Italics is French
Being back in Monaco was something Francesca had sorely missed.
With her family being in England, along with the Red Bull factory in Milton Keynes where she and Max had spent a lot of their time over the winter break, Francesca was more than happy to return the country of tax evaders which she had so lovingly nicknamed it.
Her apartment in the small French speaking country wasn't the grandest, considering she barely spent much of her time in said apartment unless it was during the racing season or free time she managed to snag in the summer or winter when she wanted to be around her friends and fellow drivers. But it was enough for Francesca to be happy and it accommodated for everything that she needed it to - but having the apartment in Monaco meant that she got unwelcome visitors, annoyingly, they were the likes of her fellow drivers.
*Cough, cough* Lando Norris and Pierre Gasly.
On this particular occasion.
But Francesca had become accustomed to having many people burst into her apartment. Whether it be Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc or his brothers, Lando Norris, Pierre Gasly or even the likes of Daniel Ricciardo and Carlos Sainz whenever they were in Monaco.
Daniel had even once flown in from Australia just to piss Francesca off by bursting into her apartment unannounced. He had then proceeded to realise he'd forgotten to book a hotel and had to crash at hers until his flight home.
And coincidentally, people always burst into the apartment whenever she wanted to lay in.
"FRAN! GET YOUR ARSE UP!"
"FOR FUCK SAKE! LANDO! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THIS!"
"UP AND OUT! COME ON! ITS 9:00AM!"
"ITS A WEDNESDAY MORNING! I CAN HAVE A LAY-IN!"
"NOT WHEN WE HAVE YACHTS TO BE HIJACKING!"
"I AM NOT GETTING INVOLVED IN YOUR PLOT TO STEAL CHARLES' YACHT AGAIN!"
"YES YOU ARE COME ON!"
"PIERRE!? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?"
The Frenchmen walked into the room grinning. Lando, who had approached the bed and whipped the covers off of Francesca's body after figuring out if she had clothes on, watched with a similar grin to that of Pierre as the woman attempted to hide herself back underneath the covers of her bed and go back to sleep.
"COME ON!" Lando shouts.
Francesca was left groaning as Lando dragged the sheets back off of her again and threw them onto the floor of the bedroom. She was then dragged up from laying down as Pierre chucked some clothes at her and told her to change. Knowing better than falling back asleep once the two men had left the room, Francesca changed and slipped on a pair of converse before exiting the bedroom with her phone in hand, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Now then," Pierre grins. "Lets go wake up Charles."
"Fran your driving." Lando smirks.
The woman catches her car keys, sighing and shaking her head as Lando and Pierre grin in her direction before following her out of the apartment. She spun her car keys in her fingers, unlocking the doors to the black Mercedes she treated like her own child - well, it was her second child but her GTR couldn't exactly accommodate for more than two people so she could only stare after it longingly as she climbed into the drivers seat of her other Mercedes - watching with a grin as Lando sprinted for the passenger seat.
The drive from Francesca's apartment to Charles' wasn't long and with Monaco traffic, it probably would've been quicker to walk.
Lando and Pierre jumped out of the car once Francesca had parked up next to the signature customised Ferrari of Charles Leclerc, she turned the engine off and sat on her phone (refusing to go along with the other two to try and wake up Charlre because she knew he was always a whiny bitch when we got woken up in the morning) absentmindedly scrolling through Twitter and liking posts up until the doors of the car opened.
"Morning, Charles." Francesca hums, hearing the half-asleep voice of the Monegasque.
"Morning." He replies, voice still laced with sleep. "Did they wake you up as well?"
"Dragged me out of bed to come and steal your stupid fucking boat."
"Fuck."
Lando, the poor little sod, was left extremely confused at the French words filling the air whilst Pierre just shook his head and chuckled at Charles and Francesca.
Who were not very pleased with their wake up call.
Francesca drove the roads again, the French muttering of Charles making her laugh as he cursed off Pierre and Lando. For the McLaren and Alpine driver, they were too busy taking pictures and shouting about songs that should be played to pay any form of attention to Charles.
Francesca refused to let them have AUX however, and instead passed the phone to Charles.
Leaving Pierre trying to attack Charles for A: his yacht keys and B: Francesca's phone. Whilst Lando pouted like a child in the passenger seat next to the laughing Francesca.
They were not to happy when Francesca stopped for coffee, grabbing a take away cup for both herself and Charles who took the drink gratefully, not bothering to get the two idiots anything. But Pierre burst out into loud laughing when he discovered that Charles had forgot to charge his phone the night before and had to steal the charger that Francesca had in the car.
The group of four did eventually make it out to the harbour, Francesca and Charles straggled behind as Pierre and Lando took off down the decks to locate the boat Charles owned.
Without the keys - which were still in Charles' pocket since Pierre had failed with his attacking scheme.
"They have to much energy for this early in the morning." Charles sighs.
"Tell me about it." Francesca mutters.
Walking with their arms linked, they did eventually reach the infamous yacht and climb aboard. Lando and Pierre had already made themselves at home and desperate to get her tan on, Francesca was quick to strip down into her bikini, place her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose and lie down on a towel as Charles got ready to head out into the open water, hoping that they didn't disturb anyone with the chaos which would unfold.
"Just admit, we have the best ideas." Lando grins, leaning back in his chair.
