Lizzie Jones
Kate and I had just arrived at the villa in Capri, and damn, it looked exactly like I remembered—if not a little extraInstagrammable. The place is literally perched right on the edge of the cliffs, like it's flexing on the ocean below. There's this cute little pathway winding down to the water that somehow looks like it belongs in a travel brochure for "How to live your best life." The villa itself? Massive. Like, twelve people can crash here comfortably—which is wild—ten bedrooms, huge stone walls covered in ivy and flowers, trees everywhere like it's trying to compete for "Most Extra Garden Award." And the views? Chef's kiss. Breathtaking doesn't even cover it.
But honestly? As much as I'm trying to soak it in, my head's spinning with memories. And not the cute, aesthetic ones I'd post on my socials. No. The late-night, real-talk, we-were-only-twelve-but-acted-like-we-owned-the-world kind of memories. Lando and me—splashing in the pool until we were practically prunes, dancing in the living room to our terrible playlists, cooking meals that somehow always ended in disaster and takeout orders. We basically grew up here, side-by-side, the villa as our own little kingdom.
It's been six years since I set foot here. SIX. Which means this week is going to be... interesting at best. And I'm lowkey scared.
We hop out of the taxi, grab our bags (trying not to look like we just survived a small apocalypse), and I glance up at the sage green front door. It's the kind of color you think is calm and peaceful until it smacks you with all the feels. I close my eyes for a sec, breathe in like I'm prepping for a speech, then bring my hand up to knock.
But before I get to channel my inner Queen Elizabeth, Kate grabs my hand, her eyes all concerned.
"Hey," she whispers, "if any of this gets too much—like, being back here and all—I'm literally happy to book the next flight back to Monaco. No questions."
Bless her. I want to hug her, but also cry and run away all at once.
I give her a small smile that I hope says, "I got this," even though my brain's screaming HELP.
"Thanks, but I think I've gotta stick this one out," I say, trying to sound way more confident than I feel.
Kate nods like she totally gets it—solid best friend vibes—and I knock. The door swings open to reveal my mum, radiating that "Welcome home" energy but with just a sprinkle of "You're gonna survive this" look in her eyes.
"Hey sweetie! So glad you could make it. And hello, Kate—looking good as always!" Mum says, pulling us into a hug and ushering us inside like she's the unofficial villa CEO.
"We were just gonna drop our bags and then come say hi to everyone," I say, still feeling that weird lump in my throat.
"So, which room are Kate and I in?" I ask, needing a little home-base.
Mum beams and says, "You two can share the south wing bedroom—the one with the flowery wallpaper. Liz, you always stayed in that one, overlooking the pool." She's smiling, but then casually adds, "I made sure Lando and Max are in the opposite room."
Cue me dropping my smile like it's hot. Opposite? I think, blinking rapidly. "Mum, no. And since when was Max invited?"
"They're already here, by the pool, I think. Max was invited from the start—I just forgot to mention him," Mum says, totally casual, like dropping bombshells is just part of her morning routine.
From downstairs, I can already hear the usual chaos—laughter, splashing, the unmistakable sound of people pretending to be chill but probably lowkey judging each other.
Kate and I share a look, then head upstairs to our room, dragging our bags behind us. We'd join the party soon. Because, well, what else are you supposed to do when you're stuck in a villa with your family, the whole Norris crew, and your own personal emotional landmine waiting in the opposite wing?
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"This is fucking gorgeous, Liz. Why didn't you ever tell me about this place?" Kate's voice floats over from the window as she strolls over, practically glowing from the views. I swear, she's channeling some luxury travel influencer vibes right now.
Truth is... I never told anyone about this villa. Not really. Not about coming here with Lando. Honestly? I was lowkey embarrassed. What would people say if they knew I spent holidays with him? The weirdo who caused half the drama in my life? Not even Kate knew.
I join her by the window, and damn — I feel my breath catch like I just sprinted up the stairs. My eyes land on Lando, chilling in the pool with Max, Cisca, Flo, and Oliver. He's pulling himself out of the water, muscles flexing, water dripping off every inch of him like some Greek god trying to decide whether to bless or curse us mere mortals. He runs a hand through his wet curls — wet curls, seriously, how does he do that? His eyes lock on mine for a fraction of a second, and I quickly snap my gaze away, heart trying to beat out of my chest.
Okay Lizzie, I tell myself, no thinking about his abs. Or his tan. Or his... god, STOP IT.
Kate shoots me a side-eye that says I see you without a single word.
"Don't say anything," I whisper.
"Wasn't planning to," she smirks like she's in on the whole secret.
We both decide bikinis are a must. Time to own the poolside drama, right? I pick a simple red one—because nothing screams "danger zone" like red. The top is tiny—by tiny I mean would it cover a postage stamp?—but hey, it's PR-approved. Free bikini, free holiday pics for Instagram, thanks to my PR bestie. Gotta love perks.
Kate glances at me and says, "You look fit as fuck Lizzie. That red-Lando's gonna lose it."
I internally smile like, Yeah, let's keep dreaming, but just shake my head, checking myself out in the mirror like, "Nah, not today."
"Says you, Kate. Trying to impress anyone?" I tease, because come on, bestie roast sessions are a must.
She blushes, playing with her fingers like a teenager at a school dance. I make a mental note to remind her she's hotter than half the people here.
We head out to the pool and grab sunbeds. I scan the scene, eyes searching for Lando like it's some weird emotional scavenger hunt. Six months of bad press, endless party pics, and endless rumors later, he looks... tired. And not just physically. Like the dude's soul went missing in Monaco last year or something.
I catch him slipping inside the kitchen, and something tells me to follow. It's been six months since we last spoke. I basically told him to fuck off. Harsh? Yeah, but honestly, the reasons are ancient history now. We kissed—best kiss ever—then I overthought it and slammed the emotional door shut.
In the paddock, we just sidestep each other like awkward NPCs in a video game. Lando probably thinks I'm still playing the Ferrari-romance game with Charles, which I'm pretending to keep up here. But honestly? I just want to talk to him, see if he's okay. We were starting to heal the past. It's ridiculous that we spent years avoiding each other like we were sworn enemies. At least now, I don't think we hate each other. Probably. I hope.
"Hey, I'm just gonna get a drink. Be back in a minute," I call to Kate. She nods without looking up, already lost in the poolside eye candy that is my brother.
I stand, heart thudding, and walk into the kitchen, immediately hit by the heat from the Italian sun pouring through the windows. And there he is—Lando—standing at the island, clutching an ice pack to his head like he's auditioning for a medical drama.
His eyes widen when he spots me. I swear, I feel my voice catch in my throat.
"Hey," I say, hearing just how shaky and vulnerable I sound.
YOU ARE READING
Misscommunication||LANDO NORRIS
Fanfiction"She'll always be weak little Lizzie" Lando Norris and Lizzie Jones grew up together, going on holidays together, family get togethers and school. But they weren't friends, Lizzie chose to ignore Lando, deciding he was too nerdy. The two only ever c...
