#eventplannerreader

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴀʀ, ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ, ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ

ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴜɴʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ

ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜰᴜʟ ʀᴇᴠᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟɪꜱᴍ ᴍᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴀɪɴ

The days that followed the cake tasting were a blur of nonstop work for (Y/n).

Every hour was packed: venue confirmations, floral arrangements, catering contracts, guest list revisions.

It wasn’t just Kelly and Max’s wedding, her calendar was full of other luxury events too, but this one... this one weighed heavier.

Because every time her phone pinged with an update about the Verstappen wedding, every time she reviewed a seating plan or an RSVP note... the thought of him crept in.

Lando.

She hadn’t been able to shake the way he’d looked at her during that almost-confrontation, equal parts desperate, confused, and wounded.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

She had vanished. Left him without explanation. Because explaining the truth back then... would’ve meant facing it herself. And she hadn’t been ready.

Now, there was no more running. She could feel the moment building, inevitable.

It came sooner than expected.

A week before the final wedding rehearsal, Kelly asked for a last round of decor adjustments at the venue. A small, informal walk-through, just Kelly, Lando, and (Y/n).

(Y/n) didn’t flinch when the request came. Not outwardly. Inside? Her stomach twisted with nerves.

She didn’t even tell Celeste this time, she needed to face him alone.

Château de Villeneuve looked breathtaking in the late afternoon sun when they arrived. The staff had set everything up exactly as it would appear on the day, ceremony chairs, floral arches, dining tables dressed in linens and crystal.

Kelly moved through the space with easy grace, occasionally consulting her notes. Lando lingered behind her, quiet. Watching.

(Y/n) walked them through the layout, voice smooth. "We’ll add a second drinks station here to ease the flow post-ceremony… and the musicians will be set up along this side of the terrace."

“Perfect,” Kelly smiled. "This is going to be beautiful."

Satisfied, she glanced at her phone. "I need to take a quick call, my mum's asking about transport. Be right back."

And just like that, she was gone.

(Y/n) and Lando stood in the empty courtyard, soft sunlight casting long shadows between them.

Silence stretched, thick, loaded.

Lando was the first to break it. "You're good at this," he said, voice low.

(Y/n) gave a small smile. "It’s my job."

He hesitated, then took a step closer.

"(Y/n)... that day at the tasting, you were going to tell me something. Weren’t you?"

Her breath caught. There was no dodging it now.

He held her gaze, something raw in his eyes. "Please. No more running. Just tell me."

For a long moment, she said nothing. The words stuck in her throat, old fear pressing down.

But then, she exhaled slowly.

And finally, the truth spilled out:

"I was scared."

Lando blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Scared of what?"

(Y/n)’s voice trembled, but she forced herself to go on:

"You. Us. The future you always talked about."

He frowned, taking another step toward her. "What are you talking about? I thought we wanted the same things—"

"That was the problem," she whispered.

His brows furrowed deeper.

"You talked about everything, our house, our cars, our dog... kids," (Y/n) continued, voice cracking. "Every conversation about the future... it was always us. Always together. You never once imagined your life on your own, not for yourself. You built everything around me."

Lando stared at her, stunned.

"And I..." she swallowed hard. "I didn’t know if I could be that person. The one holding it all up. What if one day I... couldn’t give you all those things you imagined? I was terrified of failing you. Of disappointing you."

Silence. The breeze stirred the leaves above them.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, tension radiating off him. "You think that’s why I loved you? Because of what you could ‘give’ me?"

Tears pricked (Y/n)'s eyes. "It wasn’t logical, Lando. It was just... fear. You deserved someone who wasn’t scared of that future."

His jaw clenched. "And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me? You just—left."

A beat passed, sharp, painful.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I thought I was protecting us both."

Lando’s shoulders heaved with a heavy breath.

"You broke my fucking heart," he said, voice raw.

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping free.

Before either could say more, Kelly’s voice called out from across the courtyard: "You guys ready? I sorted the transport!"

Lando stepped back, shoulders rigid. His gaze burned into her one last time.

And then, he turned away.

(Y/n) swiped at her tears quickly before following after them.

