Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cass is hiding from her dad, who has cruelly torn her away from her friends and ballet school to watch her brother race go-karts. It’s another weekend in an endless parade of weekends spent at a go-kart track, breathing in the oily fumes of petrol and eating cold, overpriced sandwiches when she could be in the nice, warm ballet studio practicing for her recital.

To be fair, her ballet class doesn’t have particularly difficult choreography which requires hours of practice. And it is a European championship that Luke is competing for. That was the reasoning her dad had given her, anyway.

He’s the best older brother any little girl could ask for, even if he’s only half her brother, so she’d gone along with it even though she’s got an actual solo in the recital next weekend and she’s sure Emma Vickers is showing off all her spins and twirls in front of Madame Leroy in her best attempt to steal that spot.

Cass is pretty sure her dad hasn’t even noticed she’s hiding, since the track is incredibly chaotic what with rain pouring down in buckets every now and then and the never ending sounds of engines, crashes and brakes deafening everyone. She’s absolutely got to practice, the competition even for six year olds is fierce. She’d heard one of the mums asking Madame Leroy whether it was right, really, for solos to go to a girl who misses so much class. She has to do better than everyone else to show that she’s earned her spot on that stage.

She puts in her earphones, plugged into the tiny iPod shuffle she’d begged her dad for, and cues up the music for the ballet - the theme from Cinema Paradiso. Humming to herself, she first blocks the steps of the ballet, adjusted to avoid the go-kart parts that littered the tent, then does a full run through of her solo.

She runs through the steps again and again, gritting her teeth when she can’t get it quite right. Madame Leroy had told her to slow her turns, that she spins slightly too quickly and that’s why she can’t do a double pirouette, but when she tries to slow down she wobbles and falls just the same as if she turns too fast. It’s so frustrating, but she knows that if she finds the perfect speed she’ll be able to do more pirouettes in a row than Emma Vickers and that’s definitely worth it.

She’s been trying to perfect the pirouette, but the uneven ground isn’t co-operating. She decides to focus on the pirouettes only, hoping that doing the same movement over and over will help her find the perfect speed at which she should be moving.

She focuses on one point of the canvas wall of the tent and raises herself on one toe, using the other to propel her in one spin, then again, and again, and again. On the twentieth rotation she has a wobble, stubbing her toe on a tiny rock that her repeated spins had unearthed, and starts to fall, her arms reaching out automatically to break her fall. She squeezes her eyes shut, anticipating the impact.

Only, she doesn’t fall. Warm, calloused hands grip her upper arms, causing her eyes to fly open and her body to jerk to a stop suddenly, like a rag doll. A boy about her age, blonde, round faced with curious and wary blue eyes has caught her. He helps her stand up, and she takes out her earphones as she can see his mouth moving.

He’s speaking another language, fairly passionately, something that sounds maybe German? She doesn’t understand a single word so she just shakes her head and shrugs. He sees her confused expression and repeats his words in a series of different languages, which Cass secretly finds super impressive, finally reaching English.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” He asks bluntly, his words thickly accented, crossing his arms and frowning, waiting for her reply. Cass is immediately on the defensive.

“It was empty!” She protests. “It was empty because I was racing,” the boy says slowly and condescendingly, as if speaking to an idiot. Cass opens her mouth to reply when he shakes his head, cutting her off. “You’d better leave before my dad gets here,” the boy says, opening the tent flap and gesturing for her to leave.

Too late. A square faced blonde man is stalking over to them, storm clouds in his expression. He snaps something at the boy, who replies in the same language with a shrug. The enormous man turns to Cass.

“Where are your parents? Who are you here with?” He asks fiercely. His eyes are like shards of ice, and she’s honestly terrified of him. “L-L-Luke Errol, my brother - m-my dad is watching his race, sir. Sorry about being in your tent, I was trying to practice my ballet,” Cass stammers, her hands twisting around themselves behind her back.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man says severely. Cass can’t help but notice his huge hands tightening into fists at his side, since they were about eye level for her. She gulps convulsively, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad at her. She whispered an apology, looking down at the ground. The boy says something quickly to the man, shaking his head.

The man scowls, his expression identical to the boy’s, turning his back to her and saying something sharp to the boy in their language before walking off in the direction of the car park. Cass can’t help but give a sigh of relief when the man leaves, bringing much of the tension with him.

“Luke Errol’s sister, eh?” The boy says, raising one eyebrow. She’s begrudgingly impressed that he can do that - she’s tried practicing in her mirror back home, but she’s only managed to wriggle both at the same time. “You don’t look like you’re his sister.”

Cass knows that this statement is technically factual, since Luke and her had different mums and she’s very fair while Luke is much darker, but she hates it when people point that out because it makes her feel like she’s not part of her own family. Their dad is somewhere in the middle, so she assumes she must look more like her mum.
“You’re a very rude boy,” she spits back with as much venom as she can manage, sticking her nose in the air and turning to stomp out.

“Wait!” The boy grabs her arm, then releases it quickly when Cass levels a poisonous glare at the offending hand. “Um. I’m Max. What’s your name?” He asks quickly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with one hand. He’s turned all pink, at least wherever he’s not covered in motor grease and dirt.

“Cassandra. Cass,” she says haughtily. Max nods slowly. “Nice to meet you, Cass,” he says, shooting her a shy grin. “What language were you speaking just now?” Cass asks, her curiosity getting the better of her finally. “Dutch,” Max says eagerly. “I’m from Holland - well, I’m really from Belgium, but my dad is from Holland so we speak Dutch with each other. And you’re from England, right?”

Cass gasps. “How could you tell?” She asks in awe. “You only speak English, that’s why,” Max says, proud of himself for figuring it out. “All the English people here only speak English, everyone else speaks two languages at least.” Cass wrinkles her nose at him, offended. “I speak French too!” She protests.

“Really? Well I speak French too - say something in French right now,” Max says smugly, crossing his arms. “I can count to 10 - and I can say ca va? That means how are you,” Cass replies just as smugly, crossing her own arms.

“That’s it? Anyone can say that,” Max scoffs, before rattling off a ton of words in French. Cass tries to pretend she knew what he was saying but has to admit defeat when he pauses, she thinks for a response. Max crows with laughter, triumphant, but stops when he notices that Cass is looking at the ground, embarrassed.

“What were you listening to? Is it dance music?” Max asks, changing the subject, pointing at her iPod. “It’s the song for my ballet recital,” Cass says, picking up her earphones and offering them to Max. “You want to listen? It’s pretty nice,” she says shyly. To her surprise, Max takes one earbud and sticks it in his ear. She presses play and watches as he listens to the music that’s been engraved in her brain since Madame Leroy picked it for the recital.

He actually listens to the whole song before taking the earbud out of his ear and handing it back to Cass. “It’s nice, kind of - peaceful,” Max says slowly. “It’s my absolute favourite song now, I listen to it all day ‘cuz I have to make sure I remember all my cues for my ballet,” Cass says proudly. “I have a solo and I’m the only one in my class that does, everyone else with a solo is way older.”

“I’m the youngest in my group too,” Max says, lifting his chin proudly. Cass feels like he’s kind of stolen her thunder, and anyway who cares about stupid go karts? She does ballet, and it’s way harder to do that than to spin in circles. She says the same to Max, but feels bad when his previously sunny expression turns into an angry one.

“Go-karting is super tough, I bet a girl like you wouldn’t be able to do it,” Max snaps, his hands turning into fists at his side just like his dad’s did earlier. “Well, I bet a lumpy boy like you wouldn’t be able to do a pirouette!” Cass snaps back, turning her own hands into fists even though she notices that they’re a lot smaller than his are.

“If that’s what you were doing when I found you, you can’t do one either,” Max huffs. Cass gapes open mouthed at him, astonished that he’s used that against her and also more mad that she doesn’t have anything to say back since she doesn’t know whether he’s any good at karting. Max smirks, pleased with himself for having shut her up.

“Hope to see you at more of the races.” Max turns to pick up a piece of equipment on the floor and tosses it into an open carton. Cass opens her mouth to say something cutting about her lack of interest in racing when Max’s dad returns, dragging a kart behind him, shouting something at Max in what Cass now knows is Dutch.

“Gotta load the kart into the van,” Max says, snapping to attention. “See you around!” With that, he runs over to help his dad with the kart. Cass turned to leave, deciding to play it safe and stick to her dad for the rest of the day.

As expected, her dad hasn’t noticed her absence. He’s busy cheering on Luke, who’s in the lead. That weekend ends with wins, like every weekend before it. Luke’s surrounded by people cheering and trying to talk to him after the prize giving ceremony, and he even has to give interviews like he’s some kind of celebrity like Darcy Bussell. Cass tries to get through the sea of people to give him a hug but she’s too little and the crowd of legs is too tightly packed for her to sneak through like she usually does.

She’s getting slightly panicked that she might get buried in people when she gets scooped up under her arms. “Cassie!” Luke says happily, holding her in one arm. His other arm’s holding a stinking big trophy, which he gives to Cass to carry since he and their dad have to load the kart into the van.

“Thanks for coming with us, Cassie,” Luke says, giving her a bear hug. “Ew, you smell,” Cass teases. Luke was still in his sweaty racing overalls, and he did give off a strong whiff of sweat and petrol, but Cass secretly loves it. “Nah, seriously, I know you’ve got your recital next week, so I really appreciate it,” Luke says, smiling down at her. “Always good to have the home fans turn up.”

Cass smiles slightly, feeling guilty that she’d only watched half of the race, and hugs Luke a little bit tighter, making sure she’s got the trophy in a tight grip. “Alright, everyone in the car,” her dad says, slapping the side of the van. They have a long ride ahead of them.

—

Max sits in the passenger seat of the van, his dad driving silently beside him. They have 9 more hours on the road before they reach home and it’s starting to rain. Max leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window, looking up at the heavy grey clouds massed in the sky.

“Goed gedaan,” his dad says in his brusque way. Good job. Max sits up straighter, the rare praise filling him with happiness that’s pretty short lived as his dad starts matter of factly listing all the things he could have done better. He slumps back down in his seat, unwrapping the hotdog that he’d grabbed at the concession stand on the way out of the track and taking a big bite.

He knows better than to protest against the criticism, even if he feels some of it was unearned. He looks back out of the window, the familiar drone of his dad’s voice continuing in the background above the sounds of the radio. His dad is his chief mechanic, manager and coach, so he knows best, after all.

It’s a lonely life, sometimes - just him and his dad driving around Europe, competing aggressively in whatever competition his dad feels would bring him to the next level. He knows its tough on his mum and sister too, with Victoria crying every time they leave. His parents also fight all the time, even more now since it costs lots of money for him to race karts. Every time he’s lying in bed and he hears his dad shouting he knows its his fault.

He doesn’t have that many friends, since he spends a lot of time skipping school to go for competitions and everyone at the karting track is his competitor. He wonders whether it would be different if he wasn’t karting. Maybe he’d play football after school with the kids he sees in the fields and streets from the van window on his way to competitions. Maybe he would have time to finish his homework, and wouldn’t get scolded by his teachers every class. Maybe his parents would be able to spend more time together and not fight so much.

He thinks back to the girl - Cass - who had been dancing in the tent. She’d spun so effortlessly and so quickly. He wonders whether his kart looks like that when it spins. He’d also really liked the song she’d played for him, and he never usually has any interest in music. No one in his family listens to music, or dances, or does anything where they looked as happy as Cass had while she turned in circles. His dad always looks so pissed off when he’s working on the kart, so even though Max actually loves it he puts a really serious face on whenever they’re in the garage. The only time Jos smiles is when Max is on the top step of the podium.

“Am I talking to myself?” Jos’s aggrieved tone breaks Max out of his thoughts, drawing him back to the gloomy present. He shakes his head quickly, giving his dad his full attention as his dad spends the rest of the drive lecturing him on how to get better performance from his kart.

Chapter Text

Max throws his helmet at the ground, then kicks it for good measure. He doesn’t dare go back to the tent just now, since Jos is probably there taking his rage out on some sheet metal with a crowbar. He’s just been shunted off the track by another racer, straight into a wall and absolutely smashing the front end of his kart, ending his weekend a day early. He knows it’s going to cost tons of money to fix it, and he probably should have found a way to avoid being pushed off the track.

He’s sat on a bench that’s semi-hidden from the track, avoiding the journalists that have started following him with their little recorders and purposely annoying questions, trying to get a rise out of him since they know he’s got a very short temper. The more successful he is at karting, the more they try to get a story out of him. He usually just says whatever’s on his mind, but his honesty and aggressive driving have earned him the nickname Mad Max.

He hunches his shoulders and dips his head when he hears footsteps, hoping whoever’s walking past doesn’t stop and talk to him. He curses in his mind when the footsteps pause, then start moving towards him. “Max?”

He looks up at the fancy English accent, one he hasn’t heard in a while. “Is this your helmet?” A vision in blue dungarees and red pigtails holds his battered and beloved Spiderman helmet out to him, and he takes it dumbly.

“I like Spiderman too, but I think Batman’s the best superhero,” Cass says, sitting comfortably next to him. “No way!” Max says immediately, clutching his helmet protectively as if the decal of Spiderman can hear. “Batman’s superpower is being rich, Spiderman has real powers.”

“Yeah, like shooting spider webs from his hands. That’s nasty,” Cass wrinkles her nose in disgust. Max has a lot of opinions on how awesome that actually is, way better than just throwing money at things, and when Cass concedes that Batman maybe isn’t that great, but that doesn’t mean Spiderman is the best, they start having a way bigger conversation about comic book heroes in general.

“But the X-Men also have superpowers!” Cass protests. Max rolls his eyes. “They don’t really use them properly, though - if they wanted they could destroy Magneto but they’re always trying to be good people instead.”

“What’s wrong with trying to be a good person? My dad says everyone should do that,” Cass objects. Max rolls his eyes, even harder this time. “Everyone knows that winning is the most important. Look at all the people Magneto hurts - if the X-Men just used their powers they could easily beat Magneto and stop that from ever happening.”

Cass pauses for a while, pondering the moral quandary Max has presented her with. “But… what if Magneto tried to be a good person instead? Wouldn’t that be better? Then no one would have to get hurt,” she points out, very cleverly she thinks. This starts off another argument over how that would never work, ended abruptly when Max triumphantly says that if Magneto was good then there wouldn’t even be any X-Men comics. Cass has to agree with that.

“So, has your French improved at all?” Max asks, smirking. Cass scowls at Max playfully. “Oui, certainement,” Cass says confidently. “Je suis un ballerine, et… um… vous etes un… pilote? Okay, I don’t know how to say racing driver, but you have to admit, the rest of it is pretty good! And I know all the ballet words.” Max laughs, but not in a way that makes her feel dumb, even though he definitely knows a lot more French and probably every other language besides. His laugh makes her feel like she’s in on a joke they’re sharing, kind of warm and fuzzy. She likes it.

They sit in silence for a while as the wind blows ferociously around them. Cass shivers, and Max wishes he had a jacket to put around her shoulders instead of his stupid one-piece racing suit. “What are you doing here anyway?” Cass asks after a while.

“Er… racing?” Max responds, confused. They are at the race track, after all, and Max’s name appears everywhere in the press materials. There might even be a banner with his face on it somewhere. Cass laughs and Max notices that she snorts a bit when she finds something particularly funny. “No, silly, I meant why are you hiding behind a shed? Don’t you have to sit in your car or something?”

Reality crashes back on Max’s young shoulders and he sighs. He’d managed to push his crash to the back of his mind during their conversation, but he knows that sooner or later he’ll have to return to the probably destroyed tent and pack up his things to return home. His new home where it’s just him and his dad, now that his parents have separated. He sees his mum and Victoria maybe once every couple of months, and he misses them a lot. Jos had smacked him across the face after a couple of times of him asking to go over more often, though, and he understands. They can’t afford for him to miss any practice time or competitions. He’s stopped asking ever since.

“Someone pushed me off the track and I smashed the car,” Max says morosely, cheering up slightly when Cass exclaims in horror and asks if he’s okay. “Yeah, I’m alright. I’ve been checked by the medics already,” he says, pulling up his sleeve to show off a big white bandage, under which he had a pretty nasty cut. “But anyway, my dad wasn’t very happy so I’m waiting until he calms down a bit.”

Cass nods understandingly, remembering the big scary man from their first meeting. “The most important thing is that you’re not injured - or well, injured too badly, I suppose,” Cass amends patting the bandage on Max’s arm. Max blushes violently at the touch, but Cass doesn’t notice because she’s now squinting up at the sky.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” She asks, apropos of nothing, pointing at the heavy clouds building on the horizon. Max sighs again, shoulders slumping even more. Rain meant a wet track, and a wet track meant a missed opportunity to show off his karting skills in front of potential investors and future employers. Jos wouldn’t be happy.

A few droplets land on them, answering Cass’s question before Max can. “I suppose I should get back to my dad,” Cass says sadly, blinking as a raindrop falls directly on the tip of her nose. “You still hate karting?” Max asks, amused at the image of this girl being dragged around all of the tracks in Europe and hating every second of it.

“I don’t hate karting, I just wish I could spend more time practicing ballet,” Cass sighs, pulling her knees towards her chest and propping her chin on her knees. “I’m applying for this ballet school and it’s really hard to get in, so I need all the practice I can get.” Max nods understandingly. Hard work and practice to reach a goal is something that he definitely knows very well. He doesn’t really know anything about ballet schools, but if they’re half as competitive as driver academies then he’s surprised Cass is even here this weekend.

“Why can’t your dad just leave you with your mum?” Max asks curiously. The droplets have multiplied into a slight drizzle, but neither of them make a move to leave. It appears that they’re both pretty used to the rain, since they both come from rainy countries. Cass shrugs, silent for a while. “I don’t have a mum,” she says finally.

Max is confused. Everyone has a mum, that’s what he learned in his biology classes in school. Even Jesus had a mum, that’s how you get born. “She left when I was born,” Cass clarifies, seeing his expression. “She didn’t want me. So now I follow my dad and Luke around whenever our neighbour can’t watch me.”

Cass sighs deeply, curling herself up like a ball. Max feels an inexplicable urge to give her a hug, but he refrains because he’s not a hundred percent sure that he won’t embarrass himself. He limits himself to patting her gently on the shoulder. “My parents split up too, and I stay with my dad now too. My sister stays with my mum,” Max says. She’s the first person whom he’s told about his parents’ split, he realises. Everyone else is pretty used to seeing Jos and Max at the track together and haven’t asked any questions.

“But your mum wanted you to stay with her?” Cass asks, looking up at him with wet, green eyes. Max nods reluctantly, feeling like admitting that his mum loves him might be twisting the knife somewhat. “And - did your dad want your sister to stay with him?” Cass continues asking questions no one else would think polite to ask, but somehow between the two of them it’s okay.

Max thinks for a while. “I don’t know if my dad would be able to take care of Victoria,” he admits. “I don’t think he wants either of us, actually. He just keeps me with him because of the karting.” Max feels like he’s just unearthed a secret that he’s kept buried deep within himself and set it free, recognising that he’s never shared this feeling with anyone else before. The knowledge that his dad probably doesn’t like him very much, let alone love him in the way that other parents love their kids.

Cass surprises him by giving him a hug instead. “Sometimes I wish that Cyclops and Jean Grey were my parents,” she whispers into his ear, covering it with her palm so that her secret stays between the two of them. “What do you think your superpower would be if that was true?” Max asks, thinking to himself that she could definitely be Jean Grey’s daughter with her colouring.

“I don’t know, but I wish I could fly,” Cass says dreamily. “Don’t you think that would be fun?” Max nods fervently. That’s his ideal superpower as well, either that or being able to read minds. It would be nice to know what Jos was thinking ahead of time. It’s starting to rain more heavily now, and Max can see that Cass is shivering pretty violently, so he reluctantly says that they should probably get back to their own tents.

They’re both heading back in opposite directions when Max thinks of something. “Hey, Cass!” He shouts, getting her attention from where she’d been walking towards the track. She turns and cocks her head, waiting for him to say something, but now he’s embarrassed. “I’m glad your dad made you come here!” He says, stumbling over the English slightly. He’s rewarded for his bravery when Cass smiles at him. “Me too!” She shouts back, waving at him before running for shelter.

—

“Hey, ballet girl!” Cass looks up from her book, squinting against the hot Italian sun. She’s eleven, and can think of a million better ways to spend her summer holidays instead of on hot metal bleachers next to a smelly tarmac circuit, but she’s been given no choice. Ms Lily, her neighbour, has gone on a world cruise for the entire summer, and Luke’s competing for some championship or other.

She’s absolutely lathered in sunscreen, but she can already feel the itchy, tight feeling across the bridge of her nose that means it’s going to burn. The smell of petrol is making her tummy hurt, her lunch was a decidedly un-nutritious hot dog, and she’d been made to wake up at an ungodly hour to help carry Luke’s things to the track for pre-race set up.

All in all she’s not a happy camper in any sense, and she’s fairly annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of finding out whether Harry Potter manages to win the Triwizard Tournament, so she directs as poisonous a glare as she can muster - one stolen straight from her least favourite ballet mistress - at the offending person.

A glare that drops into a grin when she sees who it is. “Max!” She exclaims happily, clapping her hands together. “How have you been?” Max drops into the seat next to her and stretches his legs out in front of him.

“It’s awful hot, isn’t it? I’m sure you must be boiling in your race suit, what with it being all black. Luke was absolutely dripping with sweat even before he got in the car, and his suit’s all white. Well, with some red in it, but other than that it’s white.” Cass is fully aware that she’s babbling, even though she doesn’t really know why she’s babbling, but she can’t seem to stop herself.

Max is no help at all, just sitting there and waiting patiently for her to stop. He must think she’s a total idiot. He’s got a tiny half smile on his face like he knows she’s talking complete nonsense, and thinks she’s the funniest thing ever. He probably thinks she’s a halfwit. She’d just learned that word in school - one of the ballet mistresses had called a girl that because she hadn’t done her turnouts properly, and they’d all gone and looked it up after - and it mean that you were stupid. Max probably thinks that she’s stupid.

“So did you manage to get into your ballet school?” Max asks when she finally pauses for breath. Cass is deeply grateful that he’s skipped over her entire monologue about how hot it is - obviously he knows its hot, and the sun is fierce, and Max’s hair is kind of sweaty and helmet-y so he’s probably already been in his kart or car or whatever he drives these days, and -. She realises that she hasn’t responded to his question but has been kind of staring at him and noticing stupid things like how his hair isn’t as blonde anymore, and that his cheeks are all pink.

“Yes, yes I did!” She says, holding onto something that she definitely knows with gratitude. She hadn’t just gotten into the school, actually - she’d received a full scholarship, and won a couple of awards since, including some super prestigious ones. She doesn’t want to brag, but she’s bursting to tell Max that she was actually featured in a ballet magazine. So she does.

He’s gratifyingly impressed, and promises to look it up online when he gets home. “Also, I’ve learned way more French because I have a new friend in school and he’s French so we practice it all the time!” Cass beams at Max expectantly, waiting for him to laugh and tease her for her terrible language skills. Instead, Max frowns slightly and mutters an unconvincing “congratulations”. Cass decides to change the subject since the mood has gotten a little subdued.

“So what about you, how have you been doing?” Max shrugs and squints across the track at the people milling about. His dad is nowhere in sight, probably out chatting with potential sponsors and teams. He’s glad his dad does it for him, since he himself hates making small talk. “Same old, same old,” he replies, testing out an English phrase he’s recently learned.

He looks sideways to see how Cass has received his words - it wouldn’t be the first time his friends told him something rude was perfectly normal to say to other people - and is rewarded when she smiles back at him. Phew. “How’s your sister doing? And your mum?” She asks, remembering their previous conversation. Max brightens up and launches into a description of some school project his sister had done. She can clearly see how much he loves her, and it reminds her so much of her relationship with Luke. She brags about Luke all the time to her classmates at school in the same way.

“She’s actually here, my mum too,” Max says happily. Since it’s summer holidays, his sister and mum took the opportunity to come watch his race, and it was kind of the best thing ever. They went out to eat together - without Jos, and Jos couldn’t even say anything because time spent with his mum was something that had been agreed in their divorce settlement - and his mum spent lots of time giving him hugs and telling him how proud she was of him. It was awesome.

“What are you reading?” He daringly reaches over Cass and picks up the heavy Harry Potter book in one hand. “Oh, I’ve heard of this book,” he says, nose scrunching up as he tries to translate the English synopsis into Dutch in his head. “What do you mean you heard of it?” Cass asks, aghast. “Haven’t you read Harry Potter before?”

Max has to admit that he hasn’t. He doesn’t have the time, what with all the travelling and competing and practicing. He tried doing homework in the van once and had been violently sick all over the dashboard from trying to read in a moving vehicle. The beating Jos had given him after that has effectively stopped him from trying ever since.

Cass frowns, and Max’s people-pleasing little heart almost stops. He hates the disappointed expression on her face. Luckily, it changes into a smile almost as quickly.

“That’s easily fixed, but this isn’t the first book - it’s the fourth! Oh - if you’re here tomorrow I can pass you the first one, I’ve got it back at the hotel. It’s quite short, you can probably read it in a week or so, maybe when you’ve got time off from practice? It’s amazing, it’s about this boy named Harry Potter - he’s our age in the first book - and he - well I don’t want to spoil it for you so I won’t say any more, but you should definitely read it. And then you could mail it back to me.”

Max finds himself promising that he’ll do so, even though he hasn’t read an entire book in ages, maybe ever. They make plans to meet up the next day. “Okay, we’ll meet back here at three - that’s after my race,” Max says proudly, hoping that he’ll have a trophy to show her when they meet.

—

“Cass! Hey, Cass!” Cass looks up from her book, where one of her favourite characters has just died, and there may or may not be tears in her eyes from the senseless injustice. She’s sitting on the bleachers again, waiting with a stack of books that she’d arrived in Italy with and has decided that Max needs to read.

“Are you okay?” Max stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. Cass nods, dragging a sleeve across her eyes to dry her tears. “Yeah - just - I don’t want to spoil it for you, but some parts are pretty sad,” she says mournfully. Then she takes a second look and realises that there’s a brunette woman standing behind Max, looking at her curiously.

“Cass, this is my mum,” Max says proudly, waving a hand at the woman, who extends a hand towards Cass, who shakes it warily. Her experience with mums is limited to the dance mums at her ballet schools, most of whom are even more competitive and ambitious for their children than their own children are. Max’s mum, though, is smiling at her warmly. “Please, call me Sophie,” she says with a soft accent. “Max has been talking about you non-stop since yesterday, I feel like I already know you!”

“Oh my God,” Max mutters, turning bright red and covering his face with his hand. “It’s so nice to meet one of Max’s friends, and I heard you have gotten him to agree to read a book?” It turns out the Sophie has been trying to get Max to do better in school, and she’s fully in on Cass’s plan to get Max to read more.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Cass. I hope I get to see you around more often,” Sophie says to her, giving her a hug and standing up. Max has been sitting quietly next to them the whole time, paging through the books that Cass had brought. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, smiling brightly at Max. It’s clear that she really loves her son from the way she looks at him, and Cass feels a slight pang for the mother she never knew.

“Your mum is really nice,” Cass tells Max once Sophie leaves. Max beams, his smile a twin of Sophie’s. “Anyway, these are the books that I brought, I thought you might like this one…” Max is perfectly willing to read all of the books Cass wants to give him, but they run into a slight snag when it comes to how he’s going to return them to her. He doesn’t know how long it will take him to read this number of books and she doesn’t know what races she’ll be attending that summer.

“You could… mail them to me?” Cass says doubtfully, tapping her chin with her forefinger, in deep thought. Max nods slowly, trying to think of how much it’ll cost to ship all of these books to England, and more importantly, how he’ll get Jos to give him enough money to pay for it. Cass sees the uncertainty on his face and tries to think of a solution. “Or - you can have them! These are all really good books, like - see this one? The Hunger Games? It just came out, it’s so good. And this one - The Chronicles of Narnia, it’s actually a series so if you like it there are loads of others to read…”

“Are you sure? I didn’t get you anything…” Max says, frowning. “Yes! I have loads more books at home, you can take these - you’ll actually be helping me, really. Then I can buy more books!” Cass smiles encouragingly at Max, pushing the books towards him. Max gathers the books up in his arms, then has a sudden, brilliant thought.

“Here, you can have this!” He digs into his pocket where he pulls out a tangle of gold medals on ribbons. “Woah, did you win all of these today? How many races have you been in?” Cass is gratifyingly impressed, and Max is only too happy to describe all of his races, his expression as animated as Cass has ever seen it. “Anyway, I have a lot of these at home so you can have one too. Make some space for the rest,” he says, attempting a wink which results in him blinking both eyes.

“But these are prizes, Max, you can’t just go to a bookstore and buy new ones,” Cass says, her forehead creasing as she sorts through the medals. “Like - I bet you can’t compete for - oh my gosh, it’s literally called Minimax! That’s your name! That’s so cute,” Cass beams as she pulls one medal out of the pile, her smile so big that it crinkles up her eyes. “But yeah, I bet you can’t buy a Minimax championship medal in a store,” she points out.

“I can always win more, it’s fine,” Max says, waving off one of his greatest accomplishments to date like it’s nothing. “But after your battle with um, that guy, Sandro? Are you sure you want to give this up?” Max is secretly pleased that she’s clearly paid attention to his stories - he knows sometimes people can zone out or get annoyed when he talks about racing for too long - but he shakes his head and pushes the medal towards her. “One medal for… six books. It’s a fair trade,” he says firmly.

“Okay, but we can always swap back if we see each other at another race,” Cass says firmly back, accepting the medal. “Anyway, I’d better get back to my dad before he starts wondering where I am - Luke’s race should be done soon,” she says, noticing finally that the sun has started to set. Max’s smile dims, realising that their time together has come to an end. “Yeah…” He says, subdued.

“But I’ll see you around some time soon, Minimax!” Cass says, giving him a spontaneous hug. He blushes from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes, returning the hug gently.

“See you!” Max says feebly, arms filled with books as Cass skips down the steps of the bleachers, turning to wave once before disappearing into the scrum of people in the paddock.

—

Another weekend at a race, another weekend spent cheering on her brother. She can’t be too annoyed at her dad though, because this time it’s her fault. She’d only gone and fractured her wrist during rehearsal, meaning she’s out of rehearsal for at least three weeks. Anyway, this is a huge weekend for Luke so she’s determined to be as supportive as possible.

Luke’s been offered a reserve driver seat in F1 if he wins the championship he’s up for. It’s an enormous deal, and he’d be one of the youngest reserve drivers on the grid if he gets it. Even more excitingly, it’s with the Ferrari junior team, and to drive at Ferrari one day like his champion Michael Schumacher is Luke’s greatest wish. He talks about it so much that even a racing hater like Cass knows who Michael Schumacher is.

Luke manages to overtake the race leader with a brilliant and daring run round the outside, causing the entire garage to erupt in jubilant cheers. He manages to hold on to the lead despite ferocious competition, and when he crosses the finish line Cass almost goes deaf from the screaming that’s coming through his car radio.

When he gets out of his car, he runs over to them and picks Cass up, swinging her around wildly. “We did it, we did it!” He screams happily, pulling their dad in for a massive group hug. He pulls off his helmet and fireproof cap, revealing his beaming, sweaty face. The win gives him so much confidence that Cass eggs him on to say hello to Michael Schumacher, who’s a couple of garages down, evidenced by the enormous amount of cameras and fans surrounding the Mercedes garage.

“You don’t understand, Cass, he’s not just the greatest driver of all time - he’s a god,” Luke says as they approach the garage. Cass can only laugh at the sight of her usually cool and collected big brother clutching his trophy like a baby clutching its safety blanket. She gently disengages his death grip on the trophy and pushes him in the direction of the garage. “You never know when you’ll have another opportunity like this,” she says, referring to how Schumacher seems to be just chilling in one corner of the garage, oblivious to the fanfare surrounding him. “Go.”

She has no interest in being crushed to death by the throngs of people surrounding the garage so she takes a little stroll to the hospitality area. Hopping on a bench hidden behind an inexplicable wall of fake flowers, she munches happily on some chicken skewers that she’d snagged from one of the food stalls ringing the area.

There’s a nice breeze blowing through the area and she lifts her face up to enjoy it and hopefully absorb some Vitamin D. The sunshine in Italy is brilliant, and she’s managed to get a very, very slight tan and about a billion freckles. There’s a little bit of a sunburn across her nose despite her diligent application of sun cream, so she heads to the merch stand to buy a hat. A Ferrari hat, to celebrate Luke’s new job, she decides.

She’s standing in the queue when she feels a tap on her shoulder. Looking up from her Kindle - a recent present from her dad to keep her company while he and Luke are busy with car stuff - she sees someone she hasn’t seen for a long time. “Minimax!” She says in happy surprise, throwing her arms around her friend, then backing off slightly awkwardly.

He’s grown much taller since they last met, when they’d been almost the same height. His face isn’t as round, his hair slightly darker, but his eyes are the same bright blue and the smile spread across his face is the same. She beams at him, then remembers the chicken kebabs she’d eaten and closes her mouth hastily, in case any bits of chicken had gotten stuck in her braces.

“How have you been?” She asks, smiling with her mouth firmly closed. “Are you racing this weekend?” He’s not, but had come to watch the F1 races. “Are you going to watch? Have you started to like racing after all?” Max teased, waiting for her response as she buys her hat and plants it firmly on her head.

“And a Ferrari fan at that! Even though Sebastian Vettel is leading this season?” Cass is unexpectedly shy, not sure how to respond to Max’s teasing. He’s suddenly so tall and… cute, and she’s never thought of anyone that way before, not even the boys in her school even though they spend all their time together. She just shrugs awkwardly, not knowing whether she can tell anyone that Luke will be joining Ferrari the next year.

With a lack of response, Max falls silent as well, although his own smile doesn’t dim. “So, um… are you thirsty? Do you want to get a drink?” Max asks after a while, gesturing to the drinks stand nearby. Cass lights up, nodding. Some water would hopefully get any food out of her braces so that she could smile again - although, what if Max didn’t like her braces? She’s never felt so self conscious in her life.

“What do you want to drink? Let me get it,” Max says generously. He orders and pays for the drinks, before suggesting they take a walk around. “What happened to your arm?” He asks as they wander around the hospitality area, looking at the random assortment of activities and oddities that have been gathered as entertainment.

Cass looks down at her bandaged wrist as if it’s the first time she’s ever seen it. “Oh - I fell during rehearsal and landed on it,” she says. “I was doing a pas de deux with Jamie - he’s my French friend, the one I practice with - and he dropped me during a jump.” Her mouth twists at the memory of the fall, the gasps from her classmates and the sad realisation that she wouldn’t be able to dance at the summer performances.

“Oh - were you mad at him?” Max asks, frowning. It’s a slightly odd first question to ask, but Cass puts it down to the utter competitiveness and selfishness of racing drivers - all about the individual performance - and shakes her head. “Nah, we were both unbalanced,” she says sadly. “Anyway, he felt really bad and he’s my best friend, so I couldn’t hold it against him for too long,” she says, chancing a big smile at Max to show that she’s over it.

He gives her a small smile back, then brings up the books she’d lent him years ago, and she forgets all about being awkward, beaming when he said he’d finished all of them. Time passes quickly as Max tells her which books he liked and why, and she tries to think of others that he might enjoy. “I’m sorry I can’t return them to you,” Max says apologetically. “They’re all back home. And,” he blushes, “Some got a little messed up. I brought them to the track with me and got caught in the rain.”

“Oh, it’s okay! You can have them, they were a gift!” Cass says, surprised. “Actually, they were a trade remember? You gave me your Minimax medal for them.” Max smiles at the idea that he could forget giving his championship medal away. Or the massive telling off and whack across the head he’d gotten from Jos when he’d returned late for media duties, without his medal and with a stack of books.

“Where’s your brother? I saw he won the GP2 championship, congratulations to him,” Max says sincerely. “And with an inferior car, that’s very impressive. He’s got a super good reputation in the paddock, you know.” Cass glows with happiness at the praise for Luke. “He’s trying to chat up Michael Schumacher,” she laughs. “He’s got a massive crush on the man.”

“Well, he’s a god, so it’s actually understandable,” Max smiles, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. “You racers are all the same,” Cass rolls her eyes. “That’s almost exactly what Luke said. He’s got all these posters of him on the walls back home, and he makes fun of me for my singular Roberto Bolle poster.” The skin between Max’s eyebrows creases as he asks, “Who is Roberto Bolle?”

Cass blushes like a lobster, immediately regretting having brought up her dance crush. “He’s a ballet dancer from Italy who did a guest stint at the Royal Ballet and came to our school to give a talk,” she says. “Beautiful lines, very elegant dancer,” she adds loftily, leaving out the fact that he’s also a very, very handsome man. And that her poster wasn’t of him dancing, but from his Vogue shoot. “Very, um… strong.”

Max is silent as he digests this description. Cass is sure without a doubt that he thinks she’s the most vapid idiot on the face of the planet. “Cool,” he says after a while, before taking his phone out and checking the time. Cass’s heart sinks as she realises that her time with her friend is probably drawing to an end, most likely hastened by her stupid shyness and inability to hold a conversation.

“Look, I’ve got to go meet my dad, but it would be great to see you sooner than every three or four years,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, which has turned pink. Blondes are also very prone to sunburn, Cass remembers sympathetically. She’s about to offer some sun cream from her bag when Max says, “Do you have a phone?”

She nods, about to show him her Motorola flip phone - her dad had bought her a pink version, which was slightly embarrassing but she secretly loved it - when a loud voice calls for Max. His head jerks up and he stands so quickly that he spills a bit of his Coke.

“Ja, papa!” Max responds, his smile having disappeared immediately. He shoots Cass a very quick, apologetic smile as he squeezes her shoulder and walks off without so much as a goodbye. He heads towards the giant man from Cass’s memory, no less scary even though she’s much bigger than she had been back when they’d first met. His shark-like eyes, blue like Max’s but so different - icy cold instead of warm and friendly, give her a dismissive look up and down before they turn their laser focus onto his son.

Cass looks away, fiddling with the plastic sleeve of her bottle of water. When she looks back, the father and son have disappeared from sight.

Chapter Text

Cass holds her deep curtsey, the standing ovation of the audience at the Royal Ballet washing over her like silk. It’s an overwhelming rush, addictive to the point where she knows without a doubt that this is exactly what she wants to do for the rest of her life. It’s her first performance, and she absorbs the adulation as though it is directed solely at her. She ignores the intense ache in her muscles, forcing her body to stay perfectly still through sheer willpower as she counts, one… two… three.

She stands in one slow, smooth movement, waving at the crowd from her spot at the back of the line, a faceless member of the corps to the audience. They’ve just completed a performance of Giselle, where the corps have a starring role as wilis, vengeful spirits who died after being betrayed by their lovers and whose sole purpose in life is to dance unsuspecting men to death. Not exactly light fare, but one requiring absolute concentration and synchronisation with the other dancers. The girls are buzzing with excitement as they walk backstage, knowing that they’d pulled it off almost perfectly.

Of course every ballerina knows that nothing is ever perfect - even the gorgeous Natalia Osipova can make mistakes. But it’s the goal, always, and none of them ever forget it. On her first day here, Cass had taped up a quote from the American ballerina Martha Graham on her mirror, one which read “Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired”. She tapped it three times before she went on stage, a superstition that had followed her since she’d joined the Royal Ballet School. It reminded her that every movement she made had to be perfection.

She plonks herself down in front of her mirror, groaning with relief as she undoes the tight bun that her unruly red hair has been strong-armed into for the past six hours, running her fingers through it to break up the gel and hairspray that had turned it into a lacquered helmet. She flexes her feet, feeling the pull of her overworked calf muscles, and kneads at the knots in her neck with one hand.

“Celebratory drinks?” Her best friend and flatmate Jamie pops his head in to the dressing room, a hand covering his eyes. Cass shakes her head, then realises he can’t see her. “We’ve got a matinee and evening performance tomorrow, you know that, right?” She laughs. As members of the corps they dance every single performance, a brutal and punishing schedule on top of their daily class and other conditioning sessions.

“Oh come on, goody-two-shoes, it’s our first performance! We’ve got to celebrate somehow,” Jamie wheedles. It’s a common debate between the two of them, especially since they moved in together earlier that year, because Jamie is a total social butterfly whilst Cass prefers to focus on recovery whenever she’s not in the studio or on the stage.

But he’s right, it’s the first time they can call themselves actual professional performing ballet dancers and that’s definitely something to be celebrated. So Cass relents, allowing Jamie to drag her to a swanky bar in Mayfair after she changes into her normal clothes - she hadn’t packed for a nice night out, and she feels slightly self conscious wearing her white t-shirt and blue jeans, especially when she notices she’s dressed exactly like the waitstaff. She’s surprised the bouncer even lets her in, but Jamie works his magic and manages to snag a table in the extremely crowded bar. They have a drink each, Jamie buzzing with the high quality of people watching at the bar.

“I’m going to step out for a sec, Luke’s calling me,” Cass tells Jamie as her phone buzzes insistently in her pocket. She steps onto the street outside, waving at the bouncer in the hopes that he’ll remember her face and let her back in later. The moment she picks up the call, Luke barrages her with a stream of congratulations. Luke is in Italy filming an advertisement for Ferrari, something with a disgustingly high budget, an ensemble of male and female models and incredible special effects.

“Cass I’m so proud of you! Did you get my flowers? Tell me you got the flowers. Were they enormous? I asked for the biggest bouquet the store has ever made.” Luke’s voice was slightly crackly over the phone - they were filming in a fairly remote part of Italy with poor cellular connection - but she’s instantly filled with warmth and love for her big brother.

“They were huge, all the girls were complaining of hay fever,” Cass laughs into the phone. She had been slightly sad that neither her dad nor her brother had been able to make it to her debut, but such was life as the sister of an F1 phenom. She doesn’t hold it against them, but part of the reason she had agreed to go out with Jamie was that the alternative was returning to their empty flat. Hardly the way to spend a debut night.

“I’ll be back in London in two weeks and we can celebrate then,” Luke says over the background noise of intense Italian arguing. Apparently the highly regarded, Oscar-nominated director of the advertisement has been having artistic differences with the production team and it’s been drawing out the filming schedule and ballooning the already high budget. She doesn’t envy Luke his position one bit.

“Sounds like you’ve got to go,” Cass says when she hears his name being called repeatedly. “Luca, andiamo, andiamo, per favore!” Someone screams desperately in the background. Luke sighs and bids her a reluctant farewell. “Wish I could be there, Cass,” Luke says. “I wish you could too,” Cass replies, before realising that Luke had already hung up and she’s talking to dead air.

She blushes - an inescapable fact of being a pale red-head means that every minute change in her mood is instantly noticeable given she turns bright red at the slightest provocation - and turns quickly to go back in. She turns maybe too quickly, because she almost trips over the uneven pavement and lands heavily in the arms of a person standing in front of the entrance.

“Hello,” an amused voice says as strong arms lift her up and put her gently back on her feet. She looks up, green eyes meeting familiar bright blue. “Oh my gosh, Minimax!” She exclaims, giving her saviour a big hug. Only partially so he won’t see the incriminating blush that’s invaded her body and made her feel that her winter coat might be a little too warm.

“I see you have recovered,” Max says, gesturing to her arm, which is still wrapped around his waist. She withdraws them hastily. “Oh - yes, the last time I saw you I had my fracture, didn’t I? Yeah, it was basically mostly healed when I saw you I think, so I could go back to rehearsal pretty much immediately,” Cass babbles something about her summer programme from three years ago, something she’s sure Max has no interest in at all.

He’s saved by a tanned face popping over his shoulder. Cass notices the enormous, wide grin first, then the bright, friendly eyes and a head full of curly, brown hair. “Hello!” The grinning man says, looking her up and down. “Who’s this, then? Found someone already, have ye Max?” Max sighs and waves a hand in the man’s direction. “Cass, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is Luke Errol’s sister, Cassandra.”

She’s stung by Max’s description of her as just Luke’s sister - she might love her brother to bits but he casts a large shadow - but she shakes Daniel’s hand politely as he enthuses about his friendship with her brother. “I’ve never seen you around, though - and you’re not on his socials either,” Daniel says, cocking his head inquisitively. Cass is reminded of a curious puppy learning about walkies for the first time.

“Cass hates motorsports,” Max says dryly. “I don’t hate them, I just think they’re not… well they’re not the most interesting thing to watch, are they?” Cass says, before realising her gaffe and covering her mouth in horror. “I mean, they are interesting, I just don’t have much time to watch…”

Both drivers are watching her with amusement and all she can do is shake her head and laugh. “Sorry, I’ll just shut up now,” Cass says with resignation. Daniel looks at her and then Max when a wicked gleam enters his eyes. “Well now that I think of it, I have heard of you before,” Daniel says thoughtfully. “He didn’t tell me she was so pretty though,” he says, slinging an arm around Max’s neck. Cass blushes and looks down at the ground.

Cass supposes that Daniel and Luke must have had conversations before, but she’s surprised that they have the time to discuss her instead of, say, track conditions or the weather. Before she can say anything, Max interjects. “Anyway, that’s Carlos and that’s Dani, our other team mates from Red Bull,” He gestures to two men standing a short distance away, both of whom are chatting with some gorgeous women. “Our end of season party’s tonight.”

“Oh! That’s the team that Sebastian Vettel drove for, isn’t it? The one you said I should buy the hat of?” Cass smiles at Max, remembering his teasing when she’d picked up the Ferrari hat. She remembers how he’d bought her a drink after, and then they’d sat in the sun and talked about books, before he got called away by his dad.

“Yeah, I’m in the junior team, Toro Rosso,” Max says. “Youngest F1 driver ever,” Daniel interjects, messing up Max’s hair with a fond hand. Cass can tell that they’re good friends, even though Max might roll his eyes at Daniel’s antics, and Daniel’s much older than the two still-teens. “Congratulations, Max,” Cass says sincerely. “I know that was your goal.”

“What are you up to now? How’s the ballet going?” Max asks, changing the subject. “Oh! Tonight was our first performance actually. That reminds me, I should probably get back in there - my friend is waiting for me,” Cass says, remembering that she’s left Jamie all alone at their table.

“We should be getting inside as well,” Max says, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that reminds Cass randomly of the round-faced boy he’d been when they’d first met. She wonders when she’ll see him next, and then realises that she probably wouldn’t see him again now that he’s a superstar driver. She feels an unexpected pang of sadness.

She walks towards the entrance, Daniel and Max behind her discussing something in furious whispers. She’s just gathering the courage to convince the bouncer that she has a right to go back inside when a loud cough sounds from behind her and Max stumbles up next to her, clearly having been shoved by Daniel. Daniel whistles innocently and tunelessly, surveying the pitch black sky above as if its the most interesting thing in the world as both teens turn to look at him, Cass shocked and Max annoyed.
He looks back at Max and raises his eyebrows, and Max coughs again. “Cass, you know… the Red Bull parties are pretty legendary, and um… you’re celebrating too, right? Do you want to…” He trails off and looks desperately at Daniel, who just waits patiently, arms crossed. Max draws a deep breath. “Doyouwannacometotheparty” he says quickly, words tripping over each other.

“Oh!” Cass is sorely tempted, knowing that it might be the last time she sees Max, but she does have to get enough rest for the double show day. Also, she’s kept poor Jamie waiting for ages by now and she does have to get to him. “I don’t know…” She says uncertainly. A couple of people, presumably Red Bull-related, pass by and greet Daniel and Max. “Party’s gonna be off the hook,” one middle aged man says, grinning tipsily at the pair. “Heard Christian splashed out and paid for the bar to stay open as late as we want it. Think we’ll break the previous record, Dan?”

Daniel makes small talk as Cass and Max step away, in their own little bubble. “I um, I would really like it if you came to the party,” Max says, digging his hands into his pockets. “I would love to, it’s just that - you know, we came from a performance and we’ve got two tomorrow, and Jamie and I should really get home to rest soon.”

“Oh,” Max says, mouth turning down. Cass is torn, wanting more than anything to say whatever it takes for Max’s cute smile to return. “Who’s Jamie?” He asks after a pause. Cass laughs. “Oh, he’s my best friend! You know - the one who taught me how to speak French? He’s in the corps as well, we live together. Actually, you should meet him, I think you’d like him.” Max makes a noncommittal noise, but Cass is excited about the prospect of spending a couple more minutes with Max whilst not delaying her return to Jamie.

She convinces him to follow her to their table by grabbing his wrist and essentially dragging him along. She ignores the slight tingling in her fingertips and brings him straight in, the bouncer smiling and greeting him by name - and totally ignoring her - and up to their table. She needn’t have worried that Jamie was lonely without her, because his face is glued to the face of another man, totally oblivious to her and Max standing next to them.

“Um, anyway, this is Jamie,” Cass says to Max, who has a big smile on his face. She turns back to Jamie and pokes him hard in the shoulder. “Oi, idiot, meet Max,” she orders as Jamie disentangles himself from his very passionate PDA and waves hazily at them. “Hello, Max, hello Cassie,” Jamie says, beaming and leaning back against the banquette. Cass has the feeling that Jamie’s had a couple more drinks while she was away.

“Do you want to come to the Red Bull party upstairs?” Max asks Jamie directly. Of course Jamie wants to go, he jumps up immediately, abandoning the poor strange man whom he’d been kissing just minutes before. “Jamie, we’ve got a double show day tomorrow,” Cass reminds him, but Jamie waves away her concerns. “Oh come on Cassie, how many times in your life will you party with handsome young race car drivers?” He hangs off the banquette and gives Cass a pleading look.

They have a well-worn routine, the two of them - Cass the straight-laced goody two shoes, Jamie the wild child party boy. Jamie usually gets his way, with Cass being the one to put two aspirin and a glass of water next to each of their beds before heading out to ward off hangovers. Max turns to her, putting his hands together. “Please, Cass, we are begging you now,” he says, laughter in every word. Jamie follows suit, giving her big puppy dog eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Cass capitulates easily, Max’s smile and her own desire to spend more time with him getting the better of her concerns. “But if I trip during the wilis scene I will murder you in your sleep,” she tells the cheering Jamie, who ignores her completely. Max introduces Jamie to Daniel, who’s waiting impatiently at the door to the private room where the Red Bull party is being held. Jamie takes one look at Daniel and his grin widens even more, almost ear to ear.

“Well, hello there,” he says. Daniel opens his arms for a hug - clearly a very physically affectionate person - and Jamie takes it one step further by kissing Daniel on each cheek. “I’ve never seen Daniel blush before,” Max whispers in Cass’s ear. Cass shivers with how close Max is to her, his hand having somehow found its way to her waist. “Shall we leave them to it?”

Cass follows Max to the bar as if in a trance, her hand firmly in his. “What do you want to drink?” Max asks, waving to get the attention of the bartender. He orders a beer for himself and a vodka soda for Cass, and takes his wallet out to pay. “No, let me get this one!” Cass says, snatching his wallet out of his hand and holding it behind her back as she fumbles with her own bag to bring out her debit card.

She manages to get it out of her bag but then goes as still as a statue when she feels Max’s hand curl around her wrist, his body leaning in impossibly close. She could feel his warm breath on her ear as he coolly takes his wallet back and hands his credit card to the bartender.

The bartender doesn’t bat an eyelid, swiping it quickly then handing it back to Max. “Have a good night, Mr Verstappen,” the man says before sliding away to serve another customer. Cass is still frozen, looking up at Max. He seems almost oblivious to the effect he has on her as he passes her her drink and suggests a toast to celebrate her debut. His hand is still wrapped loosely around her wrist. He looks down at her and seems to realise it, letting her go as if he’d been burned.

“Congratulations, Cass,” Max says hastily, tapping his glass against hers. They both bury their faces in their glasses, gulping down alcohol and avoiding each other’s eyes. “So how was your season?” Cass asks, wincing a bit at the burn of vodka. She’s never really gotten used to the taste of alcohol, and the novelty of ordering it legally has finally worn off after three months as an 18 year old. She should really have gotten soda water, she thinks to herself.

“It was okay,” Max says, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you live in London now? You were at the ballet school before, right? Oh - did you watch all the Hunger Games movies? Did you like them?” Cass is surprised he doesn’t have more to say about his first season in F1, but doesn’t press him - for all she knows, he crashed out at every race and doesn’t want to talk about it.

Anyway, she’s much more interested in the Hunger Games than in F1, and their conversation starts to flow more easily as Cass quizzes him on the books he’s managed to read in between races - he admits that there aren’t many, but he has watched loads of movies based on the books she’s read - and they start talking about all the Harry Potter movies. “Oh! They just opened this new Harry Potter play in the West End, you should watch it if you have two days here,” Cass suggests. “I heard all the tickets are sold out though, so maybe the next time you’re in town.”

“Yeah…” Max says, looking slightly distracted. Cass’s heart sinks, knowing he probably has to go to his work party soon. They’ve both almost finished their drinks, even though she’s tried to drink as slowly as possible, and it is getting fairly late. “Did you ever go to more races after the one in Italy?” Max asks suddenly.

Cass nods. “Yeah, I went to a couple of other races the year after, but my ballet training started ramping up after I won the Prix de Lausanne and then I went on an exchange programme to America so it was quite hard for me to get to the races,” Cass says, remembering the hectic past few years of her life where she had barely seen her family, especially since they were also travelling all over the world with the rest of the F1 circuit. “So I didn’t get to see the ultimate super wonderkid extraordinaire Max Verstappen becoming the… what was it? The youngest driver in F1 history?” Cass smiles at Max.

She had looked for him at those few races she’d been able to get to, but F1 races were far more chaotic and busy than karting and they had never crossed paths. She wonders what the odds were of her being at the exact same bar as him on the one night she’d chosen to go out in practically the whole year. She lets herself think for a moment - fancifully, to be sure - of fate.

“Ultimate super wonderkid extraordinaire?” Max laughs. “I should get that on a t-shirt, the Red Bull marketing team could use an imagination like yours.” Cass frowns at him mock sternly, pretending to hold a microphone towards Max. “Answer the question, Mr Verstappen,” she says seriously. “Are you, or are you not, the second best young driver on the grid?” Max raises his eyebrows.

“Why second best?” He asks, and Cass can’t tell if he’s genuinely offended or if he’s still joking. “Well, my brother is obviously the best,” she says, raising her eyebrows right back at him. Thankfully he’s done both because she still can’t manage to do one eyebrow at a time.

“He’s old, though,” Max points out, neatly sidestepping the potential argument over who is better. “Luke’s only 23!” Cass says, scrunching up her nose. Max laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, he’s 23 and I’m 18,” Max says. “Everyone else is above 20, even Carlos, so I’m the only young driver and that means I’m the best.”

“Number one out of one,” Cass rolls her eyes, but she has to admit that his logic is sound. Max leans in to the imaginary microphone Cass had forgotten she’d been holding out to him and says, “You heard it here first, even the lovely Cassandra Errol must admit that I’m the best.” Cass shivers at the feeling of his breath on her fist and her hand loosens and drops to her side as she bites her lip, all of her focus trying to control her rapidly increasing heart rate.

Max doesn’t seem to notice. “And what about you, Ms Errol, are you the best young ballerina on the stage?” He holds up his own imaginary microphone to Cass. “It’s a lot more subjective than racing, so it’s hard to say,” she demurs. “I’ll have to see it to judge for myself,” Max says, smiling at her. Some time during their teasing conversation they’d turned their bodies towards each other, knees touching, bodies leaning towards each other like sunflowers towards the sun.

Cass doesn’t respond, her eyes glued to Max’s full lips. He has a beautiful smile, all straight white teeth and dimples. He uncurls the fist he’d been holding up as the imaginary microphone and his thumb brushes her chin, tilting it towards him.

“Hey, Max!” The two of them spring apart as if shocked by an electric wire as a couple approaches them, the man bounding up while the woman hangs back a bit. The man immediately draws Max into deep conversation as Cass stares in disbelief at the woman.

“Ginger Spice,” she whispers reverently. “Cass, this is Christian and Geri,” Max introduces glumly. “Christian’s the team principal at Red Bull.” She shakes their hands, barely believing that she was touching Ginger Spice. “Cass’s brother is Luke Errol,” Max says.

“Luke Errol?” Christian echoes, eyes flitting between the two of them. “The Ferrari driver? Careful you don’t give away any secrets, Max, ha ha.” Cass is still completely awestruck, unable to string together more than two words.

“I love you,” she bursts out, face immediately turning tomato red in the way only a redhead’s could. Geri Halliwell smiles kindly at her, probably thinking she was an incoherent idiot. “Thanks, dear. Christian, the party?” She turns to her husband, who snaps to attention.

“Max, are you planning on making an appearance?” Christian asks pointedly. Max gets up from his bar seat at the clear order, grabbing Cass’s hand. “Yeah, we’re just done with our drinks,” he says casually, tugging on Cass’s hand so that she stands up and follows him.

The foursome make their way up the stairs, joining the raucous party. They are instructed to deposit their phones in a bucket near the door, watched over carefully by two Red Bull staff presumably acting as the designated security for the night.

Christian is immediately called over to make a speech, and he and Geri depart swiftly towards the front of the room. Max still hasn’t let go of her hand, and he leads her to where their friends had congregated.

“Where’d you disappear to, then?” Jamie demands, sliding a possessive arm around Cass’s waist and leaning his flushed face against her arm. He was clearly taking full advantage of the open bar, and would definitely be regretting this when they performed the matinee the next day.

Max’s grip on her hand tightens for a second, then he lets go, taking a step back. Cass looks at him questioningly as an older, white-haired man comes up to them. “Helmut,” Max says respectfully.
Helmut is looking at the wildly partying drivers and staff with mild disapproval. “Good to see you take your training regimen seriously even off-season, Max,” Helmut says in a formal tone. “See that you don’t go too crazy with the post-season diet. You can’t afford the weight.” With those words and a sharp nod to Cass, he departs.

The two teenagers look at each other, before laughing in disbelief. “Wow, he sounds exactly like my Russian ballet teacher,” Cass chokes out. “Yeah, he’s a tough guy,” Max admits. “He calls every morning like, seven a.m. and expects us to be already working. I don’t know how to tell him I usually don’t get out of bed until at least nine.”

“Ah, the easy life of a race car driver,” Cass says teasingly. “Us real professional athletes are in the gym before the sun rises, and again after the sun sets.” Jamie snorts, his head jerking up suddenly, then stands up somewhat straight. “Ah, I fell asleep for a second there,” he says, wobbling dangerously before using Max’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Once more unto the breach!” He declares to no one in particular, before throwing himself into the writhing mass of dancing people with wild abandon. “Jamie has a lot of energy, considering you guys had a performance earlier,” Max observes. Cass nods, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit her.

She leans over and grabs Max’s wrist, which is adorned with a huge, ugly watch, and squints at it, trying to figure out which little hands are the time. “Oh my gosh, it’s already past one,” she groans, putting a hand to her forehead. “We’ve got to be back at the theater early tomorrow for class. It’s going to be an interesting performance, to say the least.”

“Do you have to leave?” Max asks, brushing some of her hair behind her shoulder. “Yeah, I think I’d better,” Cass says regretfully. “Can’t let one good performance go to my head, and all that.”

“Yeah, I understand that,” Max says, nodding. “You’re only as good as your last race, that’s what they say.” Cass smiles ruefully and they stand there for a while, not moving. Max’s hand is still on her shoulder from when he’d brushed her hair away, and even though the party was raging around them, it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of them.

A guy in a Red Bull branded t-shirt calls Max’s name but he doesn’t acknowledge them. “Let me walk you downstairs,” Max said, his thumb drawing hypnotic circles on the bare skin of her upper arm. “Hey, Max!” The same guy shouts over just then. “I think they need you,” Cass says, pointing.

“Hmm? Oh.” Max looks over at the group of guys, all looking at them expectantly. The guy who shouted takes a few steps closer to them. “Max, we need you to settle something about the track at Baku,” he says, beckoning Max over.

“I’ll be just a minute,” he says to Cass as he walks over to the group. Fifteen minutes later, Cass’s cab is waiting and Max still hasn’t returned. She can see that he’s been drawn into a spirited argument about the track, his hands gesturing wildly as he maps out terrain in his mind. She bids goodbye to the still hard-partying Jamie and even harder partying Daniel, reminds Jamie that they’ve got work the next day, and slips out of the party.

It’s past two in the morning, Cass reaches the walk-up apartment in Camden which she shares with Jamie. Her dad had been horrified by the less than savory surroundings on move-in day, but they’d gotten a terrific deal on the rent and the second bathroom has been an absolute life saver when both of them return home late after performing.

She loves baths, loves the way it helps her muscles relax, and especially the lovely smells she can pour into it. This is something well known to her friends and family, and Luke especially always brings back a special bath oil or salts from wherever he goes. The side of her bath is liberally decorated with bottles and jars, and she picks a lavender bath oil for that night.

She’s busy falling asleep in the bath when her phone started ringing. She submerges her head in the hot water, willing it to stop. When it does, she sighs with relief. Ah, peace and quiet at last, she thinks to herself.
Then it starts again, and won’t stop. Growling with annoyance, she heaves herself out of the tub and into the chilly winter air, shivering as she wraps a towel around herself and heads into her bedroom to grab her phone. She’s had innumerable messages and three missed calls from Luke.

Oh god, what if he had a crash or something? Cass thinks to herself, frantically calling him back. She breathes a sigh of relief when she hears his voice sounding totally normal, definitely not the type of tone one would take if they had just been in a life or limb threatening crash. “Luke, why’d you call me so many times? What’s wrong? Is Dad alright?”

“Cassandra Emilia Errol, did you or did you not promise me you’d stay away from race drivers?” Luke’s irate voice comes down the line crystal clear, a big change from his earlier crackly connection, but Cass is totally bemused. She remembers having a conversation with Luke when she’d been a kid and deep in her resentment over how their lives were totally determined by the racing circuit schedule, but that was absolute ages ago. “What?”

“I heard you were at the Red Bull party just now, cozying up to Verstappen of all people,” Luke says, his disgust palpable over the phone. “He and his dad are bad news, Cassie. His dad went to jail. For driving a car into his girlfriend! Is that the kind of person you should be hanging out with? Absolutely not, I’ll tell you that for free,” Luke rants.

“What the hell, Luke? Are you stalking me now?” Cass rolls her eyes so hard she can feel bits of her soul leaving her body, a very cathartic move even if Luke isn’t there to see it. “First of all, I’m an adult and I can hang out with whoever I want. A second of all…” Luke cuts her off, which is great because she has no idea what her second point was going to be.

“Look, Jos Verstappen is an abusive stain of a human being,” Luke says heatedly. “And based on what I’ve heard about his son, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I need you to stay away from him, okay Cass?”

“What do you mean the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? Have you ever seen him being remotely abusive to anyone?” Cass shoots back. She can’t believe what she’s hearing - her usually calm, cool and collected brother has totally lost his mind with these wild accusations.

“Why are you being like this? Is it that hard to stay away from one guy?” Cass can tell that Luke is frustrated because he’s pacing so hard around wherever he is in Italy so hard that she can hear his stomping footsteps through the phone line.

“He’s actually really sweet,” Cass says wanting to take back the words the moment they leave her mouth. “How do you know he’s sweet? How much time have you been spending with him anyway?” Luke is suspicious, and she can already feel him thinking of how he’ll get their dad on his side to ban her from seeing Max.

“Not exactly, but he’s been very nice to me every time I’ve seen him,” Cass says. She knows this is a pretty weak argument considering she’s only met him a couple of times, each time fairly short-lived, but hopefully Luke wouldn’t twig on to that. Hmm, Cass thinks to herself. Maybe she did need to spend a longer period of time with him to get to know him better. She’ll die before she admits she doesn’t really know Max to Luke though.

“Look Cass, I know you’re 18 and everything, but as your older brother you should take my advice and stay away from this kid,” Luke says with finality, as if he assumes she’ll just follow his orders. To be fair, she usually does, but this one grates on her a bit. She has a job now, for God’s sake. She’s an adult!

“I’ve got to go, Cass, just… he’s not worth it, okay? There are tons of other guys out there, just avoid this one,” Luke has regained his calm, and the stomping noises from his end have stopped. “I just don’t see why you’re so against him, he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Cass says, refusing to budge.

“You’ve been cooped up in your ballet world, you don’t know people like him. He’s an aggressive son of a bitch who’s one bad decision away from killing someone on the track. That’s life and death, Cassie,” Luke says passionately. Cass blinks, not sure how to reconcile this image of Max with the guy she’s come to know, the slightly quiet guy who likes talking about books and holding her hand, but she supposes Luke has had far more opportunity to observe Max than she has. “Also, race drivers are selfish, self-centered assholes who only care about driving, so keep that in mind,” Luke adds.

“Except you, of course,” Cass laughs, breaking the tension a bit. “No, including me, just not to my little sister.” Cass can hear the smile in Luke’s voice. “I’m just looking out for you, Cassie,” Luke says softly. Cass is conflicted, but she knows Luke always wants what’s best for her and he’s never steered her wrong before.

“Okay,” Cass says, sighing. “You’ll stay away from him?” Luke confirms, a hint of sternness returning to his voice. “I said okay,” Cass says in annoyance, sitting on her bed and rolling her eyes. People always cooed over how sweet it was that the siblings were so close, but they weren’t the ones who had to deal with the overprotective side of him.

Anyway, the chances of her seeing Max outside of races was pretty slim and the next one was months away. He’d probably have forgotten about her by then, race drivers being surrounded by gorgeous women nearly all the time.

“So other than that, how was your debut? Tell me everything. We finished filming for the day so I’ve got loads of time.” Cass beams as she describes her performance, going into exhaustive detail over every movement - she knows Luke won’t get bored because they’ve done this a thousand times before. He always asks her for more details, wanting to experience through her words what he’s rarely seen in person due to his busy schedule.

“… And then the applause felt like it went on forever, but you know, it was probably only for less than a minute. But it was incredible, Luke, I wish you got to see it,” Cass ends. She’s got him on speaker phone by now and had been going through her night time routine of face-washing and stretching. A quick look at the clock on her bedside tells her it’s past three in the morning.

“I’ll be back for the Christmas one, and then we can have a quiet time back home finally,” Luke says. He sounds exhausted, very unlike his usual self. “You okay? How’s everything over in Italy?” Cass asks, concerned.

“Yeah everything’s fine, it’s just a lot of pressure, you know? Everyone’s asking me if I think I deserve my seat or if I’m going to be the world champion this year, and it’s so tiring having to give politically correct answers all the time, or worry that something I say is going to bite me in the ass,” Luke sighs.

“And there’s a million people around all the time,” he adds. “Right until I called you I was surrounded by a bunch of Ferrari staff - the marketing team, the press team, my trainer, it was like I was the Queen or something. There was even a bodyguard for this watch I borrowed!”

Cass is silent as Luke continues. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful but if this is the off season I can’t imagine how it is during the actual race season…” Luke trails off sadly.

“You’re back for Christmas, right?” Cass mentally tabulates her schedule and tries to figure out whether she’s got a couple of days for them to retreat to their house in the Cotswolds. It’s where they grew up and has always been a sort of safe haven in her mind. It’s worth the mental gymnastics when Luke immediately cheers up at her suggestion and starts planning their trip.

—

Chapter Text

The corps is slightly worse for wear when they turn up for class the next morning, most of them having been out partying til the early hours, but they manage to pull it together for the performance, brilliant fake smiles turning to silent groans of pain the second they leave the stage.

“Why did you let me drink that much?” Mara, one of Cass’s closest friends since their days in ballet school, moans as she lays completely flat on the cold, laminate floor of the empty studio they’ve set up camp in for hangover triage. She’d gone for post-performance dinner with her boyfriend but then had turned up at the Red Bull party after Jamie had drunkenly texted their entire corps about the open bar, and was fully regretting it now.

“I didn’t let you do anything,” Cass says, laughing as she cleans off the thick stage makeup that she’d had to plaster on to conceal her dark under eye circles. “If you want to blame anyone, blame Jamie.” The aforementioned Jamie was passed out asleep next to them, a frilly tutu pulled over his face to block out the brilliant sunshine that streamed in through the skylight.

“How do you know those guys anyway?” Mara asks, using a stretchy band to rotate her ankles. “Friends of my brother,” Cass says vaguely. “Your brother who races cars right? Those guys were all drivers and mechanics and stuff. They throw mad parties for a bunch of engineers.”

This is what Cass loves about her friends. They were so totally uninterested in anything other than ballet that they aren’t even phased by the celebrity level of the F1 drivers, completely unaware that they had been in the presence of famous professional athletes. And Ginger Spice.

“Cass, you have a delivery,” Lucy from reception pops her head in briefly, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, then darts back out. “Perfect, lunch is here,” Cass crows, hopping up. They’d ordered some hangover recovery food, greasy lasagnes and green smoothies to balance it out. God she was starving.

Cass makes her way out. She’s dressed in her warmest outfit - pink leotard over white leggings with leg warmers, bike shorts, a wrap top and cardigan, all of varying clashing colors - and her hair is falling in gelled chunks around her face when she spots Max waiting patiently at the reception and stops dead.

He’s seen her too and gives a cheerful wave. It’s too late to do anything about her hair or clothes, but she quickly swipes a thumb under each eye to catch any eyeliner or mascara smudges that may have been left behind.

“Hello,” Cass says cautiously, approaching him. “You left without saying goodbye last night,” Max says, as if that explains why he’s here. “You were busy,” Cass replies, still not entirely sure what he’s doing at her place of work. She’s also completely exhausted from the night out followed by the energetic performance, she’s starving and dehydrated and her brain is working at half the speed. Also she can’t forget what Luke said about Max and she observes him warily, wondering whether there’s even a grain of truth to Luke’s words about what a psychopath Max is.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. When it comes to cars, I lose track of time…” Max says, finally looking slightly abashed. “Luke’s the same,” Cass offers. They stand in silence for a while.

“Oh! These are for you,” Max says, reaching for something hidden around the side of the reception desk and pulling out a small bouquet of flowers. “I watched your performance, it was brilliant,” he adds.

“You watched the ballet?” Cass asks incredulously. All tickets had been sold out for weeks as it was the last season for the prima ballerina of the company. She remembers mentioning the matinee performance to Max a couple of times, but she can’t help but be impressed that he’d managed to get a ticket some time between her leaving the party and the start of the matinee. She’s also completely surprised that he’d bothered coming, knowing that he has a fairly low level of interest in the ballet.

“Yeah, I’m leaving for Ibiza today and, you know, I said I’d have to see for myself.”

Ah, their conversation about being the best. “And?”

“Best dancer by a mile. You’re incredible.” Max says this totally straight faced, so Cass can’t tell if he’s teasing, but she assumes he is. “Please, no one can even see me on the stage. We all look the same under all the makeup,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I could. You were third from the left when you entered, right? You’ve got this - I don’t know how to say this, I’m not great with words,” Max says, looking a bit flustered. “You have a very good energy? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like the spotlight is following you.” Cass blushes, looking up at the also blushing Max.

“My turn out needs some work and my jetes could be higher,” she says, automatically defaulting to the criticism every ballerina has running in their heads after each performance.

“You were perfect.”

This is said with such conviction, such finality, that Cass caves and accepts the praise. “Thank you,” she says, reaching over and giving Max a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s really sweet of you to have come,” she says, taking a step back. “Have a good time in Ibiza.”

Max nods slowly, eyes fixed on her. “Do you um…have time to get lunch or something? When I’m back?” He asks, leaning one hip against the reception. Lucy is watching their conversation avidly, and Cass knows that she’s going to be bombarded with questions the second Max leaves.

“I can’t,” Cass says, not knowing what reason to give. My brother would kill me would probably cause more problems than it would solve.

“Oh, okay.” Max rubs the back of his neck, before taking another step back. “Sorry,” she offers lamely. She watches as he picks up his bag and smiles weakly when he bids her an awkward goodbye, unable to say anything to soften the blow of rejection given her promise to Luke.

—

“Mate, I didn’t even get her number,” Max groans to Carlos as he walks out of the theatre, smacking his forehead with his hand. “Go back in and get it, then,” Carlos says peaceably from his seat in the car that was sending them to the airport. The driver flicked nervous eyes at them, before bleating something about missing their flight.

“I don’t think she’d give it to me,” Max admits, slumping down onto his seat in the car and closing the door. The relieved driver accelerates smoothly away from the curb, closing the door on the option of returning.

“You’ve got to have more confidence, amigo,” Carlos pulls out his phone and shows Max his messages, filled with the names of different girls. “We’re F1 drivers, we’re hot property!” Max scratches his jaw, shaking his head. “She’s not impressed by that, her brother’s Luke Errol,” he says dismally.

“Then move on to another girl,” Carlos suggests, losing interest in the topic. “It’s hard enough to be in a relationship with someone who actually wants to be with you, why go after ones that don’t?”

Max won’t admit it to Carlos out of a sense of pride, but for him there is no other girl. Ever since he saw Cass spinning in circles in his karting tent all those years ago, she’s been his standard of perfection. He’d dated a couple of girls back home since then, but things had never been serious and he’d always been able to use the excuse that he was always traveling for most of the year to keep them at a distance.

Now, though, he’s finished his first season in F1 - he’d done pretty well, even though there was always improvement to be made - and like a stroke a fate, he’d turned up in London, knowing she lived there and he’d actually bumped into her without even trying to find her. He’d been aware of her appointment to the Royal Ballet, and had secretly bought tickets to watch the moment he’d known he’d be in London.

Max is lost in thought all the way to Ibiza, where he’s rented a villa with a couple of friends, all in the racing or entertainment business. He knows it’s probably going to be a wild week, sleeping all day and partying all night. He’s been looking forward to it all season, but now that he’s actually here he can’t help but wish he’d given himself more time in London.

“Your friend is boring,” he hears more than one of the girls partying at their villa complain to his friend Martin over the course of the week, after Max spends every day sulking by the pool. Martin finally takes matters into his own hands, inviting Max to lunch at a secluded restaurant so that he can get the story out of him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t ask for her number, man,” Martin says, shaking his head as he looks at his downcast friend opposite him. “You should have asked her to come to Ibiza!”

Max snorts. “She’s not one of your Instagram models who can fly out for a week at a drop of a hat,” he says, thunking his head on the table. “She has to go to work every day, sometimes even Sundays.” Martin kicks Max under the table for the quip, but still gamely tries to help his friend out.

“Won’t that be really hard though? If she has to be in London all the time, will you be in Monaco at all or would you move there?” Martin wonders aloud. “Fuck, the tax alone - you gotta make sure it’s worth it,” he adds, shaking his head.

“I don’t even have her number and you’re already thinking about us moving in together,” Max says, amused. “Do your fans know you’re such a romantic guy?”

“Let’s think of other girls you can go out with - oh, what about Dua Lipa?” Martin suggests, scrolling through his contacts. “I just did a song with her, so I could link you guys up. She’s really cool, great sense of humour, and super hot.”

Max just groaned and leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, pulling his baseball cap over his eyes. “Okay, what about Instagram? Facebook? Twitter? Just DM her,” Martin starts typing more furiously, trying to find Cass’s social media pages.

“She doesn’t have any social media,” Max mumbles from beneath his hat. “What?” Martin is totally befuddled. “I can’t find her on any social media, her brother doesn’t even tag her in his photos or anything,” Max says morosely. He’d spent hours trying to find her, with no luck.

“Is she… ugly?” Martin asks cautiously, not understanding why someone in the performing arts would shun social media. Max throws him a poisonous look, kicking him under the table. “She’s not fucking ugly, maybe she just doesn’t want perverts like you checking out her photos,” Max shoots back.

“You mean perverts like you,” Martin chortles. “You’re the one who’s so desperate to date her, not me.” Max scowls but can’t deny that he’d probably be looking at her posts every day if she had a public Instagram account.

“Anyway, she said she had a performance that night right? She’ll probably say yes if you ask her out when you see her the next time, if you time it right,” Martin says placatingly. They’ve been talking about this girl every single day since they got to Ibiza. He’s not used to seeing his friend in such a foul mood over a girl - poor lap times, too many interviews, parental issues, yes but a girl never - and he hopes Cass will go out with the grumpy teen just so he can stop talking about her all the time.

“Yeah, I think they have performances through Christmas… maybe I can bring Victoria to watch so it won’t be weird, like I’m fucking like…stalking her at work or something,” Max muses, tapping the wooden table top contemplatively.

“See, now you’ve got a plan, can you stop terrifying the guests at the villa with your gloomy face?” Max nods, cheering up slightly. He likes having a plan, a strategy - it makes him feel more in control of what’s going on in his life.

When Victoria responds positively to his message, Max immediately goes online to buy tickets to the ballet and makes arrangements for the trip. They’ll fly to London on Boxing Day, and watch the ballet two days later.

“So, no to Dua then?”

“Nah mate, not my type.” Martin snorts and leans back in his seat. “She’s everyone’s type, you’re just fucking hung up on the idea of this girl.” Max ignores his friend, happy now at the prospect of another chance with Cass.

—

“Stop, Luke, wait -” Cass is breathless with laughter as she and Luke have a snowball fight - more like chucking handfuls of snow at each other while trying to run in the unseasonable knee deep snow that had fallen overnight - in the garden of their house in the Cotswolds.

They’d woken up to a world painted white, and had immediately gone outside to play like they had as children. This house was where they’d spent most of their time when not on the track or in the ballet studio, and they instantly reverted to their childhood selves the moment they crossed the threshold.

“I’m telling Dad you’re cheating!” Cass shouts as Luke hides behind a conveniently placed planter box and starts speed-making a row of snowballs. “How am I cheating, just because I’m winning?” Luke laughs, chucking a perfectly made snowball which hits Cass straight in the face.

“Da-aaad!” Cass shrieks as she throws a sloppy handful of snow in Luke’s direction. “It’s not fair, I’ve got less upper body strength!” She dodges Luke’s next snowball, cheering when she manages to catch it and throw it back, hitting Luke in the side.

The weekend has been very relaxing, and Cass can see Luke return to his usual confident, take charge self. As kids he’d always been the leader, with her as the cheerful follower, and it had been worrying to see him doubting his ability to handle the attention that came with his dream job.

No one looking at Luke now would be able to sense that he was anything but happy, but Cass can tell that he’s lost a bit of weight and that his eyes have a tightness around them which has only just begun to ease up since they’d arrived.

The house is probably better described as a mansion, with a staff of 15 people managed by their housekeeper, Dot. An old Georgian mansion, it’s two stories tall, square and red-bricked with a man-made lake and huge gardens keeping the neighbors at bay. There are even stables, although Luke has turned those into a home gym in the absence of any horses.

They hit the gym after their snowball fight, with Luke doing the odd plyometric workouts that drivers do to strength their sides and necks, and Cass running through the choreography for the Nutcracker.

“Shall we do something after the show?” Luke lists a number of new clubs and bars that he’s heard are popular, and Cass agrees to everything he says, wanting to keep the smile on his face for as long as possible.

Luke is happiest when planning things, and he’s a born leader. He quickly pulls together a group of friends in London for the night out, including some of his friends from the karting circuit and others from his high school.

The rest of the weekend passes quietly enough, and they bid their dad goodbye as Luke drives them down to London in his bright red Ferrari, a gift from his new team. Cass is embarrassed by how much noise the engine is making as they turn into her street late at night, but Luke is oblivious.

“Don’t say anything negative about my flat,” Cass warns defensively, knowing that it’s probably a bit messier than it should be. “Not everyone has a cleaner in every day, and we’re skint ballet dancers.”

Even with this warning, Luke is shocked at the mess that they walk in on. “Jesus Christ, it’s the sack of Rome in here,” he says loudly, ignoring Cass’s evil glare. Jamie walks out nonchalantly, munching on an apple.

“It’s all Cass’s fault, actually, nothing to do with me,” he says, tossing the half-eaten apple onto one of the empty pizza boxes littering the floor. Luke raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly between the apple and Jamie, who beams at him, unabashed.

Luke insists on them spending the rest of the night tidying up, only allowing them to collapse on the sofas when the flat is to his satisfaction. “I knew your brother was a driver, but you never said he was a slave driver,” Jamie complains as he wipes sweat off his brow. He excuses himself to take a shower, leaving Cass and Luke alone in the living room.

“Does Dad know you live like this?” Luke asks, cracking open a beer he’d grabbed from the fridge as he settles into one of the overstuffed armchairs. Cass looks around at her flat, trying to see it through Luke’s eyes.

Plain white walls, a couple of posters from concerts they’d been to, a shit ton of knick knacks collected by them over the years, and the obligatory Degas print hung up haphazardly. Their comfortable but shabby furniture, perfect for lounging on during off days. The now sparkling kitchenette, with its tiny fridge and leaky sink.

It’s a big change from the so-called cottage in the Cotswolds, but it’s become the place she thinks of when she thinks home. She doesn’t appreciate Luke’s slightly condescending tone, though, and gives him a hard look. Like Paddington Bear.

He can tell that she’s annoyed at his question, so he over-explains himself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the flat itself, but that you’ve turned it into a hovel.” He’s not helping himself, so he stops before he makes things worse.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but I’m actually an adult,” Cass says frostily. “I can make my own choices about how I live my life, and who I want to spend time with, for that matter.” Luke’s brow furrows as he processes her words.

“Who you spend… what are you talking about? You’ve only got two friends, both of whom I quite like, actually.”

“I’m talking about how you just ordered me to not spend any time with Max even though he’s really sweet and came to watch me perform, just because you think you know better than I do!”

If Cass wasn’t so mad, she’d find Luke’s expression incredibly funny. He’s switching between confusion and frustration so quickly that his facial muscles are actually twitching. “Must we go over this again? I thought you agreed that he’s bad news?”

“It’s not the content of the message, it was the delivery - you know, you basically telling me what to do, like I’m still a little kid!” Cass wants to grab Luke by the shoulders and shake him into seeing her as an adult human being for once, someone who can make their own decisions and mistakes.

Luke scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted, and Cass feels a twinge of guilt. She’d almost forgotten that the whole point of the trip was for him to relax, away from the stresses of work, and here she is piling on more stress.
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to order you around, I just wanted you to listen to me,” Luke says, reaching out to give her a hug. Cass softens, leaning into his arms, her temper fading away as quickly as it had come on.

“I know you’re all grown up and everything, but a brother’s got to look out for his kid sister, you know.”

Quiet sniffling can be heard just beyond the door to the kitchen, and both Errols turn to catch Jamie, poorly hidden by the fridge, eavesdropping. “You two are so sweet,” he says shamelessly. “And you’re right Luke, we’ve got to keep Cass in check, she’s the one who leaves empty takeout containers all over the place like a heathen.”

Cass chucks a pillow at Jamie in protest, leading to a pillow fight that slightly detracts from her claim to be an adult. Luckily, Luke joins in, his tired expression vanishing at the prospect of a competition.

—

A particularly bad bout of seasonal flu mixed with injuries had wiped out a significant chunk of the company, meaning some of the corps were promoted to actual soloist roles for some performances of the Nutcracker. Cass was dancing Clara, one of the main roles, for the week after Christmas.

This meant non-stop practicing, and alternately heating and icing her screaming muscles, and freaking out mentally every five seconds. Clara. In her first season. She’d been struck dumb when she’d been told of her new role as junior understudy earlier on, but she hadn’t really expected anything to happen until the senior understudy had fainted during practice a few days before after trying to push through the flu. She’s been Clara a few times before, including in school, so she already knew the steps - but this is a whole new level.

Now, it’s actually happening. She is about to step onto the stage of the Royal Opera House and perform one of the dream roles for any young ballerina out there. In front of more than two thousand of people, including her dad and her brother. She knows there’ll be disappointment from most of the audience who will be expecting the grand principals to star, not a lowly corps member, and it’s honestly freaking her out a bit.

She takes slow breaths, counting one two three four on the in breath and one two three four on the out, trying not to panic. There’s nothing that can be done now, she’s just got to give it her all.

Jamie taps her on the shoulder, giving her an encouraging thumbs up as he passed, bounding onto the stage in his role as a a party guest. Mara, who has also had extra corps roles piled on her, squeezes her hand, eyes conveying her excitement. They’ve all been thrown into the deep end this week, and it’s given them a sort of “us against the world” mentality that has pushed them to the absolute limit.

She’s dressed in a simple, flowing white dress with her hair down, and she closed her eyes, trying to project innocence, youth, fun… She steps out onto the stage, a brilliant smile on her face, and immediately is lost in the movements.

Her body moves as if on autopilot, the steps coming through pure muscle memory. She spins around in a circle at her parents’ party, she accepts the gifts from Drosselmeyer, watches the Harlequin and Columbine do their solo dances…

Marta, the soloist doing Columbine, had hinted strongly that it should be her and not Cass performing as Clara, but the artistic director had ignored her protests and picked Cass. Marta and her friends have been throwing her poisonous looks ever since, but on stage she’s a perfect professional, fully focused on herself.

And finally it’s time for the pas de deux between Clara and the Nutcracker, played by Alexei, a first soloist from St Petersburg. They haven’t had much time to practice together, so their movements aren’t as synchronized as they might have been, and Cass beams a smile of pure relief when he catches her firmly on one shoulder at the end, because he’s dropped her every time they practiced.

With that under her belt, she feels far more confident, and the rest of the performance flies by. At the end, crowned the Queen of the Land of Sweets, her eyes seek out Luke and Dad, sitting in one of the boxes. Luke is cheering raucously, somewhat scandalously loud for the ballet, but she grins at him as he whistles through his teeth, Dad shaking his head but smiling super wide.

Her eyes scan the rest of the audience, whom are clapping more decorously, although there are some people cheering - probably the friends and family of some of the other corps who were promoted at the last minute. The Nutcracker is one of those ballets where people who wouldn’t normally go to the ballet come and watch, so the crowd is a bit more diverse, with loads of little kids as well. They seem happy enough, and she mentally breathes a sigh of relief that she hasn’t messed it up.

Alexei squeezes her hand reassuringly, and she turns to smile at him. He’s been a rock throughout the week of practices, and she’s filled with so much relief that this first performance has gone off without a hitch that she’s almost dizzy. The moment she steps off stage, she’s bowled over by Jamie and Mara, both filled with the adrenaline of performing.

“We did it, we did it!” Jamie screams (quietly, since they’re still near the stage) into her ear, hugging her around the waist. Cass can’t stop laughing, her cheeks hurting from how much she’s been smiling. The mood behind the scenes is buoyant, and Cass impulsively gives the stone faced artistic director a hug and thanks him profusely for the opportunity.

“You did well,” He says, patting her on the head. That’s high praise from him, and Cass can only nod and smile like an idiot as Mara pulls her to the changing rooms. The security is a bit more lax after a performance, and a couple of friends and family have managed to slip in to congratulate the dancers, including Luke, who’s chatting up Anya, a long-serving member of the corps.

“Cassie! Little Bean! You were brilliant!” He breaks off his conversation and picks Cass up, swinging her in the air as she shrieks at him to put her down. “We must celebrate. My treat, obviously. Dad’s waiting outside, so you’d better put your skates on.”

Cass manages to change in record time, despite loads of people popping in to congratulate her and chat about the makeshift performance. She bounds out of the stage door, where Luke and Dad are waiting, straight into Dad’s arms. “Where’s Thing One and Thing Two?” Luke’s got nicknames for all of her friends, and of course her two inseparable best friends got the worst ones.

“They’re going out with the others,” Cass says as they start walking in the direction of the main road. “I made a reservation at Valentino’s,” Luke is saying as Cass feels a tug on her hand. She turns to see a little girl staring at her with hero worship in her eyes.

“Are you… Clara?” The girl asks hopefully, holding her program close to her chest. Cass beams and nods, and the little girl squeals loudly, drawing attention to the two of them. “Can you sign this for me please? Oh, and can we take a photo?” She beckons to a woman standing nearby - her mum, presumably, who holds out her camera hopefully.

Cass takes the pen offered to her by the little girl and signs the programme quickly, then bends down so that she’s the same height as the little girl, before being absolutely blinded by the flash. She’s blinking the sight back into her eyes when she hears Luke say, in a tone of disbelief, “Verstappen?”

Cass whips her head around to where Luke’s standing, next to a slightly sheepish looking Max and a teenage girl. “Uh… hi,” Max says awkwardly, waving at her. “Hi, Luke. Mr Errol.” He coughs slightly into his fist, then nudges the teenage girl forward. “My sister, Victoria… she likes the ballet. You were… um, you were really good.”
Luke is scowling deeply at Max, while Victoria scans Cass up and down. Cass flushes, not really sure what to do in this odd situation. Dad looks between all of them with a crease between his eyebrows. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” He asks politely, smiling kindly at Victoria.

Before Luke can open his mouth, Victoria has thrown Dad a huge smile and chirped “Sure!” The next thing Cass knows, they’re all walking down the street together, Luke guarding Cass‘s left side closely, while Victoria quizzes her about the ballet costumes. Max is stuck walking with Dad behind them, and Cass can hear Dad asking him something about racing.

When they reach the restaurant, Max manages to grab the seat next to Cass, leaving her sandwiched between two Verstappens. Luke sits slowly opposite Max, glowering. Dad is faintly amused, she can tell.

“What brings you to London, Verstappen?” Luke asks nastily after they’ve ordered, leading to Cass kicking him under the table. Luke soundly ignores her.

“Oh um… Victoria really wanted to come,” Max says, absolutely not making eye contact with anyone at the table. Victoria nods vigorously in a way that makes it clear this is a lie. “So, are you looking forward to the next season?” Max asks, finally looking up at Luke. Luckily, Dad jumps on this topic of conversation, easing the tension somewhat as Luke is distracted from his animosity by his favourite topic.

While they’re talking about cars, Cass sneaks a glance at Victoria. The teen is clearly interested in the conversation, but she notices Cass looking at her and raises an eyebrow. Cass blushes. Damn it, this girl is way cooler than she is.

“So, you and my brother, huh?” Victoria asks in an undertone. “What?” Cass asks automatically, even though she kind of knows what Victoria is getting at.

“Out of the blue I get a message inviting me to London to watch ballet, which was beautiful by the way, but not really my thing, and then after we wait outside in the freezing cold for no reason… is this ringing the bells?” Victoria’s English is slightly more accented than Max’s, but her meaning is clear.

“I… I had no idea you guys were coming,” Cass stammers. She doesn’t really know what to say, torn between thinking it was kind of sweet that Max had come and thinking it was totally crazy.

Victoria huffs under her breath, crossing her arms. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, she looks cherubic but Cass can sense she’s tougher than she looks. “Well, you were very good at the ballet,” Victoria says grudgingly.

Cass laughs. “You really don’t like ballet?”

Victoria shakes her head, eyes twinkling. “I do racing, like my brother. Not as intense though, I’m not a maniac like Max.” She gives Max this fond look that Cass distinctly recognizes as one she’s given to Luke millions of times, the he’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot.

The food arrives and the conversation ceases as they dig in, Cass mmm-ing appreciatively as she takes her first bite of lobster pasta. “Is pasta still your favourite food?” Max murmurs as he takes a bite of his steak.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you remember that,” Cass laughs. “Yeah, it’s the best celebration food.” She takes another bite and almost chokes when she’s kicked hard under the table. She looks up to see Luke frowning at her. She widens her eyes at him and shrugs in the time honored what do you expect me to do gesture.

Max notices them staring at each other and something seems to click in his mind. He’s quiet for the rest of the night, flicking glances at Cass every now and then. Luckily, Dad and Victoria manage to carry the conversation, with Luke and Cass chiming in every now and then.
After dinner, they make their way out of the restaurant and stand outside in the cold December air. Max and Victoria politely thank Dad for dinner. “Cass, let’s go,” Luke says, taking Cass’s arm. “Actually Luke, I wanted to discuss something with you - Cass, you’ll be fine on your own, won’t you?” Dad says kindly but firmly, putting an arm around Luke.

“Oh, yeah I’ll be fine,” Cass says cheerfully. Luke looks conflicted, but ultimately goes with Dad without complaint, as Dad knew he would. “Can we send you home?” Max asks hopefully once the two Errol men have departed.

“We have to, it’s really late,” Victoria insisted as she flagged a cab expertly, as if she was the London native instead of Cass. Cass couldn’t help but be impressed by her maneuvers when she immediately ordered the cab to drop her off at their hotel first, hopping out and slamming the door the second they arrived. “I won’t wait up!” She shouted cheekily through the window, darting up the stairs to the front door.

“Sorry about her,” Max says sheepishly. He’s sat facing her, having gallantly taken the backwards facing seat, but now he moves so he’s sitting next to her. Cass leans forward and gives her address to the impatient cabbie, and the cab starts moving again.

“It’s really quite far to my place,” Cass says worriedly, looking out at the London traffic, still inexplicably heavy despite the late hour. “That’s fine,” Max says, leaning back against the seat. They sit in silence for a while, Cass nibbling at the skin around her thumb and Max tapping his fingers nervously against his knee.

“How was Ibiza?” Cass blurts out, just as Max says “Your dad says you’re really young to do the main role.” They both pause to let the other person speak, then laugh at the same time. “You go first, tell me about Ibiza,” Cass urges Max.

“Well, it was very nice, just me and some friends, um… we rented a villa, went to some clubs, um… that’s about it,” Max says. He wisely refrains from saying anything about the many conversations he’s had with his friends on how to engineer this exact meeting, although he definitely could not have foreseen that he’d be at the same performance as her dad and brother, or that her dad would invite him and Victoria along to dinner. Then he remembers Luke’s attitude towards him the whole night.

“Does your brother not like me or something?” Cass is thrown by the sudden change in topic, and she stammers through her response. “Of course not, he just… um he might have heard some things about - I mean, he doesn’t really know you does he?” Max stares at her with a frown creasing his brow, his mind clearly working through her incoherent mumbling and reaching the correct understanding.

“So he has heard some things about me, or my family or, to be more specific, my dad and has made some assumptions about me, is that right?” He’s fuming, an angry scowl fixed on his face that is so opposite from everything Cass has seen from him that she wonders if there’s some truth to what Luke says about Max’s temper.

In some part of his mind Max knows that he isn’t presenting what could be reasonably called his best self, in fact this is probably his worst self - the red mist of rage that comes over him sometimes when he feels that something is unfair, when something he really wants is being taken from him, or when he feels like a loss is imminent.

And his mind is rapidly drawing lines in his mind, of how her attitude towards him had switched between that night at the Red Bull party and the next day at the ballet. He can imagine Luke fucking Errol getting a message from someone at the party - hey, your sister is here with Verstappen - and Errol promptly freaking the fuck out and warning Cass away from him.

It’s clear enough from how Errol had glared every time he so much as looked at Cass that he doesn’t think Max is good enough for his sister. Fuck, Max doesn’t think he’s good enough for Cass, but it rankles that he’s been judged based on hearsay - he doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to Errol directly, so he can’t have made a bad impression on him.

“Max?” The red mist clears slightly when Cass lays a pale, slender hand on his arm. He hadn’t noticed but his hands had curled into white-knuckled fists, and he’d been glowering at the ground for god know’s how long.

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and tries to relax his muscles, focusing on trying to seem less threatening to a clearly nervous Cass. “Are you okay?” Cass asks tentatively, drawing her hand away when she sees he’s paying attention to her. He doesn’t know how many times she’s called his name before that without him noticing.

In, out. The cab driver has no sense of discretion or timing, and he’s stopped the cab and turns to them through the plastic divider. “We’re ‘ere, and I’m off the clock, so you’ll have to pay up and hop out,” he shouts, knocking on the divider to emphasize his point.

Let it be a testament to the willpower of a London cabbie that the two of them were standing outside Cass’s flat in two minutes flat, the cab sailing down the road away from them. Cass looks at Max - dressed in his finest, wearing what was presumably an expensive watch - and invites him in.

“Do you need permission from your brother?” Max says nastily. He can’t stop himself, knows that this is absolutely not the way to get the girl, but he hates being lumped together with his dad. To his relief, Cass rolls her eyes instead of taking offense.

“No need to be an arse about it,” she says, unlocking the door and climbing up the stairs to her flat, not waiting to see if Max follows. “If you stand outside for much longer you’re going to get robbed!” Her voice floats down. Max looks up and down the dark street doubtfully, but going in suits his purposes just fine, so he traces her steps to the second floor.

—

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Cass is standing in the kitchen, rummaging through a high cupboard. She has to tiptoe to reach, her calf muscles visibly flexing through her black tights. “Max?”

He realizes he’s been staring like a creep, so quickly mutters an affirmative response and turns to stare blankly at the wall instead, which is covered in photographs. He doesn’t know what to say, how to recover from the all encompassing rage that had filled him, the dark side that he’d accidentally exposed to the one person who he’d hoped would never see it.

He’s still trying to figure it out when Cass taps him on the shoulder and hands him a blue mug with the words I like big barres and I cannot lie scrawled across it in big white letters. “Chamomile, for relaxation,” Cass says wryly when he takes a sip. She’s holding her own mug, a Ferrari one, and takes a seat on the couch.

“You can sit, if you want,” she says, nodding to the armchair opposite. Max takes off his coat, draping it over the back of the armchair, and sits. Then he really takes in the room.

“You have a lot of… things,” he says, dumbstruck by the sheer amount of clutter that litters the room. “It’s mostly Jamie’s actually, he’s a total packrat.” Cass’s tone is even and her face calm as she points out items of interest, telling Max the backstories of some things and sips on her tea. Max relaxes, figuring that they are going to just pretend that nothing had happened in the cab.

“The day after we graduated from the academy, Jamie, Mara and I went backpacking around Europe for a couple of weeks and ended up in Poland,” Cass says, nodding to a small, misshapen figurine given pride of place right in the middle of the window ledge. “We went out one night, had too much Polish vodka, and woke up in the hostel with what little was left of our money gone, no memory of the night before, and this thing tucked down the front of Jamie’s pants.”

Max takes a closer look at the little figurine, realizing it’s a very poorly made clay ballerina. “Did you figure out what happened?” Cass nods, eyes twinkling. “When we went down for breakfast, one of the other hostel guests told us. Jamie had seen this behind the bar at one of the pubs we’d gone to - the bartender’s daughter had made it, apparently - and made the bartender an offer he couldn’t refuse. Which was, basically, all of our money.”

“Are there similar stories behind all of these things?” Max asks, counting at least fifteen weird little things scattered around the window ledges and on the mantle above the fireplace. Cass looks around with new eyes, realising how odd all the little things they’ve collected over the years might look to a stranger. “We’re big on making memories… and having things that help us remember them, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable… Do you remember when we first met?” He asks directly, wondering if he’d made as big an impression on her as she had on him. “Of course I do,” Cass says, tilting her head to one side and scrunching up her face in thought. “Although I’ve not got any ornaments to remember it by.”

“I was practicing for my ballet recital, I must have been six… and you too, right? We’re the same age?” She checks with Max. He smiles and nods, thinking to himself that she’s either looked him up online or she’s heard about him.

“And you told me off,” Cass laughs. “I did not!” Max protests. “You definitely did, you were so annoyed that I was trespassing,” Cass retorts lightly, curling her legs under her and taking out the pins in her hair.

“I wasn’t annoyed, I was scared my dad would flip out,” Max corrects her, then winces at how he’s inadvertently brought up the topic of his dad. “What’s that all about, then? Why’s your dad got such a bad reputation?”

Max would typically bristle at the question, but he knows he’s got to keep his temper under check to have any shot of a chance with Cass. “He’s got a bad temper,” he says vaguely, but knows this isn’t enough to assuage Cass’s curiosity. Not after whatever her brother’s said to her. “He can be violent,” Max admits.

“To you?” Cass’s eyes go big in sympathy, and she reaches out to touch his hand. Max shamelessly takes the opportunity to turn his hand over so they’re essentially holding hands. “Yeah, I mean, to me, my mum, random people who piss him off,” Max says, figuring he might as well tell the whole unvarnished truth. He’s rewarded when Cass squeezes his hand.

“But you said you went with your dad after your parents got divorced,” Cass says. “You remembered?” Max raises an eyebrow, secretly thrilled that she can remember their conversation from years ago. He also loves the way Cass’s fair English rose skin blushes when she realizes she’s exposed that fact.

“Yeah, I went with him because I wanted a career in racing and he was basically my manager, my coach, my mechanic, everything. I would have seen him every day anyway, so…” He shrugged. “But your mum knew he was a violent guy?”

“Yeah, I mean… he sent her death threats by text, he’s always been really aggressive,” Max says. “I think that sounds worse than it is,” he adds, seeing Cass’s stricken expression. “I don’t know how it can be better…” Cass says, biting her lip. “That’s awful, I can’t imagine living like that.”

“Everything he did has made me a better driver,” Max says defensively. He doesn’t like the way this conversation is going, knows that if Cass keeps pressing he’s going to say something stupid. “Anyway, what about you? Did you ever find out where your mum went?”

Ah. There’s the something stupid. Cass’s expression immediately goes flat, like shutters closing over a window. Of course he’d choose the worst possible topic to change the subject to. “No idea,” she says coolly.
Max curses the part of his personality that makes it impossible to just let go of things because it makes him ask more questions, his insatiable curiosity needing just that little bit more information. “Have you ever wanted to find her?”

“No.” Cass’s voice makes it clear that this isn’t a topic she wants to explore, and Max fights his inner need to know everything there is to know about Cass, and changes the subject. “So, your dad said your role was kind of last minute?”

Cass has almost forgotten that it’s her first night as Clara in the surprise of bumping into Max, and everything that had come after. She’s surprised that Luke hasn’t called to check on her yet, but hopes it indicates a thawing in his attitude towards Max, who has been nothing but gentlemanly since they’ve met.

She’s in the middle of telling Max all about the sickness and injury woes of the company that led her to having a starring role in the performance when the lock turns in the door and Jamie enters, quickly followed by Alexei.

“CLARA!” A clearly piss drunk Jamie runs over to the couch and jumps on Cass, burying his face in her hair as he squeezes her middle. “I’m… suffocating…” Cass wheezes, pushing against Jamie’s elbow, which has somehow ended up crushing her windpipe.

By the time Jamie releases her, Alexei and Max are sizing each other up in a very macho way that Cass has never seen before. It’s all, “hey man”s in suddenly deeper voices, firm handshakes that look like they’re trying to squeeze the blood out of each other’s hands and some good old fashioned chest puffing.

“Alexei, this is Max; Max, Alexei,” Cass introduces the two when she finally pushes Jamie off her. “I saw you on stage, you did a good job,” Max says grudgingly. “Yes, Cass and I spent many hours together practicing to get it just right, but it was all worth it, no?” Alexei says, shooting Cass a big smile. Cass misses the poisonous glare Max directs at the smug Alexei.

“You should have come out with us, Cassie!” Jamie says, kicking his legs over the end of the sofa and laying his head on Cass’s lap, closing his eyes. “A bunch of us went to The Elephant and Meredith - you know, the bartender who’s in love with me - gave me free shots all night when I told her we did solos, it was incredible.”

Cass strokes Jamie’s hair fondly, cringing when she realizes its a bit damp and sweaty. He’s always been a big one for parties, pulling her out of her ballet bubble every now and then to show her what life as a real teenager is actually like, and tonight had definitely been a big one. “You know my dad and Luke were waiting for me,” she says.

“And this guy,” Jamie cracks open one eye and tilts his chin towards Max, who has moved to standing position and is still having a deeply awkward conversation with Alexei, involving a lot of nodding and crossing of arms.

“Well, that one was a surprise we can talk about later. What’s Alexei doing here?” They’ve never really spent much time with the more senior members of the company, usually happy in their little corps bubble, but Cass supposes that the mix up of roles has blurred the lines a little bit.

“Well, I think we know the real reason, but the reason he gave is that he wanted to borrow some of the Pilates gear we got from Caroline,” Jamie wiggles his eyebrows at Cass, who beams back at him. “Ooh, is he interested in you?” Cass whispers excitedly. It’s been a while since Jamie has brought someone home, and she supposes Alexei - handsome, graceful and really sweet this past week - is a pretty good match.

“Not me, you idiot, you!” Jamie smacks his forehead at her complete obliviousness to someone having a crush on her. “He’s been following you around like a puppy for the last week and you’re totally blind to it.” Cass blinks, processing this new information. She hadn’t really thought anything of Alexei’s presence, since they’d had very little time to get their pas de deux perfect, but she supposes he had been omnipresent since she’d gotten the role of Clara.
She tunes in to Alexei and Max’s conversation, wondering what they have to talk about. Apparently, they’ve managed to find some common ground talking about football, although they are still standing very awkwardly. She flexes her calves, feeling the ache set in that she’d normally have alleviated with a hot bath and stretches, a routine that was disrupted by dinner and now… whatever this is.

“Sorry to kick you out, Max, but I’m going to turn in soon,” she says, standing up and putting her mug on the kitchen counter. Max looks disappointed, but seems to sense that she’s on the edge of exhaustion, and orders a cab. Jamie has whisked a reluctant Alexei to his room to give them some space, and Max sees the window of opportunity open up.

“What are you up to over the next few days? Do you have any days free where we could get um… lunch, or coffee, or something?” He shifts awkwardly, trying to lean his elbow on the back of the armchair and missing it slightly. Cass stifles a laugh as he tries to recover coolly, standing up fully straight.

“She’s got a day off on Monday!” Jamie’s burst into the kitchen, a stone faced Alexei behind him holding a few stretching bands and Pilates props in his hands. Max looks at Cass hopefully, waiting for her to confirm her availability.

“But we were supposed to go to IKEA then,” Cass says to Jamie, widening her eyes pointedly. He widens his eyes right back, turning to Max. “You’ve got a car?” Max nods quickly, looking between the two ballet dancers in mild confusion. “Great, then you can go with Cass to get her new bed and I can have a lie in,” Jamie says, clapping his hands to close the subject.

“I suppose that works…” Cass is seduced by the idea of not having to lug the box holding her new bed on the Tube. They fix a time for Max to come and pick her up on Monday morning to head to IKEA. “Oh, my cab is here.” Max is smiling, having achieved more that night than he’d hoped.

When he’s taken his coat and walked out of the apartment, three ballet dancers are left behind. “Well, good night,” Cass says stiltedly as she edges around the two men to get to her bedroom. “Yeah, good night,” a disappointed Alexei replies. “I’ll walk you out, Alexei,” Jamie says, taking the arm of the tall Russian and steering him towards the door.

Cass escapes into her bedroom and starts to run her bath, pouring in lavish amounts of her favourite lavender scented bath oil as a little celebration and washing her face thoroughly as she waits for the bath to fill up.

“Well, someone’s very popular these days,” Jamie says as he bursts into the bathroom and sits on the edge of the tub for the debrief. “Oh god, that was the most awkward thing that has ever happened in this house,” Cass says, covering her face with her face towel and shaking her head. “I can’t believe you brought Alexei over.”

“Well I didn’t know you had company,” Jamie says, leaning forward. “So, what’s the story? Have you guys been talking since the Red Bull party?” Cass removes the now cold towel and shakes her head, telling Jamie of the conflict she has with Luke’s advice versus her attraction to Max.

“Come on, you’re only 18 - what’s wrong with a little danger and excitement in life? Your brother’s being way too overprotective,” Jamie says, shaking his head. “Max seems really interested in you, I mean - he’s flown all the way here during Christmas, with his little sister, just on the off chance that he catches you? That’s dedication.”

“Well, if Luke finds out we’re spending time together on Monday, I’m totally going to blame you,” Cass shakes her head ruefully. “Yeah, tell him to come fight me,” Jamie jokes. “He’s got to keep skinny for the races right? I bet I could take him.”

Jamie’s words resonate with Cass as she soaks in the bath a while later, the hot water helping to ease the ache in her muscles a bit but her mind still working hard. Max’s confirmation that his dad was a violent person lent some credence to Luke’s words, but that definitely didn’t mean that Max was the same. Even though Max had shown a bit more of his temper that night, Cass doesn’t think he’s got a worse temper than, say, Luke.

She’s still pondering this when Max comes to pick her up on Monday in a black SUV. She’s decided to give Max a chance, and has resolved to get to know him better during their time in IKEA, which is typically a stressful undertaking at the best of times.

With this goal in mind, she’s mentally prepared a list of questions to ask him, although she makes sure to ease into the conversation by making small talk - she doesn’t want him to feel like he’s being interrogated. They cover the usual topics of the weather, Christmas, and London traffic, skirting around the topic of family save for Max saying that Victoria’s gone back home.

It’s actually quite an enjoyable car trip, with Max cracking lame jokes throughout the ride, so much so that Cass forgets about her list entirely. When they reach IKEA, Max hops out of the car and manages to reach Cass’s door so quickly that she’s barely taken off her seatbelt when he opens it for her.

“Are you not coming in to IKEA?” Cass asks in puzzlement as he stands by the open car door. “Why not?” Max replies, equally puzzled. Cass looks over to the driver side and points at the dashboard, which is still lit up. “You’ve not turned off the engine yet,” she says. Max turns bright red and goes to switch it off as Cass cackles with laughter.

