. He hears your voice when you’re not around, he sees your shadow at every corner, and he’s not even in the same country as you.

Blinking up at the ceiling—when really, he should be doing his warm ups—Max plays with a purple stress ball, squeezing hard and loosening his grip, then repeats the same pattern. His brain hurts from simply trying to remember—where do I know her from? Roads, there’s millions, but when did you cross paths?

And so begins his insanity.

“Do you recognize her?”

Pierre and Carlos squint at his screen, finding the sweet image of both Penelope and Lily next to you on a hammock. Kelly took it, sent it, and that’s what he decides to pull up when he spots his former teammates talking about wedding rings and adoption. 

I think that’s a great idea, was the last thing the Spaniard is able to say before being cut short. Max doesn’t really know what exactly he was referring to, but he neither bothered asking. 

“You know what? I think I do—”

“She looks familiar—”

He blinks feverishly at the confirmation coming from both of them. “Y-Y-You do?”

“Sure thing,” Carlos begins, brown eyes squinting at the picture one more time before nodding with certainty. “Who can forget such a pretty face?”

His fists tighten. “Alright then, where do you know her from?”

“The Christmas party, right?” Pierre chirps from his place. “I wanna say, twenty-sixteen, perhaps seventeen?”

“Seventeen,” Carlos confirms. “She was there that night.”

“Who is she?” Max pushes adamantly. 

“You’re nanny, duh,” Pierre says with a lighthearted tone. “How’d she end up working for you, anyway?”

“Probably trusted her since they already knew each other,” Carlos butts in. “Jeez. Networking really does help, does it not?”

“I hadn’t recognized her!” the RedBull driver defends “All I know is that Kelly found a ‘good match' and hired her without consulting me first. Following day, she shows up at my doorstep and is learning how to french braid just  because Penelope said so.”

“Well. Now you know,” Carlos responded, losing interest in the topic by now. “Hey, who wants a coffee?”

“I do—”

Banging his fist against the back of Pierre’s chair, Max lets out a frantic groan. “This tells me nothing! You two recall her looks—great, that’s wonderful, really—but who is she?”

“I’m not sure I’m following—”

“How did she get into that party? Was she a friend of someone's? A girlfriend? A—”

“So what if she was? Why do you care so much?”

“I care because—” Max says, voice filled with vexation. “She’s driving me crazy.”

Pierre’s lips twitch with amusement. “Woah. I didn’t know you had it that way…”

His implication makes him wither, makes him flinch. He clears his throat rather rudely. “I don’t have it any kind of way. She’s just…odd. She keeps saying and doing things that make me not want to leave the girls with her.”

“But Kelly’s there too—”

“Only, she hasn’t been,” the Dutchman quips. “She’s been acting weird as well, never home, so who can I trust with my daughter when I’m not around?”

They feel bad for him, he can see it in their eyes, slowly forming along with knitted brows. They exchange a look before Carlos releases a heavy breath. “Listen, I only remember her face because I had asked for her number, but I quickly backed off as soon as she said she was seventeen.”

Pierre nods. “I ran into her in the men's restroom, actually. She barely even looked up at me when she said—”

The line to the ladies room was too long to wait for, you mumbled, wiping away your tears. 

The thought of you crying makes his chest tighten. “W-W-Why was she—”

“She never really got around to explaining. I can’t fully blame her. I was only a stranger.”

Max shut his eyes, shaking his head with confusion as he clicks his phone off. “Fine. So some jerk ruined her night eight years ago—what does that have to do with her coming back?”

“Well. Isn’t it obvious by now?”

The jerk is clearly you.

-

When he walks in through the door in the late hours of December eighth, he has nothing left to give but confrontation, and the only good thing about this was that Kelly had taken the girls to visit her parents in Brazil. 

But you’ll join us in a couple of days, right? she had asked when he dropped them off at the airport. 

Of course. 

She nodded, curled hair tucked behind her ear as she took the chance to kiss him. You won’t last too long being alone. The nanny leaves tonight to Paris with her friends. 

He forced his face to not react. Is she now?

A steady laugh almost escapes when she tilts her head back and quirks a sharp brow. Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re going to miss her.

What could he possibly have responded with? The truth? Nobody ever likes the truth, least of all, him. He hates it that he can hear you packing, the wheels squeak as you move throughout your room. He despises the fact that you won't be around, and not simply for the matter of taking care of Lily and Penelope anymore.

It more so had to do with the yearning question of: what now?

Walking towards the front door and putting your things aside with a flush colored face, he can tell that you’re surprised to see him here. Standing tall and ever so questionable. Your lips turn into something of a smile, almost as if you were expecting for this to be a prank.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” you tease with humor. “What are you doing here, I thought you were in Brazil?”

Max shrugs, playing coy. “Why hadn’t you told me you were going to Paris?”

You look taken aback, truly, shocked to hear his own wonder said out loud. “I figured Kelly would have. Does this come to a complete surprise to you?”

“Right. Well. Sort of,” he complains, dodging your stare now, looking down at your luggages as they seem to wait rather impatiently. A sudden urge came through, the need to burn them, simply so you wouldn’t walk past those doors, but honest to God, there wouldn’t be an ounce of care in you if he were to do just that. “I just wish you would have told me.”

“Do I owe it to you to make you the first to know?”

A moment lingers by. He doesn’t say much in between it, barely even blinks, but he’s looking at you now. Straight at you like nothing but his questions exist. Perhaps, that's really all there is.

“I know now.”

You align yourself straight with a playful expression, hands resting over your hip as if you’re ready to challenge him. Which is what you’re about to do, he’s perfectly well aware. “Are you having trouble explaining yourself in words, Mr. Verstappen?”

His jaw twitches once. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I really don’t see what the big deal would have been.” He shakes his head adamantly. “You were there that night. At Carlos’ farewell dinner, weren’t you?”

You quirk a brow smugly. “Well then, I recall something different—was it not Pierre’s welcome dinner?”

Max is really, really, really trying his best at keeping his composure, but he is not a God and there is only so much more that he can take. This was starting to feel like a bad idea. Having this conversation with you, that is. It could only ever end with something regrettable, why would he ever allow himself to be optimistic and think otherwise? 

“To whatever it may have been,” he hisses. “You. Were. There.”

And finally, you accept it, smiling so…satisfied. 

“I was there. I was there that night, you’re right.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he whispers to himself, pacing around, nearly fidgeting. He stops right in front of you, looking you dead in the eye. “And eight years ago…I did something to you?”

“Nearly nine.”

The Dutchman doubles down. “Nearly nine, what?”

“In a few days,” you say with a gentle tone. “It’ll be nine years.”

He’s full of despair at this point, brows furrowed and pinched up all at once. His blue eyes have darkened into something impure, but what else could have been so beautiful to a girl like you?

You smile, reaching to brush his hair back. You feel him get tense, like a strained muscle of some sort, but he never once steps away. No. Instead, he finds himself leaning into your touch like some deprived sicko.  

This is a humiliation ritual, he begins to think to himself as a cruel realization when his heart punches his chest hard, almost as if its intention was for him to lurch over with pain. But has it not always felt this way with you?

“Max,” you purr, softly rubbing your thumb against his temple now. “I’ll tell you what—”

“What?” he questions rapidly, desperate for quite literally anything you’re willing to give to him. 

A slow smirk. “How about you tell me what it is that you think you did that night, and I’ll let you know if you get it right, huh? How does that sound?”

He’s well aware that you’re treating him like a dog. With rules you know he’s going to follow anyways, and with a firm voice that lets him know who’s in control.

It’s you—despite living in his home, despite making a living wage under his payroll, despite watching his daughters when he’s away for months on end—it’s only ever been you in control.

And so, his confessions begin.

“It was so long ago,” he mumbles, opening his mouth like it was already looking for yours. Pressing your hands to his chest now, you keep him place but still close. He blinks, tamed by that action alone. “H-H-How could I possibly remember?”

“Think,” you demand. “Look, I’ll even help jog up your memory. I’m thoughtful that way..”

And you kiss him.

Yes, you kiss him like a dirty soul that is intending to hang onto him until he can no longer stand on his own two feet. It’s so vicious, he can feel your fingerprints color his skin all over, as if warning him: This. This. This. This will stick to you because I said so. 

His large hands grab at your sides desperately, like he’s trying to stay afloat. The sudden fiction makes you smile against his lips before tugging him towards the living room. He’s a mess, tripping over his own two feet, whimpering when you pull his hair as if directing him onto the right path. 

He groans when he falls down against the couch with a harsh thud, blinking up to where you hover over him before claiming a seat on his lap, gaze dark and tempting. He shudders beneath your body at the mere sight. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t seem to re—”

“Would it help if I sucked your cock?”

Max blinks, dazed, before you climb off, already getting on your knees and unzipping his jeans. “Wait a minute, wait a minute—” But he’s just as good as gone the second your mouth wraps around his girth. “Oh God.”

Mmm, you moan at the taste of him, fluttering your lashes as you pump the rest of him with your hands. An upward motion that makes his eyes squeeze shut in a way that has him seeing colors. You giggle, stirring vibrations that certainly didn’t help his situation.

“Do you remember me now?” you whisper as you pull away, enjoying his demise. 

As some weak attempt, his hands reach for the back of your head, holding you in place and keeping you from moving, but that doesn’t stop your tongue from licking a stripe down the base, eyes crinkling with amusement when he tenses up. 

