The Deception ~ LN4

11

The champagne was still drying in his hair when Lando finally escaped the media pen. His cheeks ached from smiling, but he couldn't stop – not after his first win of the season, not with the British crowd still roaring his name, and definitely not with Mercedes waiting for him in the McLaren hospitality area.

She was perched on the edge of a table, still in her crew uniform from her morning flight, having rushed straight from Heathrow to make it to Silverstone in time. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and suddenly the victory felt even more real.

"So," she drawled, "I guess all that crosswind practice paid off after all?"

Lando laughed, closing the distance between them. "Different kind of drift control, but I'll take it." He hesitated for a moment, aware of his champagne-soaked race suit, but Mercedes solved that dilemma by pulling him into a tight hug anyway.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered against his ear. The simple sincerity in her voice made his heart skip.

"You made it just in time," he murmured back. "I thought your flight might run late."

She pulled back with a grin. "Please. I had three different controllers offering to expedite my approach when they heard where I was headed. Apparently, there are quite a few F1 fans in air traffic control."

"Did you tell them you were coming to see the winner?" He couldn't help the note of pride in his voice.

"Actually, I told them I was coming to see my boyfriend." Her eyes sparkled. "The winning part was a rather brilliant bonus."

Before Lando could respond, a familiar voice called out, "There he is! Our very own Top Gun!"

Carlos burst into the room, followed by Oscar, both still in their race suits. They'd finished P3 and P2 respectively, making it an even sweeter victory for Lando.

"I thought that was my line," Mercedes protested, but she was smiling as the two drivers engulfed Lando in another round of congratulatory hugs.

"Speaking of Top Gun," Max said coming up from behind them, "you might want to check your phone. Someone's been trying to reach you."

Mercedes pulled out her phone and laughed. "James wants to know if you're ready to fly. He says, and I quote, 'Anyone who can handle those crosswinds in sector two can handle a Cessna.'"

"I don't know," Lando pretended to consider it. "Depends on who's helping me."

"Oh, I'm sure we can find you a very professional, completely unbiased instructor," Mercedes played along.

Carlos made a gagging noise. "Please, no flirting until I've had at least three drinks to cope with how cute you two are."

"Make it four drinks," Oscar added. "They're worse than you and Daniel."

"We are not!" Carlos protested.

"Yesterday you spent twenty minutes explaining tire compounds to him over FaceTime."

"That's different! He asked about..."

As their friends bickered, Mercedes slipped her hand into Lando's. "Want to escape?" she whispered.

He nodded gratefully. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep contentment and a desire for quiet celebration.

They made it to the back of the hospitality area before Carlos noticed. "Hey! Where are you two going? We haven't even started the proper celebration yet!"

"Quick briefing," Mercedes called back smoothly. "Pilot stuff. Very technical. You wouldn't understand."

"That stopped working as an excuse after Barcelona!" Max shouted, but he was grinning.