Ice thoroughly broken, they proceed into the maze that is IKEA. “What do you think this is for?” Max asks, picking up a bundle of sticks. “For decoration?” Cass guesses, checking the price. “Oh my gosh, it’s £9,” she laughs. “I should tell Victoria she can make a little business picking these up from our garden and selling them,” Max shakes his head as he puts the sticks back down.

They make it to the bed section and Cass sits on the edge of one of the displays, testing its bounciness. “Ooh, I always wanted one of these as a kid,” Max’s eyes light up as he spots a race car bed, which he immediately flops onto and pretends to fall asleep on. “You’re such a child,” Cass says snootily from where she’s sitting on the tiniest, frilliest princess bed she’s ever seen. Max opens his eyes and spots her, and he immediately curls up in laughter.

Cass actually has very specific requirements for her bed - namely that it would have to fit in tiny her room, which rules out most of the beds on display. They find one that would just about fit, and Max gamely bundles it onto the little trolley and rolls it through the store. “Do you need anything else?” Max asks as they walk past the garden area.

“You’ve seen my place, do you really think we need more things?” Cass looks wistfully at a particularly verdant green potted plant but steels herself and walks straight to the tills. The cashier, a teenage boy whose name tag reads Ollie, half-recognizes Max and keeps staring at him while he rings up the bed.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Ollie says suspiciously, squinting his eyes at Max and tilting his head to one side. “Er, you might, I suppose?” Max says, shrugging. Ollie continues squinting at Max while Cass swipes her credit card, and by the time they’ve finally loaded the box back onto the trolley, something clicks for Ollie.

“Oh shit, did you go to St. Michael’s in Stoke Newington?” Ollie says, slapping the counter with the satisfaction of someone who has just figured things out. “No, sorry,” Max shakes his head, his face grave all the way until they reach the car park, when both teens break into unrestrained mirth.

“I actually thought I’d made it,” Max croaks as he wipes tears from his eyes. “Oh my gosh, he had absolutely no clue,” Cass has to sit down and cover her face as her shoulders shake with laughter. “You’ve just been humbled by Ollie from IKEA,” she says, her voice muffled by the sleeves of her coat.

“I really have, haven’t I?” Max stretches out a hand to help Cass up, which she takes. He looks at his watch. “Do you want to get something to eat after we’ve loaded this in?” Cass realises it’s nearly lunch - they’ve spent away more time in IKEA than she’d anticipated - and accepts, having had a great time with Max so far.

Cass directs Max to a small Italian restaurant near her apartment which is nearly empty at this early hour. “Do people normally recognize you?” Cass asks curiously once they’ve been seated and their orders taken. Max considers the question for a while. “Definitely a lot more on race weekends, although I did get recognized in Ibiza a few times,” he says.

“Do you like it, or is it weird for you? I know Luke quite likes it,” Cass asks. “Depends on my mood, who I’m with, things like that. My friends back home make fun of me when I get asked for photos in the street, so that can be a bit awkward. But overall I think it’s nice to know people are supporting you, gives you a bit of a boost.”

“What a politically correct answer,” Cass says in amusement, running her hand through her hair and wincing when her fingers snag in a tangle she missed when getting ready earlier that morning. Max bursts into laughter. “Not many people think I’m very politically correct,” he says. “Usually my dad, my manager and the marketing team are always on me to be a bit more reserved.”

“You should hear how ballet dancers talk, then,” Cass says. “People always think we’re these little angels because they see us on stage, all elegant and cool, but we really can be quite naughty.”

Max raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Naughty, eh? Tell me more about what naughty things ballet dancers get up to.” Cass rises to the challenge, telling Max a lengthy story about her time in ballet school, when they’d regularly snuck out to party in Covent Garden.

“… then our house mistress tells Mara to turn out her pockets and she’s got a full bottle of tequila, three nipple tassels and just handfuls of glitter. I genuinely thought we were going to be kicked out that night, I’ve no idea why she let us off with just cleaning duty,” Cass says, smiling slightly at the memory of her wilder, “younger” days.

“So Jamie and Mara are your best friends from… when you were 11?” Max asks, propping his chin on one hand. Cass nods. “I joined the school a year late, so everyone already made friends. Ballet’s really competitive too, so when I got to do solos and stuff it made me unpopular with some of my classmates. Jamie and Mara took me under their wing, though, so it ended up alright.”

Cass says this breezily, glossing over the tough early days in White Lodge when she’d had no friends and was desperately homesick, the only thing keeping her going being the fantastic teaching and facilities of the school. She’d thrown herself into ballet, attending every ballet class and rehearsal available, spending extra time in the gym to strengthen her then-fragile frame.

“What do you like about ballet?” Max asks, fascinated. Cass shrugs. “What do you like about racing?” She replies, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow. Max takes her point, laughing slightly. He knows they are two sides of the same coin, obsessive about the thing they’re passionate about, pushing for perfection every time.

Cass relents and tries an explanation. “When we go on stage, we’re playing a role. It’s a pure expression of emotion through body language, through our movements and expression in performance. And we’ve trained for so many hours and gone through the movements so many times that it becomes pure muscle memory, and then you’re just an embodiment of emotion. When I played Juliet in school, I felt every emotion running through me, excitement, fear, love… it’s exhilarating.”

Cass stops and blushes. “Sorry, I’ve been going on about myself,” she says. “No, please continue, I want to know,” Max says, his thumb making little circles against the side of her hand. Cass looks down, surprised. She’s been so engrossed in her story telling that she hadn’t noticed him taking her hand, but there their hands lie, intertwined right there on the bright white tablecloth.

“No, no, tell me about you. What was it like for you growing up as a racer?” Max tries to think of a story suitable to tell Cass, one that won’t make her eyes go big in sympathy as they have every time they’ve spoken about his childhood. One that will make her understand the passion that drove him and his dad to the pinnacle of their sport.

He lands on the story of his first time in a kart. How he’d seen his friend - younger by whole months - on a kart, then had proceeded to badger his mum, then his dad into letting him ride in one of the little karts for children. How he’d never been as excited in his life when they’d been on the way to the track, then the incredible rush of adrenaline as he’d rocketed around the small track.

Cass smiles at his enthusiasm, the way his eyes light up when he talks about karting, the tightening grip of his hand on hers as he gets excited. “And now when you’re on the track, do you feel the same?”

Max nods vigorously. “Like it’s the first time all over again,” he says, giving her a big smile which Cass returns. “Do you know, when you really smile, you scrunch up your nose like this,” he mimics her smile. “Do I? How inelegant.” Cass touches her nose self-consciously. “No, I wanted to say that - um, it’s cute,” Max says, reaching up and taking her hand.

A cough comes from the side of their table, and both teens look up, startled out of their little bubble. The waiter is standing by their table, holding the bill. Cass looks around and realises that the restaurant has filled and emptied many times over since they sat down, with the chairs stacked on tables and floor being swept by another waiter.

“We’re closing soon, sir,” the waiter says politely as he holds the bill out to Max. “No, wait, let me get it,” Cass says, reaching for it. She feels guilty that Max always pays for things, even though she’s sure he earns a hundred times more than she does. With lightning quick reflexes, Max grabs the bill from the waiter and holds it out of her reach. “Absolutely not,” he says resolutely, sliding his credit card in the bill folder and handing it to the waiter without checking it. “Thanks, mate,” he says cheerfully to the waiter, having gotten his way.

“You shouldn’t, I owe you for driving today,” Cass protests lightly. “Ah, but if I didn’t pay it wouldn’t be much of a date now, would it?” Max grins cheekily at her. “So this is a date now? I thought we were just running errands.” Cass raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I would consider it a date and I hope you would too,” Max says, emboldened by the fact that Cass hasn’t yet pulled her hands away from his. Cass bites her lip, thinking. She hasn’t gotten any messages from Luke about Max since the dinner after her Nutcracker debut, which probably means their dad has given him a stern talking to about letting her make her own decisions. And if she can make her own decisions… well, then that’s easy.

“Yeah, alright,” Cass says, cracking a smile. “But only if you build the bed for me.”
—
Max is pretty sure he’s never been more frustrated in his life, including when his kart spun out on the last lap, costing him a championship. That is how utterly incomprehensible he finds the IKEA instructions to be.

He’s sat on the floor of Cass’s bedroom, surrounded by slats of wood and nails of assorted sizes. Once he’d had a good look around her room - very girly, with loads of ballet paraphernalia scattered around - he’d gotten to work. It is now an hour later, and nothing recognisable as a bed has been constructed.

“Are you alright in there?” Cass’s voice calls from the living room, where she’s propped her feet up and is watching TV. “Yeah, no problems,” Max calls back, glaring at the still unbuilt bed. He knows he has to get this done tonight, since Cass has already gotten movers to dispose of her old, broken bed so that the new one can go straight in.

“I can see one or two problems,” Cass says from the doorway, startling Max. Max surveys the mess in front of him, but refuses to admit he’s got no idea what to do next. Cass takes a seat next to him, and plucks the instructions sheet from his hands. “Okay, what have you done so far?”

Max babbles about what he’s achieved so far, stabbing the thin sheet of paper with his finger to show how he’s followed the steps one by one. Cass takes a red pen from her study table and takes down neatly written notes - she’s left handed, Max notices absently - on what he’s done.

“Hmm.” Cass surveys the nails scattered on her floor in pretty much the same position they’d been in since Max tipped the entire box out onto the floor earlier. “Wait a sec.” She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a bunch of small bowls, which she lays out in a line in front of them. “We have to sort out the different kinds of nails. I’ll look for the ones that are this size, and you look for the ones that are this size.”

With Cass’s leadership, the construction of the bed takes a mere extra hour, and they don’t even have any random nails or spare bits left behind. Max helps by lifting the heavier components, and by heaving her mattress onto the bed frame when it’s done. “I’m going to put on the sheets, why don’t you take a break?” Cass says to the exhausted Max.

Max gladly escapes into the living room, where he collapses on the couch next to a smirking Jamie. “Lots of grunting and creaking going on in the bedroom,” Jamie remarks to thin air as he turns the page of the magazine he’s reading with a flourish. Max laughs.

“Mate, you don’t even know. I’m exhausted. Mentally and physically.” He says easily as he props his feet up on the living room table. He hasn’t spent much time speaking to Jamie one on one, but he’s felt that every interaction they’ve had has been positive. He knows he owes this whole day with Cass to Jamie’s intervention, at the very least. He tells Jamie as much.

“Well, you saved me from having to help Cass lug the bloody thing back here on the train, so we’re even in my book. Anyway,” Jamie leans in confidentially, tapping the side of his nose. “She likes you. Like, really really likes you. Don’t fuck it up, my friend.”

Jamie snaps shut the magazine and turns on the TV, landing on a channel showing a football match. “Oh, I forgot they were playing today. Are you into football?” Jamie asks. Max nods enthusiastically, and they spend a very enjoyable twenty minutes yelling indiscriminately at the football players, referee and commentators on the TV until Cass emerges from her room.

“Glad to see the two of you getting along,” she says as she opens the fridge and takes a peek inside. “It’s nearly dinner time, do you guys want a glass of wine?” She pulls out a half-empty bottle of Merlot and waves it at the two men temptingly.

“Cass, honestly,” Jamie says in exasperation. “We’re men watching the footie, obviously we’ve got to drink beers.” Max hops up from the couch and walks into the kitchen to help out. Cass is in the middle of pouring her glass of wine, so he opens the fridge and locates two bottles of Stella.

“You guys eat very healthy,” he observes, looking at the huge amount of vegetables and lean protein stacked in the fridge. “Also, your fridge is way neater than the rest of your house.” Cass laughs as she ducks past him, putting the rest of the wine back in the fridge. “Well, it’s like our ballet mistress used to say to us,” she says as she leads the way back to the living room.

“Output is input,” Jamie and Cass chorus at the same time as Cass collapses into the space that Max has left on the sofa. Max obligingly takes the armchair next to hers and hands Jamie an opened beer. “We had this teacher in the academy who was obsessed with whether we were eating properly. Not just whether we were skinny, like some of the other teachers, but whether we were eating all the healthy stuff,” Cass explains.

“We’d be rushing from class to class all day, and eating like a protein bar or something while waiting for class to start, and she’d appear out of nowhere, and grab it out of your hands,” Jamie laughs at the memory. “James! Zees candy bar ees not food! Then she’d confiscate the protein bar and give you a packet of peanut butter or a banana or something, with strict orders to go to the cafeteria for a proper meal right after class.”

“I guess a little bit of what she told us stuck,” Cass says, pulling her feet up onto the chair. “Except on some days when Jamie goes wild and pulls me into a fried chicken, pizza and chips binge.” Jamie shrugs and puts on the exaggerated French accent he’d used to mimic their old teacher. “Eet ees all about ze balance, Cassandra,” he says gravely.

“Speaking of which, it’s almost dinner. Do you want to stay, Max? Mara’s coming over, and I was going to make something simple, but there’ll definitely be enough for the four of us,” Cass says, checking the time. Max agrees, and he and Jamie continue watching the footie as Cass gets dinner ready.

Mara arrives while Cass is putting the roast chicken in the oven, and she joins the two men on the couch. “Are you lot making Cass do all the work?” She teases, nudging Jamie with her foot. “You know how Cass gets in the kitchen,” Jamie says, then uses one of the couch cushions to dodge the green bean Cass has chucked in his direction.

“Oi, I can hear you, you know,” Cass shouts over the counter which divides the two rooms. “Yeah, you were meant to!” Jamie shouts back. He turns to Max to explain. “Cass loves things to be really orderly - not neat, specifically, but everything has to be just so,” he says. Max thinks back to the little bowls of nails and nods in understanding.

“So the last time we tried to help her cook,” Mara continues the story, speaking louder since Cass has now started to protest from the kitchen. “She wanted to cook for Jamie’s birthday party, which had something like 15 guests. She was being a total stroppy cow,” Mara shouts this part, “and Jamie and I innocently tried to lighten the mood that Kommandant Cassandra was in, and she chucked us out of the flat until dinner was ready,” Mara says sadly.

“You forgot to add that you guys put sugar in my gravy, peeled the carrots until they were practically noodles, and forgot to season the prime rib,” Cass says dryly from behind Max. Max jumps, not having noticed her creeping up behind him. It still amazes him at how silently these dancers walk.

“All honest mistakes of a completely blotto, recently turned 18 year old,” Jamie says to Max, clinking the lip of his beer bottle against Max’s. “These two idiots decided to start drinking from the time Jamie was born - 10 in the morning, to be exact - until the time they were supposed to help me cook, so they spent a good six hours in the pub before turning up. Wastrels,” Cass says fondly to her two friends, who are beaming angelically at her.

“We’re good at serving, though,” Mara pipes up. “And washing,” Cass says cheekily. “I hate washing, so we have a deal. I cook, they serve and wash,” Cass explains to Max. The three friends banter with each other, their conversation filled with teasing quips and “do you remembers”, which they always take care to explain to Max.

He realises that he hasn’t felt this comfortable in years - maybe ever. The three friends are so at ease, shooting snarky remarks at each other with the casual understanding that they’ll never cross the line or take themselves too seriously. It’s something he can’t really remember having with his own friends, and he wonders if it comes with them being together constantly for years, building a rapport that he might have had with his own friends if he hadn’t been in and out of school since childhood.

When the timer rings, Cass announces that dinner is ready, and she and Max take their seats at the small dining table in the corner of the living room. “Can I help with anything?” Max asks, but Mara and Jamie loudly wave him to take a seat, insisting that he is a guest. Max would take any opportunity to be close to Cass, so he snags the seat next to hers and makes sure they’re close enough that any movement of her arm would brush against his.

Mara and Jamie plate up and serve roughly equal portions of roast chicken, green beans, carrots and tomato soup that Mara had bought from a nearby deli. The four teens eat ravenously, conversation at a standstill as they devour the food. “That was delicious,” Max says, looking sadly at his completely clean plate. “I don’t eat home cooked food very often, so this has been really nice.”

“What do you normally eat, then?” Mara asks curiously. “Mostly room service, or I’ll order in,” Max shrugs. “I’m only home a couple of months out of the year, so I’ve never even used the kitchen in my apartment. Maybe the kettle, once.” He’s got an arm slung around Cass’s chair, and she’s sort of leaning against it. He wishes he was wearing short sleeves so he could feel how soft her hair is.

“Is it hard being away from home for so long?” Jamie asks. “Not really, I’m quite used to it. I think because when I was a kid I used to be in the van all the time, driving to karting races and back home, my life now is actually a lot better because I actually sit on the plane for much less time and stay in nice hotels. Can’t complain.”

Mara suddenly winces. “Are you okay?” Max asks cautiously, wondering what the trigger for Mara’s pained expression was. “Yeah, just foot cramp,” Mara says, pointing to her foot, which she was flexing next to the table. “We get cramp all the time,” Cass explains. “Feet, calves, arms, thighs, butts… cramping constantly.”

“I get cramp in my legs too, because we can’t move much in the car,” Max commiserates. This is apparently a signal to Jamie to start comparing how painful racing is versus ballet. Max rises to the challenge, telling stories of crashes at 30G, necks in traction, broken bones, and what not. Jamie fires back with tales of blisters bleeding through pointe shoes, dodgy knees and spinal injuries from landing too heavily.

“You guys definitely have it worst,” Cass says, shaking her head. “Racing is so dangerous, honestly. I don’t think I could sit through a race knowing Luke might plow into a wall at any second. Anyway, enough about this. Anyone up for dessert?” It appears that although dancers don’t eat unhealthily, there’s always room for dessert, which turns out to be a tub of ice cream which Jamie pulls from the freezer and plonks in the middle of the table, along with a few mugs of peppermint tea.

Jamie and Mara sneakily excuse themselves after they finish up the ice cream, Mara very obviously lying about wanting to see something in Jamie’s room when Max and Cass move to the living room. “What are you up to tomorrow?” Cass asks, curling up on the sofa. “I’ve got to do some training, actually,” Max laughs. “It’s been too long, my trainer’s going to kill me. What about you?”

“Class in the morning, a bit of a break for lunch, rehearsals, then I’m filling in for the Nutcracker again,” Cass rattles off. “Do you want to get lunch with me?” Max asks hopefully. “I’m going back to Monaco on Thursday for a sponsor thing, so I was hoping we could spend a bit more time together before then?”

“Are you sure you won’t get sick of me?” Cass laughs. Max doesn’t know how to tell her that when he’s by himself in the hotel room he basically just waits to see her again. Also, he hates London. It’s rained every day he’s been here, and the sun hasn’t come out once. He wisely saves his comments and shakes his head.

They make plans to meet up the next day, then Cass begs exhaustion and walks Max to the door. “See you tomorrow,” Cass says, leaning against the door jamb. Max takes the chance to lean in and kiss her, one hand on her jaw. Fuck, it’s finally happening. He’s actually kissing Cass Errol, after all those years of… well pining sounds a bit unmanly, but hoping.

Her lips are soft and warm, and he can feel her pulse racing, and it’s absolutely perfect. It’s almost innocent, the way he’d thought a first kiss would be like when he was a kid, but then he tangles his hands in her hair and she nibbles on his bottom lip and she tastes like chocolate ice cream and mint tea, and it’s all he can do to keep from pressing her against the wall and absolutely eating her up.

“How do you rate this date out of 10?” Max asks cheekily when their lips part. His breath might be coming a little more shallowly than you would expect from a professional athlete, be he manages to maintain some semblance of cool, he thinks.

“Was it really a date?” Cass asks. Her own breathing is uneven, but she manages a teasing smile. “I built that bed by myself, and the condition was that you’d build it.” Max pretends to take an arrow to the heart. “I was an integral member of the bed building team,” he says gravely. “You think those nails just sorted themselves?”

Cass laughs. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it… a 7.” Max laughs at her teasing rating. “Alright, alright, I’ll have to think of something better for our next one,” he says, leaning in for another kiss.

A giggle comes from behind Cass, where Jamie and Mara are pretending not to be spying on them. Cass whirls around to scowl at them, then turns back to give Max a sheepish look. “Can’t take those two anywhere,” she says in resignation. “I should go so you can get some rest in your new bed,” Max says, giving the two eavesdroppers a cheeky wave. “But before I go, let’s give them something to spy on.”

With that, he wraps one arm around her waist and uses the other to support her head as he dips her backwards, before kissing her thoroughly, tasting her tongue with his. Cass’s arms reach around his shoulders to pull him closer, which draws wolf whistles from Jamie.

After seconds, minutes, hours, they finally pull away from each other, panting slightly. “Date upgraded to an 8,” Cass says breathlessly. The two teenagers can’t help themselves from smiling at each other like fools, nothing held back. “Great,” Max says, fingers still intertwined with Cass’s. “Great,” Cass echoes back, squeezing his hand.

—

Somehow, they manage to make it work. Max goes between Monaco, London and wherever in the world he has work, while Cass spends every spare moment outside of ballet with him when he’s in London. Max’s fairly flexible off-season schedule makes it easier to time his trips for when Cass has a day or two off.

As Nutcracker season draws to an end, though, rehearsals for the next cycle begin in earnest, and Cass’s performance as Clara has been enough to win her a soloist role in the next ballet, meaning more rehearsals and less time for Max. It’s during one of these rehearsals that Alexei approaches her, looking nervous.

“What’s up, Alexei?” She asks as she ties the ribbons of her pointe shoes tightly around her ankles and pushes them down. “Cass, you are a fantastic dancer,” Alexei begins, hovering in front of her, shifting from foot to foot. Cass suppresses a smile - if he had a hat in his hands, he’d be wringing it.

“That’s a great way to start the conversation, but you don’t look that nervous just because you wanted to come compliment me,” Cass says as she stands and flexes her feet experimentally. “Would you be interested in dancing with me in Heidi’s ballet?” Alexei blurts out. Cass absorbs the question, blinks once or twice.

“Of course, I’d be honored - wait, why were you so nervous about asking me?”

Two hours later, having run through the choreography for the one act ballet with Alexei and Heidi, Cass can understand why Alexei was nervous. This ballet is hard. Not only does it require a fair amount of forceful lifts and even throws that might look a bit more natural at an ice rink, the positions the choreography requires her to hold have already made her back ache.

“We wanted you because, well Margot dropped out and also, you’re the smallest member of the company to have performed a soloist role. Easier to throw,” Heidi, the young German choreographer who had won the opportunity to present her ballet as part of a Young Choreographers programme, said matter of factly when Cass had thanked her for the role.
Cass, panting with her hands on her knees as she fought to catch her breath, tried not to take this personally. “And your performance of Clara was great,” Alexei adds, nudging Heidi - his friend from ballet school, it turns out - in the side. Heidi inclines her head grudgingly, then promptly orders them to start from the top.

It’s very dark outside when Alexei and Cass exit the rehearsal studio, sweaty and red-faced. “It’s my first time doing such a contemporary ballet,” Cass says, lifting her face to the January chill in the hopes that it’ll cool it.

“On the plus side, we’re starting rehearsals so early that we’ll have time to really perfect it,” Alexei says, stretching his wrists. Cass winces at the pop that one of them makes. “That last lift at the end,” she says, raising an eyebrow. Heidi has created a move that involves Cass doing a running jump into Alexei’s arms, then Alexei flipping her while she is perfectly horizontal, then hoisting her over his head by her hipbones, like they did in Dirty Dancing. It was hell on Alexei’s wrists, and on Cass’s core muscles for that matter.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Alexei asks, rubbing his stomach. “My last meal was after class which was… ooh, nine hours ago.” Cass hesitates, remembering what Jamie had said about Alexei having an interest in her. She doesn’t want to reject him out of hand, but she also doesn’t want to lead him on.

“Just as friends,” Alexei says hastily, seeing her perturbed expression. “I figured you and the guy in your apartment had something going on… but I think we have a lot in common and would be very good friends, no?” Relieved, Cass agrees quickly.

Alexei suggests a French place nearby, which Cass has never been to. They manage to snag the last table in the restaurant, happily ordering wine and food to share as they discussed everything from the best teacher for daily class to the toughest choreography to nail.

“Balanchine’s Serenade is definitely up there,” Alexei says thoughtfully, spearing a green bean with his fork. “Oh, but the fouettés in Swan Lake are just killer,” Cass says around a mouthful of sole meunière. “I can’t imagine doing pointe,” Alexei says, wincing at the thought. “It’s better to learn it as a child, then you lose feeling in your feet earlier,” Cass jokes.

After the meal ends, Alexei offers to fetch her home on his bike. “I must admit, I’m quite scared of motorbikes,” Cass says as she buckles on the spare helmet, her voice muffled by the visor. “Don’t worry, just hold on tight,” Alexei says cheerfully.

Cass, much to her embarrassment, squeaks in fear when the bike starts, but otherwise the ride is uneventful, although it does cement Cass’s conviction that she will never ride a motorbike again. Alexei pulls up in front of her place, and Cass gets off on wobbly legs, using Alexei for balance.

“On my life, if I ever look like I’m about to accept another ride from you, slap me,” Cass laughs as she pulls off the helmet, leaving behind terrible helmet hair. “Thanks for the ride, Alexei.” She’s had such a good time that day that she impulsively gives him a hug, which he returns, startled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” She calls, waving goodbye as Alexei roars down the road, causing a few disapproving faces to pop up at windows. She runs up the stairs to the flat, beaming the whole time. “Jaaaa-mieeee!” She shouts, throwing open the door.

Her flatmate is sitting in the living room watching television. “You’re back late,” Jamie remarks, looking mischievous. “You’re not going to believe this,” Cass begins, throwing off her coat and dumping her bag on the floor by the door. “Wait, I’ve just cleaned the flat, go put your bag in your room. And wash your hands while you’re at it, you dirty pig,” Jamie orders imperiously.

Cass surveys the untidy flat dubiously, but ballet is nothing if not good training for following orders, so she obediently picks up her bag and heads to her bedroom, talking all the while. “You know Heidi Mellman, she’s doing the Young Choreographer showcase,” she yells over her shoulder as she walks down the hall to her room.
“Yeah?” Jamie has followed her to stand at the beginning of the hallway. Encouraged, she continues talking as she opens her bedroom door, turning to face Jamie as she speaks. “Yeah, so her ballet is a duet and she asked me to be the female solo! It’s so tiring though, I feel absolutely battered,” she says as she chucks her bag into the room and starts walking back to the living room.

Jamie stands there, creased up with laughter. “What?” Cass asks, confused.

“My god, you are the most oblivious person in the whole world,” Jamie chokes out, pointing behind her. “You know in films where the white girl is walking around and the murderer’s right behind them, and they don’t even realise? You are that white girl,” he cackles.

Cass screams when she feels someone tap her shoulder from behind her, and she whirls around and gives the person an almighty shove before seeing who it is. “Oh my god, Luke!” She says, relieved that it’s just her brother.

Then she proceeds to smack Luke, who is curled up on the floor, laughing hysterically, on the head. “You scared the life out of me! I thought you were a burglar or murderer or something!” Exhausted from her long day, the surprise and feeling the adrenaline drain out of her, Cass lies on the floor next to her big brother.

“I should have known Jamie was lying about tidying the flat,” she mumbles as she buries her face in his side. “Hey! I heard you, and I resent that!” Jamie shouts from where he’s parked himself back in the living room. “Alright, get up you blob,” Luke says, standing up and hauling Cass to her feet.

“I’ve been waiting for ages - thought we could get dinner, but I’ll probably just be watching you do your night routine then passing out on your couch, eh?” Luke knows her strictly scheduled winding down routine changes for no man. “What was it you were saying about getting another solo?”

Luke sits on her bed as she babbles excitedly about Heidi’s choreography and Alexei’s athleticism, and the unexpected opportunity to perform solo again so soon after Nutcracker. She heads into the bathroom to shower and wash off the day, and when she emerges he’s made her a cup of her favourite chamomile tea and has turned on her lavender essential oil diffuser.

“Have I told you that you’re my favourite brother?” She says, gratefully accepting the steaming hot mug. “Once or twice,” Luke says, smiling fondly at her. “Shall we get breakfast tomorrow? I can drop you and Jamie at class on my way back to the house.” Since he spends most of this time racing or in Maranello, Luke never bothered to get a place in London, usually heading straight out to their place in the Cotswolds when he’s in the UK.

“Sure, but you’re paying,” Cass says cheekily. “Fine, fine, but only if I get to choose the place,” Luke laughs. Cass agrees quickly, knowing that Luke is way pickier about his coffee than she or Jamie, given his years spent in Italy.

“I’m proud of you, little bean,” Luke says, patting her on the head. “Look at the two of us motherless souls, making our way in the world.” Cass smiles at her brother, tearing up slightly.

While her dad has always been supportive, there’s just always been too much of a generation gap between them for Cass to feel like she could confide in him. Luke has always been her sounding board, the one to teach her how to deal with questions about her mum, the one to encourage her when she was homesick at ballet school.

“I’m proud of you too, big sprout,” Cass says, giving him a hug.

And she is. His quip about them being two motherless souls brings up memories of the two of them growing up in the countryside, her badgering him to play the piano so that she could dance, which at the time meant stomping around the room in her little pink ballet shoes. He’d never told her no, even though in hindsight he must have been busy with balancing school work and racing.

The two of them had a slightly isolated childhood in the Cotswolds, only ever seeing kids their age at school and birthday parties. Luke had been her first friend - her only friend until she’d started school - and they’d been a close knit team, Dad, Luke and herself, traveling around England and then Europe for Luke’s racing career. Cass gives Luke an extra squeeze at the memory.

“Ok goodnight, little bean, I’ll see you in the morning.” Luke ruffles her hair and turns off the light, closing the door quietly behind him.

—
Cass is one of the dreaded species of morning person, so she’s dressed and waiting for Luke and Jamie to wake up the next day, checking her emails and double checking her schedule for the day. She prods Luke, comatose on the couch, with her toe.

“Wake up, slug,” she sing-songs, sitting on his back. “Wake up, slug,” she sing-songs slightly louder so that he can hear her over his snoring. Years of being on the road have made Luke a very deep sleeper. He snorts and jerks awake, pushing her off him.

“Jesus, Cass,” he mumbles, running a hand over his face. “You interrupted my snogging session with Gisele.” Cass hops up and rubs a hand over his shaved head. “Firstly, that’s disgusting, and secondly, you’d better hurry up. Jamie and I will need loads of time to eat all the food you’re paying for.”

Cass wakes a similarly grumpy Jamie up whilst Luke gets ready, and eventually they make it to the buzzy new cafe near the ROH. Luke gets asked for his autograph a few times, and to Cass’s surprise, a teenage girl asks for a photo after recognizing her from the Nutcracker.

“Ooh, I’m in the presence of celebrities,” Jamie teases, kicking Cass under the table. She blushes happily, the novelty of being recognized still charming. Luke spends the entire breakfast asking Cass if she’d be interested in going on dates with friends of his who have passed the big brother test.

“Oh, leave it alone,” Cass laughs, and tries to change the subject to discuss Luke’s upcoming schedule. She feels dismayed, then guilty, when Luke says he’ll be in London a lot over the next few weeks before the season starts. She can’t help but wonder how that will affect how much time she can spend with Max.

For that reason, Cass decides it’s about time to drop the news that she was seeing Max on him. She finally does so when Luke drops her and Jamie off at the theater.

“What?” Luke says slowly, shaking his head. Jamie gamely tries to chip in with his own positive impression of the Dutch teen, but the look Luke gives him is so poisonous that he recoils and gives Cass the universal look signaling “you’re on your own” and slinks off into the side entrance.

“But, but you promised me…” Luke says, looking bewildered. “When did this even happen? Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have let him bring you home that day. Dad said you’d be safe with his sister there but I knew he’d find a way.”

“Max isn’t some criminal mastermind, Luke,” Cass says, rolling her eyes. “He’s just a nice guy my age who happens to have the same job you do. You should be glad, you guys can talk about cars together without the other person being bored!” She genuinely believes that the two drivers would get along if Luke gave Max half a chance.

“Jesus Cass, I told you this guy’s bad news, his dad is one of the worst guys in the Paddock, and you still go for him. What is it about him? There are billions of other guys in the world!” Luke is almost shouting now, drawing stares from the other members of the company heading in to work.

“Would you shut up?” Cass hisses, seeing one of the principals watching their argument with interest while having a smoke break outside. “Look, I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions. I think he’s nice and I’m not dating his dad, so can you just be cool about it?”

“She’s asking me to be cool,” Luke says to nobody in particular, throwing his hands in the air. “You promised me, Cass, no drivers and especially not Max Verstappen! There are only 20 in the whole world, they’re not that hard to avoid! Why can’t you date one of the other dancers… or a choreographer… or I don’t know, an usher, anyone else!”

“Because I don’t want to!” Cass stomps her foot. She knows she’s acting like a child, that she did promise Luke, but it was a stupid promise made with limited information, and she can do what she wants, damn it! “I’m an adult now, and you can’t control who I date!” She says through gritted teeth.

Luke lets of a strangled groan of fury, hands strangling the air in the absence of any Verstappen necks. “You know what, fine. Do what you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He gets into his car, slams the door and drives off in a rage.

Cass is left behind on the pavement, face pink with anger and embarrassment as her colleagues stream into work. She turns and stomps all the way into the rehearsal hall, plonking herself down next to Jamie, who pats her on the back sympathetically. “I’m proud of you for coming clean,” Jamie offers. Mara raises a questioning eyebrow, and Cass buries her face in her hands with a groan, gesturing to Jamie to explain to the curious Mara.

“Oof, Casio,” Mara says, as the dance instructor enters and they get ready for class to start. “They say that teenagers scare the living shit out of me,” she sings under her breath, making Cass laugh and kick her standing leg with her outstretched foot. “I’m sure he’ll get over it,” Mara says hopefully.

Cass wants to smile reassuringly, but she can’t, Luke’s disapproval weighing on her. She’s always been the good little sister, always trying to make Luke and Dad proud of her, never stepping outside the lines. She’s never been a risk taker and Luke has made it clear he thinks she’s making a huge mistake.

She normally would accept Luke’s advice but there’s just something about Max which makes her want to throw caution to the wind and go where her heart takes her. She hopes he doesn’t prove Luke right, but she can’t help but feel as if there’s an anvil over her head and she’s just waiting for it to fall on her.

—

After morning class ends, she tells her friends that she’ll meet them later, wandering off to give Max a call. He’s in a remote part of Finland, filming some social media content for Toro Rosso, meaning his mobile connection has been very spotty for the past few days.

She paces through the hallways of ROH, but no matter how many times she tries she can’t get through. “Come on,” she urges her phone as it beeps through the connection process. Groaning in frustration, she sends him a text to call her when he has better connection.

He finally calls back when she’s in rehearsal, and his connection is dead again when she tries before the evening performance, but she finally manages to reach him when she gets home.

“Hey, what’s up?” Cass hadn’t realized how tense she’d been the whole day until her whole body relaxes when she hears his voice. She quickly updates Max on her day, including her argument with her brother.

“So now we don’t have to be a secret?” Max’s voice brightens. “Honestly, Cass, you can’t send me cryptic texts and then not pick up. I thought you wanted to break up with me or something, but this is great news,” he laughs.

“But Luke is so mad at me,” Cass whispers, biting the abused skin around her thumb, wincing when she tastes iron and realizes it’s bleeding. She walks to the kitchen where the first aid kit is stored and tapes a bandage on as Max says reassuring things about how everything will be fine.

“I’ll be in London in two days, okay? Oh, now that it’s not a secret, do you want to come to a party with me?” Max says hopefully. His voice cracks a bit at the end, something Cass finds adorable every time it happens but which Max hates. Cass mulls it over as Max gives a huge yawn on the other end of the line.

“Oh my gosh, it’s two in the morning over there!” Cass says, horrified, as she calculates the time difference. “You’d better go to sleep, you’ve got filming early tomorrow right?” Max hums a low laugh on his side. “Don’t try to change the subject. The party, yes or no?” Cass smiles ruefully, realizing that Max has seen through her tendency to avoid conflict by deflecting.

“Ask nicely,” Cass says teasingly down the line. Max groans, and she can hear him moving around his room, probably tidying as he often does before bed. “Please, kleintje,” Max says in a sweet voice she would bet all her money not many people have heard before.

“What does that mean, kleintje?” Cass asks, stalling for time. “You’re kleintje,” Max says opaquely, explaining absolutely nothing in that maddening way of his. He knows that she’s terrible at languages, having made fun of her French a million times, and probably knows that she won’t be able to figure out how to spell whatever it is he’s saying for the purposes of Google Translate. “Anyway. Party. Please?” Cass caves, agreeing to go to the party, a barbecue at his boss’s house in the countryside in two days.

“Thank you, kleintje,” Max says. She can hear his smile over the phone. She knows he’s using the word just because she doesn’t know what it means and it’s driving her crazy. “I’ll pick you up on the way, I think we might have to stay overnight at Christian’s, so you should pack an overnight bag.”

Cass makes agreeable noises, then hangs up, mentally screaming. Presumably she’d be staying with Max in the same room if they were staying overnight, which meant… well… at the very least she’ll have to pack slightly sexier underthings and pajamas than what made up her normal repertoire.

She notes that it’s way past her bedtime, and resolves to discuss it with Jamie and Mara the next day. She’s got a bedtime routine to stick to.

—

Two days and one emergency shopping trip later (Mara had looked at Cass’s underwear drawer with deep, deep disapproval), Cass is standing outside her door with overnight bag in hand when Max drives up in a low slung, very noisy car. He keeps the engine running as he comes over to give Cass a deep, toe-trembling kiss.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that the whole flight over,” he murmurs against her lips, his own curving in a smile. Cass responds by biting his lower lip playfully. Max groans. “If you keep that up we’re going to be late, let’s not get too distracted,” he says, pulling away reluctantly and opening the door for her to slide into the smooth leather passenger seat.

“You look incredible, by the way,” he says, leaning down to give her another kiss. “Thanks,” Cass says breathlessly, using her thumb to wipe away the lipgloss that’s transferred from her mouth to his. He catches her hand in his, eyes going dark. “Enough of that,” he says roughly, giving her a kiss on the palm then shutting the door gently.

Cass puts on her seatbelt as Max gets into the driver side and drives smoothly away from her building. “How was your trip?” She asks, shifting her body so she’s sitting sideways on her chair, facing him. Max lights up, telling her about drifting a race car on a snowy mountain, which frankly sounds terrifying.

Cass fiddles with the radio, switching it on to a pop station. “Oh, I love this song,” she says happily as the latest Taylor Swift song starts playing. She sings along, bobbing her head to the catchy tune and getting all the words wrong. Max glances at her, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up.

“What, you don’t like Taylor Swift?” Cass says, pretending to be insulted. “I don’t really listen to music,” Max admits blandly, eyes not leaving the road. “Not any music at all? What about when you’re working out?” Cass can’t imagine going through gym sessions without music - she plugs in her earphones whenever she’s doing something by herself, even if it’s just a ten minute walk to the shops.

Max shakes his head. “Well I’m with my trainer so sometimes he puts on music in the background, but he picks it. I don’t really notice it,” he says, before clocking Cass’s horrified expression. “What, is that weird?” He asks, completely innocently.

Cass shakes her head in disappointment. “I think you’d better bring me back home,” she says sadly. “You’re clearly a sociopath. You’re probably driving me to a secluded area to cut me up and eat me.” Max snorts with laughter. He loves that Cass has the same dry, slightly twisted sense of humor that he does.

“Oh, you’ve got to like this one,” Cass says in excitement as the next song comes on. “Who is this? It sounds familiar,” Max says vaguely. “The Backstreet Boys! Come on, Max, you definitely know this.” She hums along to the song encouragingly, and after the chorus repeats he can kind of sing along.

Cass looks so delighted that he continues even though he hates the sound of his own voice. She chimes in as well with her sweet, high voice, which he thinks must be the nicest sound in the world. She dances enthusiastically to each song, miming the big ballads dramatically. For the first time, Max doesn’t mind being caught in traffic on the way to Christian’s house, even though it means they turn up slightly late with the party already in full swing.

Cass has managed to distract herself from the reality that she’s actually going public with Max with all the singing in the car, but here they are, holding hands in front of God and everybody, about to walk in to a Red Bull party.

The house is enormous, and beautiful, and absolutely filled with people. Red Bull and Toro Rosso employees and their families mill around, with caterers dressed in smart white uniforms hovering with trays filled with drinks and snacks. Cass feels a squeeze on her hand and looks up at Max to see him smiling reassuringly down at her. “It’ll be fine,” he says, squeezing her hand again.

The first person to spot them is Daniel, and his grin covers pretty much his whole face as he saunters over to them. “Well, well, well, well, well,” he drawls, slinging an arm around Max, who rolls his eyes playfully. “Carlos, come over here!” He beckons to the ultra handsome Spanish driver. “Ah, I see it worked out, eh?” Carlos says cheerfully, looking between the two teenagers.

“Have you been talking about me?” Cass says, turning her face up to Max, who shrugs unrepentantly. “We should say hi to Christian,” Max says to the two drivers. “Yeah, fair enough - we’ll get the drinks and meet you at the tables. He’s over there with Geri,” Daniel says offhandedly, pointing at the Red Bull team principal before wandering off. Cass freezes immediately, causing Max to look at her in concern.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, putting one arm around her waist and leaning down to hear her tiny voice. “I forgot that Christian is married to Geri Halliwell,” Cass whispers. “I’m going to be so embarrassing, Max, I was obsessed with her as a kid. Maybe I can hide in a corner while you say hello?” She says hopefully. This hope is dashed when a booming voice calls them over.

“Hey Christian,” Max says, tugging her along with him as they walk over to Christian and Geri. “You remember Cass? Cass, this is Christian and his wife, Geri.” Cass shakes hands, mind totally blank. She hears herself telling Geri that she’s her biggest fan, cringing internally the entire time.

“I love your hair,” Geri says kindly. Cass is on cloud nine, having a full out of body experience. “Max and I have something to discuss - would the two of you excuse us?” Christian touches Geri gently on the back and Max squeezes then releases Cass’s hand apologetically as she gives him a “save me” expression.

“We’ll be right back,” he promises guiltily as he follows Christian away. Cass is vaguely aware of Geri talking to her and of her own slightly robotic responses. “Max is a really sweet boy,” Geri says after a moment of silence. “He’s gone through a lot to get where he is today, and Christian and I are very proud of him.”

Cass knows from conversations with Max that Christian has been a sort of mentor to him over the past year, and has always been super encouraging - at least relative to his own dad and Dr Marko - so this doesn’t come as a surprise to her. “And you are a ballerina, right?” The fact that Geri Halliwell knows things about Cass does come as a surprise to her, and she nods silently, eyes wide.

“My daughter’s dream is to be a ballerina, would you mind speaking to her? It’d win me massive brownie points with her,” Geri says, pointing to a little girl playing with some other kids in the entrance hall. “Of course,” Cass says, smiling nervously. She’s not great with kids.

Geri calls over her daughter and introduces her to Cass, then heads off to speak with the other guests. The little girl is way more confident than Cass had been at her age, and starts peppering Cass with questions immediately. She’s in the middle of demonstrating how she does a pirouette, imperiously commanding Cass to watch her, when Max returns.

“Blue, do you mind if I steal Cass away for a bit? She hasn’t had anything to eat yet,” Max asks gently when Bluebell finishes her demonstration. Bluebell throws him a grouchy look, clearly unhappy that her captive audience is being taken away, but nods.

“She’s sweet,” Cass says as Max leads her to the buffet table. “She’s a little princess,” Max corrects her, laughing. “She’s cute and she knows it.” They grab some food and join the cluster of drivers, none of whom have brought their girlfriends. Daniel hands them each a glass of champagne when they arrive.

Cass munches happily on the food while the drivers catch each other up on their lives. Daniel had been in Australia with his family and girlfriend, and has just returned for pre-season testing and Dani had been traveling to different sponsor events, while Carlos was in Finland with Max for filming.

“You know, he never shuts up about you,” Carlos says confidentially, leaning across Max as Max rolls his eyes. “I second that,” Daniel chimes in, laughing. “You’re doing all of us a favour, agreeing to go out with this miserable lump,” he adds.

“Oh my god, do you remember when you thought you saw her at the season opener last year?” Carlos says, turning to the other guys. “I remember!” Daniil says, excited. “He was hovering around the Ferrari garage the whole weekend, trying to look inside. Arrivabene thought he was stealing trade secrets!” The whole table bursts into laughter as Max groans and covers his face. “You never told me this,” Cass turns to Max, who’s bright red.

“I’m not a stalker, I promise,” Max says to Cass, draping his arm over the back of her chair casually. “I’m starting to worry, honestly,” Cass teases. “No, no, I’ve got a better story,” Daniel says suddenly. “Do you remember dancing something where you’re like, a blue fairy or something?” He asks Cass, grinning evilly.

“Of course, my dad has the photo hung up on his wall,” Cass says, thinking back to the day that photo had been taken. It’d been for the summer showcase a few years back, and she’d danced as the titular character of Giselle. “Guess who else has it?” Daniel says, shrieking with laughter as Max tries to lunge over and cover his mouth. Cass’s mouth falls open.

“No,” she says, turning to a tomato red Max. “I’m never letting you in my apartment again,” Max grumbles, slouching down in his seat and crossing his arms. “That’s a little bit creepy, I’ve got to say,” Cass says, raising her eyebrows at Max. “But you’re cute, so I’ll overlook it.” Max gives her a smile and leans over to kiss her cheek.

“You guys are sickening,” Daniel says delightedly. He and Max have a real older brother-younger brother vibe, while Carlos is like the cool, naughty cousin. Dani is a little more aloof, but friendly enough. Cass leans her head against Max’s shoulder, and he relaxes.

Christian has gone all out and arranged for some entertainment, including a magician and comedian, with fireworks at the end of the night. Cass has had a couple of glasses of champagne by then, and is feeling pleasantly warm. She snuggles in to Max’s side, wrapping her arms around his waist.

They go out into the massive garden, which has been lit with fairy lights, to watch the fireworks show. “I love fireworks,” Cass murmurs, tilting her face up to look at the colored sparks shooting across the sky. After the fireworks, people start filtering back in to the house. Max gets ready to leave when Cass tugs on his hand. He turns back to her with a questioning look on his face.

“Let’s stay,” Cass says, heading over to switch off the fairy lights. The garden is immediately pitch black, save for the faint light from the sliver of moon hanging in the sky. “Luke and I used to sneak into the garden when we were kids and look at the stars,” she says absently, returning to Max’s side. “Do you know all the constellations?”

“I don’t know any,” Max says, running his fingers through her hair. “That one’s Orion’s Belt,” Cass says, pointing at the brightest three stars in the sky. “See how they’re three in a row? And there’s Andromeda, Pegasus, ooh, we can see Perseus from here,” she points. “We can’t see my favorite one, Lyra.”

“Why’s it your favorite?” Max asks curiously. “Have you heard the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?” Cass asks. She’s still buzzing from the champagne she’d had, and the night has taken on a dreamy quality. “No, tell me,” Max says, shifting slightly so he can wrap his coat around her.

So she does. The tragically romantic tale of Orpheus and Eurydice and his lyre. Of how Orpheus, a legendary musician, loved Eurydice so much that he ventured into the depths of hell to get her back, of how he’d charmed Persephone, the queen of the underworld, with the music of his lyre. Of how Orpheus, warned not to take a single look back until they were both out of the gates of hell, hadn’t been able to resist turning to his beloved the second he stepped out of the gates - causing Eurydice, who hadn’t yet crossed over, to turn to ash.

“That story sucks,” Max says, causing Cass to look at him in surprise. “It’s romantic!” Cass protests. “It’s like Romeo and Juliet right? Everyone thinks its an amazing love story but it’s actually just two teens who die after knowing each other for like three days.” Max shakes his head in disgust.

“You have no romance in your soul,” Cass says sadly, patting Max’s cheek. “I can learn,” he says, catching her hand in his.

“Jesus, your hands are freezing, we should get back inside,” Max says, grabbing both her cold hands and rubbing them between his own. They bump into Dani on the way in. His cheeks are pink after having downed several glasses of champagne and a few of whiskey as well. Cass realizes that she rather likes the quiet Russian. She gives him a hug, surprising him. He pats her on the shoulder awkwardly, before turning to Max.

“The man we’ve been looking for!” Dani says, clapping Max on the shoulder, before strong arming him into returning to the living room. Cass follows, eyes wide when she sees the karaoke set up by the fire place with Carlos standing miserably next to the machine, holding a microphone.

“Max! You and Carlos have to be the first, since you’re the rookies!” One of the crew - James, if she remembers correctly - shouts, thrusting a microphone into Max’s hand. Cass flops onto the seat next to Daniel, as Max tries to protest, only to be overruled by Christian, who even chooses the song.

Cass has to laugh at the two miserable rookies as they mumble their way through a very off-key performance of Dancing Queen. By this time of the night, only the younger members of the crew are left, with those who had brought their families having left after the fireworks. The drinks are flowing freely, and the night devolves into mild debauchery.

Cass finds herself singing a duet with Geri at some point, having had enough champagne to loosen her inhibitions around her childhood idol. They sing a very enthusiastic version of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, and receive a raucous round of cheers and applause after the song ends.

“I like this one, Max,” Geri says, one arm around Cass’s shoulders as she returns the tipsy redhead to an equally tipsy Max. “I love you,” Cass says fervently to Geri, receiving an indulgent laugh in return as Geri deposits Cass with Max. Cass lands in Max’s lap and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. “You always smell so nice,” she murmurs against his burning hot skin. She can feel his laugh vibrate through his chest. “I’d better get her to bed,” he says to someone behind her.

Daniel’s giving a screeching rendition of a heavy metal song when they slip away. Max leads Cass through the halls to the room that they’ve been given, a neat double bedroom on the second floor. Cass giggles when she trips over the carpet, landing on the settee at the end of the bed.

She can hear Max moving around the room as she kicks off her shoes and curls up on the settee. By the time he’s turned around, she’s fast asleep.

—

When Max wakes the next morning, he lays for a while in the bed, eyes closed, the way he usually wakes up. He stretches out an arm and feels only cool sheets next to him, meaning Cass has already woken up and left the bed.

It’s rare for him to have the luxury of sleeping in, so he buries his face in the pillow next to him, breathing in the smell of Cass’s shampoo - mint and something else, rosemary, he thinks. He’s got a mild hangover, not unexpected after the amount of alcohol a gleeful Daniel had poured down his throat.

A slight rustle coming from his left makes him open his eyes, immediately squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the white-framed window. He could have sworn he’d closed the curtains last night to avoid this very problem.

He turns on his side, away from the window and finally opens his eyes properly. Cass is by the wall, headphones plugged in, fully concentrating on the ballet moves she’s practicing. Max watches for a while, entranced by the graceful sweep of her arms and legs as she executes a low bow, one leg delicately pointed behind her, barely touching the ground.

She turns 90 degrees to the right to repeat the series of moves, then another 90 degrees, then another, until she’s facing him. When she sees he’s awake, she finishes the series and pulls out her headphones.

“You’re finally up, sleepyhead,” she teases, putting her phone down and sitting on the edge of the bed. Max pushes himself up into a seating position, moving his legs so that she can move closer. Cass is slightly sweaty, a few rogue strands of hair sticking to her forehead in little curls. He wonders if it’d be weird for him to tell her that she looks like an angel with the light streaming in behind her.

“Was that your new ballet?” He asks instead, tugging on her arm gently so she sits even closer to him. Even that’s not close enough, so he decides to pull her half onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist as her back presses against his chest, ignoring her protests that she’s all sweaty.

“Oh, no - that’s just the steps for morning class,” she says, finally relaxing into his embrace when he reassures her that she’s not crushing him. “You do that every morning?” Max asks, fascinated. He had thought training as a racing driver was rigorous, but even he had some days off.

“Well, the saying is - if you miss one day, you’ll know. If you miss two days, the director knows. If you miss three days, the audience knows. So it’s really easier to just keep up with it.” Cass catches Max’s hand, which had been tapping the top sheet mindlessly. He flips his hand palm up, inviting her to wind her fingers around his. She complies.

“This is nice,” Cass says, leaning her head against his chest. Max nods, his free hand picking the pins out of her hair until it falls loose around her shoulders. They sit in content silence, Max running his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the knots that have formed from her messy updo.

“You know, a real gentleman would have slept on the floor last night,” Cass says after a while. She twists her upper body so that she’s facing him, and he’s relieved to see a cheeky smile on her face. Sometimes he isn’t sure what a girl with Cass’s upbringing would consider proper behavior, since he hadn’t had much feminine influence while growing up.

He isn’t sure how to respond, but he knows the silence is sitting between them, and it’ll become awkward soon. “I never said I was a gentleman,” Max finally replies, letting go of her hair. Cass wriggles so that she’s essentially straddling his lap, and Max freezes. Jesus fucking Christ. She had to know what effect she was having on him, considering there was very clear, solid proof in his pants that she was pressing right up against.

She must have some idea because she begins pressing tiny butterfly kisses up his jaw. Max is still frozen, half-wondering whether this is a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Is this okay?” Cass sits back, green eyes searching his nervously. “Yes,” Max says fervently, breaking out of his stupor.

He pulls her closer, so they’re chest to chest. He wonders if she can feel his heart hammering away in his chest, wonders if he still has to play it cool with her now that she’s actually here, in his arms, in the same bed. When he presses his lips to hers, he throws all conscious thought out of the window, existing purely on sensation.

Time ceases to lose all meaning for Max in this little white-painted room, on the lace-adorned double bed, with Cass in his arms. His whole brain is totally focused on how soft her skin is, how warm she is, how he can’t believe this is actually happening after all these years.

So it’s a fucking rude surprise when the door slams open, revealing a beaming Aussie on the other side.

“Top of the morning to you both!” Daniel says in a terrible Irish accent, his voice booming through the room, breaking the almost sacred silence. “I’ve come to remind the two of you that abstinence is the best form of birth control, and that teenage pregnancy rates have sky rocketed in recent years. Stay safe!” With that, he reaches for the door handle, slams the door shut again, leaving two red-faced teens behind.

Max buries his face in Cass’s shoulder. He can hear the snickering of Daniel and presumably Carlos on the other side of the door. “I hate them,” he says miserably. Cass laughs, so at least she’s not totally horrified by the invasion of privacy. Still, it’s a total mood killer, and when Cass suggests that they head down for breakfast, Max agrees.

They’re the last two to join the breakfast room, and Max casts poisonous glares at the cheery Daniel and Carlos as he and Cass greet their hosts and take their seats. Christian has put the drivers at the far end of the table from himself, probably having had enough of their high-energy antics.