“I hooked up with a girl that night!” he practically pants out like a cloudy revelation he hopes is nothing but right. “In a bathroom stall, I wanna say…” Pressing a kiss down to his pink tip, you nod sleepily and he feels his insides burst with surprise. “That was you?”

“Nope,” you sing, finally pushing his hands away and sucking him back in, canine teeth scratching him every time you bop your head.

A loud hiss escapes once before clenching his jaw, but keeps his eyes on you. The way your cheeks hollow, the way you inhale like it costs you to keep up, just as much as him. And yet, he doesn’t quite reason how someone could look so holy while committing such a filthy act? 

His inner thoughts come to a sudden halt when he feels your clammy hands press down against his thighs as you lean forward, deepthroating him. 

Fuck, he croaks, mouth hung open in a silent O as his blue orbs connect with yours, filled with infatuation that surely sticks to your pink tongue. Breathing hard, you gag around his length for a minute before pulling away with a loud gasp, a string of saliva stretching as far as you go with a cheeky smile. Your hand continues to pump fast, mocking his moans like a record player. 

“You’re so pretty when you’re ruined,” you praise, nodding along with him as his climax seems to build up rather rapidly. The Dutchman opens his mouth to speak, but falls short when you spit on his face, making him flinch before blinking up like a lost bunny, shocked. You giggle sweetly, jerking him off in one last hasty manner before he comes, thick ropes splurting and his groans echo. You smile, satisfied, pushing back against your heels, taking in the image of him gasping for air. “Christ,” you scoff. “If I had known you were this easy to break, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

Max winces, avoiding your gaze as he rubs his eyes, thinking surely: This must be a dream, right? A nightmare, maybe? There was really no way of him not feeling embarrassed about what just occurred. 

“If you hate me so much…then why are you doing all of this?” he asks with difficulty.

“Me?” you challenge with a frisky grin that stretches from ear to ear. “I said that?”

“You don’t have to.” His blue eyes falter into something frail, nearly grey. “I just…know.”

A beat.

Sighing—like he owes you a favor—you rise up to your feet and climb onto his thick lap, pushing your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side. He freezes when he feels your wet core slide against his cock, painfully hard. His stomach churns with anticipation. 

“Well…” you start, gently cradling his face with one hand, and slipping him into your slippery hole with the other. “It’s because I hate you, that I’m also fucking you, Maxie.”

Taking everything there is to take, your breath hitches and his brain short circuits. You roll your hips as a lazy warning before resting your hands on his broad shoulders, bouncing. “W-What?” he stutters, holding you close when you arch your back with pleasure, mouth agape. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t get it,” you breathe out, a thin layer of sweat pasting your hair down against your face. Your cheeks are red, your lips are plump and pink, and he can feel his cock twitch inside of you. You frown dramatically. “I always thought you’d be a better fuck than this.”

It’s as if you had the intention of bruising his ego, and if so, you’ve achieved it. It strikes him without any given mercy, and it’s only until then, that he feels you awake something within him. 

Fisting his grip on you even harder, the Dutchman rips you off of him, causing you to squeal before fixing you on all four on the coffee table right in front of you. It’s the perfect height too, right where he can slip back in and at an angle that makes his head roll back and your sounds break. 

“How’s that?” he asks, feeling your core tighten. Looking back at you, he takes the time to admire the white ring that forms, the way it begins to slither down and in between your thighs. Max grunts, scooping it up on his index finger before licking it clean. The taste brings him to shame, feeling it slide down his throat like some delicious nectar. “So sweet…”

“Harder,” you instruct, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing smile that makes his heart stop for a minute. “Give it to me harder, Max.” A whimper. “I wanna feel how sorry you are.”

And although he has no clue as to what he’s apologizing for, he does it anyway. Thrust in deeper. Much more ruthless. He watches as your sweaty palms slips against the glass. Catches your reflection, beautiful features twisted with pleasure. A knot forms in the pit of his stomach, and surely you sense it too, because not long after, you start to push your ass back, looking for more. 

“Oh, Maxie,” you whimper. “You feel so good inside of me.”

His visions blurs.

“And—and I feel so good around you…don’t I?”

“The best,” he assures you quickly, focused on his movements. “How could you not? You’re so w-warm and—tiny.”

You hum. “And you’re a good man, right?”

“Mhm!” He nods to himself feverishly, getting light headed at one point. “Ngh—mhm!”

“Well then—why would a good man ruin some else’s life?”

“F-Fuck!” he groans one last time before finishing deep inside of you. His breathing patterns struggle to align again as he looks up, finding you to already be staring back at him. He blinks when you glare, standing up and pulling your skirt back down. “I, uh, did what now?”

Your gaze flickers when he fixes his jeans before marching back to him, pushing him unexpectedly and causing him to stumble stupidly. “How could you?” you accuse with fury laced in your voice. “How?”

His eyes widen, startled, and lifted his arms up in defense. “I-I-I don’t understand!”

Tears threaten to spill as you stare up at him. “That night—nine years ago—we did meet. We did.” A beat. “I was visiting my brother at his new internship, don’t you remember?”

Max freezes. “You…”

“Yeah,” you hiss, hitting his chest repeatedly before he grabs your hands, fighting back when you dig your nails into him. “Me, you fucking jerk!”

He winces in pain, letting go of you as his skin begins to burn and numb up in one go. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Really?” you taunt, inching closer to him and cocking your head to the side. “You didn’t mean to?”

“I was only seventeen!” he tries to reason, flinching when your eye twitches. “I was just a teenager…”

“Ha!” you laugh out, sounding slightly deranged. Pushing your knotted hair back, you purse your lips before nodding towards him. “You thought you were the only one, or…”

Max recoils, memories flashing back to a time where he was new to the sport and didn’t know a lot of people. The other drivers, well, they didn’t count, and it was hard meeting anyone. At least, that’s what he thought.

He gulps. “When you’re y-y-young, you do dumb shit, alright?” Taking steady steps backwards, he finds that the distance between you both never decreases, and suddenly everything feels far too claustrophobic. “It was an accident.” He flinches. “And…I get why you’re mad at me. I do, I promise you that I do! But… I can’t change what happened eight years ago—”

“Nine.”

He nods robotically in agreement. “Nine. Nine years ago.” 

Guilt tricks him back to you the second you drop down onto the floor, sobbing out like an injured puppy. In the most delicate manner, he levels down next to you and wraps his arms around like some safety net. 

I’m sorry.

And just like that—you stop crying. 

“Don’t be!” you cheer, pulling away and smiling warmly. “You did nothing wrong!” Max blinks. Wiping away at your wet cheeks, you shrug him off like it’s no big deal. “Seriosuly, Max, we’re good.”

His brows knit. “But your brother—”

“Holy shit, you really can’t remember a single thing from your past, can you?” you tease, giggling. “You’ve got the wrong person, mate.”

“But—”

“You’re thinking of Clarice and Nathaniel!”

“But I thought you—”

“How many people’s lives did you fuck up that night, Max?” you joke, leaning in to peck his cheek. “Help me up?” With his brain completely numb, he lends you a hand, assisting you. You pat his head as some form of gratitude before making your way back to the main entrance to where your luggage still awaits. 

In a hurry, he jumps up and makes a beeline for you, pulling you by the wrist and forcing you to face him. He’s no longer looking remorseful, he’s no longer being gentle, no, now—now he’s enraged. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he accuses, blue eyes dark with instability. “Huh? What do you want from me?”

You smile back softly. “Well, I want a boy, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

His face drops in panic and the realization starts to settle. 

“You can’t get pregnant,” he says, body running cold. 

“Why not?” you ask with a subtle frown that makes him read right through you. “It’s science, isn’t it?”

“Don’t feed me with that kind of bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Max,” you laugh out, breaking free from him and grabbing your suitcases. “Has no one ever told you the story of the Birds and the Bees?”

“I’ll pay you—”

“Tempting.”

“To have an abortion—”

Your eyes sharpen. “Super tempting.”

He releases a heavy breath, evidently agitated.  “But you have to promise me that you’ll get it done right.”

“You’re quite the gentleman,” you say, letting out a sarcastic yawn. “And I appreciate the offer—sure, but I don't think it’ll be necessary.” Watching as you reach for the doorknob once again, the Dutchman rushes to keep it closed, forcing you to stay. You scoff, turning to face him. “Move.”

“You can’t do this to me,” he whispers, almost as if he were scared of the walls listening in on him. He swallows, blue eyes written with despair. “I have a family…”

“So what?”

“So—” he declares weakly. “You just…can’t.”

With your brows narrowed, you nod slowly, clicking your fingers. “You know what? You caught me in a good mood, and I’m feeling quite generous right now.” You beam. “I’ll give you another chance.”

He stares back blankly.

You hum. “Just tell me what you did to me nine years ago at that Christmas party, and I’ll do what you want me to do. I won’t run to the tabloids—I sure as hell won’t tell Kelly—and you’ll never see or hear from me again. Sounds fair?”

Max opens his lips, then snaps them back shut pathetically. 

“I don’t know…” he mumbles beneath his breath, avoiding your gaze. “I honestly have no idea…”

Your eyes glimmer.

“No worries,” you answer back, voice clipped and bittersweet. Leaning close, you press your lips down onto his and smile when he melts against them like he couldn’t help it. You giggle, pulling away. “No worries at all,” you whisper into his ear, sensing a shiver from him when you do.

One fateful beat.

“You’ll have no choice but to remember me this time.”

You finally exhale, relaxing for the first time in weeks.

Then the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

No one is supposed to be here. The staff is off. Neighbours don’t visit. Your father is inanother country.