The final prep week flew past.

Rehearsals. Seating plans. Last-minute floral swaps.

One thing was different, though, Lando wasn’t present at the next session.

Kelly mentioned casually that he was away doing promo events for the team.

(Y/n) felt relief. And a strange emptiness, too.

She threw herself into the work, anything to keep from thinking about that conversation... or the way Lando’s voice had cracked when he said she’d broken his heart.

The wedding day arrived warm and bright, an early summer masterpiece.

(Y/n) had barely slept the night before. Her nerves weren’t about the wedding, those, she could handle. It was seeing him again.

Would he ignore her? Speak to her? She had no idea what to expect.

She arrived at the chateau hours before the guests, headset clipped on, coordinating the final details. The grounds buzzed with florists, caterers, musicians.

Her clipboard was in her hands constantly, checking lists, adjusting placements, calming Kelly’s nerves.

And then, he was there.

Lando arrived with Max and the groomsmen, sharp in a tailored navy suit.

(Y/n)’s breath caught at the sight of him.

He looked... devastating. But there was something guarded in his posture, something brittle beneath the easy smile he gave to others.

For the first two hours, they barely crossed paths. She kept to her role; he stuck close to Max.

But as the final prep unfolded, small fires started.

The welcome drink station was behind schedule. The custom seating board got smudged. And worse, a floral runner meant for the head table had arrived tangled, the assistant florists unsure how to reassemble it in time.

It was too much. (Y/n)’s head spun as she tried to manage it all. Her headset buzzed with constant questions.

In the middle of it, a low voice startled her:

"Need a hand?"

She turned, and there was Lando.

For a beat, she stared, unsure. But the genuine offer in his eyes made her nod.

"Yes," she exhaled. "Please."

He rolled up his sleeves without hesitation. They knelt together at the head table, untangling the stubborn floral strands. Their hands worked in tandem, moving through the delicate petals and ribbons.

For a long moment, it was just the two of them, moving in sync, old rhythms resurfacing.

When they finally secured the runner in place, (Y/n) slumped slightly, breathless.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He glanced at her, something softer in his gaze now. "Didn’t think I’d see you this stressed."

She huffed a laugh, wiping her brow. "It happens."

They stood, brushing off their hands. For a beat, neither moved, caught in the quiet.

Then Lando spoke, voice low.

"You really think... that version of me, the guy who had a new girl every week... that was about moving on from you?"

Her breath hitched. "Wasn’t it?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. That was me being angry. At you. At myself. At everything."

(Y/n)’s heart ached.

He studied her, voice quieter now. "You’ve changed, I know."

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You used to run from moments like this," he said softly. "Now you run the whole show. You turned into someone... who belongs here."

His eyes flicked to the reception setup, the flowers, the grand terrace.

"Maybe," he added, "you needed me out of your life... to become her."

The words struck deep.

But before she could answer, Celeste buzzed in her ear: "Guests arriving in ten!"

Duty called.

(Y/n) exhaled shakily. "I have to go."

Lando nodded. "I know."

As she moved away, her chest tightened painfully. There was so much still unsaid between them.

But today wasn’t the day.

Today was about the couple. The wedding.

And so, like the professional she’d become, (Y/n) pulled herself together, pasted on her smile, and went to greet the arriving guests.

To be continued...🧡

💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ💍

📝 Note from the Author: To the ever-loyal Alarwynnites, still here, still breathing (barely) through the emotional landmines I keep planting: thank you. Truly. You are the real MVPs of this chaotic storytelling journey.

We’re back again for the second emotional gut-punch of the day, hope your hearts are doing well, because mine sure isn’t. I just wrote a navy-suited Lando Norris untangling wedding florals like it’s a metaphor for everything they never said. Tragedy? Comedy? Romance? Yes.

Just a gentle reminder (again): this story was inspired by everlovingdeer’s brilliant one-shot “Love and All Things Fake.” If you haven’t read it, run to Wattpad and soak in the angst and beauty. That story stuck with me in the quietest, deepest way. This is my tribute to it.

