Tangled in trophies....or tangled in each other?
Evangeline Vittori, tennis prodigy and five-time Grand Slam champion, is adored by those closest to her and misunderstood by the world. After her mother's death, her father's ambition drove her to hei...
Evangeline Vittori leaned her head against the cool glass of the airplane window, watching the patchwork of Italian countryside grow larger as the plane descended. Fields of green and gold stretched endlessly beneath the pale blue sky, interrupted occasionally by clusters of red-roofed buildings. She had flown countless times for tennis tournaments, but this trip felt different—more personal, more charged with uncertainty.
She knew that Lando hadn't personally suggested, just a PR play to get the McLaren drivers more positive attention .But when Lando spontaneously called her two nights after he had messaged her about possibly coming to an F1 race it felt less professional. A casual suggestion over a late-night call that had felt anything but casual. "You should come to the Imola race," he'd said, his voice tinged with that boyish enthusiasm she rarely saw anymore. "I'll show you around. It'll be fun."
Fun. Evangeline wasn't sure she remembered what that felt like, but the invitation had been enough to lure her away from the relentless grind of her training schedule. For once, she wanted to be somewhere she wasn't expected to win or prove anything. Somewhere she could just... be.
The plane touched down smoothly, and within minutes, Evangeline found herself navigating the small but bustling Imola airport. She had imagined this moment several times since booking her flight: Lando standing at arrivals, hands in his pockets. He'd tease her for bringing too much luggage or for looking too serious, and for once, she'd let herself laugh.
Instead, she was met with a man in a sleek black suit holding a sign that read: VITTORI.
Disappointment hit her like a drop shot to the heart. She approached him reluctantly, clutching the strap of her carry-on bag.
"Ms. Vittori?" the man asked in perfect English, his expression polite but impersonal.
"That's me," she replied, forcing a smile. "Did Lando send you?"
"Yes, ma'am. My name is Carlo. I'll be your driver." He took her bag without waiting for permission, gesturing toward the exit. "This way, please."
Evangeline followed him silently, her earlier excitement now dampened. She hadn't expected a red carpet welcome, but she also hadn't expected to feel so... unimportant. Of course, Lando was busy; it was race week, after all. Still, she couldn't help but feel like an afterthought. She didnt know why she felt like this, she knew that the invitation was a professional arrangement, nothing more.
The car ride to her hotel was smooth and uneventful. Carlo drove with the precision of someone accustomed to navigating narrow Italian roads, while Evangeline stared out the window, her thoughts spiraling.
The town of Imola was charming, its cobblestone streets and historic architecture a far cry from the sprawling metropolises she was used to. The Emilia-Romagna region was known for its rich culinary traditions and passion for motorsport, and the energy of the upcoming Grand Prix was palpable even from inside the car. Flags bearing team logos fluttered from balconies, and shop windows displayed miniature race cars alongside pasta and wine.
When they arrived at the hotel, Carlo handed her bag to a bellhop and nodded politely. "Mr. Norris asked me to let you know he'll contact you later today," he said.
"Thanks," she replied, her tone cooler than she intended. She didn't like the way her mood was shifting—didn't like the sting of being let down over something so trivial.
The suite was luxurious, with a private balcony overlooking the rolling hills of the countryside. Evangeline set her suitcase down and let out a long breath. She needed to shake this off. She was here to enjoy herself, not to wallow in misplaced expectations.
It was nearly three hours later when her phone buzzed. She had spent the time unpacking, scrolling through social media, and trying to decide whether she should explore the town or wait for Lando's call. When his name finally appeared on the screen, she answered quickly, trying to keep her voice neutral.
"Hello?"
"Evangeline," Lando's familiar voice greeted her, warm and apologetic. "I'm so sorry I couldn't pick you up. Media stuff ran over, and then I had a team debrief. It's been a madhouse here."
"It's fine," she said, though the words felt forced. "I'm at the hotel now. Carlo was very professional."
He chuckled softly. "Carlo's great. He's been with the team for years. But I'd much rather have been there myself."
"Would you?" she quipped before she could stop herself. The silence on the other end was telling, and she immediately regretted her tone. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."
"No, it's okay," Lando said after a moment. "I get it. I'd be annoyed too if someone invited me somewhere and then sent a driver instead of showing up."
Evangeline sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "It's not that big of a deal. I just... I guess I thought you'd be here, that's all."
"I will be," he promised. "Tomorrow morning, I'll pick you up, and we'll head to the paddock together. Deal?"
"Deal," she said softly. She wanted to believe him, but a small part of her wondered if he'd find another reason to cancel.
The next morning, true to his word, Lando was waiting for her in the hotel lobby. He was dressed casually in a McLaren hoodie and jeans, his face lighting up when he saw her. For a moment, the disappointment of the previous day melted away.
"You clean up well," he teased as she approached, glancing at classy outfit that she had picked knowing how women in formula one often dress.
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(What id think shed wear but with some heels instead) "And you... don't," she shot back, unable to keep the smile from her face.
He laughed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Fair enough. Ready to see what all the fuss is about?"
Evangeline nodded, her earlier doubts slipping into the background. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.