A second, sharper ring.

Heart pounding, you walk to the door, fingers trembling on the handle, and when you open it, every coherent thought in your head evaporates.

Toto stands there.

Tall, immaculate, impossibly composed in a dark jacket that clings to his shoulders, but his eyes, God, his eyes, burn when they fall on you.

And that smile.

That slow, wicked, hungry smile that always means trouble.

“Hallo, Schatz,” he murmurs, voice deep enough to melt your spine. “You said you were alone in the house.”

Your breath catches. Your knees nearly buckle.

You’d forgotten how massive he is in a doorway. How he fills the space. How he makes you feel small and wanted and claimed with just a look.

“Toto,” you whisper, gripping the doorframe because your legs don’t feel reliable. “You… you surprised me.”

He steps closer, just enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly.

“I missed you,” he says simply. Not soft. Not shy. A confession wrapped in dominance. “It’s been too long. And when you texted me that you’re alone…”

The smile sharpens.

“I took the jet.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

“My father...”

“...is gone,” Toto finishes for you, one hand lifting to trace your jaw with his thumb. “And even if he weren’t… I would still be here.”

Your breath stutters.

“That’s dangerous.”

Toto leans in until his lips brush your ear, his breath warm.

“Schatz… wanting you is dangerous. Leaving you waiting for me is impossible.”

You swallow hard, pulse racing.

Then he steps inside without asking — towering, confident, smelling like cologne and cold air and the man who has been your secret since the first moment he touched your hand in the paddock.

He closes the door behind him.

The click echoes like a promise.

And when he turns back to you, his gaze drops to your bare legs under the oversized sweater, to the book you had forgotten upstairs, to the flush blooming on your neck.

“Do you know,” he says quietly, “how hard it was not to touch you the moment you opened the door?”

Your knees give a little, enough for him to notice, enough for him to smirk.

“Come here,” he orders softly.

And because you’ve missed him more than you want to admit, and because you’ve dreamed of this exact moment since the last stolen night in his hotel suite, you go to him without hesitation.

The moment your lips crash together, it stops being a greeting and becomes hunger. Toto kisses you like a man starved — deep, hot, claiming. His hands slide under your sweater, ripping it upward, pulling the fabric off your arms in one quick movement. You gasp, and he growls softly, mouth already on your neck.

Before you can breathe, he grabs your waist and lifts you. Your legs wrap around him instantly, your body remembering him better than your mind ever could.

“Where is your father’s office?” he murmurs against your mouth, voice dark and low.

You point down the hallway, barely managing a whisper: “Last door on the right.”

Toto doesn’t hesitate. He carries you there, kissing you hard the whole way, pushing you against the wall once, then lifting you again when you whimper into his mouth. You can feel how hard he is through his trousers; he can feel how wet you are through your panties.

When he opens the office door, that wicked smile appears again.

“Perfect,” he says. “I’ve wanted to do this since the day I met you.”

Then he lays you back on your father’s desk. Papers scatter, a pen rolls to the edge, but Toto doesn’t care. He steps between your legs, looking down at you with heat that almost burns.

“I’m going to take you on his desk,” he says quietly, voice thick with desire. “Right where he works. Right where he thinks he has control.”

The words alone make you wetter.

Toto drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs, pushing them wide. He pulls your panties aside and inhales sharply.

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs. “You missed me that much?”

You nod, breathless. “Yes… Toto… please…”

He leans in and licks you — long, slow, deliberate — and your entire body shudders. His tongue moves with purpose, tracing every sensitive inch. Then he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, stroking exactly where you need him.

“Oh God—Toto—” you gasp.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin. “Come for me.”

His mouth returns to your clit, sucking just the way that destroys you. His fingers work faster, deeper. The pressure builds fast, too fast, your legs trembling around his head.

You try to hold it back, but there’s no point. He knows your body too well.

“Toto—” you cry.

And then you break.

The orgasm hits hard, ripping through you, your back arching off the desk, hands gripping the edge as you scream his name. Toto holds you through it, fingers still moving, tongue still teasing, making you ride it until your thighs shake uncontrollably.

He looks up at you, mouth wet, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“That’s my girl,” he says. “And I’m only getting started.”

He kisses you hard, hungry, and you taste yourself on his lips — sweet, sharp, filthy. Your hands go straight to his shirt, ripping open button after button until his chest is bare. Your fingers slide over hard muscle, the lines of his ribs, the warm skin that always smells like luxury, power, and something dangerously male.

His body is exactly how you love it — strong, solid, perfect. His cock is already pressing against your thigh through his trousers, you can feel how hard he is, and it only makes you wetter.

You fumble with his belt and trousers, freeing him, taking his cock into your hand. Hot, heavy, throbbing, you know he’ll be inside you any second. You stroke him slowly, your thumb brushing the sensitive tip, looking straight into his eyes. He growls into your mouth, pushing you harder against your father’s desk.

“My wallet,” he snarls, voice low and rough.

You bite his lip lightly. “What about it?”

He gives you a sly, almost feral smile. “I have a condom in it.”

With one hand he reaches for his trousers, with the other he grips your thigh, kissing you again. He pulls out his wallet, opens it, and takes out a condom.

“I’m always prepared when it comes to you, Schatz,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

And you know — right here, on Christian Horner’s desk, in the heart of enemy territory, you’re going to let him have you completely, no matter the risk.

Toto rips the foil open, rolls the condom on with hands that are rough and impatient, never taking his eyes off you. His body is between your thighs in an instant, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You’re so wet for him it’s almost embarrassing, almost.

With one deep thrust, he’s inside you, filling you completely. The stretch, the heat, the shock of finally having him, your breath leaves you in a broken gasp, his name slipping from your lips.

He groans, low and guttural, driving into you again and again. The desk shakes beneath your back. Your moans are loud, shameless, echoing through your father’s office, if anyone walked in, there’d be no doubt what was happening here.

Toto’s hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, keeping you pinned to the desk so you can take every punishing thrust. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, heels pressing into his ass, pulling him even deeper. You want him to ruin you here, on this desk, to leave you shaking and breathless.

He grits out your name, voice harsh with need. “Look at me. You feel that? That’s how much I need you. That’s what you do to me.”

You can barely speak, pleasure threatening to split you apart. The way he fills you, the way his hips snap against yours, the obscene slap of skin on skin—it’s all too much.

“Toto—I’m—I’m so close—”

“Come for me, Schatz,” he growls, fucking you even harder. “Let me feel it. Right here, where anyone could find us.”

And as the pleasure crests, stars explode behind your eyelids. Your whole body tenses, every muscle drawn tight, then shatters as you come around him, crying out his name, lost to everything except the feeling of him, deep, relentless, claiming you as his.

Your orgasm is still crashing through you when you hear it.

The front door.

Keys.

Footsteps.

A familiar voice calling your name.

Your blood freezes.

“Toto—” you whisper, panicked.

But Toto grabs your hips and thrusts into you hard, one last time, groaning as he comes. His body tenses above you, spilling into the condom buried deep inside you.

And that is the exact moment the office door swings open.

Christian Horner stands there.

He goes dead white. Then alarm-red. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first, just air, a strangled choke, a sound like someone witnessing the end of the world.

Then...

“WHAT THE HELL—?! ARE YOU— MY DAUGHTER— TOTO BLOODY WOLFF— IN MY— ON MY— DESK?!”

He looks seconds from a heart attack, hands shaking, face purpling, eyes bulging like a man who’s just walked into his worst nightmare.

You scream and instinctively hide your face in Toto’s chest, burying yourself in his broad, warm torso. Your legs clamp around him, your arms clutch his neck as if you can disappear inside him.

Toto is still inside you.

Still deep.

Still holding you.

And he starts laughing.

A low, rich, uncontrollable laugh vibrating in his chest as he pulls you tighter against him, shielding you completely.

Christian sputters like an exploding kettle.

“STOP— LAUGHING— GET— GET OFF HER— GET OUT OF— MY— OFFICE— YOU— YOU— AUSTRIAN— DEVIL— I— I— CAN’T— EVEN—”

Toto finally lifts his head, still smiling, voice maddeningly calm.

“Christian… breathe.”

“DON’T TELL ME TO— BREATHE!”

He points at the two of you, trembling.

“I SWEAR—you’re both going to KILL ME—”

You cling to Toto harder, shaking with humiliation and adrenaline.

Toto strokes your back and murmurs, amused, into your hair.

“Well, Schatz… I suppose he knows now.”

Christian is still shouting half-words, half-breath, half-pure-cardiac-distress when Toto finally moves — slowly, very slowly — only because you’re clinging to him like a koala and not because Christian demanded it.

“Toto—PULL OUT!—” Christian yells, covering his eyes with both hands.

Toto raises an eyebrow.

“Christian, I will, but she’s currently holding me hostage.”

You squeak, mortified. “I’m NOT—!”

He smirks down at you. “Schatz, your legs are locked behind my back.”

You instantly try to unwind them, fail, and bury your face deeper in his chest.

Christian starts pacing in tiny, frantic circles.

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD. My daughter. My desk. That desk cost twelve thousand pounds! I sign CONTRACTS on that desk!”

Toto: “And now it holds memories.”

Christian: “DON’T SAY THAT.”

Toto tries to stand up, still holding you, and Christian SCREAMS:

“STOP MOVING! YOU’RE GONNA—YOU’RE GONNA—NO. NOPE. CAN’T— I CAN’T DO THIS—”

He turns around like he’s about to run into the garden and never come back.