And if you believe this work is skating a little too close to plagiarism, don’t worry, no defense lawyer arc here. I’ll just delete it and disappear like (Y/n) after the breakup. Swift. Clean. Elegant.

In conclusion: Luxury weddings are stressful. Lando Norris is a menace. And I... need to lie down.

With love, me 🧡

Taglist:

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴜᴘꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴᴄɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟᴏᴡ-ʙᴜʀɴ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴋɪɴᴅʟᴇᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪꜰᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

ɴᴏɴ-ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏꜱᴀʟ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ

ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ꜱᴘᴏʀᴛꜱ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ (ꜰ1 ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ)

It started as a casual thing, really.

An unspoken agreement.

Every few weeks, when Lando was home between races, he’d swing by Maison de Lys around lunchtime. No big declarations, no grand plans, just... him bringing takeaway or coffee, slipping into her office with an easy grin.

And slowly, what had once felt impossible, being friends again, being close, became natural.

The first time he’d shown up unannounced, (Y/n) had blinked in surprise.

She’d been hunched over her desk, hair in a loose knot, fingers flying across her laptop.

Then: three sharp knocks on the glass pane.

She looked up, and there he was, grinning through the door with two coffee cups in hand and a takeaway bag under his arm.

She opened the door, arching a brow. “Is this bribery?”

He laughed. “Depends. Will it get me ten minutes of your time?”

And somehow... it had.

From there, the habit stuck.

Some days it was coffee and pastries. Other times sandwiches from their favorite deli. Once, he’d even brought her a full sushi spread and a tiny potted plant for her desk.

(Y/n) found herself looking forward to those days more than she’d admit.

Not because of the food, though that helped. But because in those quiet hours, with no fans, no media, no clients buzzing in her ear, Lando was just... Lando.

Not the man everyone expected him to be. Not her ex, not the playboy the tabloids loved to paint.

Just... hers.

And she was learning to let herself be herself around him again.

It didn’t take long for Celeste to notice.

One particularly sunny afternoon, Lando was sitting cross-legged on the floor of (Y/n)’s office, unpacking Greek wraps and olives from a paper bag. (Y/n) perched on the edge of her desk, barefoot and laughing at one of his stories.

That’s when Celeste stuck her head through the door, arms full of swatch books.

“Well, well,” she teased, eyebrows lifting. “Look who’s made himself at home.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes fondly. “He brought food. I’m easily bribed.”

Celeste grinned. “You know, I knew there was chemistry between you two during those wedding sessions. No one takes that much floral stress flirting unless there’s history.”

(Y/n)’s cheeks flushed. Lando smirked playfully.

“I plead the fifth,” he said.

Celeste laughed. “No need. It’s written all over your faces.”

She breezed off down the hall, leaving (Y/n) half-embarrassed, half-smiling.

Lando looked up at her, eyes sparkling. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

(Y/n)’s heart fluttered.

“No,” she murmured softly. “She’s not.”

And somehow, just like that... they were steady.

No grand declarations. No rush. Just a quiet, growing certainty.

TWO YEARS LATER

The change was so gradual, (Y/n) barely noticed it happening.

One day, Lando’s toothbrush was in her bathroom. Then an extra hoodie on her coat rack. Then—half his wardrobe in her closet.

He still traveled constantly. She still juggled her weddings. But between the flights and the races, he always came home to her.

And when he was away, texts, calls, late-night video chats kept them connected.

It wasn’t always easy. Their schedules clashed, tempers flared, exhaustion sometimes won.

But every time—every single time—they chose to stay. To fight for it.

It was the healthiest, most real relationship (Y/n) had ever known.

And if anyone had told her two years ago, when she’d walked out of his life, that this would be their future?

She wouldn’t have believed them.

The proposal wasn’t elaborate.

No fireworks. No staged moments.

Just... them.

It was late summer. Lando had just flown home after a brutal triple-header on the F1 calendar—jet-lagged, sunburned, running on fumes.

He’d texted her from the airport:

Lando: Missed you. See you in an hour?

When he arrived at her flat, she was curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, hair messy, face bare of makeup.

He dropped his bag, toed off his shoes, and flopped beside her with a groan.