“So, Cass. Cassandra. Cassiopeia? No, Cassandra,” Daniel starts, immediately putting Max on alert. He knows Daniel has an unsurpassed talent for stirring shit, and that it’s also the second greatest source of joy in his life, after winning races.

“When you come to the races, will you be at the Toro Rosso garage or the Ferrari one?” He says this almost innocently, which is how Max knows he’s got evil intentions. It’s something he does want to know the answer to, though, so he gives Daniel a pass, and looks at Cass expectantly for her answer.

Daniel’s caught her right after she’s taken a bite of toast, so she’s chewing it slowly as she thinks of her response. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go for any of the races, actually, since I work on the weekends most of the time,” she finally says after swallowing.

Max is crushed. He’s seen all the other drivers with their girlfriends or wives at the races and he’s always privately thought that it must be nice to have someone you love give you a hug after a race. God knows his dad wasn’t about to do that. He’s been single the whole first season, and he’d liked the idea of Cass being there to see him race and ideally, win.

Carlos, who always has a full Spanish contingent at every race, shoots him a look. As his teammate, Carlos has been present or at the very least, within hearing distance, of most of his post-race debriefs with his dad. Those debriefs consist mainly of his dad yelling at him, calling him a disappointment and/or telling him any truck driver would have done better.

Max isn’t sure whether Carlos knows about his secret wish, or if he thinks it’s actually better for Cass not to be present for those truly unpleasant debriefs, but he hates the idea of the Spanish driver pitying him. Daniel is saying something, but Max is pissed off and ignores him, interrupting the Aussie driver abruptly.

“You should go to Ferrari,” he says bitterly, stabbing a piece of smoked salmon and stuffing it in his mouth. He can feel the other two drivers and Cass staring at him in surprise at his aggressive tone, but he ignores them, filling his mouth with more and more food so that he won’t have to say anything.

“Yeah, I heard Ferrari has the best food,” Daniel offers, trying to break the tension. “And your dad will probably be there too right? So that’ll be nice…” He trails off uncertainly, clearly aware that he’s opened a can of worms that’ll probably bite him in the ass in future. Good, Max thinks, buttering his toast savagely. Maybe that’ll teach him to ask stupid fucking questions.

“Well, like I said, it really depends on if I get any time off work,” Cass says, looking down at her plate. Great, now he feels like an asshole. Fucking Daniel. Max chews angrily on the delicious eggs prepared by Christian’s chef, and they finish the rest of the meal in tense silence.

The other drivers quickly make their excuses and head off, Daniel shooting Max an apologetic glance, leaving behind two quiet teens. “What time do you want to leave?” Cass asks, breaking the silence. She looks up at Max, then back down at her plate. Fuck, he is an asshole. He dragged Cass out here to the middle of nowhere, made her hang out with his friends, and now he doesn’t even know how to talk to her.

Usually when someone is pissed at him, he waits until they stop being pissed at him (or not), and then moves on as if nothing has happened. That’s usually the way it’s been with his dad, who hates listening to feeble excuses or rationalizations about what’s happened, who has told him time and again that talking about feelings is something only pussies do. That only losers apologize, or make excuses.

“Um. In an hour?” Max says, clearing his throat. They have a really long drive ahead of them, and he’s leaving for Monaco that night, and he’d really hate for the fucking Red Bull pre-season party to fuck up the best thing going on in his life, so he knows he has to figure out how to break the awkwardness, or else he’s fucked.

“Okay,” Cass says quietly, pushing some food around her plate. He’s not great with words, so he reaches out a hand to touch hers, the one wrapped around her fork. He must have moved more suddenly than he thought, because she jumps with surprise. Jesus fuck, he’s really not good at this.

“Sorry,” he says, retracting his hand. Shit, she’s not going to know that he’s actually apologizing for his assholery from earlier and not for surprising her. He’s glad there’s basically no one left at the table to hear him being a total idiot.

“Do you want to… go for a walk?” Max asks lamely, the first thing that comes to mind. Cass looks out the window, where it’s started drizzling, and back at him in puzzlement. Fucking English weather. This is not how he thought the day would go when he’d first woken up that morning.

He scowls at the window, the sky outside, the world in general, then back down at his plate. He’s totally fucked it up, hasn’t he. She’s going to go back to London, probably get together with someone normal who actually knows a thing or two about ballet, probably that Alexei guy who’s always hanging about, and forget all about him. Luke Errol would probably be laughing in his face at the first race. Him and his stupid inability to apologize properly have totally fucked up his chance of having a lasting relationship with the girl of his dreams, just as he’s always -

“Sure, let’s go for a walk.” Cass interrupts his spiral of thoughts, reaching out to touch his hand gently. Max looks up, surprised. “I’ll get our coats,” he says eagerly, jumping up and heading to the wet room where all the boots and coats are kept before Cass can say anything else.

When he returns, they head out into the rain. Max holds the umbrella he grabbed from the hallway - Red Bull branded, naturally - over the two of them, having the added benefit of having to stand really close to each other so that they don’t get wet.

“It’s been so nice having you here, I guess we never really discussed what would happen when the season starts,” Cass begins when they’re a short distance from the house. There is an insane amount of mud, and Max is mildly distracted by how the mud sucks at his shoes. He banishes the thought of how dirty his car will get when they leave and focuses on the conversation at hand.

“You really won’t come for any races?” He asks bluntly, wincing as he pulls his foot out of a particularly sticky patch of mud. He’d rather rip off the band-aid than walk on eggshells around the topic. He can’t be 100% sure that patch was totally free of animal shit. God, he hates the countryside. He hates the rain. He misses Monaco.

“It would really depend on the timing… I’m sure I’ll have a weekend off here and there, but if the race is really far then I wouldn’t be able to fly there and back in time,” Cass says. Max nods, knowing that she’s right. He can’t help but feel crushed at the same time.

“What about summer break? You guys have seasons right?” He knows they have a season - he’s gotten the Royal Opera House magazine for a couple of years - but he isn’t entirely sure when that ends.

“We get a month in July but… I’ve actually had an offer to perform in Moscow during off-season,” Cass says, ducking her head. Max figures this is probably a big deal, since he’s vaguely aware that Russian ballet dancers are apparently very good at what they do. It’s probably like winning 24 Hours of Le Mans while F1 is on holiday.

“Congratulations,” he says hollowly. He doesn’t know why he’s now become so fixated on the idea of Cass coming to watch him participate in, and ideally win, a race. He just has this image of her walking into the Paddock with him, keeping him company before the race, maybe standing with the mechanics while he hoists a trophy on the podium…

“I haven’t accepted yet.” Cass has led them to stand under the shelter of a tree, so Max drops the umbrella on the ground. They watch as it bounces slightly, before coming to a rest slightly off-kilter. Max doesn’t know how to respond - surely it’s a total asshole move to tell her not to go? But then again, he really wants her to come to a race, and there are four in July, including Silverstone.

“It’s funny, because my summer break starts in August,” Max says, wiping some stray droplets of rain from his face. “That’s pre-season for me, but I’ll have a bit more time than when we’re actually performing,” Cass says. She’s studying his face quite carefully, but Max has learnt over the years how to keep a good poker face when necessary.

They’re dancing around the topic, which is something Max hates, but he knows he doesn’t exactly have the words to resolve this in a positive way. He decides to give it a shot anyway.

“I heard the weather in Moscow sucks in summer,” he says. There, that should give her a clear indicator of how he feels about the idea, without him actually having to tell her that she should stay. He mentally pats himself on the back.

Cass tilts her head. “Really? I heard it was gorgeous,” she says, confused. “A few of the girls went last year and they said the weather was amazing, the food was really good and the audiences were super supportive.”

Fuck, that failed. Max wracks his brain for what else to say, while Cass continues to talk about how incredible Moscow is. “They put you up in a really nice hotel… and I heard the men are really fit,” she says offhandedly. Max’s eyes fly to meet Cass’s and he realizes that she’s unsuccessfully hiding a wicked grin.

“You’re fucking with me,” he says in relief, wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her up in a bear hug when she nods mischievously. “I can’t believe you did that! You’re the worst,” he laughs, swinging her around. She shrieks with laughter as her legs narrowly miss the tree trunk. “Hey, watch the legs! They’re my money makers,” she protests.

Max sets Cass down gently, burying his face in her hair. The rain has subsided into mist, the sun is out but not overwhelmingly warm, there are even a few birds chirping in the trees. All is well in his little Max world.

Of course, there are little speed bumps, like when she tells him that she’s definitely going to be with her brother for Silverstone, and that she might not be able to attend Austria. But three races out of 21 isn’t too bad. He’ll just have to make sure he gets on the podium for at least one of those.

—

He’s packed and ready in about three minutes flat, so he hangs out in Christian’s front room while waiting for Cass. A chagrined Daniel slinks up to him to apologize about starting the shit earlier. Max doesn’t really have much experience on dealing with girlfriends, and God knows his dad wasn’t the best influence, so he tells Daniel about his and Cass’s conversation to get some feedback on how he dealt with it.

“You’re so fucking lucky, man,” Daniel shakes his head in admiration. “Whatever you said was totally unhelpful, but it’s like she can read your mind. This one’s a keeper, mate.” Christian, who’s popped down to bid his guests goodbye, has wandered in and overhears their conversation.

“Are we talking about your little girlfriend, Max?” He asks jovially, clapping Max on the back. It’s at this moment that Max realizes he has never asked Cass to be his girlfriend. Sure, he’s always thought of her in that way since somewhere around the second date, but he doesn’t know if she would describe herself in that way. That’s something he’ll have to rectify as soon as possible.

“We’re talking about Cass, yes,” Max replies, distracted by his thoughts as Daniel summarizes the tumultuous morning with a brief description of Cass having to decide whether she’d be repping Ferrari or Toro Rosso at the few races she would be attending.

“I’d be happy to arrange for the delivery of some Toro Rosso merchandise to her home,” Christian says. “But you should also be considerate of what the press will make of a girl flitting between different garages. She might not enjoy that kind of attention.” Max scowls at Christian, but he knows that the older man has a good grasp of how the media can twist and shape the narrative as they like.

“It’s not like she’s got two boyfriends,” Daniel points out sensibly. “Errol’s her brother, for God’s sake. That’s not something the press can twist.” Christian laughs shortly, shaking his head at the driver’s naïveté. “Daniel, take it from me. The press can twist whatever they want, with whatever information they have. They’ll see a pretty girl, two young, hungry drivers and create a rivalry. It’s distraction you don’t need.”

Christian looks pointedly at Max. They’ve had a few conversations about potentially moving up to Red Bull over the years, and Max knows that all he needs is one good season - with either Daniel or Daniil having a bad one - to make it into a competitive car. He knows Red Bull has bet heavily on him, the youngest driver in F1 ever, and have invested even more. He can’t afford distractions.
Just then, Cass comes down the stairs, overnight bag in hand. The three men look up as she approaches, two guilty faces and one serene one. “Everything alright?” She asks uncertainly, balancing on one foot, tucking her right foot behind her left calf. She does that when she’s nervous, Max has noticed.

“Yeah, shall we go?” He thanks Christian for hosting them, and they head out. His car is already waiting, and his bag has been loaded into the trunk - Christian spares no expense and he keeps a very high standard of service at his house. He helps Cass load her bag in, and they set off back to London.

It’s a cold, windy day, but Max barely notices the typically gloomy British weather as he and Cass listen to terrible radio and play car games. “What is a car game?” Max had asked, confused.

“You spent that much time in cars and you don’t know what a car game is?” Cass had been in disbelief, and then had been happily teaching him her favourite - spotting red cars. They have been playing the game, and Cass is cutely grouchy because Max is far, far better at the game than she is.

“Eleven!” He points at a red Fiat Panda trundling along a few lanes down. “No!” Cass wails, her head falling against the headrest in despair. “You’re way too good at this - oh, look, horses!” Max glances at Cass, whose face has turned from sulky to excited at the sight of a couple of skinny horses in the field they’ve just passed.

“You don’t say horses when you see them while driving?” Cass shakes her head sadly. “I can’t believe I’m dating a sociopath.” Max can’t help but smile slightly at how dramatic Cass is being, but also realizes that this is the perfect time for him to broach the topic of her being his girlfriend.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He looks expectantly at Cass, glancing briefly away from the road. He’s slightly disheartened to see that she looks a bit stunned, and she hasn’t yet responded. It’s been about 10 seconds, which is an eternity for him.

“Aren’t I already your girlfriend?” Cass asks, cocking her head inquisitively. Oh. He hadn’t really known whether it was customary to ask for confirmation, but he had it on good authority (from Daniel, Dani and Carlos) that if you didn’t ask then you weren’t exclusive. He tries to explain this to Cass.

“So you’ve been dating other people?” Cass asks, clearly unimpressed. Fuck, he’s fucking this up again. He decides that being honest and straightforward is the best strategy. “No, I haven’t. Definitely not, no. Nope.” he says, nodding firmly. That should put this all to rest.

Cass is still looking at him slightly doubtfully, but she nods slowly. “Okay… well, then, yes.” Max feels a smile creeping across his face, but he doesn’t want to be too creepy so he tries to fight it down a bit. “Yes to what?” He says cheekily, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” Cass rolls her eyes at Max’s childishness as Max beams. “Twelve!” He shouts triumphantly.

“No!”

Chapter Text

After class the next day, Jamie, Mara and Cass head to a nearby cafe to get much needed caffeine into their system. Jamie had spent the weekend binge watching true crime documentaries, and is giving the two girls the full debrief on how to avoid being murdered.

“… and you should try to drop a personal item of clothing that’s recognizably yours - I guess for us it would probably be a watch, or like a ballet shoe or something - so that the police have a trail to follow,” he ends, nodding earnestly. Mara and Cass nod along, trying not to make eye contact with each other to avoid bursting into laughter.

“We’ll make sure to do that if we’re ever taken,” Mara says seriously, betrayed by the uncontrollable upwards tilt at the corners of her lips. Jamie glares at the two girls who are now laughing hysterically. “Fine, don’t listen to me,” he says snippily, crossing his arms and looking away in mock anger.

“Ah, sorry Jamie,” Cass says placatingly, reaching over to give her best friend a hug. “We appreciate your advice.” Jamie is still pretending to be offended, and only drops the act when Mara promises to pay for his coffee. As all corps members are paid a pittance, the three dancers have become excellent at bartering guilt for goods. Cass had even gotten Jamie to pay for a yoga class when he accidentally tripped her during class.

“So how was your sexy weekend?” Mara asks Cass, flagging down a waitress to get a refill of her coffee. “It was great, the house was beautiful, everyone was really friendly… but Max did get a bit upset when I said I probably wouldn’t go for any races,” Cass recalls.

“How did you sort that out? Ooh, did you seduce him with your body?” Jamie wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Mara to burst into laughter. Cass has always been the prude of their friendship group, and Mara and Jamie love to make her blush by telling her about their own sexual exploits.

“Not quite… I told him I’d go for the races during summer break,” Cass admits. Mara furrows her brow. “But you’ll be in Russia then,” she reminds Cass. “I think I’m going to turn it down…” Cass says, focusing on stirring her drink and avoiding eye contact with her two friends.

“You’re joking right?” Jamie gasps. Cass can understand his shock, because the summer fellowship that she has been offered is extremely prestigious. She had done four rounds of interviews before the start of the season, and had only gotten the offer after she’d gotten rave reviews of her performance as Clara in the Nutcracker.

“Cass, seriously, you’re joking right?” Jamie repeats, kicking her under the table. “You have to be joking. You’ve only been talking about this for the past four months, and now you’ve actually got the offer you’re turning it down? Mara, talk some sense into the girl, please!”

Mara takes over as Jamie sits back, fuming. “Cass, sweetheart, this isn’t like you. You’re always the one telling us to focus on the dance, to stay for that extra session - now you’re throwing it away to follow your boyfriend around a race track?”

Cass sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not that simple,” she begins, then stops. Because it really is that simple. She’s become the type of person who throws away a golden career opportunity just to spend a little bit more time with her boyfriend. The type of person she’s always secretly judged - she’s assumed they’ve not really got the required amount of passion and ambition to be a principal dancer. And now, she’s one of them. It’s a humbling realization.

“Oh god,” she moans, burying her head in her hands. Mara pats her on the back sympathetically. “You’re not the first ballerina in the world to be hypnotized by dick,” she says. Cass mumbles something through her arms. “What?” Mara asks, leaning closer.

“We haven’t even had sex!” Cass says loudly, sitting up. She immediately shrinks back when she realizes she’s said it loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons of the cafe - a bunch of old, white men - who are all looking at her, scandalized. “Sorry,” she mutters, using a hand to ineffectually block her face from their view.

“Oh, honey,” Mara says, shaking her head. “You’ve got it baaaad.” Jamie nods somberly. “So what are you going to do about it?” He asks, calming down slightly now that Cass has realized her own stupidity.

“I already told Bolshoi that I’m not going,” Cass groans. “He looked so happy when I told him I would go… I emailed them straight away. Oh god, what have I done?” Mara and Jamie sit in silence, not sure what advice to give.

“And you already told Bolshoi? And they won’t let you take back your rejection?” Jamie double checks. Cass nods miserably. “I’ll email them about taking it back but… then I’ll be going back on my promise to Max…” She says uncertainly. She looks between her two friends, who stare back at her.

“He’s very cute and persuasive, okay?” She says, throwing up her arms. “I don’t want him to be, like, sad.” Jamie whooshes out a breath. “Okay, let’s think positive about this…” He says, putting on a smile. “You’re having the summer off! You’ll be spending lots of time with your lovely paramour… we’ll see more of the devastatingly handsome Luke Errol,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

Jamie and Mara have taken summer jobs teaching ballet to kids, and Mara was supposed to bunk in Cass’s room since Cass was supposed to be in Moscow. “You can still stay in my room,” Cass assures Mara, who looks relieved. She was moving flat and had wanted to save on rent.

Jamie clears his throat. “I hate to pile on you but… have you told Luke and your dad yet?” Cass winces. “I thought they might be… happy? You know, since I’ll technically be spending time with them?” She says hopefully.

“Yeah… maybe, but I doubt it,” Mara says, brutally honest to the end. Cass sighs. Her dad and brother have always rooted for her, and have always wanted her to be the best at what she does. It’s even something her dad had told her before - that it doesn’t matter what you do, it’s how you do it. Basically, that they have to excel at their chosen profession. It’s what has pushed Luke to drive at the pinnacle of motorsport, and for Cass to… apparently ditch Bolshoi for boys.

She has two very difficult conversations ahead of her.

—

Luke is pleased but suspicious when Cass says she’ll be attending the races over her summer break. He’s suspicious as he emails the Ferrari hospitality manager to get a pass arranged for Cass, and he’s suspicious as he hands her one of his Ferrari leather bomber jackets that she’s been coveting for a while.

“You hate watching races,” he says, suspiciously, as he stands next to his opened suitcases. He’s finally moving from their place in the Cotswolds to Monaco, the natural habitat of all F1 drivers, and Cass is helping him pack. She’s got her fingers crossed that he’s so focused on his move that he doesn’t think too deeply about her sudden interest in racing.

“It’s your first season in F1, I’m just trying to be a supportive sister,” she says innocently. She’s decided not to bring up Max, since that will only make Luke pissed off. She hopes he’s forgotten about their conversation - a hope she only harbors because Luke’s memory is like a sieve for anything other than racing information.
Unfortunately, Max Verstappen is firmly in the “racing information” category - probably filed under “competition” and sub-filed under “hands off my sister”.

“This wouldn’t have something to do with a certain Dutch douchebag, would it?” Luke says, raising an eyebrow. He has fully abandoned packing, and is now standing with his arms crossed. “Do you really want to know?” Cass retorts, raising her own eyebrow. Luke thinks for a second, then shakes his head.

“Be careful, okay Cassie? I won’t go on about it, but you know how I feel about him.” Luke chucks a pair of shoes into his suitcase and gives Cass a hug. He’s been feeling a bit sentimental as his moving date comes closer, and Cass assumes its because he knows he’s not going to see as much of her if he’s based in another country.

“You’ll see me this summer,” Cass beams at Luke, giving him a squeeze. Luke sighs, resigned. It appears he has taken the ostrich route when it comes to Max, having had his previous warnings fall on deaf ears. “Wait, weren’t you supposed to be in Russia?” Luke says suddenly, arms falling down to his sides.

“Well about that…” Cass prevaricates.

“Cass!”

—

After having experienced both, Cass decides that Dad’s quiet disappointment is worse than Luke’s shouting. After telling Luke, she’d had to tell Dad as soon as possible - mainly so that Luke wouldn’t get to him first.

He’s sitting opposite her at his favorite restaurant in London, hands steepled in front of him. Cass eyes him warily as she takes a bite of her steak. She looks nothing like him - both she and Luke take after their mothers, meaning nobody in her family looks alike. Personality-wise, though, she’s far more like Dad than Luke is.

Both of them are non-confrontational, deep thinkers; so different from Luke’s fiery aggression. She tends to overthink, though, while Dad has honed his decisiveness over years of wheeling and dealing in the cut-throat financial world. They’re so similar that she can almost read his mind.

He’s disappointed, she can tell. He’s noted that she has already given Bolshoi her rejection, meaning there’s no point in telling her off about her choice, but he’s wondering whether she can rescind her rejection. She knows because she’s tried - Bolshoi has responded politely, but firmly, that they’ve already contacted the next person on their list, who has already accepted. She doesn’t know whether she’s happy or sad about that.

“It appears your relationship is becoming serious if you are turning down job opportunities for it,” Dad says, taking a sip of water. “I would like to meet your boyfriend properly, before the season begins. Invite him to the house for the weekend.”

“But it’s your birthday party,” Cass says, brow wrinkling. Dad throws a huge birthday party for himself every year at their country house and invites all his friends. There’s usually about a hundred people at any given time over the entire weekend. She was only going up on Friday night, after her performance.

“Pre-season will be starting soon, and I’d like to meet him in his capacity as your boyfriend before the season starts and he becomes Luke’s competitor,” Dad says calmly, smoothing the white napkin on his lap. Cass rolls her eyes subtly, remembering how intense Dad can be about competing. He had a few nemeses scattered around the world, and when she and Luke had been growing up he’d tell them about how these nemeses had been conquered and defeated over the course of his career.

She had laughed at those stories before, proud of her dad, but she didn’t want to know what would happen if he focused that conquering spirit on her boyfriend. She hopes she’ll never find out. The two of them are in uncharted territory - she’s never been interested enough in a boy to bring one home, and Luke has never brought anyone home either, so Dad is essentially flying blind.

Cass eyes Dad warily, and he meets her eyes steadily. He won’t budge, he’s never given an inch in his whole life that he wasn’t prepared to. “Okay, Dad,” she sighs, opening the dessert menu. She’ll have to give Max a full briefing on the dynamics at the house and of her dad’s friends… and oh God, Luke will be there. She screams internally.

—

Max is weirdly pumped to go to her dad’s birthday party. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” She’s on the phone with him between rehearsals, and had to leave the rehearsal studio because Mara and Jamie always make fun of the way she talks to Max. “You’re never that sweet with us,” Jamie had said accusingly. Cass had smacked his arm, which kind of proved his point in hindsight.

“It’ll be great!” Max is ebullient, high off the soon-approaching start of the season. “I’ll come down on Friday, and I’ll drive us up after your performance so you don’t have to take the train. Then I’m yours until Thursday when I fly to Barcelona.”

Cass smiles. So often they’ve had to snatch two or three days at a time between Max’s commercial responsibilities, usually when she’s spent half the time in rehearsals or performances, but somehow they’ve managed to grab a full five days off to spend together before Max leaves for the season. She can’t wait.

“Let’s stay in the Cotswolds until you have to go,” she proposes impulsively. Suddenly she wants him to see where she grew up, show him the paths and routes she has by heart, bring him to the local pub for a pint and chips. He’ll get to spend more time with Dad and maybe Luke before the season starts, get to know them outside of the heat of the race.

“Sure,” Max agrees easily. “Anyway, don’t be so stressed out, kleintje. Dads love me.” Cass raises her eyebrows, then realizes he can’t see over the phone, and puts it back down. “How many other dads have you met?” She asks, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. A couple of dancers walk past her into the studio, and she checks the time. Rehearsal’s about to start.

There’s a little awkward silence on the other side of the phone as Max tries to think of a response. “Oh, just dads in general… You know, like. Dads at the track. Dads of other drivers,” he says lamely.

“Mhm,” Cass says suspiciously. “Oh, my dad says to bring golf clubs if you play. Do you play?”

Max, relieved by the change in subject, is effusive in his confirmation that he plays golf. “Okay, I’ve got to go,” Cass says, seeing the choreographer approaching. “See you on Friday!”

—

Mad Max: mate, can I borrow your clubs this weekend?
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): ? where are you playing?
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): you know, you earn enough to buy your own clubs
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): wait, don’t you hate golf? i distinctly remember you saying you would rather die than play
Mad Max: It’s with Cass’s dad in England
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): HAHAHAHAHAHA
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): [crying emoji] [laughing emoji] [skull emoji]
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): will your best friend Luke be there
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): will there be film evidence
Mad Max: clubs - yes / no?
Daniel Ricciardo: say pretty please with a cherry on the top
Mad Max: pretty please with a cherry on the top [eye rolling emoji]
Daniel Ricciardo: say i’m the best driver on the grid
Mad Max: i’m the best driver on the grid
Mad Max: come on man, i don’t want to ask Dani, he’s so weird
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): aw you’re no fun
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): but yeah alright, come down and get them any time today
Mad Max: thanks, mate
Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull): the things we do for love amirite [skull emoji] [red heart emoji] [skull emoji]
Seen 14:27

—

Golf bag loaded in the trunk, Max waits for Cass outside the stage door of the ROH on Friday night. He has been in four countries in the past three days, and is frankly exhausted. He’d gone from Monaco to the factory in Italy to use the sim, then to Amsterdam to appear on a morning talk show, then had come straight to London.

He leans against the hood of the car, which is illegally parked by the side of the road. Thankfully, there’s not much traffic at this time of the night. He can see his breath forming little clouds of condensation in the air, London cold as fuck even in mid-February. He straightens up when he sees Cass running out of the side door, bag in hand.

She runs straight up to him and jumps into his waiting arms, dropping her bag on the floor. He buries his face in her hair, smelling the minty shampoo she uses, mixed with hairspray and clean sweat. The smell he has come to associate with Cass. His exhaustion seeps out of him and is replaced entirely with happiness.

“I missed you!” She says, kissing him squarely on the lips while still clinging to him like a koala.“You’re so cold.” She puts her hands, warm still from her exertions on the stage, against his cheeks and he leans into her little hands, reveling in the softness of her skin against his. “We should get going, it’s so late already,” she frets, checking the time on her little gold watch.

Max just smiles. Cass is always wired after performances, adrenaline coursing through her veins. He listens quietly as she tells him everything that happened on the stage, including one of the soloists slipping and falling on the stage, stunning everyone. Apparently, this happened fairly often, but this fall in particular had been quite bad. Thankfully, the soloist hadn’t had any serious injuries, and they’d managed to finish the performance without any other issues.

By the time they’re halfway up the A40, Cass has run through her energy stores and is curled up sideways on the leather passenger seat, warmly dressed in her sweatpants and leg warmers, her head leaning sleepily against the backrest. He can’t help himself from sneaking little glances at her every now and then. “What about you, how was your day? How was the talk show?”

As Max tells her about the interview, where Max had been shown videos of his season with cameras zoomed in and focused on his face so as to catch every minuscule change in his expression, Cass laughs. “I need to see this. What’s the name of this show?” When Max tells her, she immediately pulls out her phone to search for the video on YouTube.

“Aw man, your fans haven’t done an English subtitle version yet. I’ll probably have to wait a whole day,” she teases. “I’ll translate for you,” Max offers. Cass turns up the volume on her phone and Max listens for a bit before starting to translate.

“Ok, so that’s the interviewer… he’s saying, Max, you had a very impressive rookie season, but you’re known for your aggressive driving style so we are going to show you a video - umm what is it called in English, a montage? Yes, a montage of your most impressive moves of the season and you can tell us what you think about it.”

Max is mimicking the interviewer’s high pitched voice to a tee, which makes Cass laugh so hard that she’s curled up in the passenger seat, clutching her stomach. “Go on,” she gasps, shaking her head at the ridiculous voice Max has put on.

“Okay so now they show the videos… so the first one I think is Malaysia, where I got my first points, and they’re saying wow Max, you’re the youngest points scorer in F1 history… then I think the next one is my overtakes in China, and they’re saying Max, that’s incredible, you’re so handsome and talented…”

Cass is engrossed in watching the videos so it takes her a second to realize that he’s not translating accurately in the slightest. She reaches over and socks him in the arm. “You’re such an idiot,” she says indignantly.

“Well if you learned how to speak Dutch you wouldn’t have to trust my translation,” Max says smugly. “It’s quite easy to learn, you know. Here, repeat after me. Hallo, ik heet Cass.” Cass haltingly repeats his words, fumbling with the pronunciation. Max beams. “That means, hello, my name is Cass. Okay, now try this…”

Max tries to teach Cass some basic Dutch phrases, including the most important one - how to ask someone if they speak English instead. Cass obligingly repeats each phrase, but her absolute inability to learn new languages is definitely not helped by her exhaustion from performing and Max has to give in after a while. “Ik heet Cass,” Cass says hopefully, and Max has to accept that that’s probably the full extent of her Dutch skills for now.

—

“Turn left here,” Cass instructs, pointing to a massive wrought iron gate, flanked by stone fences which Max realizes they’ve been driving past for the past fifteen minutes at least. The car rolls up to the gate, and a guard pops out of the little guard house immediately. From his first glance, Max can tell that the guard is highly trained and professional, not a lazy part-time security guard.

He rolls down the window, and the guard leans in. Cass gives the guard a wave, and the man’s previously stony face morphs into a big smile. “Welcome home, Miss Errol,” he says. “Mr Errol told me you’d be coming up around this time. I’ll let Carol know you’ve arrived.”

The guard waves them through the gate, and Max proceeds to drive up the longest driveway he’s ever seen, up to a massive house that looks like something out of Downton Abbey, where despite the late hour a few staff are waiting outside the door.

“You can just drive up there and stop the car - Carol will get someone to sort our bags and drive your car to the garage,” Cass says casually. Max does as he’s told, stunned into silence. This place is a fucking castle. He’s been to actual castles on school trips that weren’t as big as this place.

He hops out of the car, about to open Cass’s door, but a tall, uniformed man has done so already. “Thanks Jim,” Cass says as she gets out. Max stands by the side of the car uselessly as someone unloads the luggage, someone else takes the keys gently from him and Cass starts climbing the stairs to the front door.

“Max, you coming?” She asks, turning to look at him in concern. The entrance hall is blazing with lights, and she’s backlit, looking almost angelic. She reaches a hand out towards him, and he takes it, following her up the stairs.

Cass is chatting easily with the housekeeper, a middle aged woman named Carol, as Max takes in his surroundings. The entrance hall is huge, ceilings are at least triple height, and he has a feeling if the enormous chandelier fell on him, all that would be left would be a little smudge on the ground.

“Your father and Master Luke are arriving tomorrow morning, and should arrive in time for breakfast,” Carol is telling Cass as they walk through the corridors. “Mr Verstappen has been given the Blue Room for the duration of his stay. I hope you find it to your satisfaction,” Carol says kindly to the wide eyed Max.

“Oh, can’t he stay in the East Wing?” Cass asks, pouting. Carol pats Cass’s shoulder consolingly. “Sorry, Miss Cass - your father left strict instructions.” Jesus, there are wings to this place? Of course it does. “Would you like to take your supper in your room, or in the small dining room?”

Cass decides that they’ll eat in her room, and leads the two of them there are Carol disappears into the house, presumably to give some instructions. Max walks into Cass’s childhood bedroom, which is more of a small apartment, still trying to process how huge the whole place is.

“I’ll give you the tour tomorrow,” Cass says once they enter her room. “Holy shit, Cass.” Max can’t contain himself any longer. “This place is… I don’t think I have the words. This is crazy!” Cass laughs, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, my dad loves this place. It’s been quite empty since Luke and I moved out, though.”

“So this is where you grew up?” Max asks. He thinks of his own childhood home, or at least where he’d lived after his parents divorce. A small house in Maaseik, all wooden walls and 70s furnishings, since his dad didn’t give a flying fuck about what it looked like. Even his apartment in Monaco was a shithole compared to this. And he’d thought he’d made it in the world.

He walks over to one of the walls, running his fingers over it. It’s covered with some sort of silky wallpaper, which has little wildflowers painted all over it. The room is utterly feminine, and he feels slightly out of place in it.

A knock sounds on the door and a pair of maids dressed in neat blue and white uniforms come in, putting down huge trays of food, and leave after bobbing tiny curtesy’s when Cass thanks them. He feels like he’s stepped into an alternate reality.

Cass is telling him about the provenance of the wallpaper when he notices something odd.“Where’s your bed?” He asks, looking around the room. There’s a little seating area with bookshelves, an old wooden table which he assumes is her writing desk or something, but no bed. Cass walks over to the bookshelves and presses a concealed panel.

“I was a bit obsessed with spies when I was a kid,” she confesses. The bookshelf detaches from the wall, swinging outwards and revealing Cass’s bedroom. “You’ve got to take off your shoes,” she instructs, kicking off her own ballet flats. Max follows her instructions, then follows her in as she steps through the opening left by the bookcase.

Unlike the sitting room, Cass’s bedroom is thickly carpeted, and Max can feel his feet sink in the second he steps in. There’s a huge four poster bed, complete with gauzy white curtains, bracketed by two heavy looking wooden side tables. A matching wooden chest, converted into an ottoman by covering the lid with cushioning, sits at the foot of the bed. The wall which they’ve just stepped through is similarly covered in bookshelves, with a record player and sound system nestled in one of the niches. Cass heads over to another door, which opens to a similarly huge bathroom. “There, that’s everything,” she says, spreading her arms out as if to say “ta-da”.

While Max has been busy taking in all the details of her room, Cass has taken off her sweatshirt, leaving behind only a thin tank top and no bra, which distracts Max somewhat. Looking at Cass’s cheeky expression, distraction was probably her intention all along.

“You know, my dad and Luke won’t be here til tomorrow…” She says suggestively, walking over and sliding her hands up the back of his sweater. Max immediately abandons any further questions he had about the house and leans down to kiss Cass, his hands going straight to her waist.

“Have you lured me to the countryside to seduce me, then?” Max teases, amused. “Off,” Cass demands, tugging at his sweater. He pulls it off easily, and starts to unbutton his white shirt underneath. Cass pulls off her own tank top in one swift movement, and Max can’t breathe for a second. His own shirt hangs open, and Cass slides her hands over his shoulders to push it off.

He leans down to kiss her, arms wrapping around her to pull her closer, and the feeling of her breasts pressing against his bare chest is almost more than he can stand. He runs one hand up the warm skin of her waist, his thumb tracing the underside of her breast. He can feel Cass gasp at the touch, emboldening him to break off their kiss and push her back gently until she sits on the side of the bed.

He kneels in front of her, sliding her baggy sweatpants off, then her leg warmers, then, ever so slowly, hooks his thumbs into the sides of her underwear. They’re plain white cotton pants, but the sight of Cass leaning back on her elbows, totally naked except for those white pants, eyes locked on him, is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his voice cracking slightly. Cass nods, lost for words as he pulls her underwear down her legs and tosses them to the side. Max runs both hands up her legs, pausing at her knees and looking up again for permission. Cass obligingly parts her legs slightly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Max says reverently, running a thumb over her inner lips and over her clit. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her core. He can feel her whole body shudder around him as he uses his tongue and lips on her, her hands buried deep in his hair as she moans his name.

He can feel her hips bucking against his face, so he lays one thick forearm against her stomach, pressing her hips down as he guides one of her knees over his shoulder to get better access. In that moment, with the sound of Cass’s gasps and whispers of his name surrounding him, with her hands in his hair, tasting her, feeling her every shiver, Max was in heaven.

He slides one long finger into her, groaning at the sensation. “Max,” Cass says, back arching at the feeling of his finger stretching her. “Are you sure…?” He asks, uncertain. Cass nods, skin flushed and breath shallow. She looks a little nervous. Oh Jesus fucking Christ. He’s going to have to take it slow - really, really slow, based on how tight Cass is around his one finger.

“We don’t have to -” he starts, running his hand up and down her upper thigh. “I want you,” Cass says decisively. Max feels an elated grin break across his face. Thank God. “Okay, let’s go slow,” he says, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.

He returns to his work, using his fingers and mouth on Cass until she cries out his name, the grip on his hair tightening to an almost painful extent. He works her with one finger, then two, until she comes a second time, and he’s hard as a rock, his body screaming that it needs to be inside her that very second.

“Are you ready?” He checks with Cass, who is lying on the bed, hair messy, breathing hard. She bites her lips as she looks up at him, and he almost comes right there. In response, she just sits up and pulls him towards her until he’s standing in front of her. She starts undoing his belt, pressing butterfly kisses to his bare stomach. Max helps, shucking off his jeans and underwear as quickly as humanly possible, until he’s standing naked in front of her.

—

Cass has seen naked men before - of course she has, she’s a ballerina. There are always men changing in the studios, she’s lived with Jamie for long enough to have seen him and a number of his paramours in various states of undress. But she’s never seen anyone as beautiful as Max.

She reaches out to stroke the expanse of bare skin that has been revealed to her, reveling in Max’s reaction as he shivers, catching her hand in his. “That’s one way to end the night before it properly begins, kleintje,” he says warningly, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it.

In a swift movement, he picks her up and moves her so that her back is against her fluffy white pillows. He grabs one of them and puts it under her hips, elevating them. He’s clearly the more experienced of the two of them, so Cass just follows his lead, watching as he grabs a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rips of the foil and rolls it on.

He climbs onto her bed until he can take her in his arms, devouring her mouth with his. She can taste the salt of her body on his lips, and she licks up every last drop left behind, nibbling on his bottom lip gently. She feels like she could eat him up, but she’ll save that for another time.

Max is entirely too self-restrained, kissing her so gently that she thinks she’ll explode. She lifts her hips, pressing herself against him, dying for some friction to relieve the pressure building up inside her. She bites his collarbone, and it seems like that’s something he likes because he groans deeply, bracing one hand against the headboard as he bows his head, trying to regain control.

“Max,” Cass whines, running her hands up his sides. “I love the sound of my name from your lips,” Max confesses. “Max, Max, Max, Max, Max,” Cass says, punctuating each word with featherlight kisses to his jaw. “I want you inside me, now,” she whispers against his skin. It seems this is the last straw for him, as he hitches her knee around his hip with one hand and lines himself up with her opening with the other.

Cass gasps as she feels him filling her, inch by perfect inch. “Is this okay?” Max asks, hissing slightly at the feel of her surrounding him, gripping him and holding him in tight. Cass can only nod as she shifts her hips slightly, causing Max to groan. “This might hurt,” he whispers apologetically as he slides home, their bodies joined completely. It does hurt, just a little bit, but it feels incredible at the same time. Max starts to move, slowly at first, but picking up the pace once Cass starts to move her hips to meet his thrusts.

The air is filled with the sound of skin against skin, Cass’s moans and Max’s unintelligible Dutch. He’s reverted back to his native tongue, his tongue tripping on familiar words as his world shrinks down to just the two of them.

“More, Max, please,” Cass begs, feeling herself reaching the peak again. “Fuck, are you sure?” Max asks, totally lost in her body. He lifts her legs, putting her knees over his shoulders, thanking God the entire time for the flexibility of ballerina bodies. The new angle means he hits the exact spot inside Cass which makes her see white, her vision blanking out completely as Max bottoms out inside her with every thrust, until he’s groaning and his hips start to stutter from their regular rhythm.

“I’m so close,” Cass whimpers, her body trembling as the pressure builds up until it finally breaks, filling her with ecstasy. Max fucks her through her orgasm, as she cries out his name, groaning as he comes soon after, rolling them both over so that she can lie on top of his chest instead of him crushing her.

They lay like that for a while, panting. Cass can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and is sure he can feel hers. She props her chin on his heaving chest, and looks up at him. He’s sweaty, pink cheeked and his hair is all messy. His eyes are slightly glazed, like his soul has left his body for a second.

“Is it always like that?” Cass asks, rolling off him. Max reaches over, smoothing the hair away from her face with a thumb. Cass blushes, remembering where his hands have been. She wonders if she’ll blush every time she sees Max from now on, whether her memory has now been permanently hardwired to think of exactly what his tongue, his lips, his hands and his body can do.

“Never,” Max says hoarsely. After a while, Max gets up, gathering a boneless Cass up in his arms, and brings her into the bathroom to clean up. The feeling of the hot water running over her sensitive skin makes her shiver. They stand under the water, just two kids making out, until it finally runs cold.

“We forgot about the food,” Cass says after they get dressed and step out into the sitting room. “Well, I’m starving,” Max says, lifting the metal cloches that cover the food, revealing the roast chicken and chips underneath. He sets to work on tearing apart the chicken, feeding Cass little bites every now and then.

They’re both sleepy, but Cass knows that if her dad or Luke come back and discover Max in her room, she’ll never hear the end of it and it’d create a terrible first impression for Max and her dad. “I’d better show you to your room,” she says regretfully, standing and holding a hand out to him.

The rest of the house is quiet, the corridors lit dimly by wall sconces. Cass points out rooms of interest on the way, but Max is pretty sure he won’t remember any of these when he wakes up. He just has to hope that he can figure out how to get to breakfast and move from there.

After what feels like eternity, Cass announces they’ve reached his room. “You can move into my room when Luke and Dad leave on Tuesday,” Cass smiles, reading his mind. “This house is way too big,” Max shakes his head.

“Good night, Max,” Cass tiptoes to kiss Max on the lips. He pulls her closer, not wanting to let go. She pushes him off laughing. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, pressing one last kiss against his lips before returning to her own room.

—

Cass wakes up to something incredibly heavy hitting her in the face. She lets out a muffled scream, interspersed with a few unladylike curses learnt from spending a bit of time with her brother at the track.

She tosses off the heavy object - an enormous feather pillow, so no lasting damage done - and glares at the culprit, her brother. Luke is grinning unrepentantly at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. “Wake up Cassie! It’s party time!” He yells.

Cass flops back on her bed, groaning. If only his fans could see him know, she was sure they’d be shocked. Luke had this reputation as an ice cold competitor, all sleek and cool, the embodiment of the emoji of the little smiley face wearing sunglasses. Little did they know he was an absolute child outside the car.

When Luke sits on her bed, she kicks him for good measure. There’s something about being back home with her big brother that just makes her inhabit the role of little sister, all snotty tantrums and sticky out tongues. As someone trying to prove to her family that she’s all grown up, it’s not a good look, and she resolves to project maturity this weekend.

“You’d better be nice to Max,” she warns Luke, who has snuggled up on the other side of the massive bed. “He’d better be nice to me,” Luke retorts childishly. “Anyway, I heard Dad’s taking him golfing. Do you think he’s gonna hit him round the head with a golf club for defiling his baby girl?”

Cass scoffs. “Dad’s not like that,” she says confidently. “…Is he?” She twists around to look at Luke for affirmation. Luke shrugs. “Well, you’ve never had a boyfriend before, so I guess we’ll all be learning something new today,” he says cheekily. For him, it’s all spectacle, and he’s come up ready to be entertained. He’s just rooting for Max to fail, and since Cass won’t listen to him, he’s hoping that their dad will set her straight. Unfortunately, their dad seems to have a fairly good impression of Max.

“Are you going with them?” Cass asks, chewing on her bottom lip worriedly. It’s a bit sore, and she blushes as she remembers Max biting it gently the night before. She shakes her head, clearing out the memories of the night before that flood her mind, trying to focus on the conversation she’s having with her brother.

Luke shakes his head. “Nah, Dad says he’s going to have a little man to man chat with your suitor.” He looks pleased at the idea, and Cass notes absently that he seems to have relaxed a bit about his aversion to Max, almost as if he’s relieved himself of sole responsibility of Cass’s virtue now that their dad is getting involved.

“Do you think Millie made the special waffles?” Cass wonders out loud, snuggling deeper under her heavy, warm blankets. Their chef, Millie, made the best waffles in the world, but only on birthdays. Technically her dad’s birthday is the next day, but sometimes she relents and makes it over twice… Luke snorts. “Duh, why do you think I came to wake you up?” He says, rolling off the bed and getting to his feet in one smooth movement.

“Didn’t you just get in? Why have you got so much energy?” Cass asks curiously. Luke grins devilishly at her. “Well, maybe it’s because I’m a real professional athlete,” he says casually. “Or maybe it’s because Dad has been having breakfast with Max for about,” he checks his watch, “ooh, half an hour now? And I’m having a great time thinking about what on earth they’re discussing.”

Cass scrambles to her feet and smacks Luke on her way to the bathroom. She can hear Luke cackling outside her door as she quickly brushes her teeth and runs a comb through her tangled hair.

—

Max wakes incredibly early, by his standards, and is briefly confused by the pitch darkness of the room before remembering where he is. It’s the day of Cass’s dad’s birthday. He smiles to himself, thinking of how great the day before had been, and especially how great the night was. As sappy as it sounds, pretty much every day that he got to spend with Cass was super - or, as Cass tended to say, lovely.

He gets up to double check on Mr Errol’s present, a rare first edition set of a book Mr Errol had mentioned in one of his interviews. He’d done a deep internet dive on Cass’s dad when he hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, and had been very impressed by the man’s life story. The man was apparently as good an investor as Warren Buffett, and even a racing-obsessed teen like himself knew who Warren Buffett was. He was surprised that he’d actually not heard of Mr Errol outside of his role as Luke and Cass’s dad before now.

There had been a part of him that had wanted to dig into the history with Cass’s mum - he’d shamelessly read about Luke’s mum, and her tragic death from a brain aneurysm soon after Luke was born, but had stopped himself before reaching that part of the Wikipedia page. He’ll wait for Cass to tell him herself when she’s ready.

He turns the first book - it’s a box set of three - over in his hands and gently opens it to the first page, careful not to crack the delicate spine any further. The person who had sold it to him online had been very specific about how to care for the book, but after seeing how much Cass and her family love books, Max is sure it’ll be pretty well cared for.

The book is Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens. It’s super old, and was eye wateringly expensive, but he figures you only get to make one good first impression. He quickly looks up the plot online, just in case Mr Errol wants to discuss it, and wonders why Mr Errol had referenced it in an article as his favourite book - it sounds pretty depressing.

He searches for a way to open the curtains, finally figuring out that they’re automatic blinds by pressing every one of the discreet switches next to the bed. The room is more kitted out than the nicest hotel room he’s been to, even the super fancy one in Dubai he’d been put up in for a sponsor event. The blinds roll up, revealing the beautiful English countryside outside his window.

Cass had made him watch one of the Pride and Prejudice movies with her a couple weeks back, and this place kind of looks like the house from the movie. It’s crazy to him that basically one person lives here full time, since both Cass and Luke have moved out. He can see a tent being set up on the huge front lawn, and already loads of staff are scurrying between the tent, the house and the big vans out front.

Despite the tons of action going on outside, the room is totally silent. He makes a mental note to ask Cass about what kind of soundproofing they did, so that he can replicate it in his Monaco apartment. He might be a race car driver, but even he got annoyed sometimes at the sound of sports cars roaring down the road outside his window at night.

He checks his phone and sees he’s received some messages from his friends, a couple of work emails, and a string of missed calls from his dad. His heart sinks, seeing the timing of the calls - it’s never good when your parent calls you at five in the morning. After years of dealing with Jos, he knows the best way is to just get it over with.

Jos picks up the phone after one ring and immediately starts blasting Max. “I just spoke with Christoph and he said you’ve gone on holiday again, without your trainer? What the fuck kind of attitude is this? I’ll tell you what kind, it’s a loser’s attitude, and you’re a fucking loser…”

Max has heard this all before, and kind of tunes out. He puts Jos on speaker and, lo and behold, an apologetic message from his manager for having spilled the beans to his irate father. He doesn’t hold it against Christoph - Jos is a hard man to evade. He’s like a bulldog once he gets going. Max usually just lets him run through whatever shit he wants to say.

“… So you’re in that shithole London again, and for what? The season is starting soon and you’re still weak, you deserve to have your neck snap in two at Turn 1 with how little training you’ve done…”

Somehow, Jos has remained oblivious to Cass’s existence in his life despite his micromanaging attitude towards Max’s life. He’s thought of telling his dad about his girlfriend - they spend almost every day together during the season, after all - and has always hesitated. When it comes to racing matters, Max trusts his dad’s opinion and advice implicitly. When it comes to matters of the heart, Max is well aware that his dad is… somewhat lacking.

His dad has always encouraged him to devote himself to racing, and he’s always found that an easy task. He’s had a couple of girlfriends in the past years, but nothing serious, and he’s never met a person who managed to occupy his mind like Cass can.

Once he’d heard that Errol had signed for Ferrari, he’d had some vague idea that he’d bump into Cass one day at a race, ideally after he’d won a race, and she’d fall in love with him immediately and follow him around the world as he won races and that they’d basically live happily ever after. They might have gotten to the first part but he’s still hoping that they’ll manage to make it work. Very few women are happy to be ignored for three quarters of the year, and the ones who are usually aren’t really in it for true love.

Based on his parents’ relationship, and the relationships of the drivers around him, distance does not make the heart grow fonder, but he figures they’ll sort that out further down the road. Max realises that there’s silence on the other end of the line and that Jos is waiting for him to respond to something.

“Yeah,” Max says, crossing his fingers that his response makes some sort of sense. It seems to, because Jos continues speaking, updating Max on some meetings he’s been to with potential sponsors. Max listens with half an ear as he watches the arrival of the caterers below the window, the numerous trucks rolling up the long, gravel drive way.

He had liked Mr Errol when they’d met the first time after Cass’s debut as Clara. The man was quiet, measured, and clearly very proud of his two kids. Personality-wise, he was the total opposite of Jos Verstappen. Despite both coming from poor backgrounds and rising to relative wealth - although Mr Errol was far richer and more successful in his own field than Jos - Max had observed that Mr Errol wasn’t arrogant or dismissive of the accomplishments of others.

It must have been nice growing up as Luke Errol, Max muses. Never any worry about how to buy parts for karts, never worrying about his dad giving him a smack when he came second in a race, good relationship with his sister, Ferrari golden boy. Not living with the pressure of being the sole breadwinner of his entire family. He could quit racing without even stepping foot on a podium and know he was still set for life. The smug bastard had it all, really, except for a mum. And Max didn’t really have a mum either, not for most of his life.

He observes idly as a dark grey Rolls Royce Phantom winds its way past the catering vans and staff and stops right in front of the front door, and a driver steps out, opening the passenger door. Mr Errol emerges, impeccably dressed, along with Luke Errol in a hoodie and jeans. Realising he’s been on the phone with his dad for over an hour, turning his early morning into a relatively late one, he cuts Jos off abruptly. “Ja, papa, ja. Ik zal harder werken. Zie je volgende week. Doei.”

He hangs up and looks around for his bag. He’s got packing down to a science, but he can’t exactly wear his usual Toro Rosso/Red Bull merch combination to the home of a Ferrari driver, so he’s packed a bunch of white shirts, neutral sweaters, blue jeans and one suit. He quickly gets dressed and texts Cass that he’s heading downstairs to the breakfast room.

Jesus Christ, a breakfast room. Keeping up with the fucking Jones indeed. Shaking his head, Max begins the trek from his room to the rest of the house.

—

By the time she makes it down to the breakfast room, her dad is hidden behind his enormous newspaper and Max, seated directly to his left, is quietly munching on scrambled egg. From Luke’s slightly disappointed expression, she can tell that no fireworks have occurred.

“Hey Dad!” She says happily, walking over to drop a kiss on her dad’s cheek. Her dad puts the newspaper down for long enough to ruffle her hair, then picks it back up. “Dow’s looking strong,” he remarks to no one in particular as Cass takes a seat next to Max. He’s never said it, but she knows he wishes one of them had taken an interest in finance.

“Do you think that’s because of expectations on the likely decline of the Chinese economy, sir?” Max pipes up. Cass and Luke raise identical eyebrows at the question, Cass at Max and Luke at Cass. Edward Errol, used to his comments going unanswered, lowers his newspaper and stares at Max in bemusement.

“Yes, that’s one consideration,” he says, brightening up and going into a lecture on the headwinds facing the British economy. Cass reaches under the table for Max’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

Cass can’t help the little thrill that runs through her when her hand wraps around Max’s larger, warm one, not helped by how Max automatically starts stroking her palm with his thumb. She takes a sip of the water in front of her, crossing her legs. Max turns and gives her a tiny smirk. Luke catches it and rolls his eyes.

When he’s run out of steam, Edward takes a final gulp of his coffee and stands, saying something about having to attend to the preparations for his party. He bestows a smile on Max, his captive audience, then heads out.

“Teacher’s pet,” coughs Luke into his fist, unsubtly. Max is unfazed, helping himself to more eggs and smoked salmon from the platters in front of them. “You should try the waffles,” Cass suggests, taking a few for herself. Max shakes his head. “No sweets two weeks before the season,” he says, sounding as if he’s reciting from a nutrition plan. Cass figures he must be.

Luke scowls at Max’s words, looking down at the pile of waffles and maple syrup on his own plate. He takes a few defiant bites, then deflates, pushing his plate away. Cass ignores the two drivers and eats heartily. She hasn’t been this hungry in weeks, she thinks to herself. The stress of performing Clara on short notice, followed by the new rehearsals with Alexei have been taking more of a toll on her than she’d realized.

“What time is the party starting?” Max asks, nudging her foot with his. She’s basically face planted in her plate, and looks up guiltily, mouth smeared with maple syrup. Max gives her a little smile as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of maple syrup from the corner of her mouth. Luke makes a puking sound. “Guests should arrive around five for cocktails,” she says breathlessly.

“We have quite a bit of time before that. If you don’t have to do anything for the party, do you want to go for a run or something?” Max asks. Luke has been passive aggressively chewing his protein heavy breakfast loudly and obnoxiously. “Oh, we should show Max the gym!” Cass says to Luke, kicking him under the table. Luke looks up reluctantly.

“I’ve got to do my ballet exercises, but Luke usually does his morning workout at the same time so maybe the two of you can do that together?” Cass suggests, looking between the two drivers hopefully. She wants to laugh at how sulky the two drivers look, and she thinks she can picture what Max must have looked like as a child. They both mumble something unintelligible and she finds that she’s lost patience with this childish behaviour.