"Don't be so full of yourself, Norris." Francesca sighs. "If you're not careful, you'll have an ego and head as big as Pierre's."
"My ego is not big!" Pierre gasps. "Nor is my head!"
"Really?" Francesca props herself up on her elbows, lifting her sunglasses to stare at him.
"Yes really!" Pierre defends.
"Pierre, your ego is bigger than anyone else's that I know!" Charles calls out. "And you have an inhumanely large head!"
"Thank you, Charles!" Francesca laughs.
"I hate you both." Pierre grumbles to himself.
"Love you too, honeybuns." Francesca smirks.
"Okay," Lando says, sitting forwards now. "But we do have the best ideas."
"We are not doing this again, Lando!" Francesca shouts.
Lando was met with a pillow to the face and the laughter of Francesca which was drowned out by his own swears in the direction of the woman.
🏎️💨
With the sun beating down on them despite it only been the start of March, Francesca was more than happy to be away from England and the awful weather the country never seemed to be rid of.
Fuck the British weather.
With a two week gap in between Bahrain and Saudi Arabia, many of the drivers were more than excited to get as close to relaxing as they could get in the middle of the new season.
For Francesca, that meant lounging around on a yacht in the middle of the water on the shores of Monaco with her boys - and Lando...
Unfortunately.
It was the early afternoon once the boat docked in the harbour again, the four F1 drivers who had been on board slowly clambered off with t-shirts being pulled over their heads or in Francesca's case, a button up shirt which was very much undone blowing in the slight breeze revealing the bikini top and shorts fashioned underneath.
And did she care?
Absolutely not.
"We on for tonight, Fran?" Lando questions the woman, walking in step with her.
"You know it." She grins.
"Good, Max has been begging me to get you in on a stream with us for ages."
"Max is just obsessed with me, what can I say."
Pierre and Charles shared a look as they overheard the conversation between the two Brits as they were all shoving their things into the boot of Francesca's Mercedes. Although it didn't take them long to figure out that Lando and Francesca were referring to Max Fewtrell and not Max Verstappen.
Francesca dropped the boys off at their respective apartments on the way back to her own - well, she dropped off Pierre at Charles' instead.
Because the Frenchman had decided that he wanted to annoy his best friend and his best friends girlfriend who just so happened to be at Charles'.
And as she made her way up to her own front door, she was on the phone with her brother.
"DAD! LET ME TALK TO OLLIE!" She laughs.
"You never talk to me anymore!" Richard whines.
"Yes I do! But I need to have my catch-ups with my hardworking baby brother as well!"
"Are you saying that I don't work hard!?"
"Oh fuck off!"
Using her foot to kick her front door closed and locking it behind her. Francesca listened as her youngest brother and father argued over who got to talk to her first - Oliver was successful and his loud, triumphant laughter echoed down the phone.
"How's uni been?" Francesca questions.
"You ask me that all the time!" Oliver whines.
"You know that I will always ask you that question!" Francesca laughs.
"Yes, yes. And I love you for it but you should stop worrying about me and instead worry about winning that fucking championship!"
"Hey! We are not drifting the conversation to me, Oliver Martin-Lewis! Spill, right now."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's embarrassing."
"OH. MY. GOD."
Francesca falls back onto her bed with a shocked look on her face and the groans of Oliver echoing down the phone.
"You're so unnecessarily dramatic sometimes."
"It comes with being a Formula One driver, unavoidable sorry." She shrugs. "And being forced to spend a lot of time with Charles."
"Right, anyways."
"I can't believe you got some."
"FRAN!"
"WHAT!?"
"DON'T SAY IT THAT LOUD! I'M PRETTY SURE THAT ARTHUR AND LORENZO HEARD YOU FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF MONACO!"
"Arthur's a dumb bitch anyways."
"Wow, rude."
"True."
"Okay, yeah, he can be."
"It's the younger sibling energy."
"It is-wait! YOU SKANKY LITTLE BITCH!"
Laughing manically from her end of the phone, it wasn't long before Oliver was laughing on the other end of the call as well.
As good as her relationships were with everyone else in her family, nothing would ever compare to the bond she had built with her youngest brother. Maybe that was because they were the closest in age throughout the family - a lot of their cousins were reaching their mid-thirties now and even their older brother Samuel had a good few years on them.
"Don't go acting like you don't get it either." Oliver states, the smirk evident in his voice.
"I never said I didn't get it." Francesca shrugs.
"We know you like your French and Italian men."
"I'm holding out for a French man to come sweep me off my feet one day."
Oliver coughed down the other end of the phone, Francesca heard the word he was trying to say and it sounded very similar to that of the name Pierre.
"You know, with how high your standards are. Maman will never see grandkids from you." Oliver says with a grin.
"Why do you think she's been trying to get me with Charles for the last four years!?"
"SHE'S BEEN WHAT!?"
"She's been trying to get me and Charles together to have children. According to maman, it's her last resort to get grandkids from me."
Oliver, if he hadn't been losing it down the phone before definitely was now. And it wasn't long before Francesca was laughing as well.
"You better hurry up and find your French man then, Cesca. Because Maman will be planning an arranged marriage between you and Charles soon enough if you're not careful." Oliver sighs.
"Don't even. She already has it planned out in a pinterest board."
"THAT'S FUCKING HILARIOUS!"
"NO ITS NOT! ITS FUCKING HORRIBLE!'