VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 120

[POV: Andreanna Saunterre]

By the time the tyres crunched up the driveway, it was already too late for anything resembling a proper homecoming. I'd barely switched the ignition off when the front door opened and I saw Dad step out, arms folded, expression halfway to disapproval.

"Are you sure you have to go straight away?" he called from where he was, like I hadn't already told him over the phone that yes, I do. "You just got here!"

"Yes, Dad!" I yelled out, leaning over to grab my bag from the passenger seat before he could wind up for a follow-up speech. He stayed rooted to the top step while Oscar rounded the car, already pulling at the boot release so he could start unloading his things.

I was on a tight schedule. I could only be here for five minutes — no more, no less — because that was just about long enough to park, say hello, drop Oscar off and go again. Yamaha wanted me in person for four nights, which meant three and a half days of back-to-back meetings, bad coffee, and a hotel room I wouldn't have chosen even if it had been free. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't optional. And apparently it couldn't wait.

Dad sighed loudly as I jogged up the steps. "It's been— what?— two months since you've been home? And now you're off again?"

"Whoops," I said, giving him a quick hug before I could get stuck in a guilt loop. "I'll call, probably, and I'll be back by the weekend anyway."

Then I turned, already heading for the car. Oscar was halfway up with an armful of bags when I stopped him.

"You really don't have to stay here, you know," I said, lowering my voice so Dad wouldn't hear. "Seriously, I can give you the keys to my apartment." I slipped my hand into my pocket like I was palming contraband, ready to make the hand-off in one smooth motion once he said the word.

Oscar gave me a look. "It's fine," he said, "I like your dad. I'll be fine."

"You say that now," I checked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can handle it."

I wasn't convinced, but he seemed settled on the idea. I could tell he wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of a real argument, which was irritating and faintly admirable at the same time, so I just said: "Fine," and nodded, because I was three minutes into my five-minute goodbye window. "See you in a few days, then."

We looked at each other. Neither of us moved.

"Four nights?" he asked.

"Mhm," I nodded. "Four nights."

He was quiet, then. I could see the thought in his face, but he didn't put it into words. I didn't invite him to.

I got in the car, slammed the door, and sat for a second before starting the engine. I should've been thinking about the long drive ahead, and if I should take the scenic route or the one that shaved fifteen minutes off the journey, or about the hotel I'd booked that was probably going to smell faintly of industrial cleaning fluid and damp carpet. Instead, my brain helpfully cued up the memory of Charles in the café a few days ago, tilting his head at me as he acted like he had me figured out.

"In love," he'd said.

Like it was a fact.

Not like a question, or a maybe, or an off-hand comment, just — boom. Dropped in, real casual, as if that was one of those things that's universally understood. Like gravity. Or taxes. Or how you should never, ever microwave a spoon.

The sky is blue.
Water is wet.
Andi Saunterre is in love.

I didn't react with much when he said it. I smiled — or at least I think it was a smile. I sort of shook my head, like 'ha ha, okay, that was weird but sure, not a big deal, he didn't mean it like that, he doesn't know what he's talking about.' Because he didn't. He couldn't have.