“Well, I’ll be at the gym, so you know where to find me,” she says, pushing back her chair and heading out of the room. Within a few steps, Max has caught up to her. “I don’t think your brother likes me. He’s been glaring at me all throughout breakfast,” he tattles.

—

“Can you please just try to get along with him?” Cass asks, blinking up at him with her big green eyes. He can’t say no to anything she asks when she gives him that look, so he nods reluctantly. Fucking great - Luke Errol’s problem with him has now become his problem.

“You mentioned the gym?” Max asks, changing the subject quickly. In between his room and the breakfast room he’d received a call from Helmut to ask about his pre-season training regimen, and to remind him that he had to stay below the maximum weight he’d been set. He hadn’t dared to tell the elderly man that he’d been neglecting his training - and trainer - by constantly flying over to visit Cass, but somehow Helmut had known. Probably something to do with Jos.

“Yeah, I think Luke’s trainer is coming down soon, so maybe you can do a session together or something?” Cass suggests innocently. Max shakes his head immediately. Each driver’s training regimen is fairly specific, and each driver tends to have his own dedicated trainer. It’d be crossing the line to use Errol’s trainer, even for a day.

“I’ll just do my own workout,” he says hastily. Cass gives him a gentle shove back towards the breakfast room. “Go on,” she urges, nodding towards the scowling Englishman still visible and clearly trying to eavesdrop from his seat at the table. “I’ll meet you at the gym,” Cass leans in to whisper, so close he shivers from the warmth of her breath on his ear. “And maybe afterwards we can… do a little cardio.”

She leans back on her heels, eyes dancing with suppressed excitement. Ah fuck, now he’ll have to speak to his girlfriend’s brother with a freaking hard on. Cass spins around and walks quickly away, probably so he won’t have any choice but to talk to Errol. Max suppresses a sigh and heads back to the table.

“Would you mind showing me the gym?” He says politely, standing about fifteen feet away from where Errol is sitting. Errol ignores him and continues chewing obnoxiously, pretending to read the newspaper his dad has left behind.

Max has his pride, so he shrugs and decides he’s tried hard enough. He turns to leave, intending to head back to his room and maybe get directions from one of the staff, when Errol’s quiet, polished voice interrupts him.

“I don’t like you,” Errol says, leaning back in his chair and looking superior as Max turns back to face the older driver. Max feels a familiar fury rising up the back of his neck, signaled by a tingling feeling, and he can feel his cheeks getting warm. “You don’t know me,” he snaps.

“You’ve got a dad whose violence should have seen him behind bars long before you were born, your grandfather’s no better, and it looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with all your antics on the track.” Max has heard all this before, but the way Errol says it - lofty, his eyes appraising Max and finding him utterly wanting - really pisses him off. The asshole doesn’t know what it’s like to drive knowing that anything other than first place will earn him a beating or at the very least the iciest silent treatment in the world.

“My so-called antics on the track got me to where I am now,” he hisses at Errol, who raises an eyebrow. Max represses a shiver - it’s the exact expression Cass gets when she’s skeptical of something, but on Errol it’s vaguely unsettling.

“My sister is quite… sheltered. She doesn’t know much about the evil out in the world,” Errol says calmly. Max wishes he’d flip out so they could have a proper fight, but Errol’s got a reputation as a gentleman, whatever that means, so it’s unlikely. He could stop talking like a God damn James Bond villain, at the very least.

“Your father’s been charged with attempted murder, and multiple cases of assault, against his ex-partners - your mother included. He’s also constantly with you, and I’ve heard you say over and over again in interviews that he’s molded you into the man you are today. You can understand how that’s hardly comforting when you’re dating my sister.”

Max is stricken. At home, they never talk about his parents’ divorce, his dad’s situation with his girlfriend, anything personal really. It’s almost like the curtains have been ripped open, the sudden sunlight blinding him on the inside.

“Shut the fuck up about my dad,” he says, voice low, his knuckles white around the edge of the table. Errol just raises that one eyebrow again, chin jutting up proudly. “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” he says, smooth and cool.

“I said,” Max enunciates each word for maximum impact. “Shut. The fuck. Up. About my dad.” Errol’s faint smile infuriates him, and Max sees red. He slams a hand on the table. “Hey, fuckhead. Did you hear what I said?” Errol nods once, like Max has just confirmed something for him. His eyes go behind Max’s shoulder, and his smile broadens.

Heart sinking in his chest, Max spins around to see Mr Errol standing behind him, along with the housekeeper he met yesterday and a couple of other staff. Mr Errol’s expression is unreadable, but the housekeeper looks horrified that he’d speak to the prince of the house in that manner.

Max isn’t sure what to say and just stands mutely as Mr Errol looks him up and down dismissively, then turns to the housekeeper, clearly snubbing Max, to discuss some party preparations. Errol brushes against his shoulder tauntingly as he exits the breakfast room. “Gym’s on the grounds. Massive stable on the left of the house, can’t miss it,” he says cheerfully, mission accomplished.

Too embarrassed to say anything to Mr Errol, Max gives him an apologetic nod and leaves as quickly as he can without being rude.

—

Max has a talent for applying laser focus to what’s in front of him, a gift which has served him very well in his career. He’s putting this talent to full use now, fully creep-watching Cass as she gets ready for the party.

Stolen kisses. Quick smiles. One make-out session in a stairwell that Max is pretty sure he’ll remember forever. That’s all they’ve been able to do that day, with Cass constantly being called away to help with party preparation. Max has been introduced to a small army of assistants, and the steely housekeeper, and isn’t sure what the point of having all this staff is if they can’t figure out how to throw a party, but he’s kept his opinion to himself even as he feels his blood rising every time they hear someone call her name.

He hasn’t told her about his minor altercation with Errol, knowing that she’d give him that disappointed face that he hates. She’s been so happy the whole day that he doesn’t want to ruin it. It probably wasn’t even a big deal anyway - Errol grew up on the track just like he did, he should be used to that kind of language by now.

He turns to look at Cass again, wanting to memorise this moment exactly. He still can’t believe he’s here, where she grew up, after all these years. He should have known she’d grown up like a fairy tale princess - she has the manners for it, for sure. She’s probably read all of the books she has up on her shelves. His shelves are filled with racing helmets and trophies, and he only reads the books that she tells him to.

At the moment, she’s carefully curling her long, red hair in front of her mirror as he lies on the bed in his undershirt and boxers. His tux is hanging in her closet next to her dress, this long, dark green thing, so that it won’t get crumpled while he hangs around. The radio is playing pop music, turned down to soft background noise.

“It’s totally unfair that you can just put on a tux and be gorgeous, and I’ve got to spend hours on hair and makeup to be acceptable,” she says, raising at eyebrow at him when they make eye contact in the mirror. “Hey! I did my hair,” Max says, offended.

“You take two minutes to slap some product in your hair,” Cass says, rolling her eyes. “Hey, this took me five minutes!” Max protests, touching his hair gently. He’s actually quite pleased with how it looks, thank you very much.

“Yeah, I can tell you put in extra effort today,” Cass snorts, before returning her focus to her hair. Max flips onto his back and puts his arms behind his head, wincing at the strain in his muscles. He had gone way harder in the gym today because Errol and his trainer had been there, and he hadn’t wanted to let his own trainer down in front of the competition. Also, he’d felt incredibly smug when he’d been able to lift more than Errol.

Lying here, listening to the sounds of Cass getting ready is very soothing, Max muses. It’s rare that his environment is this quiet and peaceful, and not for the first time, he wonders what it was like for the Errol siblings growing up in this place. It seems so idyllic.

He ends up scrolling through the messages on his phone, and falls asleep at some point. He wakes to Cass shaking him gently. “I need some help with my buttons,” she says, turning around and pointing to the row of tiny pearl buttons running down her spine. After he fumbles his way through doing up the buttons, he puts on his tux.

“We’d better go,” she says, checking the time and moving towards the door.

Max reaches out and tugs on her wrist gently. “Wait, let’s take a photo,” he says, pulling her back towards him. “Max, we’re going to be late,” Cass says, laughing. “It’ll just take a second,” Max says, wrapping an arm around her waist to stop her from running away and snapping a quick picture with his phone.

He’s never met a girl less bothered about taking couple photos than Cass, and at first he’d kind of liked it but now he realised they don’t really have many photos together. As the start of the season draws nearer, and his schedule gets busier and he’s away more, he’s started trying to take more photos of the two of them together.

“Look, we’re so cute,” he says, showing her the photo. He knows she doesn’t have social media, nor is he the kind of person who posts about his private life on Instagram, but if he did post this picture he bet it’d get a fuckton of likes. Objectively speaking, they look awesome. She looks like the Disney mermaid.

“You clean up well, Mr Verstappen,” Cass says in her best Bond girl voice, smirking up at him. Ah fuck, that’s sexy. Cass knows the effect it has on him too, because she steps backwards, away from him. “If you kiss me it’ll ruin my makeup. If you ruin my makeup, I’m going to kill you -“ she says, laughter in her voice, turning to flee as he reaches out to grab her.

“A gentle one,” Max promises, leaning down and dropping a feather light kiss on her lips so that he doesn’t smudge anything. “Mmm, I like that,” Cass says. He can feel her lips curving into a smile against his. “Okay, we really have to go now - my dad hates it when people are late for things,” she says, leaning down to put on her high heels.

They make it to the tent with seconds to spare, Mr Errol and a glowering Errol already standing at the entrance and beginning to greet guests. Mr Errol gives him a brief nod, his face softening when he turns to his daughter. “Lovely as always,” he says to Cass, smiling approvingly. Errol ignores him and reaches out to mess up Cass’s hair, as she ducks away.

“Why don’t you three mingle?” Mr Errol suggests, gesturing vaguely to the people who have already entered the massive tent. Cass had told him earlier that about five hundred people have been invited. He’d had to respond with his choice of main course a few days ago. It seems like more effort than most people put into their weddings, honestly.

Errol nods, turning to grab a few glasses of champagne from one of the waiters hovering around. He hands one to Cass, then begrudgingly gives one to Max. Ever the gentleman, he can’t fight the innate politeness that’s been bred into him. That’s why a bruiser like Max will win the race every time. That’s where his upbringing has given him the edge. The three of them clink glasses, and Max downs his champagne in one. He gets the sense that this is going to be a long night.

Errol wanders off to greet guests and Max puts racing out of his mind for the time being as Cass introduces him to her dad’s friends, most of whom are in the finance world. He’s recognised by a few of them, mostly old white men, but they’re generally quite accustomed to meeting famous people and are pretty cool about it. No one asks him for photos, at least.

No one, that is, until a skinny kid walks up to them. “Hey Max!” He beams widely, looking like a little pixie. Max nods politely at the kid, who seems to know him. Cass finishes up her conversation with an older woman, and turns to see the kid. “Hey Lando,” she says, giving the kid a hug. “Lando’s dad worked with my dad before,” she says to Max as introduction.

The name sounds vaguely familiar, and Max casts his mind back. He’s a few glasses of champagne deep, and it’s hard to remember how exactly he met this kid but he does recognise him. “We’ve met before,” Max confirms, shaking Lando’s hand. “Yeah, we did! At the karting championships in 2013, remember? Congrats on your debut season, mate, that was brilliant!”

Everything Lando says is in an excitable tone, as if punctuated with exclamation points, but at least Max is in familiar territory. The two teens get into discussing karting and F1, and Cass lets the two of them get on with it as she goes to fulfil host duties elsewhere.

“So, you’re dating Cass now?” Lando asks cheerfully once Cass leaves. Max’s brain had been fully switched to driver mode, and he takes a moment to register the question. “Huh? Oh, yeah, she’s my girlfriend.” Max smiles.

“My brother’s going to be gutted,” Lando says, still smiling. “He’s always had such a thing for Cass. When we first met he was only five or six, and he told my parents that he was going to marry her when they were grown up.”

“Oh really?” Max says, mouth flattening into a flat line. Lando continues, oblivious to Max’s expression. “Yeah - oh look, he’s there chatting with her now. Wonder if she’s broken the news yet - guess not since he’s not started crying, ha ha!” He elbows Max in the side, laughing as if they were mates. Max takes a small step away, frowning.

Max looks over to where Cass was. He can find her in any crowd, partly due to her bright red hair, partly due to his internal compass which always manages to alert him when she is near. She is halfway across the room, speaking to a blonde guy whom he assumes is Lando’s older brother. He scowls.

The blonde guy leans down to give Cass a hug, lingering a little too long for Max’s liking. He says something to Cass, who laughs and puts her hand on his arm. As if feeling Max’s eyes fixed on them, Cass turns and makes eye contact with him, her bright smile faltering slightly at his glowering stare.

“… so yeah, maybe we can hang out another time, maybe race karts or something?” Max looks down to find out that Lando had been speaking to him the entire time he’d been watching Cass and his brother. He murmurs something noncommittal, and can tell from Lando’s crestfallen expression that he had maybe been a bit too unfriendly, but he excuses himself without trying to make up for it, walking over to where Cass was.

“Max, this is Oliver. We grew up together,” Cass introduces as Max slips a possessive arm around her waist and gives Oliver a cool nod. Oliver clearly recognises him, shaking his hand genially and making some small talk. Max makes no effort to engage, leaving a flustered Cass and uncomfortable Oliver to keep up the conversation. Max stares at Oliver, silently, until he makes some lame excuse about getting another drink and scampers off.

“Max!” Cass immediately turns and hits his arm. He winces and rubs his arm, pretending that she’d hit him harder than she had in an attempt to get out of the scolding he knows is coming. “You were incredibly rude to Ollie, what was that about? And stop rubbing your arm, I barely touched you,” she says, glaring at him.

“He seems like a creep. He was totally eyeing you up,” Max says, ceasing his play acting now that he’d been caught out. Cass rolls her eyes. “Please, I’ve known him since we were five. He doesn’t think of me that way. Anyway, please don’t be rude to any more guests. This is my dad’s party, okay?”

Cass stalks off, clearly annoyed. Max tries to be on his best behaviour for the rest of the cocktail hour portion, but is exhausted by the small talk and has taken up a spot by the bar by the time people start drifting into their seats. There’s a little reception table with table seatings, and he has to head over to check because Cass still hasn’t come back.

He walks up to the table he’s been assigned to. He sits down in the seat closest to him, eyes scanning the room for a glimpse of Cass. He spots her across the room, next to her dad, in a group of people. Someone sits next to him, and he turns to see who it is. Fuck, it’s Errol.

He’s beaming widely, which is disconcerting. “I heard someone fucked up,” Errol sing-songs happily, chugging beer from the glass in his hand. Of course, the thing that would make Errol happiest is to see Max in the dog house. The rest of their table fills up with the other guests who are around their age, including Lando and Oliver, who eyes Max nervously and sits as far as possible from him.

Errol stubbornly remains in his seat to Max’s left, and Lando has plopped himself to Max’s right and starts babbling before he can tell him the seat’s reserved for Cass. By the time Cass arrives, the lights are dimming for the band to start performing, and she sits in the only remaining empty seat, to Errol’s left.

—

She’s not exactly ignoring him, but she was incredibly embarrassed by his behaviour in front of Oliver and knows that if she talks to him she’ll forgive him immediately, which wouldn’t be much punishment. So she focuses on catching up with the other family friends that are seated with them, finding out that Mark has been accepted into Cambridge and Terry will be working in London after graduation.

Sitting two seats down from him makes it easy to avoid eye contact, and Luke obligingly refuses to get up from his seat throughout the entire dinner. Max eats quietly, listening to the conversation around him, especially poor Lando who hasn’t stopped talking the entire dinner. She had no idea Lando was such a fan, and she can hear how nervous he is.

“We’ll have to get Cass to come too, won’t we?” Lando says, making Cass automatically turn her head to the right at the sound of her name. She immediately makes eye contact with Max, who looks so hopeful that she has to steel herself to look past him to Lando.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch the question?” She says politely, tilting her head to hear him better over the music. “Max says he’ll go karting with me next week! You have to come, it’ll be so fun.” Lando is absolutely beaming, his day made by the thought of spending time on a track with an actual F1 driver.

Cass looks at Max, who is smiling uncertainly at her. She knows that although he loves karting, agreeing to go karting with Lando is his way of apologising for his earlier actions. She gives him a small smile in return, and his smile grows wider in relief. “Sure, I’ll come along, but only if you don’t make me race,” Cass says to Lando.

Lando immediately protests, insisting that it will be more fun if everyone races together, but Cass demurs. “I’ll come too,” Luke interjects suddenly, leaning forward and giving the delighted Lando a smile. Cass raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were going back to Monaco tomorrow?” She asks in surprise.

“We can do tomorrow morning and I’ll fly after,” Luke says, opening his phone to text the manager of the nearby karting track. “I’m playing golf with your dad tomorrow,” Max says past Luke to Cass. “We’ll go in the morning, you’ll be back in time for tee off. Dad never plays in the morning,” Luke says dismissively. “I’ve booked the track, we’re all set.”

Lando is almost bouncing in his seat with excitement. Cass nods to Max, who shrugs and nods, agreeing with Luke’s plan. “Only if you’re sure we’ll be back in time.” Feeling a little devilish, Cass turns to Oliver and asks him if he wants to join them. He takes one look at the expression on Max’s face and stammers a refusal, stressing that he’s got plans with his girlfriend. He particularly emphasises the last word, making brief eye contact with Max then looking back down at his plate.

By the time dessert is served, people around them have started moving to the dance floor, the band playing her dad’s favourite song, September by Earth, Wind and Fire. Luke immediately offers her his hand. She allows him to pull her to the dance floor, trailing one hand over Max’s shoulder as they pass him to show that all’s forgiven.

The band is on fire, playing a series of crowd pleasers, including songs by ABBA, Whitney Houston and Diana Ross. The older crowd loves it, and the dance floor is packed. Luke had grown up with dance classes as well, and he spins Cass expertly around the floor. The guests who recognise the Errol siblings give them a bit of space to do their thing, cheering at the particularly audacious moves.

A few songs in, Cass feels a tap on her shoulder and turns. “Can I have this dance?” Max asks, smiling nervously. She nods and puts her hand in his in acceptance as Luke huffs and turns to find another dance partner. The band moves on to the next song, a mellow jazz club number, but Max doesn’t move an inch.

“Are you alright?” She asks, concerned. Max leans in close and whispers in her ear. “I don’t know how to dance,” he confesses. Cass’s heart melts at the unexpectedly vulnerable look on his face.

“Everyone knows how to dance,” Cass says, taking his other hand in hers and placing it on her waist. “But if you want, I can lead.” She raises their joined hands and puts her free hand on his shoulder, nudging him to take a step back. Then a step to the left. Then one forward, and one to the right.

“There, you’re dancing,” she smiles. He’s a fast learner, and by the end of the song he’s brave enough to try twirling her. They don’t talk about his weird possessiveness earlier, and Cass is relieved, not wanting to have any unpleasantness at her dad’s party.

They continue dancing as the band cycles through their repertoire of songs, a greatest hits parade of the 70s and 80s. Cass learns that Max secretly loves Michael Jackson songs, although he shockingly has no idea what any of them are called. Their movements get progressively looser as the songs get funkier, both of them getting sweaty in the warm tent.

“I think I need a break,” Max shouts to Cass over the music, pink cheeked. “Let’s get some air!” Cass shouts back, pointing to the entrance of the tent. They make their way out of the tent, Max breathing a sigh of relief as they emerge into the cold night air. “Jesus, your dad knows how to throw a party,” he says, taking off his jacket to fully enjoy the cold.

Cass wipes a sweaty lock of hair away from her forehead, nodding in agreement. “There’s fireworks and cake too, later.” Max looks at his watch, surprised. “There’s later? It’s already nearly midnight, isn’t he like… 70 years old? Won’t he be tired?”

Cass laughs. “Ooh, I’m so going to tell him you said that,” she threatens teasingly. “My dad was in finance in the 80s, babe. He knows how to party.” She squints up at the night sky, stars blotted out by the huge lights surrounding the tent, and tells him she wants to show him something. She takes his hand in hers, reveling in the warmth of his palm, and leads him to her favourite part of the garden.

When she was eight, she’d read The Secret Garden. It had been about the time her dad and Luke had started travelling a lot for his races, and she’d become increasingly lonely. She’d spend the morning in school, then have ballet class, then come home to the empty-feeling house and read her way through the books in the library.

She’d begged her dad for a secret garden - really, just a hedge surrounding a patch of garden - and he’d finally obliged after a year of badgering. On her ninth birthday, over special waffles, he’d given her a key and a map that Luke had drawn. Luke had followed her around the gardens as she tried to figure out where map led to, smirking the entire time.

Her little patch of garden was slightly wild, and at this time of year it was slightly desolate, with only a couple of yellow flowers peeking through the foliage. In the spring there were cherry blossoms, magnolias and forget me nots, and there was a little wrought iron swing which would get showered with flower petals every time the wind blew. There was even a small pond, with the gentle sound of water burbling filling the air.

The two of them sit on the swing, facing each other, and Cass sets it to rocking with a little push of her foot. They sit in silence for a while as Max takes in the garden, which is dimly lit with old-fashioned street lamps. “Do you like it?” Cass asks, smiling proudly.

—

Max looks at Cass, the hazy light surrounding her like a halo, in the middle of a mini-park her dad had purpose built for her because she’d liked the idea from a book when she was a kid, and he understands Luke Errol completely. If Errol lacks edge, Cass is… soft. He loves that about her, how different she is from everyone else in his life, but he can understand why Errol is so worried he’ll hurt her. He respects the man for trying to protect his sister, even though he hates the unearned reputation that precedes him.

She is like a princess from a story book, coddled and protected from all the evils of the world. He watches as she stares up at the stars which dot the sky as if placed there specifically for her viewing pleasure, and as if by design, a shooting star streaks past. “Look, Max!” She says happily, pointing at it. “Make a wish,” she adds, closing her eyes.

He might be the golden boy of Toro Rosso for now, but life as an F1 driver was always precarious. He has seen talented drivers lose their seats to pay drivers or younger talents many times, and he knows he’ll have to prove himself at every single race to keep his own seat. Red Bull is not known for being forgiving. Even if he becomes the most successful driver of all time he’ll never be able to offer Cass the lifestyle she’s grown up with.

Max closes his eyes and holds his breath, making his wish. When he opens his eyes, she is leaning forward, her red hair blowing softly in the wind, her eyes fixed on his. “What did you wish for?” She asks. Max shakes his head, pulling her towards him in one swift movement so that she sits on his side of the swing, next to him. “I can’t tell you, if not it won’t come true,” he says, running his fingers through her hair.
—

The next morning, he wakes up bright and early and meets with Cass and Luke at the front of the house, where a huge Range Rover was purring. He isn’t a morning person at the best of times, and the night had ended late. Mr Errol, despite being a billion years old, loves a party, and the night had ended with fireworks and cake just before the sun began to rise.

The Errol siblings both appear to be wide awake, and he hops into the back seat to get some shut eye while Errol drives. When he wakes up, they’ve arrived at the karting track and Lando is already waiting. The staff at the track seem well acquainted with Errol and Lando, and they suit up quick enough.

Despite all their begging, Cass refuses to get into the kart. “The last time that happened I sprained my ankle and couldn’t dance for weeks,” she says, shooting an accusing look at Errol. “That wasn’t my fault, you spun and I couldn’t avoid you!” He says in an injured tone. Max stays out of it, not wanting to subject Cass to what he assumes will be a bloodbath. One which he will win, obviously.

The kart is almost an extension of himself, despite having spent a few years in single seaters by now. He zooms around the track, his mind immediately mapping out the ideal racing line, revellng in how quickly he can complete a lap. When their time is up, he’s beaten both Errol and Lando by a fair margin.

“I want a rematch!” Errol says as he hops out of his kart, tugging off his helmet. He’s sweaty but beaming, having enjoyed the competition. Max had made sure to race as cleanly as possible, aggression not necessary when he outpaced both competitors by so much. Errol’s as happy as Max has ever seen him, and he can tell that makes Cass happy.

She’s sat watching them from the cafe next to the track, sipping from a cup of coffee. Max bounds over to her and she gamely accepts a very sweaty kiss. “We need a rematch,” Errol repeats, following him over. “Best of three?” Lando suggests, trailing behind. ”What do I get when I win?” Max says, grinning cockily at the other two.

There’s something about racing which clears his mind of the personal. Maybe it’s something about how he views everyone as the enemy on the track, and if everyone’s the enemy, no one’s the enemy. He’ll leave it to his future therapist to figure that one out.

Whatever it is, it seems that Errol has the same thing, because this is the nicest Errol has been to him probably ever. Max can feel the older racer warming towards him, maybe because he recognizes and respects his talent. He wouldn’t be the first person to change his opinion of Max based solely on his racing skills. It’s shaping up to be a pretty good morning.

“Loser pays for the session, winner gets bragging rights?” It’s the time honored practice of all professional athletes to be extremely, extremely tight-fisted with their money. He’d even heard Christian complain once that Daniel had tried to claim back a bottle of water he’d bought in the airport coming home from a race. The three boys agree to the terms and get back in their karts.

“Best of three, starting from a clean slate, alright?” Errol shouts to the others. “Fuck that, you’re only saying that because I won the first one!” Max shouts back, forgetting for a second that he’s speaking to his girlfriend’s brother and should be a bit nicer.

“What, are you worried you won’t be able to win two more?” Errol taunts him, knowing exactly which buttons to press. Max just growls and shuts the visor to his helmet, gunning the engine of his kart. He’ll wipe the floor with these bastards.

One and a half rounds later, Max has to admit it’s not looking good. Errol had come flying out the blocks and a split second of over-aggression into one turn had resulted in Max slamming into a wall and getting flagged for a compulsory pit stop by the staff. Now, halfway through the second round, he’s only slightly ahead of Errol, who’s catching up. The crash has fucked up his kart somehow.

He catches sight of Cass standing by the side of the track, cheering and waving. He’d like to think she’s cheering for him, but he knows she’s probably rooting for Lando, the slowest of the three. She’s just that kind of person. Fuck that, he’s not about to lose to a tween and a rookie. He focuses on the track.

It’s exhilarating, hitting the curbs hard, forcing the kart to move exactly the way he wants. He can hear Lando’s kart screaming for mercy as he laps him, can hear Errol cursing behind him as he defends, weaving through the track to prevent Errol from overtaking.

He whoops as he speeds through the finish line, the thrill of winning never changing no matter how minor the competition. He gets ready for the final race, lining up on the grid in front of Errol. He can’t see his expression under the helmet, but he’s willing to bet that Errol’s not pleased. It all comes down to the final race.

He starts well, shooting ahead of Errol, who brakes too early and nearly spins. Lando manages to overtake Errol, who lets out a scream of frustration. Max is uncharacteristically distracted, looking back to laugh at Errol, and Lando manages to squeeze past him and get ahead. Pissed off, Max pushes the kart too hard and spins.

Errol seizes the opportunity to zoom past him, as Max growls at the kart in disbelief. He rejoins the track, hunting down Errol and Lando. It takes only one lap before he’s on their tail, Errol having overtaken Lando. He edges Lando off the track at turn 6 when Lando takes a wide turn, then sets his sights on Errol.

Errol is a smooth driver, but Max has pure talent and incredible aggression on his side. Errol manages to defend for a few laps but the second he leaves the door open, Max pounces and speeds past, overtaking around the outside. He’s filled with adrenaline, and the last few turns go by in a flash. Soon enough, he’s going past the checkered flag. He pulls the car into the pits, where Cass is waiting, and hops out, yanking off his helmet.

Fuck he loves racing. His hair is a fucking mess, cheeks pink like a kid, but he’s beaming as he run-walks towards Cass and picks her up, swinging her around and planting a huge kiss on her lips.

“That was amazing,” Cass says, giving him a hug and kissing him once again for good measure. “You are amazing.” She’s beaming right back at him, and some part of his brain notes absently that he’s just fulfilled a childhood fantasy - winning a race in front of his lifelong crush. He mentally files away the memory, to be taken out and admired during the season when Cass is far away.

He could get used to this, he thinks to himself. Cass waiting at the finish line while he destroys the competition and wins races. He buries his face in her neck, breathing in her fresh rosemary and mint scent, distinct amongst the smell of petrol and burning rubber that pervades the track.

He growls when Cass gives him a gentle nudge to signal that she wants him to let go, reluctantly loosening his arms so that Cass can wriggle out and give Errol a consolatory pat on the back. “What the hell, Cass!” Max stiffens at Errol’s tone, and he turns around to glare at Cass’s brother.

“Every time I hug you after a race you’re screaming that I’m too sweaty, but Max does it and you’re cuddling? That’s so not fair,” Errol continues, pulling off his helmet to reveal his huge smile. Max relaxes, noting that Errol has called him by his first name for the first time. They seem to have reached a turning point in their relationship, hopefully a positive one.

“Brilliant drive, mate,” Errol says, turning to Max and offering him his hand to shake. Max can see why Errol was known as the Gentleman in the junior ranks - while Max might also shake his competitor’s hand after losing, he wouldn’t have done it with as much grace and sincerity as Errol is doing now.

“Thanks, Errol,” Max says, shaking his hand. “Eh, call me Luke,” Errol - Luke - says resignedly, clapping him on the back. Cass is thrilled, her head swiveling like its on stalks as she looks between the two drivers. Max smiles down as his delighted girlfriend, and gives Luke a small nod of thanks. Luke returns the nod, but gives him a meaningful look.

“That was incredible!” Max smirks at Lando. He can’t remember having such uniformly positive feedback from a race, even one against his own friends back home - they were more likely to heckle each other - and he can’t help but compare his own experiences on the track against the English drivers like Luke and Lando. He wonders how they would have coped with Jos screaming at them from the sidelines.

They head towards the front desk to pay and Lando pays up, moaning the whole time about how he should actually have won. Every race driver thinks they should win every race, Max thinks to himself, amused. “Another round?” Lando asks hopefully, but Max shakes his head regretfully, remembering he has a golf appointment with Cass’s dad that afternoon. In the car, Max sits in front and has a fairly decent conversation with Luke about the track and the workings of the car as Cass fiddles with the radio and smiles.

—

Golf with Mr Errol is… odd. He’d thought he was walking into an interrogation, but the man doesn’t mention Cass once, preferring to make small talk with Max about random things, like the weather and racing. Luckily, Max can talk for hours about cars and racing because his capacity for other kinds of small talk is basically zero.

He’s about as terrible at golf as he’d expected he’d be, despite carefully watching and trying to follow everything Mr Errol does. The older man moves smoothly and confidently, never rushing his movements. Max tries, but inevitably ends up hitting the ground before the ball every time, throwing up embarrassingly large chunks of grass and dirt. He curses internally, knowing that whatever makes him good at driving is useless in this slow, deliberate sport.

“You’re rushing,” Mr Errol observes calmly. “Don’t look up until after you’ve hit the ball.” His comments are made quietly, focused on a specific fixable issue each time. Max tries to follow and record all of the advice in his head, keeping a running list of all the things to remember in his mind. By the end of the 18 holes, Max actually manages to make par. He beams at Mr Errol as his ball rolls slowly towards the hole, letting out an excitable whoop when it drops into the cup.

“Good job,” Mr Errol says sincerely, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll make a golfer out of you yet.” Max is terribly uncoordinated when it comes to pretty much all sports other than driving, and he has his doubts about his maximum golfing ability - he’s probably reached it right now - but he appreciates the encouragement.

He’s still waiting for the shoe to drop, for Mr Errol to fuck him over for his little spat with Luke the day before, or at the very least give him a hard time for dating his daughter. He’s sure Luke has told Mr Errol everything he’s heard about him and Jos - that is, if the older man hadn’t already known all of that. The man is about as cool and collected as a mafia boss about to order a hit, and Max reminds himself not to get on his bad side.

He’s been getting jittery over waiting for Mr Errol to bring up his behaviour, so he decides to take the plunge and just bring it up himself when they’re in the car on the way back to the house. “About yesterday, Mr Errol - I’m very sorry for my behaviour in the breakfast room,” he begins, stopping when Mr Errol holds up a hand.

“Max, has Cassie ever told you about my own upbringing?” Mr Errol asks. Max shakes his head wordlessly. “My father was a carpenter, my mother did laundry and sewing. Lovely people, very content with their lives. I had six siblings, and we lived in a two room house. Not a two bedroom house - a two room house. Imagine that, nine people crammed into two rooms. My first memory of the house is feeling suffocated.” Max thinks of the enormous palace the man lives in now, pretty much all by himself, and wonders if he actually prefers it.

“I won’t bore you with the long story of how I got to where I am today,” Mr Errol says, tapping his fingers against the solid teak wood inlay of his chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce. “But suffice it to say, I know what it’s like to grow up hard. And there’s nothing to harden - and strengthen - a man like supporting his family from a young age. There is nothing you could say that would shock my sensibilities. And who knows? It may be good for my son to have someone to challenge him every now and then.” Mr Errol gives Max a nod, then looks out the window, conversation clearly at an end.

Max wants to tell him that he wants to hear every step of how he got to where he is. He wants to learn from this incredibly successful man, this man who has given the girl of Max’s dreams everything she has ever wanted in her life. The man who had as poor a childhood as Jos, but has come out of it rich, confident and most importantly, without an ounce of the rage that seems to be bubbling under the surface in his own father at all times. Max thinks of his own grandfather, and notes absently that no one would ever have described him as “lovely” - that might have something to do with it.

He wants to tell Mr Errol that he’ll never hurt Cass, that he’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. He wants this man to know that he, Max Verstappen, is a good person because of his hard upbringing, not despite it. He wants to ask this man who has experienced so much whether it’s more important to be nice or successful. He keeps silent, words building up behind his lips like a fountain. He thinks that if he starts speaking, he’ll never stop. He’ll wind up begging for affirmation, and that would be utterly humiliating.

Instead, he sits back against the soft leather seat, turning over Mr Errol’s words in his mind, savouring the feeling of being understood and respected for something that he himself barely acknowledges - that his upbringing was tough, that he is essentially, at the age of 17, the sole breadwinner of his family and sometimes that pressure can be crushing. That by not succumbing to this pressure he is made stronger, a fighter. If that’s all Mr Errol ever thinks of him, that will be enough.

—

Despite the overall positive effects of bonding with the Errol men, Max can’t help but feel relieved when they finally leave the house. He’s not a loner by any measure, but spending time with your girlfriend’s family requires a certain level of polite pretence on all sides that he’s just not good at. He can feel his whole body relax as he and Cass wave the car bearing her dad and brother away.

“Now, how will we ever entertain ourselves with them gone?” Max muses out loud, hands reaching automatically for Cass’s waist and pulling her towards him. She laughs, burying her face in his chest. “I can think of one or two things which we can do…”

The rest of the week flies by, with them barely leaving Cass’s room. They have no problems with their worlds shrinking down to just the two of them, venturing out every now and then to gather supplies from the kitchen and go for a little walk. They know they won’t have time together like this until the summer break at least.

Cass uses most of their time to force Max to watch all of her favourite TV shows and films, and listen to her favourite music. He pretends to be disgusted by all of the romantic comedies, but each viewing follows the same pattern: he starts leaning closer and closer to the TV, even shouting at the screen at the end of The Way We Were, the film starring Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand.

“Oh come on! She’s just given him a one-liner, then she needs to walk away, not invite him for drinks!” He says indignantly as Cass giggles in the corner. “Oh, but what a one-liner,” Cass says, grabbing Max’s face dramatically and saying in a stoic voice, “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell,” before pushing his face away and pretending to swoon.

“She should have known he was trash just based on his name,” Max continues, taking her playacting in his stride. “What kind of a name is Hubbell anyway?” Cass laughs at his rant. “It’s similar to the name of the space telescope,” she chips in unhelpfully. She loves it when Max gets upset about silly things, because his face turns all pink and he gets a squiggle between his eyebrows. He also hasn’t bothered with hair gel since it’s just been the two of them, and she loves running her fingers through his soft, gold-brown hair.

When he’s finished with his complaining, he shifts from where he’d been leaning forward on the edge of the sofa to reclining against its back, and looks at her expectantly. “What?” She pretends not to know what he’s waiting for. “One movie, one kiss,” he says, pointing to his lips in case she’s forgotten what a kiss is.

“Is The Way We Were a movie? I think it’s probably better described as a manifesto on the human spirit -” she screams when Max lunges for her, reaching for the exact spots on her sides where he knows she’s most ticklish. “Uncle! I said uncle!” She cries, laughing helplessly. Max stops and proudly tilts his chin towards her, waiting for his kiss.

His eyes open with outrage when she drops a light kiss on the tip of his nose. “Excuse me, that was not the prize I was promised,” he says, catching her as she tries to run away. “The terms and conditions didn’t specify where the kiss had to be,” Cass says breathlessly as his arms tighten around her waist. She should have known better than to try and run from an F1 driver. Those damned reflexes.

“Don’t be a cheater,” Max says sternly, pressing his nose against her collarbone as if to return the kiss in exchange for a better one. “Go on then,” he demands. “Oh, fine,” Cass sighs, pretending to be annoyed with the exchange. She puts her hands on either side of Max’s face and gives him a long, slow kiss.

“Much better,” he says drowsily. She can feel his lips curling up into a smile against hers. She’s sitting on his lap and shifts into a more comfortable position, which winds up with her straddling him with a knee on each side of his hips, their thighs pressed against each other. “Stay still,” Max orders, pulling her towards him and pinning her arms to the back of the sofa by some miracle of flexibility.

Cass obeys, staying perfectly still as Max takes the opportunity to run a trail of kisses up her exposed throat and across her jaw. She flinches when she feels his cold hands running up the back of her t-shirt, having been so engrossed in what he was doing to realise he’d let go of her hands.

“Stay still, I said,” Max says absently as he trails a hand around her waist and up to cup one breast, the other stroking her thigh as if soothing a skittish horse. “It’s a bit hard to stay still when you’re -” she gasps as his thumb trails over her nipple. “When you’re doing that,” she finishes, leaning into his touch.

“And your hands are freezing cold,” she adds, just to distract herself, even though his hands have warmed up by now. “Are they now?” Max comments. “Let’s see if this fixes your temperature problem,” he says, pulling down the flimsy v-neck of her t-shirt to reveal the breast he’s been fondling, and putting his warm mouth on it.

Cass immediately forgets whatever they had been talking about before, her back arching and hands twisting in his hair as he laves her breast with his tongue. His other wandering hand has skimmed its way up her thigh and is cupping her warm and wet sex, his thumb traveling lazily over her clit.

“Max,” she gasps, thanking God that they’ve barely changed out of their pyjamas and he’s in boxer shorts while she’s just got her underwear on, apart from her much abused t-shirt. She reaches down to tug his boxers off as he does the same to her underwear, only getting them about halfway down her legs before he decides to just rip them in half and throw them into a far corner of the room.

“You’re paying for those,” Cass pants as she rises onto her knees as Max grabs himself and positions them both so that he can slide into her, her arousal making it easy. They both groan when he’s finally all the way in, pausing for a moment so that Cass, still fairly new to all this, can get used to the stretch.

When she’s ready, Cass starts to move up and down, slowly at first then faster as she gets into a good rhythm. Max’s head is back, his hands gripping Cass’s hips for stability as his own hips thrust up into her, his expression dazed as he stares up at Cass’s own euphoric expression. He’s pouring out a stream of Dutch, not knowing exactly what he’s saying, but knowing that the words fuck and kleintje feature heavily.

He leans in and kisses her neck, sucking on it just hard enough to leave a mark. She realises what he’s doing and threads her fingers into his hair, pulling back hard enough that he releases her neck with a pop. “You’ll pay for that,” she growls, pressing her forehead against his. “Looking forward to it, kleintje,” he says. He tilts his chin to give her a cheeky kiss, before grabbing her around the waist and flipping her so her back is flat on the seat of the sofa, their bodies flush against each other.

In this position, his hips can move much faster, and all thoughts of retribution are forgotten as they get lost in the friction and the sound of their bodies moving together. He’ll never get sick of this, he thinks to himself deliriously as Cass comes with a cry, biting down hard on his shoulder, and he follows soon after.

He flips them so that he won’t crush her with his weight. They lay on the sofa, panting and sweaty. “Will you ever tell me what kleintje means?” Cass asks eventually, propping her chin on his bare chest. He ignores the question, probing his shoulder experimentally with one finger and wincing at the bruise that’s beginning to form there.

“You have very sharp teeth,” he says. Cass grins, baring her teeth at him like a wolf. “That’s payback for all those bloody hickeys you’ve given me,” she says, unbothered. “You know they’re going to be a pain to cover up tomorrow.” Max tallies up the hickeys with satisfaction, counting five in total.

“What time do you have to leave again?” Cass asks. Max hums. Cass is drawing little patterns on his bare skin with a featherlight touch, and it’s distracting him. Anyway, he doesn’t want to think about tomorrow when they’ve still got about six hours of today to spend together. He has a brief thought about how he’s been neglecting his workouts - he knows his neck and back are going to be murder after the practice runs unless he really steps it up over the next few days - which he pushes away.

They lay in comfortable silence until their sweat starts to dry, and they start to shiver. “Shower?” Max suggests eventually. “Hmm,” Cass pretends to consider. “Together?” She responds, lifting her eyebrows. I love you, Max thinks, surprises himself with the sudden thought. He says nothing, just smiling back at the girl he loves.

—

The next day, Max is in a terrible mood, throwing his clothes into his suitcase haphazardly. Cass had disappeared a while ago, saying she needed to find something to bring back to London, and he’s grouchy, begrudging every second wasted that they could have spent together instead.

“Took you long enough,” he says when she returns. “You are the most impatient person I’ve ever met,” Cass retorts, tossing him something which he manages to snatch ungracefully out of the air. It’s a velvet pouch, which contains a tangled thin golden chain from which hangs a small coin-like pendant.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one getting you jewellery?” Max jokes, unspooling the golden chain to take a closer look at the pendant. “It’s a Saint Christopher’s medal,” Cass explains, taking it from him and motioning for him to bend so she can fasten it around his neck. “Patron saint of travellers and drivers. So you’ll be safe. And before you get too soppy, Luke has one too.” She smiles, scrunching her nose up at him to show she’s joking.

Max touches the pendant, feeling touched. He knew his mum lit candles for him before races, but he wasn’t a huge believer in religion or any spiritual being out there. To him, wearing the necklace was more symbolic of carrying Cass along with him when she couldn’t be at the races.

“I love it,” he says sincerely, kissing the top of her head. “I feel bad now though, I didn’t get you anything.” Cass shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s alright, I’m just staying in the same place. You’re the one who’ll be racing around a circuit at a million miles an hour.” She checks her watch, a tiny thing which she has to squint at to tell the time. “We’d better go,” she says regretfully, not moving an inch from where she’s standing with Max’s arms tight around her waist and his face buried in her hair.

“Five minutes,” he says, voice muffled. He breathes in deeply. “Stop smelling my hair, you creep,” she chides, nudging his chest with her chin. “No,” he says obstinately, holding her even tighter. Exactly five minutes later, he lets go of her with a sigh. “Okay, I’m ready,” he says, shouldering his duffle bag - Red Bull branded, naturally - and picks up the handle of his suitcase. Cass’s bags had already been loaded into the car.

They leave, and Max loads his own bags into the boot of his car, pausing for a second to take in his surroundings again, wondering when he’d be back in this oasis of calm. Cass had mentioned off-handedly that the house actually had a proper name, a fairly understated one of Errol House. He’d snorted at the idea that this was a house, but apparently the fancier the building the less fancy the name.

“Let’s go, Max!” Cass calls from the car. She’s a real stickler for punctuality, he’d realised over the course of the week. He takes one last look at the house, one last breath of the air perfumed by freshly cut grass, and slams the boot shut.

Chapter Text

Within a couple of days of the season starting, Cass realises two things. 

Firstly, that she’s been slacking way too much to keep up with all the rehearsals and performances. Even though they’re heading towards the tail end of the season, just a few days off have made her limbs as stiff as they had been in pre-season. This is made clear to her by Heidi, who is completely unimpressed that her choreography isn’t being executed as perfectly as she wants. 

Secondly, that being in a long distance relationship sucks. Even though the races were vaguely spaced out time-wise, Max won’t be back until May at the earliest when the grid heads to Spain. The season starts in Australia and works its way back to Europe through Bahrain, China and Russia. The time difference is already terrible, especially since the two of them have such packed schedules. They have to content themselves with relationship by text, and Cass isn’t the best at checking her phone, especially when she’s deep into a rehearsal. It drives Max crazy.

At the moment, she’s being told in no uncertain terms by the irate choreographer that she’s dragging the whole performance down with her lack of grace. Alexei stands to one side, looking apologetic but not able to back her up. She understands - she knows she’s not at her best. “Take five minutes,” Heidi spits out, stalking away to speak to the accompanist.

“Let’s go get water,” Alexei suggests, nodding towards the water cooler just outside the studio. Cass nods wearily. It’s past ten at night, and Anne has made clear that they aren’t going to leave until they have one perfect run through. 

They sip water in silence until Alexei breaks it. “Are you alright?” He asks tentatively. Cass nods immediately. “Yeah, just slacked too much during the mini-break, I’ll get up to speed soon,” she says, feeling guilty that he’s had to run through the choreography so many times just because of her. With how athletically demanding the choreography is, his arms must be dying. 

“I’m sure you will,” Alexei says reassuringly. “You’re one of the most talented dancers in the whole building. You just seem… distracted.” Cass frowns. She hadn’t realised that she’d been so obvious, but now that she thinks of it, she had been pretty distracted - three of her favourite people on the planet were halfway across it, and she’d honestly struggled with mentally calculating the time difference. 

“Five minutes up!” Heidi barks from the studio, and the two dancers rush back in to get started all over again, Cass resolving to be more focused. 

—

“Mate, you alright?” Max winces as he pulls on his inner layer, and his trainer, Brad, immediately notices. Even though Max says he’s fine, Brad immediately starts nagging him about not having done sufficient pre-season prep for neck and back strengthening. He is definitely being punished for it now.

“You’re a fucking disgrace,” Jos says disgustedly after Max spins on the wet track during FP1. “You’ve finally got your chance and after one season, you’ve just thrown it away for some pussy. I hope she’s worth it.” Max can only hang his head, even though he hates the way Jos speaks about Cass, and women in general. He knows that his dad has sacrificed a lot for Max’s career, and that he’s not performing the way he should be. 

Jos continues to hiss invectives as Max drags his car around the track through the remaining practice sessions and qualifying, managing to qualify fifth for Sunday’s race. “Decent,” Jos says begrudgingly, before grilling Max on the set up of the car and how it moves around the track. 

After a grueling round of media duties and some games for social media which he totally destroys Carlos at, Max finally makes it back to his hotel room and collapses on his bed. He automatically reaches for his phone and calls Cass while mentally calculating the time difference. It was nearly midnight for him, which means it’s about three in the afternoon for her - she’ll be having an afternoon break before her performance that night.

“Hey Maxie!” His entire body relaxes as her face, bracketed by the buildings of London and an improbably blue sky, fills the screen. He can see his own exhausted one, squished up against the bedspread, in the tiny box at the bottom of the screen. “I’m just getting a coffee before going back to rehearsal. How was your day?” 

“It was great,” Max lies, wincing as he subconsciously reaches up to touch the extremely sore part of his neck that had borne the brunt of his aggressive turns. “I got P5, which is good. Remember I told you yesterday about how we needed more understeer for this track? Well I talked to the mechanics and they changed the set up for quali…” Max knows he gets overexcited when he talks about cars, but he can’t help himself. By the time he realizes Cass has a slightly faraway look on her face, it’s been fifteen minutes of nonstop car talk.

He also doesn’t know why he can’t bring himself to tell Cass about how difficult he’s been finding the start of the season. He generally tries not to be too introspective, so it’s not hard to push that behind all the data and information about his beloved race car. 

“What about you, did you manage to go through the whole dance with Alexei?” He can’t stop the jealousy seeping in to his tone. He loves his life, has wanted to be a race driver his whole life, but he definitely wishes there was some way for the two of them to be together just a bit more. Meanwhile, fucking Alexei is with Cass all day every day practicing their dance. 

Cass beams, her happiness evident through the phone as she waxes lyrical about the challenge that the dance - a pas de deux he has been informed it’s called - offers. She’s telling him about something funny that happened during rehearsal the day before, something about the accompanist suddenly playing the totally wrong tune and Anne flying off the handle, when her eyes go beyond the camera to something behind her phone.

“Oh, Alexei! We were just talking about you,” she says in an upbeat tone. “Say hi to Max!” She turns the screen to show the tall, handsome Russian in the frankly unnecessarily tight outfits that he favors. The two men give each other begrudging greetings. “Cass, Anne asked if we could go back a bit earlier so she can talk us through the variation…” Alexei says tentatively. 

Max scowls. He knows that Cass will never say no to extra rehearsals, meaning that their short time together has come to an end with so much left unsaid. I miss you! He wants to shout into the phone, but refrains since Alexei will hear him. I love you, also goes unsaid, waiting for a more opportune moment. 

“I’ve got to run, Maxie - you should get some sleep too, it must be nearly one over there,” Cass says, returning her attention to her phone. Max nods, yawning as he checks the clock. He has to be up in about six hours for pre-race media and a bit of training. “Good luck tomorrow,” Cass says, blowing a kiss into the phone and hanging up.   

“You too,” Max says to a blank phone screen. He tosses his phone on the bed and wonders whether its too late to get room service. He shifts, feeling his aching muscles scream as he pushes himself off the bed into seated position. A boiling hot bath filled with Epsom salts is calling his name. 

—

“Cass, hurry up or you’re going to miss the start!” Jamie and Mara are curled up on the sofa, half awake, while Cass lugs over the snacks for their very first F1 viewing party. She drops a heap of food on the table, food that would make Madame gasp - crisps, chocolates and other assorted contraband. 

“Thanks for watching with me, guys,” Cass yawns as she sits on the other end of the sofa and pulls a blanket over herself. It might be bright and sunny in Melbourne on the TV screen, but it’s pitch dark and freezing cold in London. 

“How could we miss the debut of our darling Luke?” Mara says as Jamie rips open a bar of chocolate and starts munching. “Oh, they’re starting - look!” 

Cass bites the skin near her thumbnail as she watches the cars set off smoothly for their formation lap, lining up cleanly in their little boxes. She can see Luke’s bright red Ferrari just behind Max’s Toro Rosso, and hopes the two hotheads in her life get through the race unharmed. 

The cars begin to rev their engines as the lights flash red, red, red… and then green. The cars take off, battling for position amongst their peers, elbows out as everyone tries to get the best possible start to the race and the season. Max sets off well, maintaining his fifth position, but Luke loses out to Fernando Alonso, dropping back in the pack. 

The race cameras focus on the leaders, meaning Max and Luke barely feature on the screen. Mara and Jamie have both fallen asleep by the time a huge crash occurs between two cars, jolting a gasp from Cass’s mouth. Fernando Alonso flies into the air, crashing heavily into the barriers.

A red flag is called eventually, meaning all the cars return to their garages to wait for the debris to be cleared from the track. Cass bites her nails as they show Alonso getting out of his car and walking away, the commentators cheerfully remarking that a crash like that would have resulted in instant death just ten years ago. It reminds her of how dangerous the sport her beloved brother and boyfriend both love is. 

She spends the whole red flag period worrying about them, knowing that neither of them have access to their phones since they’re all stuck in their cars. She texts her dad, who is at the track, to ask him what’s going on and he sends reassuring messages but it doesn’t stop her from worrying. She’d seen Luke race before, but the F1 cars are leagues faster than anything he’s driven previously. And she’s already seen how aggressive a driver Max can be, meaning the chances of a crash are far higher. 

By the time the race restarts, she’s driven herself into a mild state of panic. Both Jamie and Mara have already fallen asleep, and she sits by herself, chewing on her fingernails, as the cars start to circle the track. Luckily - or unluckily - the only interesting thing that happens is that Max starts cursing over the radio, something the broadcasters are only too happy to show since it livens up a fairly boring race. 

Luke manages to finish seventh in his debut race, being voted Driver of the Day, while Max has to content himself with tenth place - still in the points, but only just. She knows he’ll be disappointed, but she can only breathe a sigh of relief that they both managed to finish relatively intact. 

—

Max hops out of his car, storms into the garage straight into his driver room and slams the door. “Fuck!” He swears, throwing his helmet against the wall. The helmet ricochets off the shelf, knocking a ton of shit to the ground and causing an almighty racket. 

He sits on the little cot in the corner of the room, head in his hands. He’d lost his cool, he knew that. He’d probably be made to apologize to the team, the thought of which made him curse all over again. The door flew open and Jos strode in, slamming it again behind him. Before it’s fully closed, he’s already begun to berate Max for every single mistake he’s made on track which made him fall from fifth position down to the back of the points. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy,” Jos snarls, gripping the neck of Max’s race suit and tugging it, forcing him to look upwards. “You’re a useless bastard, just lucky enough to get a point, but that Spanish prick outdrove you at every turn. Where were your reflexes? What was the point of all the practice if this is the best you can do?” He continues raging, Max trapped by his vice grip on his race suit, until a tentative knock sounds on the door.

“Max? We’ve got to do media,” Vicki, his press officer, says cautiously through the door. Max flushes, sure she’s heard the flurry of pissed off Dutch spewing from Jos’s mouth and can tell exactly what he’s saying. “Coming,” he shouts through the door, voice cracking slightly. Jos releases him, causing him to stumble backwards. 

“Fucking useless,” Jos says, giving him a poisonous look, before storming out. He shoulders past a bewildered Vicki and heads into the garage where he’s probably going to give the strategists a piece of his mind for not calling team orders in favour of Max. 

“Give me five minutes,” Max says to Vicki shortly. “Please,” he adds, remembering that his mum would want him to be polite, before shutting the door in her face. He turns and grabs his phone from his bag. He’s received the usual number of messages for a race day, from his mum, his sister, his childhood friends, and some from Cass. 

Cass: Good luck today! <3 

Cass: Car goes vroom vroom round the track 

This was accompanied by a short video Cass had filmed of her TV showing Max racing. He can hear loud snoring in the background, presumably Jamie, and holds back a smile. And then:

Cass: You did great! Best F1 race I’ve ever watched :)  

He presses the little icon of a phone and waits for her to pick up. His breathing has evened out after the adrenaline of the race, the pure rage he’d felt while in the car at the slow pit stop has cooled, and now he feels a bit guilty at how rude he was on the radio. 