“CHRISTIAN,” Toto says calmly, “if you faint, I can’t catch you. My hands are full.”

Christian shrieks, “I KNOW THEY’RE FULL! THAT’S THE PROBLEM!”

You peek over Toto’s shoulder, face flaming. “Dad… can we just... talk?”

“NO!” Christian whirls around, pointing an accusing finger at Toto. “YOU! Out of her! Out of my house! Out of England!”

Toto kisses the top of your head deliberately. “She invited me.”

Christian nearly passes out.

“YOU—” he wheezes. “YOU—YOU BETRAYED ME?!”

Toto shrugs. “To be fair, we started dating before she admitted it to you.”

“THAT MAKES IT WORSE!”

You whisper into Toto’s chest, “We’re dead.”

“Probably,” Toto says cheerfully.

Christian finally sinks onto a chair, head in his hands, mumbling in a broken voice:

“My daughter. With Toto Bloody Wolff. I need holy water. I need a priest. I need therapy. I need a drink. Actually... no alcohol. Alcohol will kill me faster.”

Toto leans over, still holding you close, and says in the most annoyingly polite voice:

“Christian, should we reschedule that meeting on Monday?”

Christian SCREEEAAAMS.

“NOOOOOOO! MY DAUGHTER… MY DESK… MY MORTAL ENEMY… !!

Toto sighs softly.

“Alright, Christian. If it helps your blood pressure, I’ll pull out now.”

Christian shrieks, “DON’T NARRATE IT!”

But you whisper urgently into Toto’s shoulder, “Please… let me down…”

He kisses your cheek, gentle despite the chaos. “Of course, Schatz.”

He holds your hips, steadying you, and finally, slowly, pulls out.

Christian emits a sound that isn’t human.

Something between a gasp, a sob, and a velociraptor.

Then his eyes roll back.

And he drops.

Full collapse.

Arms out.

Completely unconscious.

Toto blinks. “Ah. That’s unfortunate.”

You gasp, scrambling off the desk, grabbing Toto’s arm.

“Dad?!”

But he’s out cold on the carpet like someone unplugged him from the wall.

Toto crouches beside him, pokes him with two fingers.

Nothing.

Pokes again.

Still nothing.

“Huh,” Toto says calmly. “I think I killed him.”

“TOTO!”

He lifts his hands defensively. “By accident! Technically you caused the fainting. I merely triggered the timing.”

You glare.

He shrugs. “Fine. Ninety percent my fault.”

You kneel beside Christian, fanning his face.

Toto stands, pulling out his phone.

“What are you doing?!” you ask.

“Calling the team doctor,” he says. “Or an exorcist. Whichever picks up first.”

You slap his arm.

“TOTO!”

He pockets his phone, steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Schatz, relax. He’ll wake up. Probably angry. Very angry. Furious, actually. Maybe murderous.”

“Great,” you groan. “Fantastic.”

Christian suddenly twitches on the floor.

Toto tightens his grip on you. “Oh, good. He’s rebooting.”

Christian’s eyes flutter open. He sees Toto towering above him, and then sees you standing between his feet, flushed, hair messy, shirt barely on.

He whispers, horrified:

“…no… no, no, no… it wasn’t a dream…”

Toto grins down at him.

“Christian,” he says sweetly, “next time, maybe knock?”

Christian passes out again.

Toto nods, satisfied.

SOMETIME EARLY IN 2006

Moving is always hard, especially in the mind of a five year old girl who thinks she has met her best friends for life in kindergarden. Moving entirely across the world is even worse, world shattering even. It's the type that no pouting and begging is going to change so all little Y/N could do is stick her bottom lip out and cross her arms as she mumbled about how it wasn't fair that her family had to move from Miami, Florida to Melbourne, Australia.

"It's not going to be that bad" Y/N's Mother said turning around to look at her. Y/n had been huffing and pouting the entire car ride since they had gotten off the plane. Any questions were answered with 'Hmmph's or plain silence keeping her little arms crossed. "we talked with the neighbors, they have little girls around your age, you can make new friends" He mother offered but Y/n just gave a huff and crossed her arms as tightly as she could. "just give it a try okay honey, you'll like it here... eventually" Her mother sighed turning back around to look at the road.

Moving was stupid, and australia was stupid , all of it was stupid to her. she didn't want to go to a new school or make new friends, she just wanted to go home. Back to Miami where her friends were, back to Miami where her grandma lived down the road, back to Miami where she knew where things were. She knew there was nothing she could do about it. Her parents made the decision to move because of her dad's job and she was just a five year old with strong opinions and a will of iron. "I like it back at home" Y/n whispered with a pout.

The neighbors (The Piastris) were nice, a family much bigger than Y/n. They did in fact have a daughter her age but they also had a son two years older than Y/n, and another daughter younger than Y/n. The families expected Y/n and Hattie to be friends, which they were due to being the same age and going to classes together but they didn't expect for the friendship between y/n and the Piastri's son, Oscar.

From the moment they met it was like something went off in their brains and they were attached at the hip from there on out. Oscar was a few years older, and she didn’t think they'd have much in common, but somehow, they just fit. It wasn’t immediate, but it grew quickly. Whether it was playing soccer in the backyard, or swinging on the swings at the park, it was clear that Oscar wasn’t just an ordinary friend, he was someone Y/N felt like she’d known her whole short life.

Even when Oscar had karting events, Y/N would follow him everywhere. She loved watching him race. His helmet and racing suit made him look like a tiny hero, and every time he zoomed around the track, her cheers could be heard across the field. The sound of his kart roaring, his concentration face hidden behind the visor, and the excitement in his eyes when he saw her cheering, it made everything feel better.

They grew close quickly. So close, in fact, that even the other kids in the neighborhood started noticing. Hattie would giggle and nudge Y/N whenever she saw her talking to Oscar, and sometimes, she'd tease them. "You guys are closer than me and him ever are" Hattie would point out but Y/N didn’t care. She loved being with Oscar. He made everything feel just a little bit more bearable, even in a strange new place.

But one day, when Y/n was 12 and finally used to life in Australia, everything changed. It was one two minute phone call that ruined everything. Y/n didn't even hear half of the conversation but she knew something was up just from the look on he mother's face. She and her mother had been preparing dinner one afternoon when their house phone rang. Her mother picked it up like usual. "Hello, L/n residency" she said with a smile as she waved her hand at Y/n to tell her to keep peeling the potatoes.

"This is she" her mother said, voice a little quieter as Y/n kept humming to herself while peeling the potatoes. "What is this about about?" Her mother's voice was different, nervous, or maybe scared in tone. Y/n looked over her shoulder and she could tell something was up as she watched her mother's face. Her eyes were glossing over, lips pulled into a tight line as she listened to what the person on the other line was saying.

"Mom?" Y/n asked as she walked closer to her mother when the older woman covered her mouth with her hand. Her mother didn’t answer right away. She just stood there, frozen, one hand still holding the phone to her ear, the other covering her mouth as though it might hold the rest of her together. Y/n was standing next to her now, potatoes forgotten, heart pounding in her chest like it somehow already knew what was coming.

“Yes... yes, I understand,” her mother finally whispered into the phone. Her voice was thin, almost broken. “Thank you for letting me know.” There was a pause, a shaky breath, then she hung up the phone without saying goodbye. The soft click echoed too loudly in the now quiet kitchen. Then there was silence as Y/n watched a tear roll down her mother's cheek followed by another and then some more. As she watched the tears fall Y/n panicked, she had never seen her mother in this state, silently falling apart in the middle of their kitchen.

"Mom, who was that?" she asked stepping closer to her mother. Her mother’s lips trembled as if the words themselves refused to be spoken. She gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing completely. Her eyes, red and wet, lifted to meet Y/n’s, and in that moment, Y/n could see a heaviness there that she had never witnessed before. Her mother tried to speak, swallowed hard, then let out a broken sob.

“It was the hospital,” she whispered finally, her voice cracking on the last word. “Your father he… he’s gone.” The words seemed to hang in the air, sharp and unbearable, as if time itself had stopped to let them sink in. Her mother’s shoulders began to shake, silent sobs breaking through the walls she had always kept so strong.

Y/n froze where she stood, the air ripped from her lungs. Her chest ached as though something heavy had lodged itself there, unmovable and cruel. She had no idea what to say, no way to make it better. All she could do was move closer, wrapping her arms around her mother as if holding her tight could keep them both from shattering completely. The kitchen remained silent except for the sound of their shared grief, echoing louder than any words ever could.

The next month and a half felt like it went by in a blur of tears and pure grief share between the two women. Y/n barely left the house, not even going to watch Oscar's karting competitions. She was cooped up in her room or by her mom's side as they planned her father's funeral and the move back to America. Now with her father gone the family had no reason to stay in australia since they had moved there for her father's job in the first place. Well there was one reason but it was a reason only important to Y/n, Oscar.

The night before the flight back to Miami, Y/n and Oscar were sitting in her backyard on the grass. They were queit for a long time just existing next to eachother as she leaned her head onto his shoulder. She was the one to break the silence. "I'm going to miss you" she mumbled wiping away a stray tear as he put his arm over her shoulders.

"It's okay, we'll find eachother again, try to keep in touch." Oscar said looking over at her with a small smile that didn't quiet reach his eyes. "If we don't thats okay too, ill make it big, make it impossible for you to forget me then we'll definately meet again, yeah?" he squeezed her shoulder and she nodded.

