𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐋𝐈

A/N: ‼️PLEASE COMMENT YOUR THOUGHTS ‼️

••••••

Saturday — Zandvoort, After FP3

Milaine had stayed with Adam and Cisca through all of FP3.

She hadn't meant to — it just happened.

One moment she was politely agreeing to tea, the next she was laughing at one of Adam's stories about Lando's karting days, nodding along while Cisca told her embarrassing stories of Lando and his siblings.. It was easy. Unforced. Somewhere in the middle, someone handed her a pair of McLaren headphones, and she wore them like she belonged.

It was strange — how at home she felt.

When the session ended, Lando shot her a grin as he walked past them, tugging his helmet off with one hand. She didn't wave, just smirked, and Cisca nudged her gently like she'd seen everything.

•••••••

Lunch with Kelly was at the same café on the edge of the paddock, tucked behind a hospitality tent.

They'd done this on Friday too — Milaine with her sunglasses, Kelly talking about everything and nothing at the same time..

They talked casually for the first half — tennis, Max's qualifying hopes, ridiculous spa recommendations from influencers — but Kelly grew quiet after a while. She was fiddling with her straw when she said:

«You're Coming to dinner again tonight, Right? Just you, me, and Max.»

Milaine blinked. «Yeah. Of course. What's the occasion Kelly? just tell me»

Kelly shrugged, but her voice was careful. «No occasion. Just us. I want to tell you something. tonight I promise»

Milaine raised an eyebrow. Kelly never said things like that unless she meant it.

«Okay fine» she said softly. «I'll be there.»

••••••

Later, the world hushed the second she stepped back into the McLaren garage.

No cameras now. No crowd. Just quiet movement. Familiar faces.

She waved off a media coordinator without even stopping, took a water bottle with a nod of thanks, and moved past the garage curtain like it was muscle memory. Her heels made barely a sound.

She knocked once — light, careful — and didn't wait.

Lando was sitting on the small couch, half out of his race suit, legs loose, posture casual. A plate of food rested on his lap, and his hair — still damp — curled at the edges of his temple.

He looked relaxed, but the second his eyes found hers, he straightened — almost imperceptibly.

«You're back.»

«I was bored,» she said, slipping inside.

«You had lunch plans.»

«Finished early.»

His expression softened with something wry and knowing. He tilted his head slightly and nodded at the space beside him.

«Come here then.»

She didn't hesitate. She folded into the seat, curling one leg beneath her, close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder brushing hers. He took another bite without ceremony. She toyed with the edge of his napkin, eyes flicking down once before speaking.