“Maxie!” He can tell she’s lying on her bed, the red of her hair spread all over her white bedsheets. Mental calculations tell him it must be about seven in the morning in London, meaning she woke up before five to watch him race. His heart swells at her effort. 

“Kleintje,” he breathes, sitting on the cot and drawing his legs up onto it so he can curl up like a prawn. His aching back protests slightly, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck. “Are you alright? You sounded so mad on the radio,” Cass asks concernedly.

“Just how I get when I race,” Max brushes her question off with practiced ease. “How does it feel to be back in the car after the holiday?” Cass can’t hold back her yawn, her face scrunching up like she’s tasted lemon for the first time. 

“It was good,” Max says, lying through his teeth. “I just wanted to see your face.” Now that, that is the truth. He just wanted to know that she still cared for him after a bad race, that his racing performance wasn’t the be all and end all of his relationship with her like it was with so many of the other people in his life. 

She is the only person in his life who has absolutely no skin in the game, no reliance on his race craft at all. The only one without a hand outstretched, waiting for him to become the champion of the world so they can bask in his reflected sunlight. He can already feel all the muscles in his body relaxing as he tells her about how the new car feels, about his annoyance with the team strategy. 

“I’ll win one for you someday,” he says suddenly. “I’ll win a championship for you,” he adds brashly. He’s confident he’ll win races in time, but he doesn’t know if the Toro Rosso car can bring him there. He has to wait for promotion to Red Bull probably, meaning someone either has to fuck up or he has to be so brilliant they can’t ignore him. He’s never seen been the kind of person to rely on others, so he guesses he’ll have to do the latter. 

“That’s sweet, Maxie,” Cass says, smiling her crooked little smile at him. “But you should win for yourself. You’re already a winner in my book. Against Luke and Lando, remember?” Max smiles back at the memory, smiles that that of all races would be what makes him a winner in her eyes when he’s got walls full of karting trophies back home. She hasn’t seen them before, he realises. He’ll have to bring her soon.

The long-suffering Vicki hammers on the door. “Five minutes are up, Max! Press is waiting!” She shouts through the door so loudly that Cass can hear her. “You’d better go,” Cass says, blowing him a kiss through the phone. He pretends to catch it, a move so dorky he automatically looks around to check that no one has seen it even though he knows he’s the only person in the room. They say their goodbyes, then he stands and opens the door to face the music. 

Media is brutal that day. He knows its his own fault, stemming from his rages over the radio rather than his driving, so he takes it on. He also apologizes to the team for his cursing, which they accept with grace and some wry smiles - the garage and factory aren’t exactly the most proper of places, and he’s probably learnt most of his English curses from them in the first place. 

Jos is ignoring him, which is a good thing he supposes. His dad has two modes - burning hot and ice cold. He’s exhausted, so he prefers the cold shoulder. “When are you flying out, kid?” Daniel asks cheerfully, bumping his shoulder with his own. When Max tells him he’s got another day in Australia, Daniel’s trademark grin grows by another molar. “Well I’ve definitely got to show you how we Aussies party, don’t I? It’s my responsibility as a fellow Bull,” Daniel whoops, making some indecipherable noises that sound vaguely like ra ra brrrr to Max’s ears. 

This is how Max ends up piss drunk in the middle of a scrum of Australians in a run-down dive bar in the middle of nowhere. They had gone from a nice dinner where Max had been introduced to each person - and promptly forgotten their names - to a nice bar, then a nice club, then gradually less nice clubs until the strict noise curfews of Melbourne had driven them to this bar in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors to complain, so the party somehow just keeps getting wilder. At some point, Daniel ends up behind the DJ turntable and starts playing heavy metal music, which sounds so awful that Max has to take a couple of shots to blur it out.  

Daniel has assured him that these were his closest childhood friends, and they certainly all have the same rowdy personality that Daniel himself bears. Their main topics of conversation during dinner had been dirt biking, karting and girls, pretty much the same as it is with his own friends. He finds it easy to relax with them, not something that can be said with everyone. 

“Don’t bother with this one, mate,” Daniel had interjected loudly when one of his friends asked Max whether he was “drowning in pussy as an F1 driver”, throwing a heavy arm around his neck and almost choking him. “He’s all loved up, eh?” He had grabbed Max’s face with two hands and squeezed, making kissing noises. 

“So ya girlfriend’s back home, is she?” Another friend had asked. “She mind you being out with all these bogans? It ain’t easy being out on the road, is it?” The seriousness of the question was alleviated somewhat by the guy starting to sing Faithfully by Journey in a very soulful manner, directed entirely to his pint of beer.

Some time during the night, after his awful DJ set, Daniel loses his shirt and starts dancing on the bar, sandwiched by two gorgeous blonde girls. He tries to pull Max up but Max absolutely refuses, laughing as Daniel tries to pull him up by his shirt, which rips at the sleeve. “Coyote Ugly!” Daniel screams at Max, before reaching behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of tequila. 

This must be some kind of signal to Daniel’s friends, because Max is suddenly in a headlock as Daniel pours the vilest bottom shelf tequila directly into his gullet, Max choking as Daniel’s drunkenly shaky pouring means some tequila inadvertently makes it into his windpipe. “Fuck!” He exclaims as he wipes his mouth after, the tequila going straight to his head. Daniel and his friends just laugh maniacally, doing the same to everyone who passes close enough. Max, trying to stick close to Daniel since his phone has lost battery ages ago and he has no idea where he is, gets the treatment a couple of times over. 

Max has thrown self-consciousness to the side long ago, probably when he’d started doing tequila shots that involved licking salt off some random person’s belly button. These Aussies know how to party, that’s for sure. Daniel gives Max a spontaneous hug, ruffling his hair with a fond hand. “You need to learn to relax!” He shouts into Max’s ear, beaming widely at him. 

Max nods, glad to have a friend of sorts in the ultra-competitive paddock. He’s always found Daniel friendly, but they hadn’t spent much time together the previous season since Max had been underage and still getting used to driving in F1. The older driver seems to have it all figured out, always happy, always funny. Max decides he should be a little more like Daniel and a little less like Jos. To cement his new resolution, he grabs a bottle of vodka from behind the bar and chugs from its mouth, passing it over to Daniel who whoops. 

“Mad Max!” He shouts, before taking a shot himself. For the first time, Max feels like the nickname is said with fondness and not derision, and he smiles. 

—

Chapter Text

Cass is having an awful day. She’d fallen asleep soon after her conversation with Max, then been late for her pre-class rehearsal with Alexei. Alexei hadn’t said anything, but she could tell he was annoyed because he barely made any small talk. He was usually super chipper in the morning, but today - nothing. 

She’d been totally frazzled and unfocused in class, which had led to the instructor for the day, the notoriously picky Madame Lloyd, berating her in front of the entire company for missing a couple of steps. A couple of dancers, including the ever nasty Marta, had smirked behind Madame Lloyd’s back. Cass knew they always thought she was too big for her boots. 

She’d had a minor nervous breakdown during lunch break when she’d been summoned to Mr Bellamy’s office for a “discussion”, which everyone knew was code for getting a scolding. Jamie and Mara aren’t much help, both spending the entire lunch break trying to think of what Cass could have done wrong and bringing up things she didn’t even know she’d done. 

“Wait, I absolutely did not miss my cue in the second act last night,” she protests indignantly in the staff canteen, one eye on the clock. She has another half an hour before her appointment with the director, and it’s passing ridiculously slowly. Both Jamie and Mara are nodding furiously. “Oh my god, did I? I don’t even remember it, I was too busy thinking about…” She trails off, knowing that she had been thinking about how Max had sounded a bit sad on the phone earlier. She bites her lip. 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she groans, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to get fired.” Jamie pats her on the back. “You could always become a sugar baby,” he says comfortingly. “Just make sure you don’t fall behind on rent.” Cass gives him an evil look through her fingers, then lets her head fall with a thunk to hit the table. 

They’re all so junior that none of the other corps members have even spoken to Mr Bellamy directly before, so no one can tell her what to expect. She walks to through the long, dismal corridor to his office as if in a trance. She knocks on his door apprehensively, then waits. After what feels like ages, she hears a faint voice telling her to come in. She pushes open the heavy wooden door, eyes drinking in the director’s office. 

She’s never been in here, and is surprised by how ordinary it looks. A small room, thickly carpeted, a heavy wooden table stacked with papers. Mr Bellamy sitting behind the desk, writing on a plain sheet of paper with a cheap plastic ball point pen. She waits nervously in front of his desk, not daring to take a seat. 

Mr Bellamy finishes writing his note, then picks it up and places it carefully about five inches from where it had been before. Then he looks up at Cass. 

“Take a seat, Miss Errol,” he says in his mild voice. This does absolutely nothing to calm Cass’s nerves, which jangle uncomfortably as she tries to sit in the solid wooden chair as gracefully as possible. 

Unfortunately, she’s so intent on sitting gracefully that she doesn’t notice that the leg of the chair has caught on a bit of carpet, making her trip slightly. She hits the seat hard with a bit of a thump, and prays he hasn’t noticed her little mishap. His expression gives nothing away. 

“I am sure you are wondering why you are here today,” he says. Actually, Cass is wondering whether he ever shortens his words or even just uses contractions, but she tries to focus on the moment. “Madame Lloyd spoke to me this morning…” 

Cass groans internally, knowing that there is now absolutely no chance that this is going to be a “positive” conversation with the director. While he speaks softly, he leaves Cass in no doubt that unless she starts putting in far more effort than she’s done so far, and performing exceptionally better, her contract will not be extended. He also hints that turning down Bolshoi was a mistake that the company took into consideration, and Cass feels renewed regret at her decision. 

“You showed a lot of promise at the beginning of the season,” Mr Bellamy says, looking over his glasses at her. “I believe you have the talent to succeed in this company, but talent without a capacity for hard work is nothing. I hope we will not have to have this conversation again.” 

He looks back down at his papers, clearly dismissing her from his presence. Cass stands and leaves the room as silently as possible, bottom lip gripped tight between her teeth as she tries to hold back her tears. 

She heads straight for rehearsal, thankful that it’s for one of the minor soloist roles that she has and not one of the big corp roles where her friends would most definitely ask her what Mr Bellamy wanted to discuss. She’s the only one in the rehearsal, and the choreographer shows absolutely zero interest in anything other than the steps. She pours all her focus into the steps, and thankfully the choreographer is happy and even gives her a pat on the back at the end of rehearsal.

It’s only after rehearsal, when the studio has emptied and she’d going through her stretches, that she lets herself wallow. Ballet is an act of perfection made physical, and she’s always enjoyed tweaking each expression and movement just a tiny bit each time to make it more visually appealing to the audience. 

She knows exactly why she’s lost focus since the start of the year. She’s been distracted ever since she got together with Max, exacerbated by the fact that their time together is so limited that she’s either thinking about when he’ll be in London or, when he actually is in London, about when she can leave so she can be with him. She’s replaced her obsession with ballet with a tiny obsession with Max, which is a problem. 

She doesn’t know how she got so far from the person who had started the season so full of determination and ambition. She’d given up the freaking Bolshoi summer programme, for God’s sake! She’s always looked at the girls who gave up ballet because it was too big of a time commitment - whether for boyfriends, family or school - as unserious. She’s always thought that if they really loved ballet, it would come before all else.

That’s the way it has been in her family since her childhood. While their careers may not be the typical jobs undertaken by the children of the uber-rich, her dad has always supported them and emphasised the importance of hard work. And after just a few months of living her dream, she’s been told by the freaking director of the whole company that she’s not working hard enough! 

On her way out of the building later that evening, Marta, flanked by her minions Beatrice and Naomi, makes a snide comment out loud about corps members thinking they can buy their way into the company. Cass tries her best to ignore her, as well as the accompanying hyena-like laughter which erupts from the trio, as she walks out of the theatre doors. She manages to stay dry eyed until she turns the corner, where she finally lets her tears flow. 

Ducking into a dimly lit alleyway, she presses her hands to her face and just allows herself to sob. The little indignities of the whole day, the guilt of letting down her colleagues and the shame at having performed mediocrely, of not even noticing her mistakes, all combine into a melting pot of frustration, sadness and anger at herself. 

She’s not sure how long she’s stood in the alley for, ignoring the gusts of wind that blow street dust into her face. She’s trained her whole life to be a ballerina, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if she gets dropped by the company. Loads of people were dropped or left at the end of each season, but she’s never seriously thought of the possibility - she’s always been praised and told she’s got massive potential since she started ballet. 

She can’t even think about what being dropped will mean - having to find another company to hire her at the last minute? Rejecting Bolshoi was really coming back to bite her in the butt - they’d never take her now. She refuses to consider any alternative to being a professional ballet dancer, but she knows that day may come. A few of her friends from the ballet academy teach ballet, or yoga or Pilates - some even make more than they would have as ballerinas. 

She’s not sure what Mr Bellamy means by performing exceptionally to the end of the season, since the role of a corps member is to be exactly the same as each other, but she does have some minor solos as well as Heidi’s pas de deux. She makes a mental note to apologize to Heidi and Alexei for her recent inattention. 

By the time she makes it home, she knows she has a lot to do in the coming weeks and she just wants to submerge her entire being in a boiling hot bath and go to sleep. She manages the former, but just as she covers her entire head with shampoo, her phone starts blaring guitar noises, startling the shit out of her. It’s only when she hears the words it was a teenage wedding and the old folks wished them well that she realises its the ringtone she’d picked for Max. She’s absolutely useless as calculating time differences, but she thinks it must be about five in the morning in Australia. Max isn’t exactly a morning person, so this is concerning. 

Fearing the worst, she jumps out of the bath and runs to her room, still covered in suds. She grabs her phone from where it’s charging on her desk. “Hello?” She’s slightly breathless, and the warmth from the bath is dissipating rapidly into the icy night air. She shivers.

“CAAAAASSSIEEEEE!” Cass pulls the phone away from her ear and checks the name on it. “Max?” She asks incredulously. “Is everything alright?” She’s answered by hysterical giggles, and the muffled Australian voices which sound vaguely female. She scrunches up her eyebrows, realising that it’s actually a video call. God, she’s got to get better with technology.

She abandons that thought when she realises what she’s seeing on the screen. Max’s shirt is fully unbuttoned, one arm slung around a gorgeous blonde woman and the other holding up a half-empty bottle of vodka. The phone is wobbling dangerously as Max fiddles with it. The connection is also terrible, each frame lagging a second behind. 

There’s blaring music playing in the background, meaning she can only hear every other word that Max is saying. “I can’t hear you, Max,” she says evenly. Max finally disentangles himself from the blonde woman and the screen wavers as he hops off what she realises is a bar. Where the hell is he? And more importantly, who is that woman? 

Cass is freezing cold, slightly itchy from the drying soap suds and really annoyed by this point. She waits impatiently as the screen goes dark, presumably covered by Max’s hand. The incessant beat of the club music is jarring in her quiet little bedroom, and after the day she’s had she feels a migraine coming on. 

Finally, the music goes muffled and Max’s face reappears on the screen. He’s pink-cheeked, hair incredibly messy and beaming. “Kleintje! I made a friend!” He says happily. Cass scowls at him. “Yes, I saw your friend,” she says, unimpressed. The connection is still slightly wonky, so she hears about half of his next sentence. “… miss you! All the other driver’s girlfriends and wives were here for the first race. Except you.” His mouth turns down almost comically. If Cass wasn’t so pissed off she’d have thought it was cute. 

As it is, she feels like she’s being pulled in two directions - ballet or boyfriend. Of course there were loads of people with partners in the company, even those who did long-distance, but being with someone who was never in the same place for more than a few days was going to be exhausting, she could tell. His lack of routine meant they couldn’t communicate on a regular basis, and if she was completely honest with herself, his aggressive driving style meant she was constantly worried about him crashing. If she was honest with herself, it’s really taken its toll on her mental and emotional state.

“I’ve had a really rough day, Max, why don’t we talk tomorrow?” Cass says abruptly. She knows she hasn’t the energy to keep her temper, and Max rarely tries very hard to. Max makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine, tilting his head and pouting in a move that Cass usually finds super cute, but is currently too grumpy to appreciate. “I want to talk to you now,” he says. “Was your day - was it work? Did someone do something to you?” He’s drunk, Cass realises belatedly. Very, very drunk. 

“Because if it is work - you should quit and just be with me all the time. I’ll take care of you,” he says, the connection suddenly crystal clear. His words hit her like a truck, but not in a positive way. “And what does that mean?” She says, her tone frosty. Max is too drunk to recognise the warning signs and blunders on. “You won’t have to worry about anything, you can meet me in Bahrain tomorrow and everything will be taken care of,” he says, smug now that he’s devised a solution for her worries. 

“What the hell, Max?” She says, properly angry now. “Is that really what you think of me? That I’d quit right in the middle of the season for a guy I met a few months ago? Contrary to what some people may think, I did actually work very hard to get to where I am.” 

“We’ve known each other for half our lives, kleintje,” Max says, raising his eyebrows sardonically. Cass growls, frustrated that he seems to be deliberately missing the point. “Well if you knew me at all, you’d know that I’m not going to throw that all away to be some kind of groupie. If that’s what you wanted you should just be with that blonde girl you were hanging off just now!”

“You want to break up?” Max is getting angry too, his eyebrows drawn close together in a stormy expression she’s seen before, but rarely directed at her. “That’s not what I said, but the fact that its where your mind immediately went is pretty telling, isn’t it?” Cass says scathingly. “It’s been what, three days since the season started and you’re already having your head turned by the pit bunnies?” She’d laughed when Max had told her of the term for the type of person who followed the F1 circus around hoping to hook up with a driver, but she doesn’t find it remotely funny at the moment.

“You’re being totally fucking crazy,” Max spits, glaring at her through the screen. “I don’t know what crack you’re smoking right now, all I was trying to do is fix your problem -” Cass is glaring right back, as angry as she can ever remember being. “I am not crazy,” she interrupts, steam practically coming out of her ears. “And I never asked you to fix my problems, I can do that on my own!” 

“Fine, if you want to be alone so bad, be alone!” Max shouts. The video feed wheels around as if its on a rollercoaster, then stops suddenly, before blanking out completely. It appears as though Max has thrown his phone a fairly great distance, breaking it completely. 

“Ugh!” Cass shouts at the blank phone screen. She throws her phone onto the bed, her migraine very much back. She doesn’t know how their conversation got so off track, but she can’t help but feel as if the choice that has been lurking in the back of her mind all day has been made for her.

A quiet knock sounds on her door and Jamie pops his head in, raising his eyebrows when he sees her in her towel, hair still soaped up. “You okay?” He asks. “I heard some… words.” Cass groans and scrubs at her face. “Men are trash,” she says in explanation, shrugging. “Ballet never lets you down.” 

“Okay, Miss Black Swan,” Jamie snorts. “Just wanted to drop a reminder that there’s a tub of ice cream in the freezer if you want it. Ben and Jerry have also never let us down.” Touched, Cass moved over to give him a hug but then realised she was basically naked and also covered in dried up soap. 

“Go shower, I’ll be outside,” Jamie says, giving her arm an air-pat. Cass tries to smile. Even though her boyfriend has apparently broken up with her, at least she’s got a friend like Jamie to rely on. And there’s always ballet.

—

He’s not sure what time they call it night, because he wakes up some time in the afternoon the next day with a pounding headache, dry mouth, and furious hammering on his door. “Max, we’ve got to go now! We’re going to miss our flight!” Brad is shouting through the door, worsening his headache. 

Groaning, Max gets up and opens the door to a furious Brad, who has all his bags in tow. Brad takes one look at - and whiff of - Max, and orders him to get in the shower while he packs up his things. Ten minutes later, they’re in the back of a strongly fragranced car on the way to the airport while Max tries valiantly not to throw up.

“Your phone’s gone missing,” Brad informs him calmly when they’re halfway to the airport. Max nods absently, stopping immediately when the action makes him feel like it might fall off completely. It’s only when they’re already on the plane when he realises the phone was his only mode of communication with the outside world. 

He manages to buy a new phone immediately on landing in Bahrain, but is inundated with press and media the whole day, meaning he hasn’t the time to set up the new phone. By the time he does actually get the phone set up, his backup restoring from a couple of days ago, he still hasn’t figured out what to say to Cass. 

He has a fairly clear memory of a heated exchange between the two of them, which ended with him chucking his phone with great force at the ground. He’s never been the best at controlling his emotions, especially when drunk, but if he’s managed to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to him he swears he’ll stop drinking for good.

The fact that she hasn’t messaged him at all in the time since is definitely not a good sign. There’s usually a non-stop stream of communication, at least on his end, and the fact that she’s not at least asked if everything is okay signals to him that, at best, he’s getting the cold shoulder. He spends at least an hour typing messages and deleting them, not sure of what to say.

He knows his phone is still working because his mum, manager and a couple of his friends have managed to get through throughout the day. Plagued with indecision, he decides to ask Daniel for advice. 

“Fucked up you did, young Padawan,” Daniel says unhelpfully when he’s relayed his tale of woe. They’re sitting by the hotel pool, a beautiful oasis of calm, artfully lit and framed with palm trees. None of the beauty of his surroundings eases Max’s conflicted internal state. “Cabron, what possessed you?” Carlos laughs from where he’s lounging on a deck chair. Max gives him the middle finger. 

Of course Daniel is surrounded by friends at all times, meaning Max has a larger audience than intended. His impatience meant he had gone straight into telling Daniel his problem, ignoring the keen eavesdropping of Carlos, Felipe Massa of Ferrari, and Daniel’s trainer, Michael. All three of them feel at ease with offering their own unhelpful advice, despite his not having asked. 

“You should just call her and tell her you love her,” Felipe, an unexpected romantic, urges soulfully. “Definitely not, your first time saying that can’t be when you’re apologising for a fuck up,” Michael chimes in. 

“To be fair, you didn’t actually start the fight…” Daniel says contemplatively. “Sounds like she was having a bad day and kind of vented at you.” Michael is shaking his head before Max can even open his mouth. “Daniel, shut the fuck up. Max - listen to me carefully. Do not under any circumstances say that to her. Okay? I need you to nod if you understand.” 

Max rolls his eyes but nods all the same. Felipe grips his shoulders hard and looks him straight in the eyes, deeply sincere. “Look, this is what you have to do. Pretend that nothing ever happened, that you were blackout drunk, and most importantly that you have no idea what she’s talking about.” Max nods thoughtfully. The other men are snickering, but he ignores them. He likes this strategy.

They hover over him as he types the initial salvo. 

Max: Hey, how was your day?

Felipe nods approvingly. “Very nice, very neutral,” he says. “I have used this technique myself many times, and look at me. I am married almost ten years.” Max considers this, but isn’t sure that duration of marriage is a particularly good measure for quality of relationship - after all, his parents had been together for nearly that amount of time and that hadn’t exactly been the happiest of marriages. 

Daniel cheers when the three dots indicating typing pop up, but it’s premature because those soon disappear and no matter how hard they stare at the phone, don’t pop up again in the next ten minutes. After that, Daniel puts his hand over the phone screen and decrees in a wise tone that a watched phone never rings. He convinces Max to put away the phone and starts talking about their plans to ride dune buggies.

Despite having a fair amount of activity over the next week - dune buggies, training, media, and finally actually getting on the track - Max can’t help but check his phone every so often, his eyes willing a notification to pop up. He puts his phone on vibrate, and every time it does his heart skips a beat. It’s never Cass, though, and he feels bad at how disappointed he is to see his mum’s good luck text right before the race. 

He manages to get sixth place, beating Daniil Kvyat in an inferior car. Despite being one step closer to grabbing the coveted Red Bull seat, he can’t really bring himself to celebrate. Daniel, an ecstatic fourth, can tell he’s still distracted and immediately knows the reason. “Still nothing?” He asks sympathetically. Max shakes his head mutely, staring down at his phone. 

“We have two weeks before China - you could always fly to London,” Daniel reminds him gently. Max’s heads shoots up. He hasn’t even considered deviating from the fairly regimented schedule his dad has set up for him - meeting sponsors, training with Brad, practicing on the sim. But he knows the longer the silence continues, the less likely it’s ever going to end. 

There are a few days where he’s supposed to be in Belgium to meet some potential sponsors, and he and Brad brainstorm on how he can go to London without his dad finding out. The unspoken understanding between them is that it would be very, very bad if Jos ever did. He’s got a grand plan of how to introduce Cass to his family, ideally after a race win or something when everyone’s happy and uncomplicated. But that can wait.

Brad manages to identify a full 36 hours where he’s not expected to be anywhere, and between the two of them they manage to book flights and a car. They also come up with an alibi for Max - a new type of endurance training which means he’ll be uncontactable for at least a few hours - in case Jos does pop by unexpectedly. 

Brad drops him off at the airport in Brussels with just a backpack and his passport. “Good luck, mate,” he says, giving him a thumbs up. Max nods determinedly and pulls his baseball cap lower on his face - the whole thing would be ruined if someone took a photo of him - before heading into the terminal. He’s got a mission to complete. 

Chapter Text

Madame Lloyd is punctuating every instruction with the flat of her palm hitting the top of the piano with great force. Like so: “… and one (bang) step, grande jete (bang), Alexei holds your waist (bang), and that’s not what I want Cassandra,” she grinds out through gritted teeth. Ballet is a genteel sport, so the “you fucking idiot” goes unsaid. The whole room can hear it though. The music stops instantly, the accompanist stretching his aching fingers. They’ve been practicing the same sixteen bars of music for what must be hours, and everyone’s glaring at her.

It’s all her fault. Everyone else is performing superbly but she just can’t get the steps exactly as Madame Lloyd wants them. What’s worse is that she has no idea what she’s doing wrong, because every time she does goes through the series Madame Lloyd doesn’t give specific instructions but just says she’s doing it wrong. She’s near tears, and she can tell by the rapidly setting sun that she’s holding everyone back late.

“Again,” Madame Lloyd announces imperiously. “One (bang), Cassandra!” Cass stops dead in her tracks, as she messes up after one beat. She’s balanced on one precarious toe, wobbling dangerously. Madame Lloyd is so incensed that she starts berating Cass, smacking the top of the piano with each word now.

“Cassie!” Cass sits up with a gasp, wrenched out of her nightmare by a vigorous shaking. Jamie is looking down at her worriedly. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Cass says with feeling. “That dream again?” Jamie says sympathetically. Cass nods as Jamie pats her head in what she’s sure is meant to be comforting, but actually aggravates the headache that she’s had for days now. “What on earth is that noise?” She asks, feeling around for her phone and checking the time. It’s god-awful early in the morning, way too early for construction.

“I think you should go see,” Jamie says mysteriously. “Oh, but comb your hair first please. It’s a bird’s nest.” A quick glimpse at her mirror confirms that doing ballet in her sleep has definitely messed her hair up beyond what a quick run through with her hairbrush can fix, but she tries her best before stumbling out into the corridor, pulling her dressing gown on around her.

The banging noise that had permeated her dreams turns out to be someone hitting their front door in an incredibly annoying, consistent rhythm. Cass pulls the door open, and glares fiercely at the guilty party - an unrepentant, stone faced Max.

“I’ve been knocking for half an hour,” Max announces grumpily. Cass nearly shuts the door on his face, but knows that he’ll just start banging on the door all over again until he gets what he wants.  He’s nothing if not tenacious. She can’t help but feel as if Jamie could have given her slightly more warning about Max being here - he would have seen him from his bedroom window - but sends a silent thank you for the heads up to brush her hair.

“What do you want, Max?” She asks wearily, leaning against the door frame. It’s been an intense week of catching up on rehearsals, and her calf muscles are screaming in pain. Max looks her up and down critically. “You look sick,” he says, frowning. “You’re all…” he says, gesturing to his own face as if to indicate that her eye bags reach the area around her nose.

“You flew here from China to tell me that?” Cass says challengingly, raising an eyebrow. “I was in Belgium,” Max retorts, before falling silent again. The two teens stand in silence, Cass staring at Max, Max staring at the ground. His jaw is clenched so hard that Cass is surprised he hasn’t broken a tooth. “If you have something to say, say it. If not, I’m going back to sleep,” Cass snaps.

Max opens his mouth, but no words come out. He closes it again, swallowing. The wind is whipping furiously down her street, and thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. As time ticks on, a crack of lightning streaks across the still-dark sky and it starts to drizzle. Max stands stoically as rain starts dripping down his face, shoulders hunched against the wind. Cass’s heart melts slightly when he sneezes, and she remembers how he’d once offhandedly mentioned how he’d spent countless days sick as a child because his dad would always make him stay out in the rain to practice driving on a wet track.

Then she remembers how he broke up with her over the phone after he had been partying with random girls and hardens her heart again. He sneezes again. “Can I come in?” He asks hopefully. They both look at the sky as another streak of lightning flashes in the sky, illuminating the heavy grey clouds that have massed as far as the eye can see.

“Fine,” Cass says finally, rolling her eyes and unblocking the doorway. “But you can entertain yourself. Leave when it stops raining.” She leaves him dripping water in the corridor, walking back to her bedroom and slamming her door. She falls onto her bed, wrapping herself in her duvet like a burrito and pulling her pillow over her head. She knows she’s being childish, but she genuinely never expected Max to show up at her door and has no idea how to react. She’s filled with a mix of anger, resentment and fear, definitely not the most conducive to an adult conversation about feelings.

She’s been working herself to the bone and generally pouring every ounce of energy she has into keeping her job. She’s done extra rehearsals, stayed late into the night going over every step, skipping meals in favour of protein bars so that every spare second can be spent practicing, anything to show her dedication to the company. She thinks it’s working, with Madame Lloyd even giving an approving nod after one run-through, but she’s terrified that it’s not enough. The threat of being dropped still looms heavy over her head, affecting everything she does.

It’s also been a great way of distracting herself from being dumped by the first boyfriend she’s ever had. She’s so exhausted every day that she’s totally forgone her usual nighttime routine, usually just taking a quick shower and falling into bed, asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. She barely checks her phone anymore and hasn’t hung out with Jamie and Mara all week when usually they’d be getting lunch and sometimes dinner together nearly every day.

A tentative knock sounds on her door and she lifts her head up to glare at Jamie as he pokes his head in. “Everything okay?” He whispers, opening the door just a tiny bit so that just his head fits in. “Terrible weather,” he adds awkwardly when Cass doesn’t say anything. He eases the rest of his body into the room and shuts the door quietly behind him.

“Cass, you can’t just leave him out there,” Jamie says, sitting on the edge of her bed. Cass falls back against her pillow, groaning. “You should at least listen to what he has to say.” Jamie had gotten the CliffNotes version of their break up over ice cream the day it happened, but she hasn’t mentioned Max’s name ever since. “He doesn’t have anything to say. I asked,” Cass says, muffled through her pillow.

“You know that’s not true… he’s probably just trying to figure out how to say it. And let’s face it, your scary face is pretty damn scary. I bet he’s never even seen it before. Cut him a little bit of slack,” Jamie says, nudging Cass’s leg gently.

“Why should I cut him any slack? He broke up with me,” Cass says. She’s completely shut off her emotions for the past week, focusing solely on ballet and doing her best to forget everything else. Max showing up is unexpected - she knows he sticks to an incredibly rigorous schedule, supervised keenly by his dictatorial dad. Her heart twists at the realisation that the fact that he’s here means he’s probably defying his dad and the Red Bull schedule, but she ruthlessly shoves the emotions down into some inner compartment of her soul and locks them up tight.

“Three weeks ago you were madly in love with this guy,” Jamie says, shaking his head. “I don’t know exactly what went on between the two of you, but that doesn’t just go away. And I can tell that he’s definitely still crazy about you. He flew all the way here! Just give him a chance to explain himself,” Jamie says. “Please. For me, I can’t stand seeing the two of you with matching miserables faces when you could just be happy.”

He closes the door quietly behind him, message having been delivered. Cass lies on her bed staring at the ceiling, contemplating what her next step should be. She can almost hear her dad’s cautious tone in her mind, telling her to mind her temper and not be hasty. Luke is slightly more aggressive, and she knows he’d be telling her to kick the Dutch teen right out of her life. He might have warmed slightly to Max but she can tell he’s still not 100% convinced about him. He might be right, given he’d literally broken up with her over the phone after trying to get her to quit ballet. The absolute opposite of everything she’s wanted.

Cass turns over with a huff, staring at the blank white wall next to her bed. The bed creaks comfortingly under her - she knows it’s sturdily made, and she blinks away the sentimentality of the memory of the two of them building it together, Max completely clueless about anything administrative or practical in life, but pretending to have everything sorted.

They’d barely known each other that day, but he’d made her laugh and relax like no one else ever had. And he’d made her feel like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, like she was the centre of the universe. Everyone else in her life was always rushing off, to practice or work - she’d almost forgotten that her dad and Luke travelling the world without her had made her so desperately lonely.

Maybe that was why she’d been so ready to cut Max off at the first sign of possible disloyalty. Her mouth twists at the memory of his arm around the blonde girl, her memory jealously conjuring a beauty of epic proportions. She’d wanted to leave before she got left, once again, for something or someone more exciting. But in the end he’d been the one to call it quits, another person leaving her behind.

His mercurial nature doesn’t bode well for their future, she knows. She’s never been particularly good at compromise, either. Being apart for months on end, with him surrounded and feted by the groupies that prowled around the races, beautiful, statuesque and usually fairly accomplished at showing interest in the sport, something she’s struggled to do at times. The insane level of dedication and focus that it takes for each of them to succeed at their chosen profession. She doesn’t want to give up her fledgling career, knows that Max has too many people depending on him to ever even consider it, quite apart from his obsession with racing.

She’s still brooding over the impossibility of their future when Max’s impatience gets the better of him and he knocks on her door rapidly - once, twice - before opening it. Cass sits up and aims a black scowl at the Dutch teen. “I could have been naked,” she hisses at the unrepentant Max, who returns her scowl with a smirk of his own. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“I told you to leave,” Cass says without heat as Max takes a seat at her desk. He looks adorable with his damp hair hanging in his face and cheeks pink from the heat of the radiator he’d clearly been sitting near in an attempt to dry out his clothes. “Well, I didn’t. What are you going to do about that?”

He gives Cass a challenging look, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms, daring her to get mad, kick him out, do anything other than give him the silent treatment. He fucking hates silent treatment. She won’t meet his eyes, and he finds himself thinking up ways to force her to, his mind working furiously from the innocent - saying her name - to just grabbing her in his arms and kissing the absolute living daylights out of her. He swallows, tries to turn his mind to problem solving.

“Cassandra,” he says, his voice hard. Just one word from her can destroy his carefully built up defences, she’s always had the ability. He reminds himself that she’s ghosted him for over a week, that she’d made him stand outside in the rain, that she’s run at the first sign of him not being absolutely perfect. That she’s inconstant, jealous, terrible at communication. That they have barely anything in common with each other.

“You can’t just run away from your problems,” Max bites out.

“So you admit you’re a problem, then?” Cass says. Max scowls, hating how easily she can twist his words. He’s fighting in his third language, and she’s not playing fair. “You give up so easily on us,” he says, his heart beating hard in his chest. He’s scared and upset, his tone coming out harsher than he wants but he can’t control his voice. He can feel her slipping away, her walls coming up.

“Fine, I’m the one who’s to blame,” Cass says, finally meeting his eyes. “Can you go now?” Her face is wiped clean of emotion and he wants to shake her, because he knows that this coldness is far worse than any anger she could show him. Her arms are crossed, her posture ramrod straight. She’s as sealed off as an ice sculpture.

She gets up to walk around him, pretending he’s not even there, but he manages to grab her wrist, holding her fast. He turns her hand over, frowning. “Where’d you get these bruises from?” He asks, looking from the pale, blue-tinged skin of her wrist to her face. Cass shrugs and tries to pull away. It’s the plight of all ballerinas to constantly find bruises, inflamed skin and unexpected cuts on their bodies from the sheer amount of impact - from a heavy landing after a jump, a too-strong grip from an anxious partner, all combined with the lack of nutrients from fairly irregular diets.

“You look sick, you’ve got bags under your eyes like you haven’t slept in weeks, and you’re skin and bones,” Max says, his eyes scanning her body critically. She resists the urge to cover herself. She’s just been dancing more and eating less, that’s all. All part of the cycle of dancing - they’re always skinniest towards the end of a season, with ample time to make up for it over the summer. It’s actually a mark of distinction, indicating a dancer has more rehearsal time, which usually translates to more stage time.

“Cass, can you just stop pretending to be fine and look at me for one second?” Max says, releasing her wrist and groaning in frustration. “I miss you, and I know you miss me. You look terrible, and I can say that because I know I look terrible as well. Can we just forget Australia ever happened and just… go back to the way we were? Do you remember, at your house? We were happy, weren’t we?”

They had been happy. Her world had been narrow, limited to just the two of them, and she’d never been happier. “It was never going to last, Max,” she says quietly, resignedly. “We can’t base our whole relationship off two weeks a year, that’s not how relationships work. You have your life, I have mine, and neither of us want to give that up. Neither of us should have to.”

Max glowers. “I can’t believe what you are saying,” he says disgustedly. “You just want to break up like that, because it won’t be easy? You’re scared of a bit of… a bit of stress every now and then?” His apologetic facade has disappeared entirely, a cloak he’d worn lightly and uncomfortably.

Cass crosses her arms and leans against the wall, needing some support against the emotional centre of gravity that is Max. They might be in the middle of their first big fight, but all she wants to do is fall into his arms and trust him when he says everything is going to be alright. She can’t give up on ballet though, and she feels like she’s being pulled in two directions - one where she has Max, and one where she has her career.

She can’t let herself be that person, the one who relies on one person for everything. They’re only 18, too young to know what the rest of their lives hold. All she knows is that she is terrified of putting all her trust in Max because she knows she’ll just be waiting for the net to fall out from under her one day. She doesn’t trust anyone enough for that.

“I don’t think I can,” Cass finally says. She’s made her choice, and she tells herself to stay resolute. Deep inside, she knows that her willpower is a single strand of silk thread against the tsunami of determination that’s inside Max. Please, she wants to beg. Reassure me. Tell me everything is going to be okay. Tell me I’m strong enough. Tell me that we can make this work.

Cass’s face is so still and calm that Max feels like he’s just an annoying fly in her ointment, that she’s just patiently waiting for him to leave so that she can get on with her perfect, orderly life. He’s filled with impotent rage, that she can be so dismissive of the love he’s had for her since they were children, that she can’t be bothered to show him an ounce of compassion as she tramples all over his heart. That she doesn’t want him, that he’s bared his soul to her and all she can say is that she can’t be with him.

“You’re so fucking annoying!” Max shouts in frustration, raking his hand through his hair. “You want to give up? You know what? You’re always talking about being like your dad, but you’ve definitely inherited one thing from your mum. The apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree!”

For a split second, Cass’s facade cracks, and she looks so devastated that Max wants to pick up all the barbed words he’s thrown at her to get to this point. But it’s too late, and what’s been said can’t be unsaid. “We’re done,” Cass says simply, opening her bedroom door and waiting for him to leave. Like a chastened child, he walks out into the corridor, silent.

“If I leave this place, I’m never coming back.” He says. I’m sorry, he tries to say, but his pride won’t allow him to. If this is the end, he wants Cass to remember him as strong, not weak and begging.

Cass bites her lip and his heart skips a beat, but he waits for one second, then another. She reaches one hand up as if to touch his cheek, and he can’t help but lean towards her. Her hand lands on the doorframe instead, and he curses himself for his sentimentality.

“Goodbye, Max,” she says quietly after what feels like a lifetime. Her hand falls away.

Max blinks once, slowly. Without another word, he takes a step back, then another. He nods once in Cass’s direction, bowing his head in acknowledgement in an almost courtly way, then leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

—

When he stands on the top step in Barcelona, blinking back the tears he finally allows himself to fill his eyes as he lifts the winner’s trophy for the first time, he can’t stop himself from scanning the sea of red Ferrari crew to see if she’s there.

She’s not.

Chapter Text

Cass is having a migraine. That in itself isn’t a particularly rare occurrence, but it just so happens that she’s also in the middle of the performance, which is pretty fucking bad timing if she does say so herself.

She holds the deep curtsey at the end for the requisite three seconds, letting the applause wash over her like a balm, before she gets up as gracefully as she can manage and makes a dash into the wings, Alexei by her side. She rifles through the little pouch she’s stashed behind a chair for just this reason, popping the blister pack of paracetamol.

She gratefully accepts the bottle Alexei holds out, gulping down mouthfuls of water to wash the chalky taste of paracetamol out of her mouth. “Getting more frequent,” Alexei comments mildly, looking everywhere except at her. She glares at him as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, not caring if her makeup smudges.

They’ve been pas de deux partners in over a hundred performances over the past few years, and Alexei probably knows her the best out of all the other members of the company other than Mara, especially since Jamie moved to Paris, but Cass hates being reminded of any weakness. “It’ll pass,” she says as nonchalantly as she’s able, tucking the pouch back behind her chosen chair and reminding herself to refill it. As much as she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, Alexei is right - her migraines have been getting worse.

She can hold it together for the thirty minutes it takes for the paracetamol to kick in, she tells herself, heading towards the dressing rooms so that she can take out the millions of pins stabbing her scalp. She massages her scalp gratefully when they’re all out, untangling her long red hair with her fingers as gently as she can. She’s surprised she isn’t half bald by now.

Mara pops her head into Cass’s changing room, which she has to herself for now since the solo role alternates between her and Francesca, who she shares the room with. “Are you going home?” Mara asks. Ever since Jamie returned to Paris and Mara moved to Cass’s neighbourhood the two girls have been doing the daily commute together.

But today is different, and Cass shakes her head. Mara’s eyes brighten. “Is it…?” She mouths a name and Cass nods, smiling. Mara squeals, rushing into the room to grab Cass’s hands. She’d been pushing Cass to go on more dates for the past two years, and one of the other dancers had overhead one day and asked if he could set her up with his friend. It had turned out that this friend had been a mate from arts school, who was now in an indie band that Cass has never heard of but Mara insists is about to be the hottest thing in British music ever.

His name is Ben. He's tall, lanky and sings lovely, if morose, songs in his indie band, which is called, in true random indie band name fashion, Bullet Theory. She’d asked for the meaning behind the name on their first date and he’d blushed and said he’d got it out of a name generator. She appreciates the honesty at least. And he’s sweet, very, very sweet. Not a competitive bone in his body, no hard edges, but maybe that’s what she needs. She’s had enough of quick-tempered, foul-mouthed blue-eyed boys for this lifetime, thank you very much.

“We’re meeting near home anyway, so we could go together,” Cass suggests as she buttons her jeans and pulls her jumper and coat on. Mara agrees, and they head out to the street. Cass says goodbye to everyone she passes, and wonders when she became the person that knew everyone, the one that the girls in the corps - the youngest now only two years below her - stares at with starry eyes.

She’s the youngest principal dancer in decades, she knows. There’d been ruffled feathers when they’d announced her promotion at the start of the season, but it hadn’t been too unexpected since she’d been promoted to first soloist after just one season. It still amazed her that she’d gone from being warned about potentially being dropped to being promoted twice in the space of one season, but ballet was fickle like that.

She’d poured her absolute blood, sweat and tears into her ballet, until even the grim faced Madame Lloyd had to admit that she was ready for her more senior roles. She had barely seen her father or Luke in person over the past two years, and whilst she and Jamie tried to catch up every now and then she can’t remember when the last time she spoke to him was. It was simple - nothing outside ballet existed for Cass for those two years.

But now she’s half a season into her first principal year, and she’s been getting glowing reviews from critics for her lead role performances in Sleeping Beauty and Alice in Wonderland. It’s nearly Nutcracker season and she’s going to be the Sugar Plum Fairy for the first time, alternating with the other senior female principals. She’s been practicing non-stop, but since principals have much less stage time than corps members, she’s had a bit of time to date. It’s also nearing the end of the F1 season, and their whole family is going to be spending Christmas at the house, which she’s hugely looking forward to.

So, Ben. He’s the first guy she’s been on dates with since Max, and he’s sweet and deeply intellectual and thinks its incredible that she’s a professional ballerina. His band is recording their debut album now, and he’s asked Cass to come watch a recording session that’s supposed to go on to late in the night. Luckily, the only thing she has on her schedule the next day is class and a visit to the physio, so she’s agreed.

Mara’s buzzing to watch Bullet Theory record songs, so she tags along. The studio is clean, spacious and brightly lit, absolutely contrary to any of Cass’s preconceptions about what a recording studio should be. There are a couple of recording rooms, and when she tells the stone faced punk receptionist that she’s looking for Ben from Bullet Theory she receives an eye roll and a monotone “four”, which she takes to be the number of the room they’re in.

The light above the door isn’t red, so she takes it as a good time to go into the room. She gently cracks the door open and peeks in. Ben spots her immediately from where he’s sitting on a couch in the recording booth and waves madly at her to come over.

“Hey, everyone, it’s Cass!” His bandmates give her friendly hellos, and Mara even friendlier hellos, from where they sit in a rough circle. “This is my best friend Mara, she’s at the ballet with me,” she introduces. “This is Ben,” she points at him and he catches her hand and gives the back of it a gallant kiss, which honestly embarrasses her but it’d be like kicking a puppy to stop him in front of all his friends. She takes her hand away in as natural a way as possible. “That’s Nick, Matt and that’s Paul,” she says, pointing to the rest of the band members in turn.

They’re in the middle of their recording session, having only stopped to check through some new lyrics that Ben has written. Cass and Mara retreat behind the glass into a room where the producer and sound engineer, Lisa and Kirk, are sitting. Cass has met Lisa once and Kirk not at all, although Ben has spoken about both of them at length. Neither of them acknowledge her or Mara apart from a brief nod hello, and she doesn’t want to be a nuisance so she sits quietly in the corner as the band regroups and settles into their spots in the recording booth.

Lisa presses a button and speaks to the band through the intercom. “Right, are you ready?” When they nod she nods firmly and presses another few buttons. “Right, three, two…” She gives the band a thumbs up and they start playing. Cass quite likes the melody that Ben plays on the piano, and she makes a note to mention that to him later. He appreciates feedback, is always sending her little voice notes of his songs and asking her what she thinks. Mara’s in seventh heaven, eyes almost forming heart shapes at Nick, the bass player, as he strums out the moody bass line.

After an hour, the band decides to call it a night - it’s nearly midnight - and Ben emerges with all of his gear, wrapping an arm around Cass, whose head is drooping onto the side of the couch from exhaustion by this time. “Gotta get this one home, eh?” He says to Lisa, who smiles tightly, and Kirk who gives a leering grin at the two ballerinas. Cass grimaces inwardly but doesn’t want to piss off two of the people in charge of Ben’s record, so she smiles as sweetly as she can at the pair because she knows it’ll really piss Lisa off.

“Thanks for coming tonight, it really means a lot,” Ben says when they’re outside the studio. He’s shivering slightly because he absolutely refused to get a sensible puffer coat like Cass and is wearing a leather jacket that Cass is pretty sure he’s still wearing because Alex Turner of the Arctic Monkeys had told him it was nice at an industry party a few months ago.

He offers to walk the two girls home, which Mara happily accepts, and when he reaches out his hand to hold Cass’s glove covered one, she wonders whether the little shiver she gets down the back of her spine is from the cold or it’s because he could be the one to finally help her get over Max.

—

It’s a couple of days later, and they’ve started the Nutcracker season properly. Cass is performing as the Sugar Plum Fairy for the first time, and she’s absolutely wracked with nerves. Her dad and Luke aren’t able to watch because it happens to coincide with the last race of the season, but Ben is there as her guest, and Jamie had taken the Eurostar over for one night to watch as well.

She hasn’t got anything to do until the second act, so she concentrates on making sure her muscles are all warmed up and her hair is tucked neatly under the blonde helmet the Sugar Plum Fairy calls hair. There’s a thunder of feet that signals the intermission as the dancers dash to touch up their hair and makeup, use the bathroom, or fix imperfect costumes.

She gets up, doing all the last minute checks and stretches, and is about to open the door to head to the stage wings to wait for her cue when Mara bursts in and throws her arms around Cass, hugging her tightly.

“What’s gotten into you?” Cass laughs, patting Mara’s arm. “Oh Cass, it’s awful,” Mara says, looking up. Cass finally notices that her eyes are filled with tears. “It’s all over the news.” Mara unlocks her phone and shows the news article that she’s just been reading to Cass.

F1 Driver in Deadly Crash, 2 Dead, 1 in Serious Condition

The bottom falls out of Cass’s world.

—

Later, she’ll realise that she has no idea how she managed to get to Monaco in the middle of the night. She vaguely remembers Ben riding with her to the airport whilst Jamie helped get her last minute tickets and Mara rushed to her apartment to get her passport. She feels like she’s walking through some sort of nightmare, as if any second she’ll wake up and Luke will be throwing pillows at her and telling her that it’s time for breakfast.

Until that happens, she’s sat at the bedside of her older brother, who’s in a medically induced coma because the doctors are worried about bleeding in his brain. She’s sat alone, because her father is dead.

On some level she can accept that this is factual. After all, multiple doctors and police officers had told her the series of facts that everyone seems to know. Her dad and Luke had been on their way back from the airport to Luke’s apartment, having recently returned from the last race of the season, when their driver had a heart attack at the wheel and drove into the mountain wall. He had died immediately.

According to the paramedics, her dad would have died immediately as well. Only Luke is left behind with innumerable broken bones and severe internal injuries. Lucky to be alive, one particularly insensitive doctor had said, almost proudly. Her partner had nudged her when she’d said that. Cass had heard him whispering furiously to her after, telling her that the other passenger hadn’t been so lucky. And that the unlucky passenger had been her own dad.

She hardly notices the bickering doctors leave, just as she’d hardly noticed their arrival. Her focus is solely on Luke, barely visible under all the bandages and tubes that seem to cover every inch of his battered skin. She measures out her time with the minute rise and fall of his chest, aided by the wheeze of the machine pumping supplementary oxygen into his system.

She’s allowed to be here all the time, the nurse on duty had kindly told her when she’d arrived. Because of how serious her brother’s condition is. Because he can die at any moment, she tells herself grimly. She doesn’t dare leave his side for a second, not even to use the bathroom. She’s still dressed as if she’s about to go on stage, her hair chunky with gel, her stage makeup fully on.

She’s sure she gives Charles, Luke’s first visitor the next day, a shock when he sees her. The handsome Monagesque is as charming and polite as ever, but he can’t hide his alarm when he sees the immense number of machines Luke is hooked up to. “Cassandra, my condolences,” he says in his strong French accent, giving her a hug.

Cass hugs him back, hard. She’s never spent much time with Luke’s friends, given how separate their lives have been so far, but she’s deeply touched by his visit. When he steps back, she realises that she’s left black mascara tears on his pristine white shirt. “I’m sorry,” she says tearfully as she wipes ineffectually at the stains with one of the single-ply tissues that the hospital helpfully provides to grieving family members.

“Non, non, ce n'est pas un problème,” Charles says reassuringly. Then he surprises her by taking the seat next to hers and staying for the entire day. He’s good company, somehow knowing when she needs distraction and when to be quiet. And when he’s around, her main fear that Luke will die with no one beside him is eased, so she can take a quick shower in the ensuite bathroom.

When she emerges, hair wet and face scrubbed clean, Luke has a few more visitors. They all express their condolences, and their well wishes to Luke, and their names slip right out of Cass’s head. Charles is again helpful in this circumstance because he seems to know everyone who comes by, either because they’re Monagesque or because they’re from the racing community.

She stands politely every time someone comes in, her wet hair scraped back into a bun because she can’t be bothered to ask for a hairdryer in the hospital, dressed in the clothes she’d brought to the theatre with the expectation that she’d be wearing them for her short commute back home. Then she sits immediately down and resumes her vigil whilst Charles speaks in low voices with the visitors, not caring if she seems rude or uninterested. She is uninterested, she thinks rebelliously to herself.

A few hours after the sun sets outside the window, Charles stands. He helps her turn the little couch into a makeshift bed, then leaves. The nurses turn the lights in the rooms and the corridors off so that it’s easier for the patients to sleep, and Cass sits on the little bed in the dark, next to the window.

Luke has a good room, Charles had told her. A nice big one with windows that look over the hospital’s gardens, with the sea in the distance. It would help with his recovery to have such a beautiful scene outside his window, Charles had said optimistically. Cass had given him a look of such despair that he’d been silenced.

Cass nibbles at the skin around her thumb, worrying the skin that’s already red and inflamed from hours of this treatment. She’s never felt so alone in the world, even when she’d been a child left at home whilst her dad and Luke journeyed out for Luke’s competitions. She’s always known they were out there somewhere, just a phone call away, even if they couldn’t be with her physically. Now she’s an orphan, her brother unreachable.

She lies down and closes her eyes, breathing slowly in and out through her nose and listening to the heart rate monitor beeping gently and regularly. She hasn’t even told Madame Lloyd, newly appointed as the head of scheduling, that she wouldn’t be in today, she thinks absently to herself. She would have to call her old tormentor in the morning, a prospect that once would have filled her with dread, but today barely manages to chip away the ice cold shroud of numbness that surrounds her.

—

She doesn’t realise she’s fallen asleep until she hears the sound of a curtain being drawn. She sits up groggily, wiping sleep from her eyes as she squints against the unfamiliar Monaco sunshine that streams in through the windows.

“Good morning,” The nurse, Jean-Luc, says. “I’m just here to check on Monsieur Errol’s vitals, the doctor will be here shortly to discuss the results.” He offers her a steaming mug which she takes and sniffs, mostly out of confusion. It’s thick, black coffee, and the smell of it awakes her taste buds and makes her stomach grumble. She realises that she hasn’t eaten for more than a day.

She pulls out her phone to see if there’s any delivery service around, but her battery is completely flat. Not surprising given it’s been left uncharged and neglected in her bag since she came here. She’ll have to buy a charging cable as well. Another thing to add to her list.

A group of doctors come in as she contemplates the blank phone screen with detachment. “Mademoiselle Errol? I am Dr Duval, we spoke yesterday?” The insensitive doctor from the day before leans down to shake her hand, before launching into a description of Luke’s condition in medial terms which mean little to Cass but sound fairly ominous.

“So we will be bringing Monsieur Errol to prep for his surgeries soon. We will be carrying out some remedial works on his skull and we will also be repairing some of the damage to his intestines at the same time,” Dr Duval says. Cass nods slowly. “And - and he’ll be okay? Will he be able to wake up?”

