The evening begins uneventfully.

Almost suspiciously uneventfully.

You notice it the moment the two of you are walking through Prague’s Old Town.

Your Country.

Lando is unusually quiet. Not silent, that would be impossible for him, but more reserved than usual.

His hand rests in yours as you walk across the cobblestone streets, passing warmly lit restaurant windows and cozy cafés.

“You’re weird.”

He glances at you with a grin. “Thanks, babe.”

You let out a quiet snort. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

His hand slips from yours before he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Then I take it back.”

Four years.

Four years with him, and somehow he can still pretend he has absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.

“Do you remember, how you explained to me on our first date why philosophy is more important than motorsport?” He says suddenly.

You glare at him. “I never said that.”

“You did.”

"No!"

"Okay..maybe I just wasn't listening." He concedes.

The restaurant is a little outside the city center. Quiet. Elegant without being pretentious. Exactly the kind of place both of you like.

As you take your seats, you notice that Lando keeps playing with his glass. He only does that when he’s nervous.

And Lando Norris is rarely nervous.

You don’t say anything. Not because you haven’t noticed his nerves, but because you can barely sit still yourself.

Inside your bag is a small envelope containing an ultrasound picture..nine weeks pregnant.

A secret you haven’t told Lando yet.

Not because you’re afraid of his reaction. No. You had planned to tell him tonight, after dinner.

Between the appetizers and the main course, the two of you talk about all kinds of things.

About his last race. About your family. About the fact that, after four years, your mother still consistently calls Lando by the wrong name.

“Last week I was suddenly Landon.”

“At least that’s close.”

He looks at you with a grimace. “No, it isn’t.”

“For my mother it is.”

Lando laughs. The sound warms something inside your chest, as it always does. It’s one of the very first things you fell in love with.

Not his fame. Not Formula One. Not the life that came with it.

But his laugh.

When the plates are cleared away, it becomes quiet again.

You notice his shoulders tense. Then he slowly exhales. “I…have a question.”

Your heart skips a beat. “That’s a dangerous way to start a sentence.”

That nervous twitch returns to the corner of his mouth. For the first time that evening, he doesn’t look directly at you.

Instead, he looks down at his hands.

For four years, you’ve learned to read every little change in his expression.

A short, nervous laugh escapes him. Then he slowly pulls a small box from his pocket.

Everything stops. The conversations around you blur. The clinking of dishes. The music. The people.

Everything fades into the background.

There’s only him.

For a moment, he simply looks at you. As if he’s trying to memorize you.

“Four years actually isn’t that long.” He says softly. “Four years ago, I never thought there would come a time when I’d arrive somewhere in the world and wonder if you miss me as much as I miss you.”

You swallow hard.

“Or that every piece of good news would be something I’d want to tell you first.”

The box is still resting between his fingers. Closed. He stands up, and for a brief moment it looks like his knees might give out beneath him.

Then he gently pulls you to your feet and lowers himself onto one knee. Every pair of eyes in the room turns toward you.

“For four years, you’ve been my home. It didn't matter whether I was in Monaco, England, or on the other side of the world. You were always the place I wanted to come back to. You’re my air to breathe.”

“No matter how far away I am, you are the one person I miss. The one person I want to call. The one person who makes every place feel a little less lonely.” He pauses. “{{user}}. My soulmate…will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”