“One last question, Lando.”
He gives a short nod.
The interviewer smiles at the camera. Behind her, the usual post race chaos fills the paddock. Mechanics hurry between the garages, engineers disappear with tablets tucked under their arms, photographers search for the next shot.
At that moment, you come around the corner.
Charles is walking beside you. He’s telling you something, gesturing dramatically with his hands until you finally laugh. Loud enough that several photographers immediately turn their cameras toward the two of you.
Charles grins, satisfied, places a hand between your shoulder blades for the briefest moment and guides you through the crowd.
Lando looks up and your eyes meet. You notice the change in his expression instantly. That barely noticeable tightening in his jaw.
For a moment, he looks at you. Then he forces himself to turn back to the interviewer.
“There are a lot of rumors going around online at the moment.” She begins. “Especially about Ferrari.”
Lando doesn’t answer.
“More specifically about your rival and Charles Leclerc.” She glances down at her tablet. “We’ve already asked a few drivers what they think about it. So we’d like to ask you the same question.”
He folds his arms. “What question?”
“Do you think there’s actually something going on between the two of them?”
Lando lets out a short dry laugh. “No.”
“Not at all? They seem to get along really well.”
His gaze drifts unwillingly to where the two of you disappeared moments ago. “They spend almost every race weekend together.” She continues. “A lot of fans even believe that.”
“Fans believe a lot of things.” He cuts in, rolling his eyes.
“So there’s nothing there?”
“No.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He answers without thinking. “Because she’s my girlfriend.” The words hang in the air. She stares at him. The cameraman doesn’t lower the camera even a fraction.
“I have to go. I’ve got other meetings.” He mutters, presses the microphone into her hand and disappears between the garages.
Three hours later, you’re pounding on his hotel room door so hard that somewhere down the hallway, another door opens. Before anyone can say anything, his door swings open. “What’s wro-”
You shove both hands against his chest, making him stumble back a step. “Are you completely out of your mind?!”
He barely catches himself. “Oh. So that’s why you’re here.”
“So that’s why?” You slam the door shut behind you. “Vasseur yelled at me, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing, the press is losing their mind, Ferrari has been preparing statements for hours and that's all you say?”
“Maybe you could at least ask why I did it?”
“I don’t give a damn why you did it, Lando!”
“Of course you don’t.”
You stare at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve been walking around with Charles all day, laughing with him, standing in front of every damn camera with him while I have to stand there and watch half the internet call you the perfect couple.”
“Oh, stop it! Charles is my teammate!”
“And I’m your boyfriend!”
“Yeah, secretly! Because that was your idea!”
“Because it was the smartest thing to do!”
“Oh really?” You let out a disbelieving laugh. “And how smart was your little outburst on live television?” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I didn’t had an outburst.”
“You told our entire world that we’re together!”
“Because I couldn’t listen to that crap anymore, that you and him are supposedly together!”
“Then ignore it!”
“Easy for you to say when you’re not the one who has to hear every single damn time how perfect the two of you are!”
“You don’t actually believe that nonsense yourself, do you?”
“That’s not the point!” He takes a step toward you. “The point is that I have to stand there and keep my mouth shut.”
“You were the one who insisted that we shouldn’t tell anyone. You kept explaining to me over and over why it wouldn't work. Ferrari. McLaren, Rivalry. Media. Sponsors.”
He breathes heavily. “Because I thought I could live with it! Apparently I can’t!”