Dr Duval assures her that Luke has actually been improving overnight. “His condition is very serious, but we are hoping the surgeries will reduce the inflammation and slowly Monsieur Errol will be in a strong enough position to take out of his coma,” Dr Duval says comfortingly. Or at least, Cass can tell that she means to be comforting because she pats Cass on the back. Cass fights the urge to recoil from the stranger’s touch.

It’s a while later when the orderlies come to wheel Luke into surgery. Cass holds on to his cold, limp hand tightly, pressing a kiss to the bandages ringing his forehead. His beautiful hair has all been shorn off to give the surgeons better access to his brain. Cass blinks back tears at this indignity. She knows that when Luke wakes up he’s going to absolutely hate that. She follows him out into the hallway, which in typical Monaco fashion looks nothing like a hospital - all beautiful flowers and polished wooden furniture.

With Luke in surgery, Cass figures there’s no better time to head out to run her errands. Dr Duval had said he’ll be at least a few hours in the operating theatre, giving her enough time to buy some clothes, toiletries and swing by Luke’s apartment to get some of his things. She heads to the nearest department store, a short walk away, where she buys some clothes that look comfortable enough for sitting in a hospital room for hours on end, as well as some toothpaste, a toothbrush and a phone charger. She adds a couple of books to her cart for good measure.

Then she gets into a taxi, since Luke’s house isn’t close enough to walk, squeezing her eyes shut tightly when they round the mountainous corners of the streets of Monaco. Her hands are shaking as she counts money out of Luke’s wallet - handed to her by the nurse along with his house and car keys when she’d arrived - to pay the driver.

Luke’s building is one of the many fancy apartment towers right in front of the marina. Cass taps the access card against a sleek black panel on the exterior wall and the glass doors slide open smoothly, revealing an imposing reception desk and a couple of burly security guards protecting the wealthy and famous inhabitants from the random man on the street walking in.

She must look uncertain, because a handsome young man pops up from behind the reception desk and approaches her quickly. “Good morning, can I help you?” He says in the overly friendly tone that receptionists all over the world put on. He also immediately speaks to her in English, making Cass wonder whether people can tell that she’s English just by looking at her. Cass is grateful, though, because she’s just realised she can’t remember Luke’s flat number and her phone is still dead.

“I - my brother Luke Errol lives here, and I’m here to pick up some of his things for the - the hospital?” She ends her sentence like its a question, but the receptionist nods as if he’s been expecting her. “Of course, let me just check if you’re on the list of approved visitors for Monsieur Errol,” he says, walking back to the desk and efficiently tapping at the keyboard.

“Do you have any form of identification?” He looks up. Cass dutifully hands over her passport, which was luckily in her gym bag when she’d been at the theatre. After that, it’s all very quickly and easily done, the receptionist leading her to the lift and telling her how to get to Luke’s apartment.

Even the lift is beautiful, all shiny mirrors and wood panels. Cass can’t avoid her reflection, even the doors are mirrored. She stares blankly at herself, bloodshot eyes and frizzy, half-slept on hair. She looks like about as terrible as she feels.

Luke lives on the 30th floor. She watches the numbers tick up on the indicator, mainly so she doesn’t have to look at herself. On the 18th floor it pauses, and the doors slide open.

“Cass?” A shocked Daniel Ricciardo is on the other side, phone clutched to his chest. He walks into the lift and shoves his phone in his pocket, giving her a pat on the shoulder. She stands totally still as he presses the floor he’s going to - 28 - and expresses his condolences. “And how’s Luke doing, if you don’t mind me asking? We were thinking of heading down to the hospital but of course that’s only if you’re accepting visitors - did you get the flowers we sent?”

Cass shakes her head, the bombardment of questions flummoxing her brain that’s still shocked at the unexpected sight of Daniel. “I - I don’t know, maybe? I’ll have to ask the nurses…” She says. Her brain is still stuck on the we. As far as she knows, Daniel’s still single, but to be fair she doesn’t exactly ask her brother about the dating lives of the other drivers. She has a sneaking suspicion she knows exactly who the we consists of.

The doors slide open for the 28th floor as Daniel’s asking her about how Luke is doing, and Daniel’s arm shoots out to hold it open. “I’m guessing you’re heading up to Luke’s, but let me know if you want company, okay? I’ll be around all day and…” He trails off, clearly wanting to offer some form of assistance. Cass nods awkwardly. She’s about five seconds away from tears and she doesn’t want to have a total menty-b in front of her brother’s friend.

“Oi, Daniel, hurry up! I’m not a fucking doorman. Let’s fucking go already,” a distracted and annoyed voice sounds from a door that’s just opening up at the other end of the corridor facing the lift. A sneakered foot appears, followed by a very familiar leg clad in shorts, then the door opens to show her ex-boyfriend, Max Verstappen, propping the door open with his foot, his eyes fixed on his phone as he taps away at the screen.

Daniel steps out the lift, turning back to say goodbye as the lift doors finally start sliding closed. Max’s head pops up when he realises Daniel’s talking to someone else, and his surprised eyes meet hers just as the lift doors close.

—

Of course they all live in the same building, Cass thinks to herself as the lift makes the short journey to the 30th floor. And of course the first time she sees her ex-boyfriend after their acrimonious split is when she looks like something the cat dragged through the hedge. Her hair had dried so frizzy the night before. She wishes she wasn’t shallow enough to care, but she does.

She takes a deep breath before unlocking the door to the apartment she’s never been in before, wondering what it looks like. It’s sunny and bright, white marble floors and floor to ceiling windows letting in an ungodly amount of sunlight. She’s only seen flashes of it in the background when on video calls with Luke, and what she’d seen had been bland to the extreme. She steps in to a bachelor pad, one bedroom clearly Luke’s and the other a makeshift office-slash-racing centre with some sort of portable race car set up inside.

She plugs her phone in to charge in the kitchen then heads straight for Luke’s bedroom and after gathering some of Luke’s clothes and some personal items - a few photos, his favourite cologne, the cashmere blanket she’d given him for his birthday - she lies down on Luke’s bed. It doesn’t smell like Luke exactly since he’d been away for weeks before the accident, but it does have the familiar smell of the detergent that their whole family uses. It reminds her of their dad. It reminds her of their home.

It’s the thought of home that finally breaks her and she curls up on the immaculately pressed sheets and cries, big heaving sobs, until she feels like all the water in her body has been wrung out of her. She’s always been the baby of their little family, but she knows that this time she’ll have to be the one taking care of Luke for a change. She has to be strong for him, even if she feels like she’s being crushed under the weight of the responsibility. She owes it to him, and to their dad.

She sits up on the bed, dragging her t-shirt sleeve across her tired, teary eyes roughly. There are so many things she has to do, but she’s going to start with making a cup of tea and hopefully finding something to eat. Then she’s going to take a long, hot shower before returning to the hospital to wait for Luke to get out of surgery.

Luke’s fridge is completely empty, and she remembers that he’d been away for weeks before his accident. She resigns herself to having to get something from the hospital canteen. The second her phone turns on she’s inundated with missed calls, messages and emails, the staggering number of which makes her turn her phone off all over again. She decides that she’ll deal with it all when she’s back at the hospital.

She heads into Luke’s state of the art shower which shoots jets of water from completely unexpected places, including one that aims directly at Cass’s face - presumably at Luke’s back/chest height - and which makes her scream in surprise.

Luke has an incredible array of scented things, and Cass emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, feeling ready to tackle the world. She even dries her hair properly, with a lavish amount of Luke’s hair serum applied through it, on the off chance she sees - well, anyone. She refuses to think that she might see a specific someone again so soon.

She searches the immaculately clean apartment and finds only one paper bag - a massive Ferrari branded one filled with hats, which she promptly tips out on the floor in Luke’s office - and shoves all of Luke’s things into it. She grabs her bag with all of the things she’s bought that day, and locks the apartment door securely behind her.

By the time she’s standing outside the apartment building, arms straining with the weight of all their things, she’s starting to flag again. Apparently it’s pretty difficult to flag a taxi down in this neighbourhood, and there’s no such thing as Uber. She’s cursing her terrible overseas internet connection as she tries to figure out whether there’s an alternative when a sleek dark car pulls up at the drop off point.

The window rolls down.

Should she even be surprised any more? Max’s blue eyes are surveying her, probably taking in her fresh from the packet baggy sweatpants and Luke’s old Ferrari hoodie. At least she smells nice, she tells herself. Then she reminds herself that she absolutely doesn’t care, or at least that the person she’s trying to be for Luke wouldn’t care, so she gives the most nonchalant wave that she can manage.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Max calls from inside the car. Before Cass can shake her head, he’s already unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door. By the time the word no forms on her tongue, he’s picked up her bags as if they’re weightless and put them in the trunk of the car. As she steps forward to tell him he’s completely overstepping himself, he gallantly opens the car door and waits patiently for her to get in.

So she finds herself sitting in the passenger seat, safely buckled in, as Max fiddles with the radio and puts the car back in drive. After they sit in silence for a while, Max clears his throat. “So are you going - to the hospital?” His voice still cracks sometimes, Cass thinks to herself. It was always something that embarrassed him hugely, but that she found incredibly cute. Cass realises with a start that she’s still not said a word, which obviously triggers an absolute tsunami of words flooding from her to make up for the awkwardness.

“Yeah, the hospital - if that’s convenient, if not you could just drop me at any main road, somewhere with taxis around. Did you know it’s really hard to get a taxi from this building? Well I suppose you wouldn’t, since you drive…” Max has thankfully started the car and is concentrating on making the turn out of the building, completely ignoring her verbal diarrhoea. She lapses back into silence. Silence is good, silence is clean. Words are dangerous.

And she’s so tired that all of the barriers she’s built around herself have crumbled into dust. She knows that if Max asks her if she’s okay she’ll crack into a million pieces, and the broken person she’ll be then will be of absolutely no help to Luke. She reaches over to turn on the radio, hoping that someone else’s voice filling the void between them will stop Max from speaking.

It’s set to a Dutch radio station, and the stream of chatter in a language she doesn’t come close understanding is soothing in a way she hadn’t expected. She leans her head against the window, flinching every time Max rounds one of the many blind corners on the way to the hospital. She can’t stop thinking that every car coming towards them is going to smash into them, and who will look after Luke then? After the second time, she squeezes her eyes closed and pretends to be asleep.

“What are you going to do with your house?”

Of course Max doesn’t care whether she’s asleep or not. She would give him a dirty look but he is doing her a favour, after all. So she shrugs instead. It’s the truth, after all - she has no idea what she has to do now that her dad is gone. She swallows hard, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off the tears that now always seem a blink away.

“I’ll have to speak to my dad’s lawyers, I suppose,” she says, opening her Notes app and adding it to the list of things she has to do. It’s a pretty long one, starting with calling the ballet to let them know she’ll need an indefinite amount of time off. A migraine starts building in the back of her head at the thought of explaining to Madame Lloyd that she’s going to be taking a fair amount of personal days.

“It’s a very nice house,” Max offers, before lapsing into silence again. He seems distracted as well, his fingers tapping noiselessly against the steering wheel as he guides them into the now-familiar driveway leading to the hospital. He drives straight into one of the parking spots in front of the hospital and puts the car in park, hopping out and grabbing the bags from the trunk.

By the time Cass is out of the car, he’s waiting expectantly at the entrance of the hospital. “I can carry those myself,” Cass insists, reaching out to take the bags from him. “They’re not even that heavy, really.” Max shakes his head. “I might as well help you carry them,” he insists right back.

“Why?” Cass asks. She’s genuinely confused, and wonders whether she looks so pathetic that Max feels about as much pity as it takes for him to take time out of his undoubtedly busy day to fetch and carry for her. Max looks genuinely confused as well. “Well… I’m going to visit Luke, so since I’m going up there I might as well carry your bags?”

Cass is unbelievably embarrassed that she’s been so self absorbed that she’s forgotten that people might actually want to visit her hugely popular brother. “Oh! Of course - um, you can just follow me in, I think,” she says, walking as quickly as possible into the hospital to escape the conversation. She swipes the pass that she’d been given, one which gives her access to the high-dependency wing of the hospital, and the two of them walk in silence towards Luke’s room.

The silence ends only when they get to the door to Luke’s room. “Oh, there are the flowers from me and Daniel,” Max says, pointing at a vase filled with flowers right outside the door. The ones that she had thought were lovely, and a sign that Monagesque hospitals were flush with decorating money.

There are vases of different flower arrangements up and down the entire corridor, and Cass walks to the next one, finally noticing that they all have little cards attached to them. Some are enormous, like the bright red monstrosity from the Ferrari team, whilst some are more modest, like the one from Jamie and Mara. Cass collects all of the cards, reading them one by one. By the time she’s gone down the entire row of flowers, she’s got a thick stack of notes in her hand and pinching her nose isn’t enough to keep the tears at bay.

She walks back to the door to Luke’s room, vision blurry from tears, straight into the chest of one Max Verstappen, who drops the bags in his hands and wraps his strong arms tight around her.

—

If she let herself, she could stay in this embrace forever, but Cass is trying to be a strong, independent woman so she pulls away and excuses herself. She’s only human though, so she does let her head rest ever so gently on Max’s firm chest muscles for a second before doing so.

She heads straight to the ensuite bathroom. Luke’s not yet back from surgery, which is in line with what Dr Duval had told her, but she can’t help but feel a stab of worry streak through her as she walks past the empty bed. In the bathroom, she splashes her face with cold water, patting it dry gently with the soft, brilliantly white towels provided by the hospital, before surveying herself in the mirror. Red eyes, red nose, red hair. She looks like a circus clown.

Get it together, Cassandra Errol, she tells herself firmly. You have to do this, for Luke. Put on your big girl pants and go out there and pretend you’re not a total wreck of a human being.

She scrapes her hair, which has started to curl wildly again, back into a tight bun, trying valiantly to flatten the wispy flyaways that formed around the crown of her head. Giving it up as an impossible task, she takes a deep breath before emerging into the hospital room.

She must have spent longer in there than she thought, because the once empty room is bustling and packed with people. Cass heads straight to the hospital bed where Luke lies, having returned from his surgery. “How was he?” She asks the nurse urgently as her fingers trace the snowy white bandages that have been wound around Luke’s head, thicker now than they were before.

“The perfect patient, don’t worry mademoiselle,” one of the nurses says comfortingly as a group of them bustle around, efficiently replacing all the monitors and drips attached to Luke. “Dr Duval will be here shortly to give you an update on his condition, okay?” She pats Cass on the shoulder and the group of nurses all depart as quietly as they’d arrived, on the way to the next patient.

Cass’s eyes sweep over her comatose brother, trying in vain to see anything that would tell her more about how he’s doing. She remembers Dr Duval saying they would be working on his brain injury while also working on his internal organs, but under the thick white sheets and hospital gown he looks about the same as he had been that morning.

She leans over and presses a kiss to a patch of forehead not covered by bandages. She’d always teased Luke for having a massive forehead, but now she’s glad that there’s still a spot left untouched by trauma and injury. When she straightens up, she realises that Luke has some visitors.

There’s Max, standing awkwardly in the corner as he looks stoically at the ground. Then there’s Charles, eyes filled with sympathy as he stands next to where she’d slept the night before. She gives Charles a brief hug as she fills him in on the changes in Luke since the day before, and Charles nods understandingly. Cass remembers then that he’s spent lots of time in hospitals, with his dad and his godfather Jules.

She doesn’t know what to say to Max, so is relieved when Charles starts chatting with him about innocuous things, like holiday plans and the F1 season just past. Max nods along as Charles speaks, shooting glances at her every now and then.

Charles has a very soothing voice, and she can almost pretend that they’re discussing something banal instead of the very health of her beloved brother, but she busies herself with taking out all the things she’d bought and brought back to the hospital. She plugs in her phone, now with a very minute amount of battery, and takes out all of Luke’s clothes to hang in the closet. She’s also brought his razor and shaving cream, and sets them on a side table for later. She lays the cashmere blanket over Luke, tucking it in carefully around all the tubes and monitors attached to him, then sits in the little chair by the hospital bed.

She finally runs out of things to do, and finally looks at Max, who’s still speaking quietly with Charles on the other side of the room. His arms are crossed, making his biceps look particularly defined in his white t-shirt, and the two drivers are looking very serious. She’s touched that the two of them care about her brother enough to come visit. If Max feels even half as awkward as she does about seeing her as she does seeing him, it’s definitely a struggle.

Charles looks up and spots her. “Cassandra, have you had anything to eat? I brought some snacks for you, as the food at the hospital is terrible,” he says, walking over to where he’s left a tote bag. He pulls out a beautifully presented platter of sliced ham and cheese, as well as a thermos, which he passes to Cass.

She opens it and takes a sniff. It’s iced lemon tea, one of her favourite things. She smiles at Charles, who has always been very sweet every time she’s seen him. He’s an absolute golden retriever of a man. Speaking of golden retrievers… “Mick says he will come by tomorrow if that’s okay with you - he’s flying down from Switzerland.” Charles briefs her on the various friends and colleagues of Luke’s within the Formula 1 universe that have either expressed interest in visiting or have sent their condolences.

She’s so hungry that she wolfs down half the plate in a flash, licking the traces of salty fat left on the tips of her fingers with some pleasure. She hasn’t really eaten much in the past few days, and it’s nice to have something to enjoy. Charles has definitely picked some top quality ham - or as he would call it, charcuterie - and she smiles at him appreciatively.

Max clears his throat. “Well - I should go, I’m supposed to run some errands,” he says to no one in particular. He claps Charles on the back in what Cass supposes is something men do when they say goodbye to each other, then gives Cass a sort of half wave, half finger spasm as he edges towards the door.

“Oh - let me see you out,” Cass says in mild alarm, hopping up and wiping her hands on some tissue snatched from Luke’s bedside table. She follows Max out into the hallway where she sees and smells the gorgeous flowers he and Daniel had sent again. They really are so lovely, and they smell just incredible. She turns to tell Max how much she appreciates the gesture.

Max takes a hesitant backwards step towards the exit, still facing her. “Was there something else you wanted?” He asks uncertainly. Cass curses herself internally, realising that he's probably leaving to do literally anything which would be less depressing than hang out with his ex-girlfriend and her comatose brother.

“No, I just wanted to say, um,” Cass stammers. “Well - thank you, I suppose. For driving me back and… for the flowers. Yeah, that was about it.” She hugs her arms to her chest, feeling supremely awkward.

Max nods slowly. “Okay, if there was nothing else, I’ll just be… heading off. Daniel should be around later.” He walks to the end of the corridor and presses the button to release the doors to the ward. Come back, Cass’s traitorous little heart whispers, too quietly for Max to hear. Turn around. Then he actually does turn around, startling Cass into thinking that she’s said the words out loud. He takes a few quick steps back towards her and leans down to give her a hug.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay?” He turns and walks away as quickly as he’d returned, and this time he doesn’t look back.

—

Max is having a terrible few days. He’d woken up the day before to the news about Luke Errol’s crash, and the death of Mr Errol, and had felt a deep pang of sadness for the whole Errol family. There wasn’t much information about Luke’s condition in the news, so he immediately texted the gossipiest person he knew (Daniel) to find out more.

Mad Max👹: mate, did you hear about the Errols?
Daniel 🦡: yeah it’s fucking awful.
Mad Max👹: we should do something - flowers?

Max Googles various combinations of florist + best + Monaco and manages to find a lovely bouquet of peonies, Cass’s favourites. He sends the link to Daniel and Daniel gets the details from Charles, and soon enough their flowers are on the way to the hospital. Max wonders how Charles knows so much about Errol’s hospital details, and can’t help it when his mind jealously wonders whether Charles has seen Cass.

There’s absolutely no way that Cass isn’t by Luke’s bedside right now - he’s never seen a pair of siblings closer. I should call her, that traitorous little voice that has sounded in his mind with ridiculous frequency considering she dumped him two years ago, whispers. The voice sounds disconcertingly like Daniel. She won’t want to hear from you, another little voice - this one sounds like his dad - hisses back.

He tells himself firmly to pull himself together,

Daniel 🦡: Charles says Luke’s not doing great in the hospital 😔
Mad Max👹: are you going to visit?
Daniel 🦡: yeah was thinking this evening?
Daniel 🦡: and before u ask, yes she’s here
Mad Max👹: who?
Daniel 🦡: don’t play dumb, you’re not pretty enough
Daniel 🦡: anyway I’m coming up - lost my phone charger and my battery’s dying

Just as he’s typing his response to Daniel, something along the lines of how Daniel’s a grown ass Formula 1 driver who should really own multiple charging cables, he hears the elevator bell ding outside his door. He walks over, now Googling the visiting hours of the hospital and fretting over whether non-family members can go to whatever ultra secure ward Luke Errol is undoubtedly in, and props open the door.

“Oi, Daniel, hurry up! I’m not a fucking doorman. Let’s fucking go already,” he shouts to his best friend as he responds to some work texts that he’s been ignoring in favour of digging for Errol-related information. When Daniel fails to respond in his usual way, instead saying something in an unusually gentle and quiet voice, Max looks up to see who he’s talking to because he’s definitely never used that voice with Max.

This is how Max gets his first glimpse of his ex-girlfriend, destroyer of hopes and breaker of hearts, for the first time in over two years. She looks pretty much the same, except paler, as if someone’s turned the exposure up on her 100%. Her green eyes are huge and dark in her colourless face, the red hair he’d loved so much a halo around her head. Next to the extremely tan Aussie driver, she looks almost ghostly.

And just like an apparition she disappears within seconds, albeit behind the sliding doors of the elevator. Daniel walks over to him, shaking his head. “No change, eh?” He asks as he expertly sidesteps Max to get into the apartment he spends a fair amount of time in, walking straight into the kitchen and popping open the fridge.

“What do you mean?” Max is still slightly dazed. He’d done his best to cleanse any sight of her from his social media feeds, and he’s not exactly best friends with Luke so he’s done a pretty good job of avoiding hearing anything about Cass or seeing any pictures of her for the past two years.

Daniel’s found a tub of blueberry flavoured Greek yogurt, and he’s digging into it with gusto so his words come out slightly thick. “You’re exactly the same as you were two years ago,” he says, waving the yogurt-covered spoon dangerously close to Max’s fabric walls. “I believe the poets call it… hmmm… I think you’ve caught this love bug again,” Daniel sings with a giant grin on his face.

“Can we please focus on the important things today,” Max groans, running a hand through his hair. Ah fuck, he didn’t have any time this morning to do his hair, meaning Cass’s first glance of him was of his stupid untameable hair sticking up in the back like a canary. Just the kind of first impression you want to make on your ex-girlfriend, obviously.

Daniel’s smile slips off his face immediately, and Max is reminded that he’s gone through this with Jules as well. This must be the worst kind of deja vu for him. “Yeah so anyway, Cass said that Luke should be good for visitors today in about an hour, so we could go then. He’s in surgery now.”

Max grimaces. He’s been very fortunate during his racing career to not have had any serious injuries, but he’s been on the circuit for a while and knows the intense physical trauma that can come from motor accidents, especially when going full speed into a solid stationary object. One of his friends had gotten so badly concussed once that the doctors had told him that one more concussion could mean permanent brain damage, and he’d had to stop racing. He can only imagine the state Luke’s body is in right now. He wonders whether Luke will ever race again, let alone make it to the start of the next season in three months.

“Or…” Daniel trails off and looks at Max speculatively. Max crosses his arms, not liking the look on Daniel’s face, one that screams I’ve just had the most brilliant idea. It’s led to some great nights, sure, but also some things that have made him fearing for his life or his job - sometimes both. “What?” Max snaps impatiently when Daniel just continues staring at him, a massive shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“I couldn’t help but notice that a certain Miss Errol was carrying a lot of things just now, very, very heavy things,” Daniel says, beaming at Max, who just looks back at him blankly. “You’re lucky you’re good at making cars go fast,” Daniel sighs, patting Max on the shoulder patronisingly.

“Get. To. The point.” Max grits out, glaring at his best friend.

“Well, do you ever see the women of Monaco walking out and about carrying loads of bags?” Daniel asks patiently. Max thinks for a while, then shakes his head. To be honest, he doesn’t really notice the women of Monaco per se - he’s either at the gym, on the way to the airport, in his apartment, or in his car travelling between one of those three places.

“It’s because they have cars that drive them around. But the lovely Cassandra, if I recall correctly, doesn’t have a driver’s licence and she doesn’t have a driver. So she’s going to be waiting downstairs for a taxi with all of those incredibly heavy bags, and you know there are never any taxis around here…” He trails off, looking at Max with raised eyebrows as if he’s hoping Max has at least two brain cells to rub together to come to the natural conclusion that Daniel had managed to think of an entire conversation ago.

Unfortunately, Max’s brain ceased to work some time around when he’d opened the door and seen his fucking ex-girlfriend standing in the lift, looking serious and tearful and lovely, and he hadn’t even been able to choke out a hello or anything.

“Jesus, Mary and the good man Joseph, you’re dim,” Daniel shakes his head again. “Look, I’ll just spell it out for you, yeah? Get in your car - the thing that goes vroom vroom - and drive her back to the hospital!”

This is how Max finds himself sitting in his car, just out of sight of the lobby of his apartment building, waiting for Cass to come out. He’d slipped the concierge 50 euros so that he’d be updated as soon as Cass leaves the building, feeling very creepy as he did that, and is now almost vibrating with nerves as he tries valiantly to think of how he’s going to get her into his car.

He’s been in his car for over half an hour, probably getting minor carbon monoxide poisoning, when his phone vibrates with a text from the concierge. He gives it a couple of minutes, then drives to the front of the building carefully. He doesn’t want to look like a fucking idiot and mount the curb or something.

He can see Cass standing in front of the building, frowning at her phone as if it has personally wronged her. He rolls down the window just as she looks up. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” He calls out, wincing internally at how cheesy he must sound. His heart is beating so fast he’s pretty sure it counts as his day’s cardio. He jumps out the car, grabbing her bags and storing them carefully in the trunk of his car. On top of one of the bags is a framed photo of the Errol family, and Max’s mouth twists at the idea that Cass might soon be the only one left.

He walks over to the passenger door and opens it, only then realising that Cass had never given him a response. You fucking idiot, he rages at himself. He might as well have put a giant KIDNAPPER sign on his forehead. He’s still castigating himself when, to his surprise, Cass gets in the car and starts putting on her seatbelt.

Weak with relief, Max shuts the door as gently as he can whilst still activating the locks, and runs to his side of the car. After confirming that she’s heading to the hospital, his voice cracking like he’s still in the middle of fucking puberty, he begins following the route to the hospital. Say something, idiot, he screams internally. They used to have such easy conversations - that’s what Max loved the most about being with Cass, that he finds literally every single thing she says incredibly interesting, but she’s so subdued now and looking out the window.

He wishes they could wind back time to when they’d been at her house in the countryside, eating pancakes for breakfast and dancing in the secret garden. He wonders what they’re going to do with that massive estate now, since her dad will no longer live there.

“What are you going to do with your house?” He asks. Then he wonders whether it’s kind of an asshole question, especially since her dad just died. Maybe she hasn’t had the time to think about what to do with all the things he’s left behind. He should say something nice about her dad. He’s always like Mr Errol, and Mr Errol had been very nice to him when he’d been a scrawny 18 year old dating his precious only daughter.

She gives a bland answer about lawyers, which he deserves, and he replies with a trite response about how the house had been nice. He’s still trying to think of how to say something nice about her dad without sounding insincere when he realises that she’s wincing every single time he rounds a corner. He tries going even more slowly, but traffic in Monaco is pretty brisk and he doesn’t want to be a road hog.

Luckily, Monaco isn’t that big, and they pull up to the hospital pretty quickly. Max follows Cass into the hospital after some conversation, and he immediately can smell the intense floral scent that fills the hallway when they near the ward that Errol is in. “Oh, there are the flowers from me and Daniel,” Max says, pointing at the peonies that he instantly recognises because he’d made the florist send him dozens of photos before he’d picked this one.

By the time he realises Cass isn’t standing next to him, she’s halfway down the corridor of flowers as if in a daze, picking the cards off each one. When she turns around, her eyes are glossy with tears and as if no time has passed Max finds himself opening his arms and wrapping them around her as tightly as he can.

He can feel her tears dampening the front of his shirt, her slender shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. He rests his cheek against her hair for an instant, allowing himself that one second of weakness as he imagines they’re in an alternate universe.

He thinks about things like that pretty often. He has a good imagination, probably from all the times his parents were arguing and he’d try to distract his little sister from the shouting by pointing at random countries on the world map that’d been up on their bedroom wall and making up stories about their imaginary lives in each place. Now, he pretends that he’s exactly where he is right now, with the only change to the universe being that he and Cass never broke up.

Too quickly, she pulls away, wiping her nose and eyes roughly on her sleeve and turning away. She’s more reserved with her emotions, Cass-two-years-later, than she had been at 18. He wonders what made her change, whether it’s a recent thing or whether she’s been like that since they broke up.

Cass dries her eyes quickly, before turning and walking into the hospital room, and Max follows her after grabbing all of her bags, even though he’s honestly pretty nervous to see what Luke is going to look like. His main focus is to be here for her, to support her, because she looks like she might break into pieces at any second, even if he knows she’d never admit it.

Max’s eyes track Cass as she disappears into the ensuite bathroom, so it takes him a second to realise that the hospital bed is empty. He can hear Cass blowing her nose, then the sound of running water, so he looks around the room to give her some space, taking in the neatly folded blanket under a single, flat pillow balanced on a cot in the corner of the room. He leans down to put the bags next to the cot, catching a whiff of Cass’s perfume on the sheets of the cot.

She slept here overnight, he realises. He’s inspecting the uncomfortable looking cot when the door opens. He straightens up, feeling slightly guilty but not knowing why, when Charles Leclerc walks in. It’s not totally unexpected that Charles would be here, he supposes. Luke is his team mate, after all. Max is also slightly relieved that he won’t be in the room alone with Luke if he does get brought back some point soon.

“Hey, Max, how have you been?” Charles is as polite as always, excellent at making small talk in a way that Max has never been, so they have a fairly painless conversation for the few minutes they’re there before the hospital door opens again and a nurse bustles in, followed closely by a group of orderlies wheeling in a hospital bed.

Luke’s all wrapped up in sterile white bandages, but Max can see the bruised eyes that come from a broken nose, and all of Luke’s hair has been shaved off. It’s odd seeing the usually animated man so still, and Max is quiet as the staff ignore him and Charles completely whilst they attach countless wires and tubes to Luke’s body.

Max turns around to give Luke some privacy, but there’s very little in the room for him to pretend to look at so he stares out of the window at the hospital garden below. It looks quite peaceful, actually, and he zones out slightly as he watches people walk around the winding garden paths, some pushing wheelchairs, some walking quickly to their destinations.

He turns quickly when he hears a door opening, and Cass walks back into the room. She only has eyes for Luke, and he and Charles gravitate to a corner to give her some space. He feels like he’s intruding, but at the same time he can’t stop watching her. She gets a blanket out of one of the massive bags and drapes it gently over Luke’s hospital sheet, tucking in all the corners.

One of the first memories Max has is of lying in his bed at home - his first home, the one with his mum - with her doing something pretty similar. His dad had been racing somewhere, and it was before Victoria was born, so it had been just him and his mum at home. It had been cold, he remembered. His mum had tucked him into bed, then read him a book as she lay on his bed next to him. He’d felt warm and safe. He remembers Daniel mentioning that Luke is in a coma, and hopes that wherever Luke’s mind is, he’s aware of Cass and her comfort.

She kisses Luke’s forehead and Max has to look away, the feeling that he’s intruding on an incredibly private moment almost overwhelming now. Charles sidles up to him and starts talking, and Max feels bad, he really does, but his eyes keep drifting towards the tableau of Cass sitting next to Luke, holding his hand.

Then Charles gives up on talking to Max, and asks Cass if she’s had anything to eat, and by God if the sight of Cass as she devours a plate of food doesn’t make Max feel deeply, completely inappropriately horny. Fuck, how does she still have such an effect on him? They’re literally in a hospital and all it takes for her to lick her fingers and he has to leave before he embarrasses himself.

He makes his excuses, subtly shifting in his shorts as he edges out the door, but Cass follows him into the corridor. He can’t even think when he’s around her - maybe he’s as dumb as Daniel says he is - but just as he’s about to leave he’s struck by the memory of Cass standing outside his apartment building, looking lost and alone, and he remembers that she’s just suffered an incredible tragedy.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay?” He says to Cass, giving her a hug. She might have broken his heart but she’s still the only girl he’s ever loved, and he can’t stand the thought of her going through all of this alone. Well, maybe she has Charles. Or Jamie, wherever he is. Or maybe she has a new boyfriend now.

Before the thought can turn toxic, he turns and leaves as quickly as possible. The ball is in her court now.

—

Chapter Text

There’s an immense amount of paperwork that comes with fatal car crashes apparently. When Cass finally checks her phone she realises that she’s missed about a million calls, and her email inbox has been completely filled with very ominously titled emails from lawyers, bankers, the hospital and work.

She replies to the texts from Jamie and Mara, giving them updates on Luke. She hesitates before deciding not to mention seeing Max. She then replies to her work emails, not sure whether to be relieved or worried that the company has managed to seamlessly find a replacement for her roles. She decides to just be glad that her absence isn’t affecting anyone at the company and tries to put it out of her mind.

It’s hard, though, because there’s so much waiting. Cass hasn’t had time to just sit and stare at the clock in years, and she finds herself pacing around Luke’s hospital bed for hours. She doesn’t want to look at her phone, because then she’ll have to deal with all of that, but she can’t seem to focus on the books she bought because she’s just not used to sitting still for such a long period of time.

And Luke might wake up at any minute, that’s what the nurse had told her. Well, he’d said that they’d taken Luke off whatever medications they’d used to put him in a coma, and that’s basically the same thing. That means that whenever Luke’s brain heals, he’ll be awake. And he’ll be confused, and maybe scared, but he won’t be alone. She’ll make sure of it.

So she paces. She stares out of the window. She does whatever ballet exercises she can do in the corner of Luke’s room. She watches indecipherable French television, trying to understand what they’re saying based purely on context clues. And of course, there are the visitors.

She knows that they mean well, but honestly it’s exhausting to have to stand and greet the often emotional people who come visit Luke every day. She doesn’t know many of them, but Luke has always been a very popular guy, and apparently a lot of people in the F1 sphere live in Monaco. She listens to platitudes, shakes hands, smiles bravely. Lando visits, Charles comes by nearly every day and some other drivers she’s never met. And this is about the time that she realises she’s an absolute introvert, because she retreats further and further into her shell every time another Italian man tells her that her brother will definitely be back in a race car by the start of the next season, as if that’s something she’ll want to hear.

The thought of her brother sitting in a sliver of carbon fibre and engine grease going hundreds of miles per hour around a track, skimming concrete walls, is almost unfathomably terrifying to Cass. She uses every ounce of stage training that she’s had over the past eighteen years to school her face into a neutral smile. She’s giving her best Sugar Plum Fairy even if she never got to show it on stage. She’s lightness and air.

One day, her father’s lawyers clearly give up on reaching her through email, because they appear at the hospital room, looking deeply uncomfortable. She has to make decisions about her dad’s estate, and what to do with all of the properties and… here they trail off, exchanging looks. Well, lots of things. She just listens, numb, and nods when they make suggestions that sound vaguely reasonable. Within fifteen minutes they’ve left, promising to return with documents for her and - here they shoot Luke’s form uneasy looks - her brother to sign.

After they leave, she stands and paces the room, wondering how she’s supposed to deal with all of these things that her dad has left behind. Neither she nor Luke have ever been involved with their dad’s business dealings, their chosen professions being both time consuming and as far away from the world of corporate financing as possible. From the lawyers’ words she accepts that there are a lot of people employed by her dad, and she has to make some decisions soon about whether to make a bunch of people unemployed by shutting down the companies or figure out some way to keep everything running smoothly.

It’s a lot of pressure, a type of pressure she’s never been exposed to before. Suddenly the room feels completely airless, as if the walls are closing in on her. Almost in a trance, she opens the door - the scent of flowers is now overwhelmingly cloying - and walks right out of the room, down the corridor and out of the hospital.

She brings nothing with her - not her phone, not her wallet, not even a hat to protect her skin from the still strong Monagesque winter sun. She just walks and walks, breath coming in short pants, eyes just focused on each step in front of her. The next thing she knows, she’s next to the glitteringly blue water of the sea, fancy white boats bobbing in the distance and the sound of seagulls calling each other filling the air.

She knows loads of people worked for and with her dad, she’s seen them at his birthday parties, she’s heard him talking about them and she even lived with a fair number - Dot, Jim and the rest of the staff of their house in the Cotswolds. They watched her and Luke grow up, and when her dad and Luke had been off at karting competitions they had raised her. She can’t just… fire them. But she can’t just leave the house empty either, a ghostly remnant of her past.

She’s walking with purpose, but without a destination in mind. Her eyes skip past the happy families and focus on the rare person sitting by themselves, wondering if they are waiting for someone or if they’re alone, like her. She’s mired in self pity, which could be why she doesn’t realise someone walking up to her until she gets tapped on her shoulder, which makes her jump and scream.

“Jesus!” Max stumbles back, hand on his chest. “You scared the shit out of me!” Cass whirls around, face hot with embarrassment and annoyance. “You scared me, hello!” She spits back, hands on her hips. Max scowls, cheeks turning pink. Their mutual glaring is interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing.

They look to the side, and Max immediately straightens up whilst Cass’s mouth drops open. “Hi, Mrs Verstappen - I mean, Ms Kumpen!” Cass stammers. She hasn’t seen Max’s mum for probably ten years or so, but she looks exactly the same. Ms Kumpen surprises Cass by stepping forward and giving her a big hug. Cass stiffens up at first, but Ms Kumpen is actually very good at giving hugs, so Cass lets herself lean in and accept the gesture. She leans her head against Ms Kumpen’s shoulder, feeling some of the tension drain out of her body.

“Call me Sophie, please,” Ms Kumpen - Sophie - says, gently patting Cass on the back before letting her go. “Max told me about your father and brother, I was very sorry to hear about it. Your father was a very kind man,” she says. Cass tries to smile, but her mouth won’t let her and her eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Sophie says, hugging her again. Cass wipes at her eyes roughly with her sleeve and straightens up, taking a step back, knowing that they’re attracting attention. “Thank you,” she sniffs, looking away and squeezing her eyes closed in the hopes that they won’t see that she just can’t stop crying.

“Well, Max and I were just having lunch - I’m here for a few days visiting - but I need to run some errands over there… Max will drive you wherever you’re going,” Sophie says kindly, squeezing Cass’s elbow and firmly leading her snotty and teary self to the roadside, and the next thing she knows she’s seated in the now-familiar front seat of Max’s car with Max getting in next to her and Sophie disappearing rapidly into the distance.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Cass covers her face, mortified. She’s completely derailed Max’s precious time with his mother and now Max has to spend said time driving her around Monaco out of pity. “Yeah, it’s fine,” Max says, shrugging. “Where are you headed, anyway?”

The drive back to the hospital is quiet until Max turns on the radio, which is set to a pop station. A couple of songs in, I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys starts and Max sings along under his breath, tapping the driving wheel. Cass can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Max asks, glancing over at her. He can’t stop the corners of his mouth from curling slightly in response to her happiness. “No, I just - do you remember you had never heard of this song, and you hated it, and now you actually know the words!”

Max smiles back properly at her, at the memory of their drive up to the house in the Cotswolds where he’d been stressing about meeting her dad and she’d been singing terribly, young and carefree and in love. It’s also nice to see Cass looking slightly less depressed. Her nose is still pink and her eyes are red rimmed, but her head has lifted and there’s an alertness in her eyes that had been missing before.

He starts singing along to the song louder, looking between her and the road ahead as she gets overtaken by the giggles at his own terrible voice. The next song goes on and Cass actually gasps when he can sing along to that as well, a new Taylor Swift one. “How on earth do you know this song?” She laughs, wiping tears from her eyes.

“It’s a song about cars,” Max says in all seriousness. “We were driving - see I like driving, there were sirens - slightly less good, but still, if you drive fast enough I suppose that can happen - no nothing good starts in a getaway car! Nice song, I like it.”

“Oh my god,” Cass is fully curled up with laughter, her knees drawn up to her chest as her shoulders shake with hilarity. Max notices that she’s stopped wincing every time they turn a corner, and he feels oddly gratified that she’s confident enough in his driving to know that he wasn’t going to drive them into a wall.

Too soon, they’re pulling up to the hospital. Max drives up to the front of the building, puts the car in park and moves to unbuckle his seatbelt, before pausing. “Hey was there anything you wanted to - you know, talk about?” He says hesitantly, remembering how dazed Cass had looked wandering around the pier.

At first he thinks she’ll say no, that she’ll pretend everything is alright, but she bites her lip, sighs and starts talking.

“My dad’s lawyers came by today, and they were telling me all the things we have to sort out - and they kept saying as soon as possible, as soon as possible. And I just kept thinking to myself that I couldn’t make these decisions on my own, I’d just wait for Luke to wake up and it’d all be fine but then I realised that… well, he might never wake up. He’s been off the coma inducing medication for days and he’s just - they don’t know why he’s not waking up, and all I can think of is how he’s somewhere in there, but he just doesn’t know how to wake up.

The doctors keep saying that I should keep talking to him, and that he can hear me, so I try to play his favourite music and talk to him about F1 things that might interest him, but it’s so hard to just keep going about that when I’m basically reading off Google, and I mean it’s hours and hours of silence to fill. And I can’t help but wonder - does he want me to shut up now? Is he in there somewhere saying, please Cass - some quiet please! He used to do that when we were kids, when I’d be skipping around him and he’d be trying to do these meditation exercises his trainer set him.

And I don’t know when I’m going back to London, or if I can even go back - what if he never wakes up? What do I do? Should I give up my job, or can he move to London, and if he does should I stay with him all the time or should I find a nurse? Should we move back to the Cotswolds and get a nurse there, or should I sell the house and everyone loses their jobs? And all my dad’s companies, what do I do with them? I feel like I’ve wasted the past years of my life honestly because I don’t know what to do about any of this!”

She buries her face in her knees, her hair frizzing empathetically around her head. Max wishes his mum was here to comfort her because he doesn’t know what the protocol is - should he give her a hug or pat her shoulder or kiss her - no, definitely not the last one, she’s not in the right mind for that obviously. He settles on squeezing her shoulder, which she seems to appreciate because she looks up and gives him a watery smile.

He would do anything for her to look even just the teensiest bit less sad. He wracks his brain for anything she might want, but he probably doesn’t have anything to offer her that she can’t get for herself. Except…

“I can tell Luke things about racing,” he offers hesitantly. He’s supposed to fly to Greece with his friends in a week but maybe Luke will be awake by then. He’s sure Luke won’t need him hanging around once he’s woken up. And anyway, if he can lighten Cass’s load even a little bit - especially since he actually loves talking about racing - he’ll do it. If she wants him to.

“Oh, no…” Cass’s response is immediate and damning. “I couldn’t make you do that - you’re on your break, you’ve probably got loads of things planned! No, no - I can just keep reading whatever pops up on the news to Luke. I bought some F1 books online too, so I can start on that if it ever gets quiet.”

“It’s not a problem,” Max insists, swallowing his pride. This is something he can definitely help out with, and he doesn’t want Cass to turn him down out of politeness. “Just for a couple hours a day, anyway. I love talking about racing. I can talk about it for forever, really,” he says as convincingly as he can.

He’s rewarded by a relieved smile from Cass. “If you’re sure - that would be wonderful, thank you, Max,” she says sincerely. She starts to get out of the car but pauses and looks over in confusion when Max opens his door as well. “Did you want to start… today?” She asks, tilting her head. Max looks back in confusion, fairly certain that that was implied in their conversation - she’s also had just had minor breakdown, and he’s mildly offended that she thinks he’d abandon her so quickly after that.

“I’ve got nothing else to do, why not?” Max replies bluntly, getting out and shutting his door a touch harder than he would have otherwise. He takes a deep breath and pats the door of his car - her name is Matilda - apologising silently. It’s not her fault, after all.

Max follows Cass through the maze-like hospital until they reach a vaguely familiar corridor. Cass gasps, and Max peers over her shoulder to see numerous medical staff running into what he recognises as Luke’s room. Cass starts to run towards the room and she’s actually pretty fast, because by the time Max reaches the door she’s already got her arms thrown around a finally awake Luke Errol.

— 

Chapter Text

After another week of observation to make sure that Luke’s condition is stable, the hospital sends him home, broken bones and all. Dr Duval gives Cass a long list of things to watch out for, but can’t stop marvelling at Luke’s miraculous recovery. “These F1 drivers, they’re made of strong stuff, eh?” She shrugs, shooting Luke a flirty smile that Cass has never seen before.

Luke smiles back automatically, but briefly, his smile fading away as he looks down at his lap. He’s sitting in the wheelchair he’ll be confined to for the foreseeable future, his arms in casts, and according to Dr Duval, a good shake might dislodge some important part of his internal machinery. She ignores Cass completely as they walk out of the hospital, chatting with Luke the entire time.

Cass wheels him out of the hospital, where to Cass’s surprise, Charles is waiting with a massive van. Luke had told her that he’d arranged for a ride back to his apartment but he hadn’t mentioned it’d be with Charles. Luke’s teammate has been a regular visitor, so it shouldn’t come as too much of a shock - the Monagesque man is sweetness personified, helping out any way he can. His family has been super sweet as well, his mum sending food via Charles every so often and his brothers helping run errands when she’s been tied to Luke’s side.

“Bonjour, Cass, Luke,” Charles beams at the two sombre siblings as he slides open the door of the van to reveal what looks like a purpose-built interior for someone in a wheelchair. His older brother, Lorenzo, hops out of the van and between the two of them they lift Luke and his wheelchair into the van with ease and attach a load of seatbelts and catches to make sure the chair is securely fastened.

Luke is silent the entire time, his expression fixed in a grimace, and when Cass climbs into the little fold out seat opposite him she taps his cast-bound foot gently to get his attention. “Are you alright? Do you need more painkillers?” She asks in a whisper as Charles and Lorenzo argue about who gets to drive the van in passionate French.

Luke shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, although his face says otherwise. Cass watches him worriedly as Lorenzo wins the argument and gets into the driver’s seat and Charles grumblingly gets into the passenger seat. Luke’s miserable the entire way to his apartment, and Cass waits impatiently for the slow-moving and chatty Leclerc brothers to finally leave before she confronts him about it.

“Luke, don’t be a hero, if you’re in pain you should just take your painkillers!” Cass says in exasperation after Luke insists again that he’s fine. “Just leave me alone, alright? I just want to be fucking alone for a god damn second if that’s okay with you!” He shouts back, face turning red with anger.

Cass is shocked into silence. Of course Luke will want some time alone to process - she’d had weeks to think about the loss of her father, but Luke’s just woken up, and he’s been surrounded by people ever since. And there’s a full-time nurse coming later that afternoon to take care of him, so he’ll be given even less room to breathe. 

Luke’s breathing hard, his brow furrowed, when he catches her expression. “Oh, Cassie, I didn’t mean it that way…” he says, reaching a hand out to her in apology. “No, you’re right,” Cass says, taking his hand absently. “I’ll just - I’ll give you some space, so you can get used to moving the - the wheelchair around,” she says, patting his shoulder.

“Wait, Cassie -” she can hear Luke’s faint voice as she flees from the apartment and heads straight into the lift, eyes filled with tears that she dashes away with an angry hand. She can’t help the competing frustrated thoughts that run through her mind, battling each other for supremacy. She’s abandoned her life at home at a drop of a hat to be here for Luke, but he doesn’t even want her here, he wants to be alone - but how can she leave him alone in this state?

She walks out of the apartment building and bumps straight into Daniel Ricciardo. “We need to stop meeting like this!” He says jovially, grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her from falling backwards. “Oh, no, no, what’s all this?” He uses his sleeve to wipe away the stray tears that are still falling from her eyes.

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, sniffing. “I really don’t believe that,” Daniel says disapprovingly. “Come on, we should get off the street - there’s paparazzi over there.” He herds Cass back into the lobby and into the lifts, where he presses the floor for his apartment. “You were on the way out, I’ll be fine, I can just go back to -” she pauses, not sure where she can go since Luke’s apartment is out of the question.

“Nonsense, I was just going for a run anyway, hanging out with you will be way better,” Daniel says airily, unlocking his door and letting her into his apartment. It’s a lot smaller than Luke’s, more of a place to stay instead of a home, but it has the prerequisite helmets and trophies lining the walls and a brilliant view of the sea.

She takes a seat on his low-slung couch as he busies himself in the kitchen, emerging with two cups of tea, handing one to Cass. “So, what’s the problem, Cass-a-blanca?” Daniel asks, taking a seat opposite her. Cass shakes her head, sighing. Daniel’s a good therapist though, and manages to draw everything out of her within minutes.

“Hmm…” he says, leaning back in his seat. “Have you thought that maybe Luke’s lashing out at you because he’s in pain and frustrated that he can’t carry out tasks on his own? We F1 drivers have big egos, you know.”

“Of course it has… but that doesn’t change the fact that he can’t do things on his own. And I know it’s hard but it’s not my fault, so he should bloody well keep that anger to himself,” Cass mutters rebelliously, crossing her arms. Then she thinks of something else. “Wait, what do you mean there were paparazzi outside?”

Daniel cocks his head. “There’s always paparazzi around, since so many drivers live here. And real celebs too, like Ringo Starr - he’s never here, but he owns one of the apartments. And I heard Rihanna’s got a place here too.”

Cass frowns, her own problems forgotten. “Wait, why does the paparazzi care about drivers?” Daniel’s face morphs into a showman’s grin. “Because we’re handsome, young and glamorous, babe!” He throws his arms wide open as if to show himself off. “They’re everywhere, really. They take pictures of us working out, eating, shopping - you name it.”

Cass thinks about all the times she’s walked around outdoors with Luke, Charles, Daniel… Max. She cringes thinking back on when she’d bumped into Max and his mum near the harbour, looking like a mess, wondering whether cameras had caught them. “Do you think they were at the hospital?” She asks as the thought occurs to her.

Daniel hems and haws awkwardly. “Well there’s pretty good security there, so maybe not,” he hedges, scrunching his nose up. “I would hope they would be a little more tasteful than that, but they are paparazzi so…” He winces.

Cass mulls over this. Luke’s never been one to show weakness. He’s always been the strong one out of the two of them, the protector, sword and shield. He’d be horrified if he knew there were paparazzi around watching him being lifted up in a wheelchair by his teammate. Actually, since Daniel seems to have some super awareness of the presence of paparazzi, maybe he did know they were there. That could have triggered his anger earlier.

She sighs. There’s not really much of a point wondering why he’s mad - it could be any one of the million awful things that’s happened to their family in the past few weeks. Daniel seems to sense a change of mood, since he switches it up by asking her about other things in life that have nothing to do with Luke, including about Jamie and Mara. He’s got an incredible memory, Cass marvels, knowing that he’d met them only once, briefly, years ago.

“And what about your love life?” He asks, making his eyebrows jump up and down devilishly. “Any progress there? Handsome young… ballerinos?” Cass laughs. “We normally just call them male ballet dancers, but you’re right in a sense - they’re called ballerinos in Italy. No, no young ballerinos in my love life.”

“Do I spot some dodging here? What about non-ballerinos?” Daniel probes. Cass thinks about poor old Ben, put on ice since she left for Monaco. He’s written to her a few times, short text messages and longer emails, all about how his album is going to be released soon and his music and photo shoots and interviews he’s going for. Cass has replied infrequently but he’s been undeterred and has kept up correspondence with regularity.

Cass tells Daniel no, but she can tell her doesn’t believe her. They chat about other things for a while, Cass trying to direct most of the conversation to things going on in Daniel’s life to make up for how much they’ve been talking about her problems, and finds out that he’s about to head back to Australia for the rest of the break.

“You can use my apartment if you need some space from your brother,” he offers kindly. Cass shakes her head. “I don’t need the space from him, it’s the other way around - but thank you for your offer,” she says, giving the friendly Aussie a spontaneous hug.

She’s slightly nervous to return back to the apartment, but the nurse is scheduled to arrive soon so she thanks Daniel for his time and heads back upstairs. She unlocks the door and opens it as noisily as she can so that Luke has some notice that she’s back, and finds an apologetic brother on the other side of the door, right where she’d left him.

“Sorry, Cassie,” he says, his face nakedly vulnerable and apologetic. He can’t move himself much, so she walks over and gives him a hug, careful not to squash him. “We’ll figure this out together, okay? Just tell me if you need your space, and I’ll do the same too,” she tells him tenderly. She loves him so much, and she knows she’ll do anything to make him happy.

“When did you get so wise, little bug?” Luke mumbles into her shoulder. She can feel his tears dampening her sleeve but doesn’t say anything, knowing he’ll be embarrassed by them. Bloody fragile male ego. Bloody fragile F1 driver male ego, she reminds herself.

She just hugs him a little bit tighter, leaning her head against his as she lets a couple of tears slip herself, the bittersweetness of having recovered one family member whilst losing another forever washing over her.

—

When they’ve dried their tears, they come up with a code word for needing space - microscope, something they’re sure they won’t have to say otherwise - and then the nurse arrives. Luke had requested for a male nurse, since one of the jobs would be to bathe and clothe him, and Cass is honestly surprised at how handsome the nurse is.

His name is William, he’s far taller than the two diminutive Errols, and he’s got black hair and blue eyes. He looks vaguely like the guy from Criminal Minds - or is it White Collar? Cass can’t remember, partly because she’s so awestruck by the handsomeness of the man. “He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever met,” she whispers to Luke when William goes to wash his hands.

“Oh fuck off, he’s my nurse!” Luke laughs slightly too loudly and Cass shushes him, turning pink when William comes back, smiling and asking them what’s so funny. Cass slinks away to her guest room while Luke and William discuss the plan for how they’ll be working together over the next few weeks, dragging her now-heavy bag of things that she’s collected since she got here and unpacking them.

She stares at each piece of clothing critically, tossing some in the never to be worn again pile and some in the needs a good wash pile. There are only two categories, and she’s deeply thankful that they hadn’t spent another day in the hospital. When she’s done with that, she takes a hot shower with all of Luke’s lovely products and then flops onto her bed.

This is the first time she’s been able to relax since coming to Monaco, since she knows Luke has someone to take care of him, and it’s weird. Her body seems to have become wired to react to the slightest noise or movement around her, and she can’t seem to relax.