Oscar was right this wasn't a goodbye, just a see you later. Even if later was years in the future they would see eachother again, they were bestfriends after all.Tthey had to trust in whatever force was out their to bring them back together.

LATE 2022

Y/n was now a very pretty young adult going to College in Miami for engineering. She had lost touch with her childhood bestfriend Oscar a few months after moving back to miami because he also moved and their home lines weren't the same anymore but she still thought about him sometimes. She told herself that it was just once in a blue moon but really it was a lot more than that.

One day, during a late nigth Y/N and her mom were looking through old family pictures from when they lived in Australia and her father was alive. It was a real trip down memory lane for her and her mom both. A few pictures in specific caught Y/n's eye, ones of her and her childhood best friend to be specific.

"Mom look!" She said with a smile holding up an old photo of her when she was about six dead asleep on an a bed too big for her with Oscar next to her. "What day was this?" She asked

Her mother put her glasses on and looked at the picture before turning it over. "I think this january or feburary of 2007' her mom said handing the picture back to Y/n. "You two had been in the pool all morning and after lunch you went to Oscar's room to play video games I think. Maybe 30 minutes later me and nicole went to check on you two since you were being too quiet and we found you like that" her mother explained with a fond smile while looking at Y/n as she snapped a picture of the photo with her phone.

Y/n smiled and nodded looking through the stack of photos, snapping pictures of a few of her favorites to post later. Her friends and followers were going to love seeing these. Followers... like she had many of them, mostly it was just her friends and family, and a few hundred people that thought she was good looking enough to follow. Its not like she was trying to be an influencer anyways, she wanted to be an engineer just like her dad.

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Story reply-

UrCousin: Bro you were such a beach kids, you were lucky uncle dan was just like you

urinsta: Yeah and now im just like him! Engineer in the making right here!!

UrCousin: Yeah yeah, keep flexing and you'll flunk out

urinsta: do not with that upon me you horrible horrible creature!

UrCousin: uh huh sure, just be a little lame so the rest of us have a chanve to be the favorite

urinsta: Chanve

UrCousin: STFU

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Urinsta_ Like I said here are them gems I found while looking through pictures with mom. All of these were from I lived in Australia and also feature my bestfriend when I was little!!

Liked by Urbff, Urmom and 283 others

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Urbff: So youre telling me you had a best friend before me WOOOOOWW🙄🙄

\___ Urinsta_: Don't be so dramatic girl, i dont even talk to him anymore, we lost touch i fear

User32: I’m calling it now, he’s coming back in chapter 5

User6: awww this is the cutest thing ever 😭 childhood friendships hit different

User4: Awwwe You were Adorable!

\___ Urinsta_: Were 🤨

User8: You in that race suit?? girlboss from DAY ONE

User28: girl you better not act surprised when he shows up in your DMs

UrMom: My sweet girl! You've grown up so much

\___ Uruinsta_: Love you SOOO much mom

User20: Childhood friendships like this always stay with you somehow

User81: Maybe im delusional or too f1 pilled but that kid looks TOO firmiliar

"Mom, by any chance chance Do you remember the last name of that family we used to live next to? Back in australia I mean" Y/N asked her mom the next morning over breakfast Something about looking at all the old pictures of her and oscar had reminded Y/N about that promise they made that last night they saw eachother.

Y/n's mom looked over her shoulder at her daughter as she prepared a small breakfast for the two of them before y/n had to leave to make it back to campus on time for her class. "uhm..... I think they were the Piastris. Yeah nicole and chris piastri I think." She said with a nod as she flipped the pancakes.

"yeah thats what I thought" Y/n nodded as she moved across the kitchen to pour herself milk and her mom her usual morning mug of coffee. She had always been teased by her friends for drinking plain milk in the mornings but it was habit she had picked up from her dad when she was little. A plain cup of milk first thing in the morning 'To keep your bones strong' her dad would always say.

It wasn't until she got back to her dorm at uni that y/n nervously opened up her laptop and typed in the name 'Oscar Piastri' in her search bar. Maybe, just maybe he had actually made it big like he said he would that night in her old back yard. She took a deep breath before she hit the enter key and waited as the page loaded. What were the chance? Almost every single kid Oscar karted with wanted to go into formula one day, there were probably hundreds if not thousands of other people gunning for the same 20 seats so really what were the chance that her Oscar actually made i-

He did it.

Y/n couldn't believe her eyes for a hot minute as she read the tittle of the artcle and looked at the image attached to it. It was him, with a much worse haircut than she rememebered and older (duh) but it was Oscar. The same Oscar who would laugh at her jokes and taugh her how to go snorkling, the same Oscar who she would cheer for at every karting race. He actually did make it, then it hit her. He accomplished his dream of making it to formula one but that also meant he most likely didn't remember her. But that was okay, what were the chances they'd meet again anyways, slim to none, right?

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MID 2023

It had been almost a year since that day in her dorm. What started as a harmless curiosity had turned into something deeper into a type of hyperfixation , how she would describe it to her friends. She first got into the sport purely just to see how oscar was doing now that he was living his dream. But then she found herself getting too invested in the highlights, she found herself wanting to know how the actual races went and what different strategies the drivers used to get where they did during qualifying. There's only so much that she could do while watching race highlights and clips on YouTube and on the Formula 1 Instagram page. So one day she decided to bite the bullet and sign up for f1tv.

Suddenly waking up early on the weekends didn't feel like such a burden, it felt more like a quiet routine, almost a ritual in a way. She would wake up,

Stretch, grab her laptop in her favorite McLaren jacket wrap herself up in it and watch nineteen millionaires and her childhood best friend go around the same track anywhere between forty something to almost eighty times. She would watch every free practice session she could, every qualifying she could, and every single race.

She never thought she would be one of those people that are extremely into sports yet here she was. Reading every article and scrolling through clips and race highlights just to be able to get a glimpse of him. Maybe it was silly, that's what she told herself, but in a way cheering for Oscar made the stress of university a little easier to bear. It was comforting in a way seeing him live out the dream he used to talk about like it was impossible while she herself was living out hers.

She learned the names of the teams and the drivers and even the history of each team. She learned about the tracks and about the rules and regulations of the sport, even getting into the engineering side of it, which made sense since she herself was an engineering major. She became 'that friend' the one who would wake up at absurd hours to watch qualifying and yell at her screen when her favorite team (mclaren) had a slow pit stop. What was supposed to be just about Oscar became more of a hobby it was about the sport now too and about him.

It always circled back to Oscar. It always circled back to the boy who she would spend countless hours talking to. Back to the boy who she would cheer for while sitting cross-legged on the pavement watching him zoom past in his kart. It felt strange rooting so hard for someone who probably didn't even remember her but she didn't mind, not really. Supporting him wether it be in person or from thousands of mile away while watching her screen was enough.

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urinsta_ A glimpse into my life recently, between waking up early to watch f1 and waking up early for class I'm a walking zombie. I cant wait for this semester to be other with!!!

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Friend1: the mclaren hat is basically glued to your head at this point

\___ urinsta_: can't a girl support her bestfriend that doesn't even remember she exists 🤨

User9: i can feel the burnout through the screen

Urbff: coco is literally the cutest dog alive and I love her more than my major

User12: i don’t know how you balance school and f1, you’re a legend

\___ Urbff: by making her tiredness everyone else's problem, especially mine

\___ urinsta_: Sorry not sorry, plus ur getting into it don't even!

User48: this post smells like coffee and sleep deprivation

User22: this is such a real glimpse into college life it hurts

User3: lando better appreciate your commitment to the team

\___ User81: She's actually an Oscar fan, her and him were like friends when they were little. Check her post from like a year ago

User19: can we agree f1 and uni schedules are enemies

\___ usinsta_: Agreed ↕️😔

Friend2: semester can’t end fast enough, i’m with you

Midday hangouts were commonplace in y/n's friend group. Usually they happened once or twice a week but now, with finals coming up for the semester, their midday hangouts turned more into midday study sessions. Half of the time they were studying the other half was split between complaining and gossiping. Today , that's exactly what they were doing sitting on the third floor of the library , a back corner tobe out of most people's way.

"So then I told him that if he wanted to be acting a fool then I was gonna break up with him because I have higher standards than that" one of Y/n's friends, Erika, said taking a sip of her drink. She was a marketing major and the one that usually started the gossiping breaks. "But he promised he would change so I'm giving him another chance"

Ankther one of Y/n's friends and her roommate, Jess spoke up next. "There is always something going on between the two of you" she laughed closing her notebook. "He's not the love of your life, He's just a man, Hit Him With Your Car" she said playfully pushing Erika's chair with her foot under the table.

The comment made Y/n chuckle a bit as Erika tried to say that this guy was different and that he was actually the love of her life. "You say that about every single guy you've ever been with, erika" A third friend, Madeline or Maddie for short, said rolling her eyes at erika despite there being no malice in her words, just friendly banter.

"Okay enough about boys, they are disgusting and give me a headache, how about we talk about something that's actually good. Like.... the fact that this semester is almost over and we're going to be free soon!" The fourth friend to the group, Dorothea, said pushing her chair back away from the table. The five girls had been studying for like felt ages now so this was a very much needed break.

"Yes! I am so ready to have this over with. I'm already thinking of graduation gift idea" Maddie said reaching over the table to close Y/n's laptop forcing her into the conversation. "Earth to y/n! It's break time"

Y/n looked up at her friends now that her laptop was closed. "Wait sorry was were you guys talking about?" She asked adjusting her blue light glasses on her face.

