The afternoon is warm, the streets of Monaco are busy, but not unpleasantly crowded. People stroll past shop windows, talking, carrying shopping bags.

You walk a little slower than usual, one hand resting on your belly while the other holds the small hand of your three year old daughter.

She walks between you and Lando, proud and focused, as if this short walk is a great responsibility. Her fingers are tightly wrapped around both your hands, her short legs moving in a slightly bouncy rhythm.

Lando glances over at you. His gaze lingers on your belly for a moment before he smiles faintly. “Everything okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Then your daughter suddenly stops. So abruptly that both of you stop automatically as well. “I want ice cream.” She points forward with her finger.

A few meters ahead there’s a small ice cream shop, several people standing outside with cones and cups. The glass display reflects the sunlight, and the colors of the different flavors glow almost exaggeratedly bright.

She looks up at you both expectantly. “Please.”

“Okay, you can have your ice cream. But that’s it for sweets today. You already have Haribos." Lando says immediately, lifting the little bag slightly.

You turn your head toward him. “You didn’t hesitate for a second. Are you doing this for her, or because you want one too?”

He shrugs with a grin. “Possibly both.”

A few minutes later you’re standing outside on the sidewalk again, each with an ice cream cone.

Chocolate for your daughter. Strawberry for Lando. Vanilla for you.

She holds her cone with both hands as if she’s afraid someone might take it away from her, and carefully licks the tip of the ice cream, her forehead slightly furrowed with concentration.

But the problem shows itself quickly. The sun is warm, and the ice cream starts melting faster than she can eat it.

A dark streak of chocolate slowly runs down the side of the cone and drips onto her shirt.

“Oh, no." Lando murmurs. He sets the bag down, crouches next to her, and gently takes the cone from her hand as you reach a red light.

“Wait a second..I’ll help you.” He says calmly.

She tries to lick it at the same time, but grows more and more frantic. “No! Daddy!” She complains, whining.

“Hey, stop! Calm down. I just want to help you.” His voice stays calm, but there’s a warning tone in it.

She scrunches her face impatiently. Then she lets go of Lando’s arm and grabs the traffic light pole beside her.

Before you fully realize what she’s about to do, she starts spinning around it, her little feet sliding across the ground as she laughs and circles the pole.

“Don’t spin like that. You’ll hurt yourself." You warn, stepping toward her.

She doesn’t react, just keeps laughing.

Lando stands up again, tries to grab the bag with his little finger, and looks at her warningly. “Hey, listen to your Mummy. Or I’ll eat your ice cream.”

No reaction. She keeps spinning.

You recognize that expression on her face. The mix of stubbornness and pure delight because she knows exactly that she’s doing something she’s not supposed to.

Lando glances at you, then back at her, then at her ice cream in his right hand, which has started to tilt noticeably.

Before you can react, he takes two quick, deliberate licks of her ice cream.

The effect is immediate.

She stops abruptly. Her face changes within seconds and she cries out in a whiny voice. “Daddy! My ice cream!”

Her voice breaks before she starts to cry and immediately reaches out for her cone.

You look at Lando, gaze calm, but clear enough. He raises his eyebrows slightly as if he has no idea why you’re looking at him like that. Then he grins and hands her the ice cream back.

She snatches it right away, her lower lip still trembling, chocolate all over her mouth. But as soon as she has it again, she licks it twice and the drama is over.

You can’t help but grin, still looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” He asks with a shrug. “She didn’t listen to us."