“louis, stop moving.” you softly scold your son who keep moving around and playing with his toys while you’re trying to definite his curly hair.

lando come out of the bathroom in nothing but his boxers, “babe, which one?” he asks you as he holds up to show you two shirts, a black one and a white one.

the three of you were already late for the dinner organised by zak, lando’s boss, alongside his mclaren team.

you were sat in a long black dress, tight at the top and flowy at the bottom. your hair curled beautifully and in a half up, half down with a bow as louis sat on your lap squirming.