𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri

PART EIGHTEEN

I'm still procrastinating my studies UGH I DON'T WANT TO WRITE AN ITALIAN ESSAY GTH

Word count; 2,122

Tomás

— May 16th, 2023. Sant'Agata Bolognese, Italy.

Annamaria greeted us on the veranda, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd spent hours watching from the kitchen window, waiting for us to arrive. It was already the mid afternoon, and the cameriera could never rest unless she knew we were safe, especially given the circumstances. That said, she was quick to embrace Lando, Liam and I, both of the other drivers frequent visitors of my villa in the Italian countryside. Particularly Lando, who must've spent three weeks (if not more) there over the winter break, avoiding all other responsibilities.

I introduced her to Oscar and Charles, who I had mentioned over the phone would require their own rooms - a last minute decision, as we all agreed it was easier for everyone to stay at mine rather than journey to their own hotels. Except, she didn't need much in the way of forewords, already familiar with the Ferrari driver - as was the case for most Italian fans - and enchanted by the mere fact he would be staying under the same roof. Nevertheless, I guided us inside, craving the walls of somewhere familiar.

Liam and Lando found their way to their own rooms - reservations that never changed, as was a sort of tradition in the villa - whilst I led Oscar and Charles further down the upstairs corridor, indicating what was where. The night before still hung over us, though we were all too exhausted to bring it up - not to mention how surprised everyone was by the fact I had even offered Charles a room. To be fair, I wasn't too sure why I'd made the proposal either.

Dumping our bags, we each collected downstairs again, collapsing onto the sofa in front of the TV, Lando immediately reaching for the remote controller.

"Mi scusi signor Facundo," Annamaria beckoned from the kitchen behind us. "Do our guests have any allergies?"

"Uh..." I found Oscar's gaze first. "Are you allergic to anything?"

"Not that I know of."

I looked at Charles, who answered her in Italian, "Fine, thank you, Annamaria."

I rolled my eyes, knowing how much more charmed she'd be by his courtesy.

"No fish!" Lando interjected, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"What?" The cameriera raised a brow.

"Lando doesn't like fish." I translated.

"Of course, I remember. He really must try, fish is good for your bones, he needs that."

Charles burst out into laughter, Lando instantaneously questioning what she had said. Except, Liam stole the McLaren driver's attention, snatching the remote from his hand, and another argument pursued.

In those first few days at the villa, we did all we could to aid what had happened in Bologna; releasing statements, donating money, setting up public funds to support the cause. Then it became a matter of passing the time until Monaco - which at first we struggled with. Mainly because we'd never expected to be cooped up under the same roof when this all started at the airport, and it took a while for our schedules to adjust to one another's. But soon we found a rhythm, predominantly conjoined by meal times, and the days became easier.