✓ | SUNRISE BOULEVARD, lando norris

THIRTY

The driver beams, holding her cheek. "Great. I love you," he says, as if the three words were something he had been saying to her since they began their little adventure side-by-side; and maybe he had been in his head, because Bianca knows that she's said it to him multiple times when he couldn't hear her say it. A small whisper of admiration in silence while they nap next to one another in bed, or a thought passing through her brain when he flashes her that damned smile of his.

The singer nods, the faintest sound of laughter leaving her mouth. "I love you too."

The phrase rolls off easily, no struggle or hesitation from Bianca in the slightest because it was just too easy being in love with Lando, and she enjoyed the experience thoroughly and wholeheartedly with every breathe she took.

Lando smiles and gives her another kiss, on her neck this time with swift movement, and it's not sensual or seductive like how those types of kisses tended to be. It was just pure and quick, with joy and admiration mixed into its intentions, like a sign of devotion above all else—a kiss just to kiss her, because he was happy to love her and her alone.

With a small giggle, Bianca watches as Lando slips on his helmet and climbs into the new and improved McLaren car for the 2024 season. The special livery for this race was gorgeous, the new look taking their standard papaya orange, and adding lined glittery silver accents with a sprinkle of black and white throughout. Lando's number '4' shimmers in the Bahrain sun that infiltrated the garage, and Bianca can't help but think about how the number '4' had changed meaning for her forever.

As Lando's car pulls out of the garage with guidance from the McLaren staff, her eyes follow the build until it's out of view and off to the race, engine singing through the pit.

This is something she'll never get tired of, she thinks—the excitement of watching Lando go off and go do the thing he loves most. It was almost akin to watching her team set up the stage for a performance, the adrenaline taking over her veins even if nothing has begun just yet.

Eventually, her eyes begin to drift towards the familiar balcony of the Paddock Club's lookout, looking at the influencers flaunting their champagne and the view ahead of them, while others seemed more genuinely excited to be at the race.

She lets a small curl of the lips form while she blocks the sun aiming for her eyes, reminiscing about the first time she had been up there just a few years ago via an invite from Charles when their friendship was still young and developing.

As she scans the different people relaxing on the Paddock Club balcony, Bianca's eyes find one person in particular, and her blood runs cold in her veins, even with the sun beating down on her face.

It's a man, wearing sunglasses and a black short-sleeve, showing off his collection of tattoos that snake their way up his arms. One of the tattoos is a faded blue, an ugly almost-aqua color that screams against the man's pale skin.

It's the same blue she used to hear complaints about during dinner time when all she wanted to do was finish her meal.

The man pushes his sunglasses up to his head, and he scans the pit, as if he was looking for someone, and Bianca backs away from the garage entrance with a quickness she's never moved with before.

Jackson was here at the race, and she never thought she'd ever have to think that sort of sentence before in her life.

He always hated Formula 1, always nagging her about how there was nothing special about the sport beyond her friendship with Charles—a friendship he always put into question over the littlest arguments and smallest details.