4:00 PM.
The airport is bright, loud, crowded. You drag your suitcase behind you, one hand unconsciously resting on your stomach.
Twelve weeks.
A small, quiet secret that is no longer really a secret. At least not for Lando.
He’s standing a little away from the exit, as casual as always, one hand loosely in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of flowers.
When your eyes meet, his expression changes. That grin softens. Becomes more genuine.
He walks toward you, takes the suitcase from your hand without a word, pulls you gently into his arms but firmly enough that you can feel his heartbeat.
His hand automatically slides to your stomach. “Hey, baby.” He murmurs into your hair.
“Hey.” You whisper back. He pulls back just a little, studying your face. “Everything okay? Was the flight too stressful?”
You shake your head quietly. “No, it was fine.” He presses the flowers into your hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
You take them, smiling. Among the flowers is a card.
To my future wife.
Your breath catches.
Future wife.
You slowly lift your gaze. He looks at you calmly, almost innocently. No hint of nervousness. No sign that something big is about to happen.
“Thank you, baby." You say quietly. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, then takes your suitcase again. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
The drive to his apartment is quiet. His right hand rests on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the fabric of your sweatpants.
You know he notices how quiet you are. “You’re thinking too much." He finally says.
“I’m not.”
He shoots you a look that says : Yes, you are. I know you well enough.
Outside the apartment building, he gets out first, jogs around his car to open your door, and finally retrieves your suitcase from the trunk.
“I can carry it. It’s just a mini suitcase.” You murmur. “I know you can." He says calmly. “But I’ll do it anyway.”
You roll your eyes, smiling, and smell the bouquet. “I told you, you don’t have to buy me monster sized flowers.” He chuckles shortly. “Did you? I don’t remember.”
You laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly romantic. If I do it, I do it properly, baby." He replies, grinning at you.
Once upstairs, he unlocks the door. Warm light, familiar scents, his home. And somehow yours too.
He sets your suitcase down in the hallway, takes off your jacket, and hangs it neatly. Everything seems normal.
Too normal.
You stop in the middle of the living room. “Why did you write that on the card?” You finally ask.
He turns slowly to you. “What?”
“To my future wife.”
He grins, steps closer, and rests his hands on your hips. “Because you are.” Your heart races. “That sounds like…” You trail off.
“Like what?”
“Like a proposal, Lando!” You say, a hint of desperation in your voice.
A faint, barely noticeable smile spreads across his face. He’s enjoying your nerves just a little.
Not in a bad way. More…affectionately.
“Do you want to be my wife?” He asks calmly. Your pulse explodes. “Lando...”
He laughs softly. “I didn’t say I was asking you right now.” You stare at him, incredulous. “That’s not funny.”
His gaze softens. More serious.
“You’re carrying my child. Of course, you’re my future wife." He says gently. “Or…do you not want to?”
Your throat tightens. “Of course I want to, but…”
He steps back, reaches for his keys, and interrupts you. “I need to take care of something quickly. Max is in Monaco since two days, and he wants to show me a design for Quadrant.”
You blink. “What does that mean?”
“I’ll pick you up at 7:00 PM. I’ve reserved a table. And I need you in white, Babygirl.”
You feel your heart start racing again. “Lando, if this is some kind of game, I swear-”
He comes back to you, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “It’s not a game.”
“Then what is it?”
“Just dinner. With my future wife.” He walks to the door. For a moment, you think he might stop, turn around, and resolve everything.
And then he's gone. You blink surprised.