You were a very popular influencer.

Millions of followers. Thousands of events. Hundreds of sponsors. And—if you believed the tabloids—at least ten rumoured romantic partners.

But the most persistent rumour of all? Lando Norris.

It had started innocently enough: the team invited you to one race. Then another. Then another. Before long, every casual interaction, every friendly smile, every time you stood just a little too close on the paddock feed became “confirmation” that the two of you were secretly dating.

What didn’t help, though, was your vacation.

It was supposed to be a simple trip with friends. No cameras. No PR. No speculation.

But then—of all people—Lando just happened to be at the same resort.

You spotted him first, sunglasses on, hair a mess from the wind, carrying a surfboard like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. He stopped mid-stride when he saw you.

“You’re kidding,” you’d laughed, shading your eyes. “You followed me here too?”

“Obviously,” he grinned, dropping the board into the sand. “I track your location. Didn’t you know?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

Soon, your groups merged easily. His friends and yours migrated toward the waves, splashing, shouting, challenging each other to increasingly stupid dares. Meanwhile, you sat under the umbrella, a cold drink in hand, letting the breeze cool your skin.

Lando dropped into the chair beside you with a soft thud.

“Escaping already?” you teased.

“Mate, they’re exhausting,” he said, nodding toward the chaos at the water. “I swear Max is trying to drown someone. Possibly himself.”

You snorted. “I’d like to see that headline.”

“Oh, trust me, the headline would be about us,” he said, leaning back. “Something dramatic, like: ‘Norris nearly drowns while trying to impress mystery girlfriend.’”

Your drink nearly slipped from your hand as you laughed. “Mystery girlfriend? Wow. I wonder who she could be.”

He shot you a look—playful, but edged with something you couldn’t quite name. “Yeah. I wonder.”

A beat passed, warm and strangely charged.

“You know,” Lando continued, nudging your knee with his, “if we sit here any longer, someone’s going to take a picture and the internet’s gonna lose their minds.”

“They always do,” you sighed.

“And does that bother you?”

His question came softer this time. Realer.

You hesitated, glancing toward the sea where your friends were screaming over a rogue wave. “A little,” you admitted. “But only because they insist on making things complicated.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, lifting his sunglasses to look at you properly. “Maybe they wouldn’t have to try so hard if we were a little clearer.”

Your heart skipped.

“Clearer about what?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer.

Lando’s smile tugged at the corner of his lips, slow and knowing. He didn’t answer immediately—he just let the tension settle between you, warm as the sunlight filtering through the umbrella.

Then he said, lightly but not joking this time:

“About what we are.”