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “Rough week?”

“The worst.” He nuzzled her shoulder. “This, being here, is the only part I was looking forward to.”

They lay there for a while, tangled together in easy silence.

Then, without preamble, he reached into his backpack.

Pulled out a small velvet box.

And set it on her knee.

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

“Lando...”

He sat up, gaze steady, voice rough with exhaustion, but full of certainty.

“I love you,” he said simply. “More than anything. And I’m done waiting.”

She blinked, heart pounding.

He opened the box, revealing a simple, stunning ring. Classic. Elegant. So them.

“Marry me,” he said softly. “Please.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

She cupped his cheek, voice trembling. “Of course I will.”

He kissed her, slow, deep, full of emotion.

But when they finally pulled apart, she hesitated.

“There’s just... one thing,” she said, trying to steady her breath.

His brows lifted. “Name it.”

(Y/n) gave a watery laugh. “We’re not planning the wedding this year. Or next. It has to be at least three years from now.”

He blinked. “Three years?”

“I need time,” she explained. “My calendar’s insane, and... I want us to enjoy being engaged. Not rush it.”

Lando groaned dramatically, flopping back on the cushions.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered.

She giggled, tugging his arm playfully. “You’ll survive.”

But then, he sat up, a gleam in his eye.

“Okay. How about this?” he said. “If I win the Driver’s Championship next season... we move the wedding up. One year after I win.”

(Y/n) laughed. “That’s a big ‘if’.”

He shrugged. “You’re worth it.”

She pretended to consider, then smiled slyly. “Fine. If you win, we do it sooner.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Deal.”

They sealed it with another kiss, both knowing the odds weren’t in his favor.

But neither cared.

In that moment, nothing else mattered but them.

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX

The season that followed was... electric.

Lando drove like a man possessed, more focused than she’d ever seen him. Race after race, podium after podium.

And with each victory, whispers grew louder.

Was this finally his year?

(Y/n) watched from the sidelines, heart in her throat every weekend, proud, anxious, hopeful.

She’d thought the bet was playful. That it would buy them time.

But as the championship drew closer, suddenly, it didn’t seem so impossible.

And when the final race came, Abu Dhabi, under the floodlights, Lando crossed the finish line first.

World Champion.

Against all odds, he’d done it.

The second his car rolled into parc fermé, helmet off, tears in his eyes, his first words to the team weren’t about the title.

They were about her.

“I need to call (Y/n),” he said hoarsely.

And when her phone rang, shaking hands barely managing to answer, his voice was pure joy.

“You’d better start planning, love,” he laughed. “We’re getting married next year.”

Tears streamed down her face.

“Deal’s a deal,” she whispered, heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he said. “Always.”

To be continued...🧡

💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛꜱ ɴᴏᴡ💍

📝 Note from the Author: Second post of the day, my Alarwynnitessss~ 💛 Yes yes, your girl is on a roll and guess what? This is the second to the last oneeee heeheehee. We’re almost at the finish line, and I’m hanging on by the edge of my seat with Lando’s championship arc like it’s my own personal F1 season finale.

Now let’s talk about this chapter: Started with coffee runs and soft office flirting... ended with a whole engagement ring on the couch. Like, HELLO? I did not sign up for this much softness from a man who used to wear bucket hats unironically. And (Y/n)? Giving us boundaries, career goals, and a three-year engagement clause? She’s winning and she knows it. Honestly, Celeste deserves a raise just for witnessing all this unfold while carrying swatch books like a rom-com side character with taste.

As always, this was inspired by everlovingdeer and her one-shot from Love and All Things Fake (check it out on Wattpad if you haven’t yet—it’s so good I nearly cried over fake dating tropes).

Also, if any of you feel this is too similar or even bordering on plagiarism, please don’t hesitate to comment. I’ll delete it instantly. No drama, no backflips, no fight scenes. I am not built for fandom wars, Alarwynnites HAHAHAHA 💀

Thank you again for reading, loving, and staying with this story. Your support means the world. See you in the next (and final!) post soon!

With love, me 🧡

Taglist: