SO AMERICAN | max verstappen

twentyone.

Media Day for the Monaco Grand Prix was tomorrow and I don't think I've ever felt more relaxed before a race weekend before.

Laying in my bed at my parent's home here in Monaco – practically my home now – I just relished in the fact that all I had to do was get dressed and wait for Max to pick me up tomorrow before heading to get out on a boat to arrive in style. No planes needed. Not having to sleep in a hotel this weekend was prime too.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I switched the lamp off, settling in the bed to fall asleep. Sure, we were staying in Monaco this weekend, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to be any less tiring, I needed as much sleep as I could get. I can only hope this weekend is better than last.

My eyes hadn't even been closed for five minutes by the time my phone started to ring with a phone call. It was nearly midnight, who was calling me?

I rolled over, picking my phone up from the nightstand, only confusing myself more when I saw Max's caller id on the screen. He never calls me.

"Hello?" I sleepily asked.

His panicked voice rang through the phone, "Riley, I don't know what to do. She's been throwing up for hours and now she's barely breathing."

I swear I felt my stomach drop. He was talking about Lili.

I sat up quickly, trying not to panic as well. "Take her to the hospital, I'll meet you there, ok?" Tears stung at my eyes as I spoke, trying to sound calm to keep Max calm, regardless of what I felt inside.

"Shit, okay, I don't know why I didn't think of that. See you."

The call went dead and I let my tears fall.

I opened the uber app as I rolled out of bed, going to my dresser to find a pair of shorts and a bra so I'd look somewhat decent as I ventured to the hospital late at night. The pain in my heart only doubled when I noticed that my only uber option wouldn't be here for nearly an hour.

I cursed under my breath, walking out into the living room and dialing one of the only other numbers I could think of, hoping for an answer.

"Riley, are you okay?" Of course, that would be Charles' first question. I mean, it made sense, I usually don't call him this late.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, I need a favor." My words came out fast.

"You didn't wake me, Charlotte and I just got in from a friend's. What's the favor?"

I let out a shaky sigh, "Can you drive me to the hospital? Max had to take Lili and I told him I'd meet him there, but the ubers are tak–"

"I'll be there in 5."

"You're an angel."

I grabbed my bag as I ended the call, sliding shoes on and going to wait outside on the curb. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, Charles arrived in his newest Ferrari, not asking many questions as he drove me to where Max had taken his daughter – a little girl I cared way too much about.

The drive didn't take long, but I hadn't stopped bouncing my leg the whole time. Charles hugged me tight before wishing me luck, asking me to text him updates about Lili. I tried not to cry as I walked into the hospital, rehearsing the French phrase Charles had taught me in the car so I could ask for the room number I needed, not wanting to rely on a text back from Max.

"Comment puis-je t'aider?" (How can I help you?) The woman at the reception desk asked as I approached her.

I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn't botch the short phrase I learned just a few minutes ago. "J'ai besoin du numéro de chambre de Liliana Verstappen, s'il vous plaît." (I need Liliana Verstappen's room number, please.) Okay, okay, that sounded good. My pronunciation could use some work, but I think she understood what I was trying to convey.