"Graduations gift, or at least ideas for them" jess said grabbing her own drink from the center of the table. "No need to ask you though, we all know what you would want." Jess was like the mom of their friend group she had been the one to introduce them to eachother after all, so in a way she was the founder.

Y/n looked at the four of them with her eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?! What us that supposed to mean? Are you guys calling me predictable or boring I will let you know I am neither of those things" she said pitting her hands up in some sort of defense of herself. "If yiu guys are so smart, what would I want huh?" She challenged the other girls

"To go to an F1 race" the four other girls said in almost perfect unison as they all turned to look at her. Okay, maybe she was predictable or maybe her friends knew too well.

Y/n felt her face heat up instantly as she looked at her friends, who were now all smirking knowingly at her. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, you’re not wrong,” she said with a sheepish grin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But can you blame me? I want the chance to actually watch one in person, the smell of the rubber burning, and getting actually watch a podium ceremony, a dream!" The others couldn’t help but laugh.

Jess shook her head, sipping from her cup again. “girl, you’re obsessed. You even made me watch that one documentary, what was it called again?” “Drive to Survive,” Y/n and Maddie said at the same time, and then immediately burst into laughter. Apart from Y/n, Maddie had also gotten into formula one she claimed it was just for the engineering since it was her major like Y/ns but she knew more about the driver than even Y/n did.

“Honestly, I kind of get it. Those drivers are cute. Especially that one guy you won’t shut up about, what’s his name again?” Erika leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. Of course she would only be interest in what drivers were the cutest.

"You know Exactly who you're talking about.You're just saying to get a rise out of me" y/n said crossing her arms over her chest. She was right after all, her friends loved to tease her about it.

Erika snapped her fingers dramatically. “Oh, Oscar! Oscar Piastri, right? The quiet one with the Australian accent?” She said pointing her finger down to the mclaren cap with the number 81 on it that was hanging from Y/n's bag.

"See? You do know!” Y/n said, feigning offense while the group laughed even harder. Their laughter causing someone a few tables down to shush them.

“Okay, but imagine,” Dorothea started, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “we all pitch in and actually get Y/n tickets for a race. Like a graduation trip. Miami duh” She she chuckled a little taking a sip from her cup. “She’d probably pass out the second Oscar Piastri even looked in her direction.” That made everyone laugh, except Y/n, who threw a balled-up sticky note at her.

“I would not pass out,” Y/n whispered sharply, though she was fighting a smile. “And besides, I’ve literally known him since we were kids.” That only made the group laugh harder, too loudly, apparently, because a librarian from a nearby table turned and gave them the kind of death glare that could silence an entire floor. That was probably their final warning.

Maddie clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she whispered, “You mean your childhood sweetheart?” Y/n shot her a look, mouthing stop it, which only made the others snicker harder behind their notebooks. Dorothea leaned in, voice barely audible.

Y/n tried to glare, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, curling into a quiet grin. “You guys are impossible,” she whispered, shaking her head as the group stifled more laughter.

Just a bit longer until they graduated. Just a few more months until they were free from college.

NOVEMBER 2023

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urinsta_ finals week or my final week? I am currently crashing out but at least I'll be graduating soon if I pass 🤞🤞🤞

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User3: the dog studying harder than me rn

User6: pls don’t drop out we need our smart friend

User11: okay miss multitasker, studying + race watching?? elite combo

hattypiastri: wait, how did I just find your page?? this is actually crazy omg! Girl I miss You!

\___ Uruinsta_: Omg Hattie! Small world! I miss you sm!!!

\___ User81: Arianna what are you doing here?

Also I'm sensing a reunion

Urbff: girl we’re all fighting for our lives this week

\___ Urinsta_: twin I'm so ready to be done with this

User27: I saw that “you will graduate” meme and immediately put it on my story, you're so real for that

User30: okay bestie famous now

User44: small world?? Y/n you got explaining to do

\___ User35: @/User81, you've been summoned

\___ User81: y/n grew up in australia with the piastris, her and oscar were super duper close, I'm guessing she was friends with Hattie too

User16: I'd like to give a shout out to User81, they've been here since day one and I have a feeling it'll pay off TRUST GUYS

INSTAGRAM DMS

Y/n set her phone down on the desk, staring blankly at the last message from Hattie 'too late!!' She could practically see the grin on Hattie's face after sending it. Her brain was short-circuiting. She’s going to tell him. She’s actually going to tell Oscar. The thought made her heart lurch somewhere between panic and disbelief. After all these years, after convincing herself he’d forgotten he, he was about to find out she still existed. She didn't know if she wanted to be happy about it or if she wanted to cry because of it, maybe both.

Y/n let out a groan and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head before forcing herself to refocus. “Nope,” she muttered under her breath, shoving her phone under a pile of notes. “I am not spiraling right now.” She took a deep breath, opened her laptop again, and stared down the blinking cursor on her unfinished lab report. If she could survive thermodynamics and finals week, she could definitely survive the possibility of Oscar Piastri knowing she was still alive… right?

DECEMBER 2023

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urinsta_ your girl did it! I am OFFICIALLY an engineer! Shout out to my mom for dealing with me wanting to drop out and shout out to my dad for giving me the dream of being just like you

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Urmom: so proud of you baby girl, you've come such a long way 🫶 I love you so much

\___ UrInsta_: thank you mom, I love you too!

User7: the “trust me i’m an engineer” calculator got me

User14: you’re actually glowing?? finals could never take you down

HattiePiastri: i told you you’d make it!! so proud of you <3

\___ UrInsta_: thank you girl <33

User18: proud of you girl, can’t wait to see you walk that stage!!

User42: engineering degree + serving looks??

User51: WAIT did oscar just like this or am i seeing things

User81: not hattie AND oscar liking 😭 that’s so cute! I'm WINNING right now

Oscar had liked her post and she was going to be a hundred percent completely totally normal about that. Who was she kidding? She was on her way home after The graduation ceremony had wrapped up and she let out a very loud gasp when she saw the notification that made her mother turn to look at her. She brushed it off, telling her mom that it was something online, which made the older woman laugh and swat at her playfully.

When the two of them go home , the first thing y/n did was take her heels off and follow her mother inside the house. She sat on her shoes down by the door and said hello to the picture of her father.They had hung up right by the entry way and joined her mother in the kitchen. Her feet were aching and she was sweating under her graduation robe which she quickly took off and slung over one of the bar stools by the counter.

"I am so proud of you Honey and your father would be too" Her mother started assuming as y/n sat down. "We are both so proud of the young woman you have become. He would have been so happy to see you walk across that stage today"

When felt tears pick up the corner of her eyes as her mother mentioned her father would have been proud of her. She was always a daddy's girl, always by his side wanting to be just like him and maybe those part of the reason why she had decided to become an engineer. She would have loved nothing more than for her father to be here on this very important day for her , but there is nothing she could do to change what happened in the past.

"You think so?" She asked blinking away her tears as they threatened to spill over onto her cheeks.

Her mother smiled and gave y/n tissue as she nodded. "I know he would.Have you know I did know him most of my life. I also know he would have wanted you to have the most amazing graduation gift." She said passing y/n a glass of water.

"Mom I told you, you didn't have to get me anything" y/n insisted as she took a sip of her water using the tissue to dab away the tears.

"I know you said you didn't need anything but I am your mother and no matter how old you are, you'll always be my little girl and I wanted to make sure my little girl was happy" the older woman said as she adjusted Y/n's hair before sliding a plain envelop infront of her.

"Is my gift in here?" She asked picking up the paper envelop. It was light with something small and soft in it.

Her mother nodded and watched as she slowly opened up the envelope pulling out what was inside. It was a fabric bracelet that was adjustable and a piece of paper. Y/n looked at it confused for a moment as she looked at the bracelet. Then her face lit up and she quickly looked at the paper.

"Are you serious?" She asked a a friend spread onto her face and more tears filled her eyes for the millionth time today.

"One hundred percent." Y/n's Mother's said as y/n looked at the fabric bracelet in the paper reading it over and over again. The bracelet was a simple white stretchy material with a plastic badge on it that said 2024 and the paper was the printed confirmation of the purchase for a 3-day grandstand pass for the Miami grand prix.

Y/n let the tears fall this time as she put the gift down and hugged her mom as tightly as she could thanking her over and over again for the gift.

After a while, Y/n finally pulled away, still sniffling but smiling through it all. Her mother just brushed her tears away gently, laughing softly at how emotional she was. “Go on, sweetheart,” she said, “get out of that outfit and rest a little. You’ve had a big day.”

Y/n nodded, still a bit dazed as she stood up, clutching the bracelet in her hand like it was made of gold. On her way up the stairs, she glanced down at the paper again just to make sure it was real. It was. She was actually going to a Grand Prix.

When she finally reached her room, she set the bracelet down carefully on her desk, right beside the framed photo of her and her dad at one of his old engineering projects. She opened her instagram and went to the notifications where it still showed 'Oscar Piastri liked your post'. She let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh before flopping onto her bed face-first. She needed to let her friends know about this.

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Story replies-

Hattie piastri replied to your story

Hattie♡: Congrats on graduating!!

Urinsta_: thank you So Much!!

Hattie♡: We should totally meet up for the race I'm going to the miami one!

Urinsta_: 100%!! It'll be so nice to catch up with you in person!

Hattie♡: I'll bring Oscar, you guys can catch up too!

Urinsta_: HATTIE DO NOT!

Urbff replied to your story

Urbff: I see you Girl! Go get your man!!

Urinsta_: HE'S NOT MY MAN!

Urbff: uh huh sure whatever!

MAY 2024

The months after graduation passed in a blur of early mornings, coffee runs, and late nights spent tinkering with design programs. Y/n had landed a winter internship at a local engineering firm, nothing glamorous, but it kept her busy and gave her a taste of what real-world engineering looked like. She spent her days shadowing senior engineers, double-checking calculations, and pretending she remembered what half the acronyms meant. It was exhausting, but there was something deeply satisfying about it too. Every once in a while, when she caught herself explaining a project to someone, she realized she actually knew what she was talking about. Her dad would’ve been proud.

Outside of work, she still made time for her friends, study sessions had turned into post-grad brunches and movie nights. They’d tease her whenever F1 came up, especially after the Miami trip was confirmed, saying she was counting down the days like a kid waiting for Christmas. They weren’t entirely wrong. Her phone was full of texts from Hattie now too, the two of them catching up properly after all those years apart. It felt easy again, like slipping back into an old rhythm.

By late April, everything was already set in stone. Since Y/n lived in Miami, planning the weekend had been surprisingly easy. She and Hattie had decided to meet up the morning of the race for breakfast at a little café not too far from the track, Hattie’s choice, apparently known for its pancakes and strong coffee. Between her internship and all the pre-race buzz around the city, Y/n could barely contain her excitement. Every street seemed to have banners and posters up for the Grand Prix, and every time she passed one, her chest fluttered a little. The fact that she was actually going, and that she’d be seeing Hattie again after all these years, made it even better.

When the race weekend finally began, she was completely swept up in it. The air felt electric from the moment she stepped through the gates for Free Practice 1, engines roaring, fans cheering, the smell of rubber and heat in the air. She spent Friday watching practice and sprint qualifying, moving between her seat and the fan zone, chatting with people who’d flown in from all over the world. It amazed her how easily conversations started, one mention of a favorite driver or a bold prediction and suddenly she was laughing with strangers who felt like old friends. The excitement was infectious, and by the time the sun started to set, she was already hooked.

Saturday was somehow even better. Watching the sprint race live made her heart race in a way TV coverage never could; every overtake and lock-up had her on her feet, shouting with the crowd. When lando spun out in lap one of the print she felt frustractikn in a way she didnt know she could over something she had no control in. When qualifying for the main race started, the energy in the stands shifted, more focused, more tense. Every lap felt like it mattered, and she couldn’t look away. By the end, her voice was hoarse and her cheeks hurt from smiling, but she didn’t care. For Y/n, it was everything she’d ever imagined and more, the perfect start to a weekend she’d been dreaming about for years. The fact that Oscar was going to start in 6th was also making her excited for the race tomorrow.

By the time Y/n finally made it home that evening, she was completely wiped out—in the best way possible. Her hair smelled faintly like sunscreen and popcorn, her shoes were dusty, and her phone battery had barely survived the day from all the photos and videos she’d taken. She kicked her sneakers off by the door and dropped her tote bag onto the couch, smiling to herself as she replayed moments from the day in her head, the sound of the cars, the chants from the crowd, the way the whole city seemed to pulse with excitement.

After a quick shower, she barely managed to plug her phone in before collapsing onto her bed. The last thing she remembered before drifting off was checking the schedule for the main race and seeing Hattie’s text pop up: “Don’t be late for breakfast, I’m not saving you a seat 😤❤️.” Y/n laughed softly to herself, set her alarm, and fell asleep with a smile still on her face.

THE NEXT MORNING

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Being a Miami local Y/n usually just drove her car places or took public transportation. But with the Grand Prix being this weekend, it was getting harder and harder to get an Uber for a reasonable price. So the next best thing was just to get her mom to give her a ride to the cafe where her and hattie were meeting up for breakfast. It worked out in both of their favor so y/n wouldn't have to pay for parking and her mom was heading in that direction anyways to go to work.

"Okay, take care of yourself and drink lots of water, call me if anything happens or if you need a ride home, and tell Oscar I said hi if you see him" her mother said as she pulled up to the Cafe and waited for Y/n to grab her bag and get out.

Y/n nodded with a smile as she slung her tote bag over her shoulder. "Okay mom, I'll make sure to call you if anything happens, and I don't think I'll get to see him in person today if I haven't seen him the last two days" she said with a laugh as she kissed her mom's cheek and gor out of the car to meet up with Hattie. Luckily for her Hattie was already inside and had texted her about having a seat for them.

She walked into the cafe and looked around before her eyes found Hattie sitting near the window, waving her over with the same bright grin Y/n remembered from when they were kids. The sight made her smile instantly, and she weaved through the tables until she reached her. “Oh my God, you’re actually here,” Hattie said, standing to give her a hug that felt long overdue.

Y/n laughed, hugging her back just as tightly before sitting down. “I told you I would be. You didn’t think I’d miss pancakes and a reunion, did you?” She said before the split and took their seats.

The two of them fell into conversation easily, like no time had passed at all. They talked about everything, from Y/n’s internship and how exhausted she was after finals to Hattie’s travels and what it was like following her brother around the world for the races. Every so often, Hattie would slip in a funny story about Oscar, and Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head at how little he’d changed. Between bites of pancakes and sips of iced coffee, they planned their route to the track and joked about what kind of chaos the crowd would bring.

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The drive to the circuit didn’t take long, but the closer they got, the louder and more alive everything felt. Streets were lined with banners, people in team shirts filled the sidewalks, and the air buzzed with energy. When Hattie parked in the lot near one of the private entrances, Y/n still couldn’t quite believe this was real. She’d grown up in this city, seen the track built the last few years, but actually being here, as part of the race weekend, was something entirely different. Her heart was already racing as they stepped out of the car, the muffled sound of engines echoing faintly in the distance.

As they walked toward the venue, Y/n checked the ticket confirmation on her phone. “Okay, I think my gate’s over there,” she said, pointing toward the Marina Grandstands entrance. “It says I have to scan in and then-”

Hattie just shook her head, grinning in that way that immediately made Y/n suspicious. "Nah, you’re coming with me."

Y/n blinked, confused. "What? No, I think I’m supposed to go that way, see-" she started, but Hattie was already gently tugging her by the wrist toward another path lined with security guards and event staff. “Trust me,” Hattie said, eyes twinkling. “You’ll like this way better.”

Y/n followed, still trying to process what was happening. The crowd thinned as they moved closer to the restricted section, and when they reached the security checkpoint, Y/n hesitated. "Hattie, I don’t think I can go in there," she whispered, clutching her tote bag a little tighter. "This looks like-" she was cut off again.

"The paddock?" Hattie finished for her, digging through her lanyard pouch. "Yeah. And here’s yours." She handed Y/n a sleek black lanyard with a shiny plastic pass that read Paddock Access – Miami Grand Prix 2024.

For a second, Y/n just stared at it, her brain refusing to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. "Are you... Hattie, are you serious?" she finally managed to say, voice trembling slightly.

Hattie laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “Of course I am. You didn’t really think I was going to let you sit all the way over there when you could come with me, did you?”

Y/n’s hands were shaking as she took the pass, her eyes wide. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her throat tightening with emotion. She could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and she immediately tried to blink them away, but that only made Hattie laugh more.

“Don’t cry yet,” she teased, slinging an arm around Y/n’s shoulders as they stepped forward toward security. “Save that for when you see everything up close and personal.”

Y/n nodded quickly, still speechless, still trying to process that she was about to walk into the Formula 1 paddock. She pressed a hand over her mouth, half laughing, half on the verge of tears. “Oh my god,” she said again, voice shaking as they scanned their passes and walked through the gate.

As they walked through the paddock y/n caught glimpses of different drivers walking about with their teams and she was too star struck to say anything. He just took a couple videos and pictures not just of drivers but of herself too. And one of Hattie when they got to the mclaren motorhome to post onto her story.

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The paddock was louder and busier than Y/n had ever imagined—team members rushing past, cameras flashing, and the low rumble of engines somewhere in the background. She tried to take it all in without looking completely starstruck, but her heart was pounding so hard it was almost dizzying. Hattie was chatting casually with someone from McLaren, and before Y/n could fully register what was happening, she realized he was walking toward them. Oscar. Her Oscar, the oscar she grew up with, the same Oscar she had been supporting.

"Hey, Hattie," he greeted, smiling as he pulled his sister into a quick hug before his gaze shifted, landing right on Y/n. His brow furrowed for a moment, and then his expression softened with recognition. "Wait… Y/n?"

Y/n froze, her mouth suddenly dry. “Uh, hi,” she managed, her voice a little too quiet. "I guess it’s been a while." Why would she say that? She had this entire plan about what seeing again would be like but she just flushed it all down the drain by speaking before thinking.

Oscar laughed lightly, still looking a bit stunned. “A while? Try a decade. You look, wow. Different. Grown up.” The words came out awkward but sincere, and Y/n could feel her cheeks heating instantly. “We should catch up properly,” he added, his tone softer now. “Maybe after the race weekend? It’d be good to actually talk again.”

Before Y/n could answer, Hattie groaned dramatically. “Finally! I was starting to think I’d have to introduce you two like strangers,” she said, elbowing Oscar. “You both look like you’re about to short-circuit.”

That broke the tension immediately, Oscar laughed, Y/n rolled her eyes, and the awkwardness melted just enough for them to exchange a shy but genuine smile. For a second, it felt like being kids again like the dynamic of their childhood trio was back, only now, everything was louder, brighter, and just a little more complicated.

Y/n cleared her throat and looked at oscar "my mom says hi, she's been telling me to tell you since Thursday but I didn’t think I'd actually get to see you" she said her hands instinctively finding one of the ruffles of her dress.

"Oh, tell her I said hi too" Oscar smiled that bunny toothed smile Y/n had adored since they were children. Oscar still loked the same as he did back them, but taller and wider in a way. He had really grown up well.

Y/n nodded, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, pretty well. I’ve been working here since graduation, engineering stuff, nothing nearly as exciting as this.” She gestured vaguely toward the chaos around them. “How about you? Still racing?” she asked, trying to sound casual even though her heart was doing somersaults. Of course he was still raving, she was literally here to watch him. She really needed to think before speaking.

Oscar laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Yeah, still doing a bit of that,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. Thank god he decoded to go along with her stupidity “Though I think my mom still worries every time I get behind the wheel. Some things don’t change.”

“That definitely sounds like her,” Y/n said softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “She used to lecture us both for riding our bikes too fast down the street.”

“Yeah, and you always blamed me,” Oscar replied with a grin. “I think she still believes it was my fault.”

Y/n giggled, shaking her head. “It was your fault.” This felt so natural, like they had never stopped talking. Like their friendship never took a hit due to the distance. It felt nice.

Before he could respond, a McLaren staff member approached and tapped his shoulder. “Oscar, warm ups in five minutes,” they said quickly. He gave them a quick nod before turning back to Y/n, his expression softening again.

“I have to run,” he said, a hint of regret in his tone. “But seriously, we should catch up properly. Maybe grab coffee or something before I leave Miami?”

Y/n opened her mouth to respond, but Hattie beat her to it. “She’d love that,” she said with a smug grin.

Oscar chuckled, meeting Y/n’s eyes one last time. “Good. Then it’s a plan.” He gave her a small wave before heading off toward the garage, leaving Y/n standing there, heart pounding and face flushed, half from the heat, half from something entirely different. Hattie nudged her shoulder with a knowing look.

“Oh my god,” Y/n whispered, watching him disappear into the crowd.

AFTER RACE DAY

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urinsta_ shared a post

urinsta_ literally got to live out an ACTUAL dream! I had so much fun at the gp on Friday and Saturday but @/hattiepiastri surprised me with paddock passes for the actual race and I go to see @/Oscarpiastri agian!!

Liked by Urbff, Urmom, Hattie Piastri, Oscar Piastri and 2,728 others

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Urbff: told you to go get your man

\___ Urinsta_: he's not my man

\___ Urbff: not yet

User81: OMG THEY GOT TO SEE EACHOTHER NOONE TALK TO ME! THEY WAY HES LOOKING AT HER IM THE LAST PIC!!!!

HattiePiastri: had so much fun with you! We should totally hand out again soon!

\___ urinsta_: we definitely should!!

User37: hattie really came through with the ultimate hookup omg

User55: this feels like a romcom plotline waiting to happen

User26: the way he’s looking at you… there’s history there

\___ User61: girl, we been known the history, catch up!

User6: why does this look like a soft launch??

User15: next post better be “back at the gp again” i’m invested now

OscarPiastri: good to see you

\___ Urinsta_: Same to you

\___ Urser87: Help why do they talk like coworkers

User34: Has anyone checked on User81??

\___ User81: IM NOT OKAYY

EARLY AUGUST 2024

The last three, basically four months since the miami race was in early May, have been unreal for Y/n. Her and oscar followed each other on instagram now and they we catching up as much as they could. They texted between free practices and during Oscar's long flights. Slowly rebuilding the friendship they had put on pause for so long.

By June, their conversations had started to fall into an easy rhythm again. Some days it was a few texts here and there, a funny photo from the paddock, a random thought she had during work, but other times they’d end up talking for hours without realizing it. Oscar would message her during downtime at the track, sending blurry selfies and updates about the weekend, while Y/n would respond with pictures of her coffee-fueled workdays and chaotic lab notes. It was simple, but it felt like something they’d both quietly missed.

July was busier, filled with late nights and time zone juggling. Between his back-to-back races and her long shifts, they rarely had a proper chance to rest, but somehow still found time to check in. Their calls often happened at odd hours, her in bed with her laptop open, him sitting in a hotel room somewhere far away, still in his team hoodie. Sometimes they’d talk about everything, and other times, they’d just sit in comfortable silence, content to be there together even through a screen.

It was during one of those late-night calls that Oscar mentioned the upcoming summer break in August. The idea of seeing each other again came up half-jokingly at first, “You should come visit,” y/n said, laughter in her voice, but soon it turned into real planning. They talked about where to meet, what they’d do, even what kind of food they’d grab first. The thought alone made Y/n’s chest tighten with something she didn’t want to name just yet.

Now, August had finally arrived, and all the weeks of planning and anticipation had led to this moment. Y/n stood just outside the arrival gate, heart thudding with a mix of nerves and excitement she hadn’t felt in years. The messages and late-night calls had been constant lately, warm, easy, threaded with quiet affection, but seeing his name flash on the screen saying “just landed” made it all feel real. When Oscar finally appeared through the crowd, hair tousled from the flight and wearing that familiar half-smile, it hit her how much she’d missed him.

He was looking around in a way that made y/n laughed and snap a picture of him to post on her private story.

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Not long after she uploaded the story Oscar finally noticed her. The grin that spread across his face was enough to melt the last bit of awkwardness she’d been holding onto. “Hey, stranger,” he said, voice soft with exhaustion but teasing all the same. She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her into a hug that felt both brand new and achingly familiar. For a moment, neither of them said anything they didn’t need to.

All those months of texts and calls suddenly made sense; they’d been building up to this. It wasn’t just about catching up anymore, it was about reconnecting, about finding the same rhythm they once had in person. Y/n helped him with his bag, still trying to steady her racing heart as they walked out toward the parking lot, talking over each other the way they always used to.

The drive back was filled with laughter and stories that couldn’t fit into messages, small moments they’d missed, little details that pictures couldn’t capture. Y/n's mother was ecstatic to see Oscar again, pulling him into a tight hug as Y/n's dog Coco barked at him and nipped at his feet playfully. Y/n's Mother's ushered them unto the kitchen insisting on making Oscar a proper meal since he probably had a long flight here.

They fell into an easy rhythm together, like this is what they were meant to be. Coco was quick to warm up to Oscar. She quickly jumped into Oscar's arms as soon as he sat down on the couch and ignore y/n's attempts of calling her over.

"Coco, come here girl!" She said kissing the air to get the dog's attention but she just closed her eyes and cuddled closer to Oscar. "You absolute traitor!" Y/n said pointing at the white dog.

Oscar laughed looking down at her before petting her cautiously. "I guess she likes me better, shes just a dog" he said with a shrug.

"She is a traitor, that's what she is!" Y/n laughed taking her phone out to take another picture of Oscar for her private story. She needed to have these memories for when they inevitably don't see eachother for who knows how long again.

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Oscar and Y/n had eight days together before Oscar had to go back to racing. And they definately made the best out of it.

Day 1 – The Arcade

Their first full day together felt like they’d never spent years apart. Oscar insisted on taking Y/n to the arcade downtown, “for old time’s sake,” he’d said. It started as a joke, tossing coins into claw machines and competing over air hockey, but soon turned into loud laughter and mock arguments over who was the real winner. By the end of the night, Y/n was holding a plush he’d won her, and Oscar was grinning like he’d just taken pole position.

Day 3 – The Beach Day

Two days later, they spent the afternoon at the beach, the sky stretched wide and golden above them. They walked along the shoreline, shoes in hand, talking about everything and nothing. Oscar tried, and failed, to teach Y/n how to skip stones, and she got her revenge by splashing him when he wasn’t looking. They stayed until sunset, salt in their hair and sand clinging to their clothes, the air filled with easy laughter and the quiet comfort of being exactly where they wanted to be.

Day 5 – Karting

It was only a matter of time before the friendly competition returned. Y/n had joked that she could probably beat Oscar at karting, and his expression had been pure disbelief. “You sure you want to embarrass yourself like that?” he teased. Forty-five minutes later, they were both out of breath from laughing, Y/n celebrating her single-lap victory like she’d won a world championship, and Oscar claiming “the track was rigged.” It was the kind of light, ridiculous fun they both needed.

Day 8 – The Last Night

Their last evening together came too quickly. They ordered takeout, sprawled on the couch with a movie playing quietly in the background as they talked and built a lego car together. Conversation came in soft waves, shared memories, unspoken feelings, long pauses that said more than words could. When Oscar had to leave the next morning, it wasn’t dramatic or tearful, just a quiet promise to stay in touch and a lingering hug that neither of them wanted to end. For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like goodbye, it felt like the start of something new.

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Urinsta_ Making up for lost time <3

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User18: whoever took that sunset one deserves a raise

Urbff: Can I say it now?

\___ Urinsta_: no<3 stfu

User27: you two look like you had the best time ever

User81: IS THAT OSCAR??? BE SERIOUS RN

User53: not the back of the head giving oscar piastri

Urmom: Can't wait for him to visit again, coco misses him being around

\___ Urinsta_: Coco isn't the only one :(

User44: i need a summer like this immediately

User20: you look genuinely happy here, i love that

User63: okay so we can all agree that this looks like dates right?! So where would an f1 driver take a girl on a date? KARTING

User12: i can’t tell what’s sweeter — the caption or the pics