She does her laundry, pleased that Luke’s got a separate washer and dryer so her clothes actually come out dry, then flops back onto bed, still filled with adrenaline. The house is cleaned bi-weekly by a nice lady named Nicole whom she’s bumped into a few times while grabbing things from the apartment, so she can’t even tidy up to keep herself busy. William and Luke are still ensconced in Luke’s room, and she reminds herself that Luke needs his space so she shouldn’t barge in.

She decides to put on a newly clean t-shirt and pair of shorts and go for a run. She steals Luke’s expensive earbuds from the kitchen table - God knows why it’s there - and lets herself out, shouting to Luke that she’ll be back soon. She keeps a wary eye out for paparazzi as she leaves the building, but doesn’t spot any. Maybe Daniel had been exaggerating about how much people cared about the drivers.

It’s nice to run in Monaco in December, actually. Its a little bit cool, but the sky is still blue and there are nice views of the sea as she climbs up some steps to reach a viewpoint. There are a couple of people milling about, enjoying the sunshine just like she is, and she gives brief British smiles whenever she makes eye contact with someone. Otherwise, she’s left alone to contemplate the beauty of the view in front of her.

—

Max is huffing and puffing up the steps of his usual route, hating every step. He fucking hates running, but he’s been having too good of a time with his mum and needs to drop some weight before seeing his dad next week.

He finally reaches the top of the steps and takes a huge sigh of relief, almost choking on the next breath in when he sees Cass standing at the railing facing the sea, hair whipping around her in the wind. He looks like absolute shit, all red faced and sweaty, and probably smells even worse given he’d had a mega night out the night before and is exuding vodka from his pores. Of course this is how he looks when he sees her.

She looks incredible as always, wearing the tiniest pair of shorts he’s seen, her toned calves flexing as she goes on tiptoe from one leg to the other, trying to spot something in the distance. He hesitates, not knowing whether to say hello. She seems a lot happier than she’s been every other time they’ve met, probably because Luke’s presumably a lot better.

That day at the hospital, he’d kind of run away once he saw that Luke was awake, figuring that Cass didn’t really need his help anymore since she had Luke. He’s tortured himself over that decision ever since, wondering whether he should have stayed to support her. But she looks happy now, so he tells himself he made the right choice.

As he’s debating over whether to go over or not, she turns and catches sight of him. Her eyes widen and she comes right over before pausing and looking around nervously. Max looks around too, not sure what she’s looking for. There’s a couple of old people doing stretches in a corner, a couple making out… nothing out of the ordinary for this place.

He flattens his hair, which he just remembers he didn’t comb after waking up, as she approaches. “Hey, how are you?” Cass sounds happier too, a slight smile on her face. So she isn’t mad at him for leaving, which is good. “Yeah I’m okay,” Max says, smiling back. “Just out for a run, trying to lose this,” he pats his stomach, which he is fairly confident is still flat even if he doesn’t have the six pack some of the other drivers flaunt.

She squints at it and nods seriously, and he feels slightly self conscious until her expression breaks and she laughs at him in the unrestrained way she used to. “Oh come off it, you know you’re well fit,” Cass says, slapping his arm gently in a friendly way. He can’t stop a thrill from running through him at how easy she’s being with him.

“So how’s Luke been?” She brightens up even more and tells him about how Luke’s been allowed to go home, and then about his good looking nurse, William. Max deflates as Cass goes on about how the nurse looks like some actor on a television show he’s never watched, with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Whilst Max has pretty piercing blue eyes if he does say so himself, his hair is unmistakably dirty blonde.

“But yeah, it’s good - it’s such a relief to not live in the hospital anymore, and Luke should be able to walk in a couple of months and then I can go home!” Cass beams at Max, who stands there as if struck by lightning because two thoughts have just occurred to him - firstly, that Cass is now living a few floors above him, and secondly, that she’s going to leave soon.

Maybe that’s what spurs him to ask her a question that’s been on the tip of his tongue even if he’s been telling himself that it’s absolutely a terrible decision to retread old ground when he knows that this path will inevitably lead to pain and suffering when she goes back to London and picks her career over him once again - just as he will inevitably choose his career every time too. There’s too many people relying on him - not to mention his own burning ambitions - to do anything else.

“Do you want to get a coffee or something now?” He smiles hopefully at Cass, who looks around again, distracted. “Um… sure, yeah why not?” It’s not the most enthusiastic of responses, but Max beams as if he’s just won a race.

They walk towards the main road, where there’s a cafe that Max sometimes stops at to get water or - in the off season - an ice cream. Max is talking nineteen to the dozen the entire time, telling Cass about what he’d done with his mum and about his sister coming to visit in a couple of weeks. Cass chimes in every now and then, remembering a lot more than he’d have expected about things he’d said about his family back when they were dating.

“Please let me pay for this,” Cass says when they’ve ordered an ice cream and coffee each. “I have to thank you for driving me back the day that Luke woke up - and your mum as well, she was so great.” Max blushes when Cass teasingly puts her hand on his arm to stop him from taking some cash out of his pocket, and then blushes even more when she leans across him to pay with her own money, the side of her body flush against his.

They take a seat in the cafe, and Max wonders how he’s going to turn this from the thank you drink that Cass seems to think this is into the date drink that he wants it to be. “Are you okay? You look kind of flushed,” Cass says, tilting her head to one side and considering his pink cheeks. “Maybe from the run? How long were you running for before we met up?”

“Oh just - half an hour or something,” Max stumbles through his answer, distracted when Cass tugs her hair out of its ponytail and starts running her fingers through it. His eyes track her fingers, his mouth falling open slightly. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring but he must have missed a question she asked because she pauses, bringing him back to reality.

“Sorry?” He asks, blushing again. “Nice to know I’m that uninteresting,” Cass laughs, kicking his shin gently with the tip of her sneaker. “Hey!” Max protests, frowning jokily at Cass. “A real F1 driver would have seen it coming a mile away and dodged,” she teases back. “Oh yeah? You caught me by surprise, see if you can do it again,” Max challenges, schooling his expression into nonchalance but the speed of his heartbeat is almost as quick as when he’s in a race.

Cass pretends to be thinking about it, then sticks her foot out again the second he pretends to look away. He catches her ankle with ease, laughing at her put out expression. She’s insanely competitive, he remembers, so losing to him would really annoy her. When he looks at her, she doesn’t look annoyed at all, more surprised, which makes him smile. He’s got quicker reflexes than nearly everyone else in the world, so he’s not sure why she looks so surprised that he can anticipate her actions.

She bites her lip, still not saying anything, then she looks down at his hand, which he realises is still wrapped around her ankle, his thumb acting on it’s own volition and stroking her ankle bone. “Oh, I’m sorry -” he drops her ankle quickly, sure that she’s about to run from him for being an absolute pervert.

“I -” Cass looks down at her ankle then back up at him, conflicted. She says something under her breath.

“What did you say?” He asks, reaching across the table and grabbing her hand impulsively. His heart is hammering in his chest at the risk, but he’s never been one to shy away from things that scare him. Cass looks up at him, raising her eyebrows challengingly. “I said - I said I liked it, okay?” She throws at him, her fingers pressing against his. He can feel her hand shaking slightly, and her nervousness makes him bolder.

“Oh yeah? What about this?” He reaches his other hand across the table and tucks an unruly lock of hair behind her ear, stroking the back of her neck with his fingers like he’s been wanting to since she took her hair out of its ponytail. Her pulse thrums under his thumb, as quick as a hummingbird.

She licks her lips quickly, convulsively. She takes a breath, eyes fixed on his. “Do you want to get out of here?” She whispers, blinking nervously. He couldn’t look away from her if he tried, green  eyes locked onto his blue as if they had a magnetic pull. He nods breathlessly, and they leave the cafe in a hurry, her hand gripped in his as if he’s scared she’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. He is scared. Scared, filled with exhilaration, he feels as if he’s in the middle a dream.

They’re actually not far from their apartment building, but Max flags a cab because he can’t bear to wait another second more than he has to. Within minutes, the grumbling cabbie drops them off at the building and Max passes him way more than the ride cost, making the cabbie’s face light up. They’re in the lift within a minute of getting into the building, the receptionists looking away discretely as they pass, and they can’t keep their hands off each other.

He doesn’t know how they manage to make it to his apartment without anyone they know spotting them - God knows there are a dozen different people who could have - but he fumbles with his key in the lock for a second before they’re finally in privacy, and he sends a quick thank you to Jesus for how little they both wore that day because it takes seconds to get absolutely blessedly naked and he can kiss every inch of pale, freckled skin that is now revealed to him.

They’ve not made it very far into his apartment - in fact, he has her pressed up against the interior of his front door, on his knees worshipping her as her fingers tangle in his hair, one hand wrapped around the back of her knee as he pulls it over his shoulder to get better access to her inner thigh and the heaven between her legs.

—

“Max, please…” Cass is almost incoherent as Max laps at her core, his memory of every single spot that makes her toes curl impeccable despite the years. Never in a million years did she think that this would be where she’d wind up on this day, which had started with Luke getting out of the hospital.

She’s seeing stars before long, her back arching and pressing her head against the door as Max finds the exact spot that brings her to her knees, pushing him back so that he’s flat on the floor. “That’s how you want to play it?” He actually grins at her, the bastard, so she runs a hand up his chest to pin him to the ground and straddles his hips, reaching her other hand down to get the perfect angle to slide down onto him.

They both groan as the tip of him enters her, and her breath catches as she shifts her hips back and forth in tiny movement, each move bringing them closer and closer together until he’s fully inside her. She leans down, chest to chest, and kisses him, her forehead pressed against his as she remembers the bliss of being with Max. There’s no one who has ever made her feel this way other than him.

Max rocks his hips up into her once, twice, before getting impatient and flipping the two of them over in one smooth movement, his hand bringing her leg up around his hip and driving into her at a blistering pace.

“You feel fucking amazing,” Max murmurs, one hand curled protectively around her back to reduce the friction of her back against his hardwood floors. She’s basically forgotten every word she’s ever learnt, making sounds that might make her embarrassed if she actually had the capacity to feel any emotion other than absolute fucking lust at this point of time. Max on the other hand is pouring Dutch words onto her skin as his thrusts get sloppier.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs into her ear. Cass responds by pulling his head down for a kiss, but Max pulls away, pausing in his movements and pinning her arms above her head. “Say it,” he growls. Cass could strangle him for stopping, and she wriggles against his grip, whining pathetically. “Say it,” he repeats, squeezing her wrists possessively.

“Fine,” she grits out, even though she is fairly certain that this is duress and absolutely wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, if one could be found to take on a case like this. “I’m yours, Max,” she breathes, twisting one wrist out from Max’s grasp and reaching around his head to pull him down for a deep kiss. Max groans into her lips at her words, and resumes his movements. It’s like he can sense that she’s close, and he starts pushing her to reach her climax, teasing her with his fingers, tongue and by the inescapable, all encompassing heat of his thrusts driving into her.

She feels like she’s on Rainbow Road in that Mario game she used to play with Luke as a kid, climbing up and up and up with dizzying euphoria before falling into an abyss of space, as she convulses around Max, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she comes so violently that her vision goes almost entirely black.

By the time her vision has returned, Max is groaning, face pressed into the crook of her neck as his hips stutter, filling her with warmth as he moves to press his lips to hers, kissing her as if there’s no tomorrow. “Fucking hell, I missed you,” he sighs, running his thumb over her lips. She opens her mouth and bites the tip of his thumb gently, eyes fixed on his in a wordless challenge.

“Oh yeah? You want to go there?” Max leans down and brushes his nose against hers. “When I’m done with you you’re not going to be able to walk,” he whispers teasingly into her ear, biting the lobe which backfires on him totally when her hips buck against his in response. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he hisses as he feels her wrapping herself around him like a vice.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Cass shoots back, a smile in her voice.

—

It’s dark by the time they’re lying panting on Max’s bed, completely exhausted. “Can’t believe the sun’s set already,” Max marvels as he turns his head to look out at the glittering lights of the harbour, visible now in the dark of night.

Cass murmurs her agreement, then shoots up. “Oh my gosh, how long has it been? Luke’s probably freaking the hell out, I didn’t even bring my phone - I’d better get back,” she babbles, getting up and running out of his room. He follows at a more leisurely pace, vaguely amused to see her running buck naked through his apartment as she gets dressed quickly by his front door, slightly scared that she’s running away from him.

She looks back at him as he stands in his kitchen fully naked while she’s fully dressed and shoots him a grin. “Legs wobbling, but nowhere near unable to walk. A real man keeps his promises, Verstappen,” she teases, and his heart fills like a balloon at her words, the implicit promise that this isn’t a goodbye but a see you later.

She opens his door, about to leave, when he darts forward and pulls her in a kiss, something to remind her of how fucking excellent they are together. “Okay, now you can go,” he murmurs into her hair, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her around, giving her a pat on the bottom to shove her gently out the door.

She grabs one of his hands and gives his wrist a little nibble, before walking - legs genuinely trembling, Max is gratified to see - to the lift and getting in, blowing him a kiss as the doors close.

Max finds himself grinning at nothing, so he closes the door but the smile on his face doesn’t abate at all as he walks himself into his shower. Well, he thinks to himself. That’s a turn up for the books.

—

“You look very happy,” Luke comments to Cass over the breakfast table as she eats her eggs and avocado toast. One of his arms is out of it’s sling, and he’s able to eat his gross gloopy oatmeal by himself, which is a massive win considering William’s been feeding him for the past three weeks since he left the hospital.

Cass looks up and grins at him. “It’s a big day for us, you can eat by yourself! And it’s only a couple of weeks until your leg casts come off, and then you’ll be in physical therapy and then you’ll be all better!” Luke’s recovery is genuinely miraculous, Dr Duval says glowingly every time they go back to the hospital for a check-up, and his orthopaedic surgeon and physiotherapist agree that his bones seem to be mending at an absolutely fantastic rate.

It’s cheered Luke up to no end, meaning they’ve been in a good mental space to work on their dad’s estate. They’ve had meetings with the lawyers and Luke’s decided to move into the Cotswolds house so they’ll keep that. All other properties and businesses are going to be sold, and Luke’s business manager has been working on finding appropriate buyers who won’t rip their dad’s life’s work to pieces.

It’s a huge weight off her chest to know that they’ve managed to sort things out. It’s been years since they’ve spent this much time together, just the two of them, without any special occasion like a birthday or Christmas to celebrate, but they’ve been busy and productive enough that they’ve not had a reason to use their code word for needing space. It’s really nice to have this time away from both of their absolutely consuming lines of work, just hanging out and being with each other.

But the main reason for her smile is that she’s been living an absolutely secret, toe-curlingly exhilarating secret life that Luke has no idea about. She’s been going into the lift for “hikes”, heading straight to Max’s apartment, and emerging hours later with Luke none the wiser. She’s not been this happy in years, tainted only when she feels pangs of sadness for having lost her father, but she’s honestly never thought that she could be this happy other than when receiving her applause at the end of a performance.

“What are you up to today?” Luke asks as he drinks his coffee. “We’ve got the doctor’s appointment, and then I was going to go for a run maybe,” Cass shrugs. “You don’t have to come to see the physio with me,” Luke says. He’s been moving around much more independently, and she must admit that she’s been more of an observer than any big help at the appointments. William’s the one helping Luke in and out of the wheelchair and driving them around, and Luke is fully capable of doing anything Cass has been doing - namely, paying the bills.

“You could try and figure out who those random people in Dad’s will are,” Luke suggests. Cass groans. They’d managed to sort out what to do with the bits of their dad’s estate that were left to them, but there are a long list of bequeathments and requests from their dad to people he wants to be taken care of. Most of those people are known to them, but there are a few names they don’t recognise.

“You don’t have to talk to them or anything, just do some Googling,” Luke chides her. She reluctantly agrees, knowing that Luke’s got an agonising day of physical therapy ahead of him so she’s not got much to deal with in comparison. When Luke leaves, she grabs the laptop she bought a week into her stay in Monaco and brings it down to Max’s apartment, ringing the bell.

The door opens, but Max doesn’t let her in. Instead, he nudges her with his hip so that she takes a step backwards, and turns to lock the door. “What’s happening?” She asks, bemused. All of her plans of the day have been upended, it seems.

“We are going out,” Max says, taking her by the elbow and walking towards the lift purposefully. “Are you crazy? Someone might see us!” She’s become much more paranoid about being photographed in public since Daniel told her about the paparazzi around Monaco, and this would be the first time they’ve left the building together since that first day.

“Calm down princess, we’re going to my car in the basement and straight to the yacht club and then right onto a boat heading into the middle of nowhere with no one around,” Max rolls his eyes, pressing the B button in the lift. “And the yacht club is members only, no paparazzi allowed.” She relaxes slightly, turning to give him a kiss hello. “That’s more like it,” Max says, sliding a teasing hand under the hem of her mini skirt and giving her butt a squeeze.

They get into Max’s SUV and Cass has to admit that it’s nice to be outdoors with Max. He’s got a keenly observant eye, pointing out things he thinks Cass might find interesting or funny, and keeping a running game where they guess what kind of person is driving each of the many fancy cars that they see on the streets of Monaco.

“Look at that one - Rolls Royce Phantom, definitely a middle aged man in a suit with his driver,” Cass says confidently. Max laughs. “Babe, this is Monaco - it’s going to be a mid-twenties gold digger with her twin toddlers, on their way to another lavish birthday party at the Hotel de Paris,” he replies, crowing with laughter when his guess is proved right. The passengers even have a bunch of helium balloons with big cursive 3s on them to show that they’re most likely on their way to a birthday party.

“You’re too good at this,” Cass says, shaking her head and refusing to play anymore. “Aww, are you feeling sad because you’re losing?” Max makes an exaggerated pouty face at her and she rolls her eyes, punching him in the arm. He catches her hand and gives her wrist a kiss. They spend the rest of the short drive holding hands, Max using Cass’s hand to change the radio station a couple of times.

Its sunny and the sky is a brilliant blue when they get to the yacht club which does indeed have intense security. Whether by design or by there not being many people left in Monaco in winter, they don’t see another person at the club other than the staff leading them to Max’s boat, none of whom seem to care who either of them is.

There’s no one on the little boat except the two of them, since Max insists he can pilot it himself. Cass is secretly a little worried, but decides to put her faith in him, as he starts the engine and the boat starts moving slowly in the direction of open water.

He’s such a child, she thinks to herself fondly as Max drives directly into whichever wave he can find, whooping as they catch air then looking back at her guiltily to make sure she’s not fallen overboard or gotten sick. It should feel weird to be spending this much time with her ex-boyfriend, but since Luke and her dad’s accident she’s come to realise that life is short and that she shouldn’t spend too much time second guessing herself and what she wants.

They’ve slipped into an easy routine, almost as if they were back in the Cotswolds house at the start of 2016, and if she closes her eyes she can pretend that they’re those same 18 year old kids, ready to take on the world and without a single bloody clue that the same world was about to wallop them around the head.

She leans back against the railing, letting her hair billow madly around her head with the wind. She’s absolutely not dressed for a day out on a boat in December, in her tank top and mini-skirt that she’d truthfully worn so that she’d have as little clothing as possible to take off and put on once she got to Max’s place.

Max spots her shivering and beckons her over to him, slowing the boat down to a stop so she won’t fall over. She stands up on wobbly legs and makes her way over, where he pulls her into his chest and wraps his arms around her. The warmth of his body is heaven after being buffeted by the cold wind. “Sorry, kleintje, forgot to tell you to bring a jacket,” he murmurs into her hair.

“Forgot to tell me we were going out,” Cass corrects him sniffily, tilting her head up so that he can  give her an apologetic kiss. “Isn’t it nice to do something spontaneous?” He asks, distracting her completely by pressing a series of butterfly kisses behind her ear, down her jaw. “I hate spontaneous,” she says mutinously, crossing her arms.

“I love spontaneous,” he says, childishly. Cass rolls her eyes at the obvious statement. That’s always been their greatest point of difference - Cass is all about following a plan, minimal risk, preparing for every eventuality so she’s never caught unawares. Max is chaos, problem solving on the fly, taking advantages where he can and rolling with the punches.   

But life has thrown her some absolutely left field problems, and maybe she can benefit from being more like Max, she thinks to herself, leaning her head against Max’s chest. This entire time in Monaco has been a deviation from her normal life, a bittersweet, terrifying, devastating time made better only by the boy standing behind her right that second. She knows she’ll have to return to her normal life eventually, but for the time being she allows herself to relax into the strong arms wrapped around her.

—

When they find a nice, secluded spot in the shade of a cliff - sun-loving Max’s concession to Cass’s easily burned skin - Max throws the anchor overboard to park the boat and asks if she wants to go for a swim. “Are there sharks?” Cass asks doubtfully, looking at the crystal clear water. She can see some fish swimming around, and where there’s shark food there’s normally sharks.

“Oh - yeah maybe, look there, do you see one?” Cass squints in the direction that Max is pointing in, leaning forward when she can’t see anything. “No, I can’t see anything,” she begins, turning to Max to respond when Max wraps his arms around her waist and jumps overboard, causing an almighty splash as Cass struggles to get free.

“You - absolute - arse!” She splutters as freezing cold water gets absolutely everywhere, including her nose. Max is laughing his head off, absolutely thrilled at having caught Cass by surprise. “I’ve not even got any swimming gear on!” She looks down at her tank top and the linen mini skirt now floating around her waist. She’d luckily taken her shoes off when she’d gotten on the boat, if not they’d be floating somewhere around the sea floor.

“You can have my shirt later, okay?” Max promises, slightly contrite when he sees her shivering in the water. He starts pressing little kisses to her jaw to distract her enough that she mutes her protests for a while. “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he whispers in her ear, swimming away when she tries to kick him underwater.

Soon she’s forgotten her fears of sharks and is swimming around in the little spot of shade that Max has found. Her body has acclimatised to the cold water, and the swimming has warmed her up somewhat. Even then, she’s more than happy to get out of the water and stands obediently as Max rubs at her hair and skin with a fluffy towel to get her dry. “Okay, now sunblock, then we’re going into the sun to warm up,” Max orders, handing her a massive bottle of sunblock that he pulls from a little box near the steering wheel.

He’s thought of everything, it seems, including having a picnic lunch left onboard by the yacht club kitchens. Max shows off to Cass by doing flips off the boat as she munches on crisps and baguette sandwiches, and she shouts out scores to him for each jump.

“That was absolutely more than a six!” He shouts as she props her head on the side of the boat, smiling at his indignant little face bobbing in the water. Cass shoots him a grin. “All decisions final, I’m afraid,” she says loftily. “I did a backflip, kleintje!” He swims towards the boat with purpose and then shakes his wet hair all over her, making her shriek. “You must be freezing, that water is so cold,” she sputters.

“I can think of a way to warm up,” Max says suggestively, caging her in with his arms where she’s lying on the little canvas mattress that makes up the seating of the boat. “Oh yeah?” Cass murmurs against his lips as he nibbles at hers, licking each little bite.

—

“Oh my gosh, I totally forgot to look for the randos,” Cass groans when they’re back in Max’s apartment a few hours later. Max tilts his head, not sure what that means and wondering whether his English vocabulary is more limited than he thought.

“My dad left all these random people money, and Luke said I should try and figure out who they are so we can get in touch with them, because my dad only gave their names and not any address or anything,” Cass explains, opening her laptop.

“Look - there’s the list. And I’ve got to at least try and Google a couple of them so that Luke doesn’t get suspicious about what I’ve been doing all day,” Cass says, pointing at her screen. Max shrugs. “That’ll take you about ten minutes, won’t it? Come on, we can smash this,” he says, sitting down on his couch and tugging her towards him.

She sits between his legs, resting her back against his chest. “Okay, first name is Benedict Lumley… okay, there are like a billion hits, how will we know who this guy is?” Cass frets, clicking on the first few links. “Maybe we have to think based on where your dad might have met these people? So - oh, this Benedict guy is from London, maybe that’s him? Write him down,” Max urges, getting really into the search.

They do searches on the first few - Benedict, Nancy Thornton who seems to be a greengrocer in the village her dad’s family lived in when he was a kid, Charles Finnegan who might be a horse jockey since her dad had a vague interest in horses. “Okay, the next one is Josefina Carrera. Ooh, someone who might be from somewhere other than England,” Max says, reading out from the list.

Cass types the name into the Google search bar and they wait for the results. When the image searches pop up on the top bar, Max’s mouth falls open. “Holy shit, Cass, she looks just like you!” He blurts, before looking down at Cass. Her face is pale as always, but her expression is frozen. She shakes herself from her daze and snaps her laptop shut.

“Luke’s probably going to be back soon,” she says distantly, gathering her little bag of wet clothes and laptop and getting up from the couch. Max is silent, aware that something odd is going on but not having much confidence in his ability to manoeuvre this situation - namely, that he thinks he’s just seen a picture of his - his Cass’s estranged mother for the first time, a mother whose name she hadn’t even known.

He doesn’t say anything to stop her from leaving, not wanting to take a wrong step since this has always been Cass’s absolute most sensitive spot, but the second she does he goes to his own laptop and looks up Josefina Carrera.

He’d never have thought that Cass’s mum would have been anyone other than a red-haired, pale faced person from somewhere in the UK or Northern Europe,  given her dad’s colouring is much darker than hers, but Josefina Carrera is from Madrid and she’s an actress with a string of credits in what seem to be Spanish soap operas. Her headshot must be really old, because she looks nearly Cass’s age although the age on her bio is about the right age to be Cass’s mum. 

He’s not surprised that Cass clammed up and disappeared after seeing her mum. He definitely knows about parental tension and drama, and Cass has always been extremely conflict averse. She’s like a little turtle, retreating into her shell so that no one can see her soft underbelly, pretending to be hard as nails.

But she’s so incredibly sensitive about this topic - probably even more so now since her dad’s passing - that Max knows he has to be very careful if he brings it up around her. And he desperately wants to, just to see what’s under that little shell of hers. He takes out his phone and types out a text message:

hey I’m here to talk if you want

Then he deletes it, letter by letter. It seems almost too pushy - he knows she doesn’t want to talk. He types a new one, which he actually sends.

U ok?

He has a dinner with friends planned, but he’s glued to his phone the whole night, checking obsessively in case a response has arrived. “Oi, fuckface, get off your phone. Whichever bird you’re chasing, there’s a million more like her in this club alone,” one of his friends, Nelson, slurs, slinging his arm around Max’s shoulders.

Max shrugs him off irritatedly. Nelson doesn’t know what he’s talking about. There is and has always been only one girl for him, no matter who he might have dated or slept with over the years. Now that Cass is back in his life he intends to make sure she never leaves it.

—

Chapter Text

Cass can barely remember how she got back to Luke’s flat, laptop dangling from her hand as if the information on it can physically burn her. She shuts the door carelessly behind her, the stillness of the place letting her know that Luke isn’t yet back from the physio.

She wanders around the empty flat aimlessly, leaving her laptop on the kitchen island. She doesn’t want to open it again because she knows that it will immediately open to the image of her - Josefina Carrera, the woman who looks exactly like her, that she’s never heard of before, the person whom she has known from the second she saw her photo is her mother. Her body shivers involuntarily, almost repulsed by the idea.

How could her dad leave this ticking time bomb for her to find? She can’t believe he’d be so cruel, putting that woman’s name in the middle of a list of - of greengrocers, and racing jockeys, of people who have absolutely no emotional connection to his children. Almost hidden, waiting patiently for an unsuspecting Cass to get slapped in the face with this information. A name.

When she was a little girl she used to watch other kids being dropped off and picked up by their parents at ballet class. She’d be dropped off by her dad’s driver, since her dad was usually in London on work or somewhere across the continent with Luke at some form of racing competition. Little girls were invariably brought by their mums, holding hands, sitting in their laps as their hair was tidied and pulled back with gentle fingers into neat buns.

She’d learned early how to manage her own unruly red hair, scraping and twisting and pinning until every last strand was absolutely perfectly flat against her head. She’d make sure to arrive just before class started so that she’d avoid watching parents asking the teachers about their precious angels. Each of them thought their child was the best dancer in the class, she could tell.

Madame Leroy wasn’t as generous with her praise, but she was the only one who cared about Cass, so she’d pushed herself harder and harder to stand out until even Emma Vicker’s mother, an absolute dance mum, had told her after a performance that she’d been absolutely lovely. Madame Leroy had once given her a pat on the shoulder and a smile, which was more than she had done for any other student. And she’d given her the most important thing, a letter of reference for the Royal Ballet School.

Needing a distraction, she pulls everything out of Luke’s fridge - she’s stocked it well, wanting Luke to derive some joy from eating even when he’d been so depressed at having to be fed by William - and starts cooking. By the time Luke returns from his day at the hospital, sore and tired, there’s a seasoned steak waiting for the grill, a fish stew bubbling on the stove, heaps of mashed potatoes, grilled vegetables and two kinds of pasta.

“Are we expecting guests?” Luke asks, peering up at the kitchen counter from his wheelchair. “You know it’s just the two of us, right? William’s moving on to his next client since I’ve got the casts off.” Cass groans, smacking her forehead with her palm. “I totally forgot,” she says, surveying the absolutely packed kitchen counter.

“No biggie, I can invite some friends over so we don’t waste too much,” Luke says, pulling out his phone. He insists he’s not too tired, and sends a couple of messages out before disappearing into his room to change. It’s the first time he’s suggested having people over since the accident, and Cass has a feeling that it’s because he can now move his arms and can finally say goodbye to his nurse.

Either way, Cass is relieved that not too many questions are being asked, and runs to fetch Luke’s good dinner service set and wine glasses, putting them out on the massive dining table that never gets used after clearing all the rubbish Luke’s left on it.

No one’s arrived yet when she’s done all that, so she starts lighting candles and scrolling through Spotify to find the perfect playlist. “Luke, who’s coming?” She shouts in the direction of Luke’s door. Half of choosing the music is knowing who the audience is, after all. “Charles, Daniel and Lewis!” Luke shouts back through the door.

Hmm, more people than she expected. She goes to fetch more place settings and glasses, and checks on the food, wondering if it’ll be enough for four hungry drivers. She’s in the middle of putting a side of salmon in the oven when Luke emerges from his room. “You’re cooking more?” He asks in surprise.

He’s changed into a clean t-shirt and joggers, his uniform since the accident. She knows it must be killing him to wear joggers in front of all his friends, especially fashionable ones like Lewis. “Oi, Cass,” he nudges her with his foot, still encased in its white plaster cast. “You okay? You look kind of spaced out.”

Cass chews on her bottom lip, not sure whether she should talk to Luke about Josefina. On the one hand, he’s the one person in the world who’ll understand her. On the other hand… She sees him wince slightly when he jostles his broken leg, and thinks to herself that he’s got enough on his plate to worry about.

She shakes her head, giving him her brightest smile and giving him a squeeze on his shoulder. “No, nothing - just a little tired,” she says. Luke gives her a suspicious look and opens his mouth to say something when the sound of a horn honking goes through the whole flat. “Oh! The door!” She walks away quickly to open the front door, saved by the doorbell.

Thankfully, all three of Luke’s friends have arrived at the same time, and Luke’s distracted by welcoming them. “I brought a couple of bottles of wine,” Lewis says, presenting a clinking bag to Luke. “Mate, there’s like four bottles of wine here,” Luke laughs, peering in. “Woah, this is a really good one, thank you!”

“We’re just happy that you’re feeling well enough to have us over,” Lewis says, clearly the designated leader of the trio. “You know, for a while we thought - well. We’ve lost enough good people on the grid. We’re glad you’re okay.” He leans down to give Luke a hug, and Cass has to turn away to wipe a tear from her eye. Her problems seem so immaterial next to this reminder that only weeks ago she wasn’t sure if she’d be the only Errol left. She vows to forget about Josefina. Whoever she is.

“If you guys want to take a seat, I’ll bring the food out?” She suggests to the quadrant of drivers, all of whom look slightly watery-eyed. “Let us help you!” Charles, ever chivalrous, insists. Between them they get all the food on the table and wine in glasses in short order.

“Wait, wait - first a toast!” Daniel says, standing dramatically and lifting his glass. Luke, who’d shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth, pauses with his cheeks bulging, shooting a look at his Australian friend. “Luke, you’re amazing; Cass you’re amazing.” Cass starts in surprise, not sure why attention is being drawn to her. “Luke, this girl is dedicated, okay? She lived in that hospital. She’s an absolute gem, a real mensch.”

Cass suddenly remembers crying to Daniel about how mean Luke had been to her and blushes violently. “Thanks Daniel, you’re great too,” she murmurs, lifting her glass to him, and hoping he’s done. He’s not.

“Luke - you’re incredible, you look great, are you growing younger? Just kidding, you look almost as old as Lewis here,” he snorts at his own joke. “And I look forward to seeing you back on the grid in March. Mwah!” He blows Luke a kiss and drains his glass, not seeing Cass’s face turn absolutely white.

It hadn’t even occurred to her that Luke might return to racing. Dr Duval’s dire warnings about how a good shake might dislodge something important inside Luke fill her mind, and she turns panicked eyes on Luke, who’s staring down at his plate with intense fascination. “What?” She said faintly. Luke pretends not to hear her, saying something about Ferrari to Charles who laughs and looks at Luke with hero worship.

She doesn’t want to talk to Luke about it in front of his friends, but resolves to bring it up with her older brother the second they leave. The rest of the dinner is spent pushing food around her plate, biting her tongue. Lewis seems to notice her subdued mood and makes a valiant effort to ask her about her own life, since the other three are reminiscing about their on track battles.

“So, when are you heading back to London?” He asks innocently. Cass automatically looks across at Luke, still fairly bandaged up, then back at Lewis. “Ah,” he says, nodding after catching her look before she can say anything. He gives Luke a considering look, then gives Cass a reassuring smile. “I think it’ll be a couple of weeks, but he should be pretty much back to normal after. I’ve seen my fair share of breaks, and from what Luke told us his were pretty clean.”

Cass’s own experience with breaks is very doom and gloom, the slightest fracture meaning a dancer is out for a week - that is, at least five performances. The drivers seem to have a more pragmatic approach to cuts and scrapes than the admittedly dramatic ballet dancers. What can she say, they’re trained in theatricality. But if Luke’s all healed up, there’s no reason for her to be here anymore.

Going back to London… it’s honestly not something she’s spent much time thinking about, her focus being on getting Luke better here in Monaco. They’ve discussed him moving back to their house in the Cotswolds, holding a memorial service for their dad, spending a bit more time with their extended family, all those things - but they seemed very abstract back when Luke was still bedridden. Now it’s becoming real.

A few more weeks in Monaco and she can return to her normal life, the life she’s chosen. Morning to night in the ballet studio and on the stage, mimicking love and despair and ecstasy on the stage for an audience. Living for applause, for praise, for the adoration of the crowd.

Suddenly it all seems so empty. She looks at Luke, laughing at something cheeky Daniel’s said, and knows that she’ll find it hard to return to her quiet flat after spending so much time with her beloved brother. It’s nice to be needed, to come home to someone asking her how her day was spent - even if she’s been lying through her teeth to Luke about that every day.

“Cass-o-lantern, we’re going to go out to the club - do you want to come?” Daniel is leaning back in his seat, balancing precariously on two legs, and Cass has to remind herself that the childish driver is actually much older than her and can be trusted to handle himself. “Lorenzo is coming too, he’d like to see you,” Charles chips in, eyes sparkling. He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and Luke chimes in before she can refuse.

“Oh, go on Cassie - it’ll do you some good to get out,” he encourages, giving her a smile. She can’t tell if he’s trying to delay their inevitable fight about his return to F1 or if he just really thinks she needs a life. “Are you sure you don’t need help…?” She trails off, knowing Luke is very sensitive about showing any dependency on other people in front of his competitors. True to form, Luke insists that he’ll be fine on his own and even Lewis, who isn’t going out with the other two, joins in and tells her she should go.

She wouldn’t mind a night away from thinking about serious things, she decides. She’s been stressed out all afternoon with all the developments - Josefina Carrera, Luke back in F1, returning to London - and she thinks a night with these two silly, funny boys could be just what she needs.

Cass agrees to join them, and the boys cheerfully offer to clear up the dining table and do the washing up to give her some time to get ready. Here she’s faced with another conundrum - what to wear. The only thing that might have suited, her little mini skirt, is soaking wet in the bottom of her laundry basket. Everything else she has here is designed for comfort rather than style.

In the end she steals a white shirt and black belt from Luke’s closet, creating a makeshift dress. Luke is a couple of inches taller than Cass, and much broader, so it works out fairly well. At least, all her important bits are covered. She puts on some makeup, the beat up black Gucci loafers she wore from London, and the single gold chain that Luke had bought for himself (and never worn) after watching a Kanye West video.

“What do you think?” She asks Luke, who’s sitting in the kitchen chatting with his friends as they tidy up. She fiddles anxiously with the gold chain as the four men turn around. “You look fine!” Luke says. “Wait is that my shirt? It’s kind of short, don’t you think?”

“Fine?” Cass echoes, slightly disheartened. “Do you think I’ll be able to get into the club?” The boys chorus a yes, confidence which Cass thinks might have something to do with the fact that she’ll be accompanied by a pair of high profile F1 drivers rather than anything about how she looks.

True enough, when they get to the club the bouncers barely look at her, giving Daniel and Charles manly backslaps and waving them in without any fuss. Charles’ brother and a couple of his other friends meet them at the entrance, and they’re all led to the VIP area by a gorgeous hostess in a slinky white dress, which Cass stares at enviously, tugging the hem of her shirt-dress the entire time.

She doesn’t know whether every night is like this in Monaco, but the club is extremely packed. Her shortness is definitely a hindrance here, as she keeps losing sight of the group as the crowd swallows her up. Thankfully, a hand appears out of the sea of people and grabs her hand, pulling her into the VIP section.

“Thanks, Lorenzo,” she says fervently to her saviour. It’s been a while since she’s been so surrounded by people, and she thinks she might have just turned around and gone home if she’d gotten stuck in the mass. Or maybe she would have just been trampled to death by the extremely tall and sharp stilettos every woman seems to be wearing.

“No problem - come, come, the table is over here,” Lorenzo says, guiding her. They finally reach the table, where Cass sinks gratefully into the sticky leather banquette. “It’s crowded tonight, eh?” Charles leans across the table to shout over the music. Cass nods, surveying the room. Since they’ve sat down, there’s been a noticeably high number of modelesque women parading by their table. Since the service staff (apart from the enormous bouncers) seems to consist solely of beautiful, scantily clad women, she can’t tell whether they’re waiting to take their order or their seats.

“Here we go,” Lorenzo says cheerfully as a queue of women hoisting champagne bottles with massive sparklers approach their table. Daniel pops the first bottle in true F1 driver style and Cass necks the whole glass, hoping it’ll make her feel less awkward around the strangers. Lorenzo hands her another glass, which she takes a big gulp from.

A fuzzy, warm feeling spreads through her after the second glass is done, her muscles relaxing and the sense of not belonging easing slightly. She can even appreciate the throbbing music somewhat, thinking lightly to herself that this is probably Max’s type of music. Every time she’s gotten into his car he’s been listening to some electro thing, much like this.

She takes a seat next to Lorenzo, who’s talking to one of his friends on the other side. He notices that Cass is fiddling with the hem of her shirt-dress, a real Billy no-mates, and beckons for her to join the conversation, switching to English so she can understand what they’re saying.

She’s grateful to Lorenzo and Charles for being so welcoming - they’ve been absolute rocks of stability for her and Luke during this whole situation and she feels like the two of them have become like brothers to her. She knows that she can rely on the Leclercs through thick and thin, and it’s rare to find people like that in your life. They’re dependable. She can relax when she’s around them.

The champagne really is very good. Charles must have ordered the really good stuff, she thinks to herself as she sips at her third - no, fourth glass. Lorenzo hands her a shot of something violently lime green, which tastes deliciously like apples. She grabs another one from a tray as it passes, winking at Daniel who clinks his own shot glass against hers before they both down it.

She feels loose, relaxed. The music is incredible, an indescribable medley of sounds that she happily bobs her head to. “You’re a bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?” Lorenzo laughs by her side as she leans a bit too heavily to the other side and nearly falls. He props her up with an arm around her shoulder, giving her a brotherly squeeze.

“Am not!” Cass retorts indignantly. She gulps down another shot to prove it, smiling defiantly at Daniel who’s raised his eyebrows at her. He’s cool about it though, letting her do her own thing.  Luke might have had some words. One of Charles’ friends pours more champagne for the whole table, and Cass almost feels normal. Like she’s not got a dead father, a suddenly reappearing mother, a death-seeking brother, a debilitatingly intense job. She feels like any other twenty year old in the club, ditching her inhibitions for the night, enjoying some music.

It’s rare, it’s delicious, it tastes like… freedom.

—

Max is fiddling with his phone, wondering when Cass will reply. It’s so like her to not check her phone. Actually, now that he thinks about it, she’s probably asleep already anyway. Nelson’s making out with a girl right next to him, uncomfortably close, and he shrugs off her friend who’s sitting on his other side. He wants to head out to the dance floor to listen to the beat, dance a little and forget about his worries, but it’s so fucking crowded that he might get trampled to death.

He takes another shot of tequila, wincing as it burns down his throat, and signals to Nelson that he’s going to call it a night. Nelson is still pretty distracted by the girl now fully in his lap, so he just waves goodbye. Max stands, cracking his back, then freezes. In the far side of the VIP area, under the arm of some random man, her red hair glowing unmistakably in the strobe light, is Cass.

Before he even knows what his body is doing it’s moving towards her, that magnetic connection he has to her drawing him ever closer. He’s half sure that he’s got the wrong person because on the one hand, there’s no way Cass is at this club right now, but on the other hand - he knows Cass. He has a special radar for her.

He’s drawing closer when a heavy hand claps on his shoulder. He twists away, irritated, then stops when he sees a familiar face. “He’s Charles’ brother,” Daniel says in an undertone to Max. “Don’t make a scene.” Max blinks, the alcohol in his system making his brain work slowly as he ticks through Daniel’s words. As he watches, Charles’ brother removes his arm from around Cass’s shoulder and turns to some guy who’s just appeared and gives him a double cheek kiss.

Max shakes his head to clear it. He’ll never get used to the affectionate ways of the Monegasques and French. Growing up Dutch, if a man gave you a kiss on the cheek you were more likely to punch him in the face than turn for another one. The fact remains is that Cass, whom he’s been thinking about all night, has instead been hanging out with other men. Friendly men. Friendly, double cheek kissing men.

He tries to catch the attention of the two Leclercs with his most cutting glare, but is foiled when Cass sees him and her face absolutely lights up. “Max!” She screams, jumping up and throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He’s careful not to do anything too couple-y, knowing that Cass has some weird thing about people knowing they’re together. If there’s anyone who didn’t know that they at least knew each other, though, they know now.

Charles is a consummate host, welcoming Max to the table and scooting over to make space for him. It’s dark, noisy and crowded in the club so Max leaves his arm around Cass’s shoulder, enjoying the ability to be together in public even if no one else can see them. Cass is definitely a couple of drinks in, because she rests her head against his shoulder and drapes a hand over his thigh in a way she definitely wouldn’t if she was sober.

“Hey, you didn’t reply to my text,” he murmurs into her ear, the throbbing bass covering the sound of his voice. “Hmm?” Cass looks at him blankly, then takes out her phone from her bag and unlocks it. She has hundreds of unread messages, missed calls and unread emails, something that makes Max itch. He’s never left a text unread and unanswered, since when he was a kid his dad would have beat the shit out of him if he took too long to reply.

“Oh!” Cass finds his text, somewhere buried amongst vaguely familiar names like Jamie’s and Mara’s, a few unfamiliar ones and a ton of unsaved numbers. Max frowns. “I must have missed it, Daniel and Charles and Lewis came over for dinner and I cooked - Max, I made so much food, and I think it was good, but - oh no, Max I forgot Lewis is vegan!” She looks at him with an expression of utmost horror, but Max is distracted by something else and can’t give less of a shit if Lewis Hamilton had a satisfying dinner cooked by his - by Cass.

“Who’s Ben?” He asks, pointing at the name that keeps popping up on the screen. Who is this fucker that’s texting her at three in the morning? Ben is apparently a very active texter, sending photos and even voice notes.“No one,” she says casually. But Cass is terrible at lying, and Max can read her like a book.

“Hey,” he says, annoyed, poking her in the waist. Then Cass does something that absolutely blows Max’s tiny, little monkey brain into pieces, taking any sense of right, wrong, up or down from his mind. She grabs his hand, leans her head against his chest, tilts her chin up to look up at him through her eyelashes, and - from his secretive ice princess, the absolutely most adamant person in the world that everything be low-key, no labels, undetermined - says in the sweetest voice ever, “Yes, my love?”

Max is absolutely - and he loves this word, which he’d learned just a few weeks ago from Cass - bamboozled. He’s flabbergasted. Another Cass word. Cass has never in her life ever said that she loves him. Not once. And now - well, maybe this is something British people do, they say my love in a voice that suggests that they actually love you, or maybe they say my love to the milkman, their neighbour, their grandmother. He has drunk way too much alcohol to decrypt the exact meaning of Cass’s usage of the word, and maybe he doesn’t really want to think too much about it.

So he decides to just accept it at face value. He brings their joined hands to his lips, giving the back of hers a kiss. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks round from smiling. He can feel the silly grin on his face as well. They should be drunk all the time, he thinks to himself. They’re being one of those disgusting couples, all cuddly and PDA, and even though he knows this is a time limited event, he loves it. Daniel gives him a very unsubtle thumbs up and massive grin from behind Cass’s back and Max gives him the middle finger.

Cass is trailing kisses up the side of his neck and he’s fairly distracted by the task of keeping his hard on from being clearly visible to the rest of the group when she whispers in his ear. “Do you want to dance?”

He can’t refuse her anything at this point, so he lets her drag him to the main dance floor. Now, Max is not a newbie to the club scene of Monaco - in fact, in the few years since he’s moved here he’s definitely spent his fair share of time in clubs. This is definitely the best time he’s ever had at a club, though, because Cass - well, Cass can dance.

That’s not totally surprising, but there’s a huge difference between the strict movements of ballet and the absolutely uninhibited moves she’s showing now. Max is not a particularly good dancer, being of the fist pump and head bop school of dance, but Cass grabs him and makes him move around more than he normally would, her arms wrapped around his waist and her hips pressed against his, making him follow her movements.

They’re playing some kind of Spanish song, throaty and seductive. Max feels heat rising up the back of his neck as Cass drapes an arm around his neck and twists her hips, winding up and down his body. He drags his hand down her back, pulling her closer, helped by the crush of people around them. No one’s paying any attention to them, either because they’re all focused on themselves or because the room is so dark with the only illumination coming from flashes of strobe lights every now and then.

Cass looks up at him, hair curling at her temples where she’s damp with sweat, eyes shining, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to her smiling lips. He’s surprised - well, not exactly surprised, this is a different Cass that he’s dealing with - but he’s not fully expecting her to wind her arms around his neck and pull him down for a proper snog (another Cass word).

They’re glued together, every inch of her smooth bare skin that touches him setting him on fire. She tastes like apples, the sparkliest of champagne, the mint of her toothpaste. He could get lost in this moment forever. He can’t breathe - can’t remember the last time he took a breath, actually - but that’s okay. He’ll die happy like this, oxygen replaced by whatever mix of chemicals and hormones and Cass has filled his lungs.

Just when he feels like he’s about to pass out, Cass pulls away, resting her chin on his chest. He’s vaguely dizzy, anchored to the ground only by Cass’s arms around him. He feels like he should be floating at least a few inches off the ground.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Cass mouths to him. It’s dark, and he can’t see very well, but he can almost feel the shapes that her mouth makes. He wonders hazily whether he’s just fully connected to her lips and their movements at all times now, no matter how near or far she is. That wouldn’t be the worst fate.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replies. She takes his hand and leads him out of the crowd. This must be what heaven feels like.

—

Cass feels like she’s been hit by a truck. She has no idea how she got home, her eyes are glued shut and her throat feels like hot lava has been poured down it. She whimpers when she can feel the burning sun slashing across her eyelids, cursing the Monagesque blue skies. This would never happen to her in London, she thinks mutinously.

She pulls the blanket over her head, or at least tries to. There’s a bit of resistance when she tugs on it, but she’s not a quitter so she pulls and suddenly there’s blanket over her head, yes, but also a warm, heavy arm draped over her chest and a distinctly male voice groaning in her ear. “Kleintje, please, it’s so early,” Max mutters into her ear, totally at ease as he wraps her up in his arms and buries his face in her hair.

She’s warm and cozy, and Max smells delicious, and it’s all too tempting to just fall back asleep but Cass’s sleepy morning brain ticks along at the speed of a snail until it finally reaches a very, very undesirable conclusion. “Max, get off,” she grumbles as she tries to sit up. He responds by hugging her tighter to his chest, mumbling something that sounds like “you weren’t saying that last night”, which Cass chooses to ignore completely. 

“Luke’s going to be worried about me,” she says, twisting in his arms. She accidentally punches him in the stomach, and he lets out a soft oof as he finally accepts that they won’t be going back to sleep and let’s her go, sitting up as well. Cass gives herself a single second to admire the way his abs look in the morning as the sheet slips down his body before getting out of bed to look for her clothes.

They’re all over the room, her bra hanging on a lamp and her knickers hidden behind the armchair in the corner of the room. Max rubs his eyes sleepily, seeming to enjoy her treasure hunt. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph it’s past ten,” Cass whimpers when she catches sight of Max’s watch. “Luke’s going to have an absolute fit.” She surveys herself in the mirror after putting on her clothes - she definitely looks like she’s on the walk of shame.

“Just tell him you had the best sex of your life and couldn’t come back,” Max yawns, far too relaxed for Cass’s liking. “Oh gosh, and what if he’s been waiting for me to come back and help him get around? He can’t even get food out of the fridge on his own - oh, I’m the worst human being in the whole world. Wait, don’t tell anyone about the fridge, he would hate that.” Cass ignores Max in favour of more stressing out. Max finally gets out of bed and follows her out to the corridor, where he catches her before she can leave.

“Max, I would love to stay but I do really have to go,” Cass begins as she tries to pull away. “Just wait a second, would you?” He pulls her closer, and she can’t resist him with his sleepy smile and fluffy hair. She takes the opportunity to run her fingers through said hair, dragging her nails down the base of his skull. He bends down and buries his face in her hair before straightening up.

“Stop that now, or I’ll never let you leave,” he says, catching her hand in his. “Anyway. What do you remember from last night?” He makes very meaningful and intense eye contact with her, his ocean blue eyes staring down at her. Cass wracks her brain - she remembers the dinner, going out with Charles and Daniel, then going to the club and seeing Max. And the feeling of immense happiness when she’d seen him, the feeling of safety and security when she’d thrown herself into his arms. Then nothing.

“Not much,” Cass says honestly. “There were something lethal in those shots they gave me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to drink apple juice again,” she shudders. “You don’t remember anything?” Max asks. His voice is odd, more formal than his body language, and it’s throwing Cass off. “No…” She responds, tilting her head and surveying his opaque blue eyes. “Look, I’ve really got to go, Max.” 

Max lets her go, leaning down to pick up her bag and hand it to her. “Okay,” he says. His tone of voice hasn’t changed, but there’s something about the way he looks over her shoulder to the door that confuses Cass.

“Okay…” She says uncertainly, not sure what he wants from her. But Luke is waiting, and as every second ticks past she wonders what she’ll find when she gets home - god, Luke can’t even use the toilet on his own, and it’s the first weekend without William! She’s the worst sister in the whole world. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” She leans up to give Max a kiss. He brushes her lips with his perfunctorily, almost absently.

“I’m heading to the factory tomorrow for testing, actually. I’ll see you when I’m back.” Max leans over her shoulder to unlock the door for her, and she follows the trend of movement, stepping out of his front door.

“I’ll see you,” Cass echoes as the door closes. Her head hurts something terrible as she makes her way to the lift, back to Luke’s apartment. She feels like there was something off about their interaction, but she can’t exactly put her finger on it. She shakes her head to clear it - she’ll add that to the list of things she’ll worry about but not right now.

—

“Good night?”

Luke’s sitting, fully dressed, on the couch. “Oh my gosh, you managed to get ready on your own!” Cass exclaims, excited. “How on earth - oh, you used the crutches! But… I thought your leg wasn’t fully better yet…?”

Luke shrugs, giving her a smile. “It’s good enough, Cassie. I need to push myself more if I’m going to be ready in time for the season to start. I can’t leave Seb to do all the development if not the car won’t be suited to my driving style.”

Cass stops dead. She can’t believe what she’s hearing. The man has two broken legs and a still fractured arm and he wants to drive a car at ridiculous speeds in the two months? “Are you crazy? What about your brain? And - and all the organs inside? They were outside you a month ago, Luke!”

Luke grimaces at the reminder, but he’s undeterred. “Do you think I don’t know that?” He replies. “But I’m still here, Cassie. And I can’t just give up on my dreams because of an accident. I can’t live the rest of my life sitting in an empty house, waiting to die.”

“There’s a lot more to life than racing cars, Luke!” Cass spits out. She’s so angry she can hardly see straight. She’s still not moved from her spot near the door, frozen to the spot by absolute disbelief. Her hands are shaking, and her lips have gone numb.

“Like what, Cass?” Luke is looking at her absolutely calmly, his hands - only recently unbandaged, but still pink with new skin - resting on his knees. “This is my life. Racing has always been my life. It’s all I want to do. And… I’d really like your support on this. Please, Cassie.”

He reaches a beseeching hand out to her, and she can’t very well let a crippled man sit on his own with a hand out like that, can she? She walks over on trembling legs, takes his hand, sits next to him. But her body is entirely cold, and it’s only when he puts a hand on her shoulder and she notices it’s shaking slightly does she realise that it’s not just her legs - her whole body is trembling.

“Deep breaths, Cassie,” Luke says. She tries, she really does. She recognises the stubborn, resolute look in Luke’s eyes and she knows that nothing she says will change his mind. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Surely - surely your doctors -” Cass begins falteringly. Luke shakes his head, cutting her off. “They said it can be done, Cassie. And they’re the best doctors in the world - they treat all the top athletes. It can be done. It’s been done before - Berger, in 1984. And the medical technology wasn’t half as good as it is now. I’ll be ready.”

“You almost died, Luke,” Cass says quietly, staring down at her hands. Maybe nothing she says will convince her thrill-seeking, brave, idiotic older brother, but he needs to acknowledge the risk, at least.

She won’t let him pretend everything’s okay, that just because a few doctors tell him he’s nearly better he can strap himself into a rocket ship and take off like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t almost die in the accident that took the life of their father. Like he’s not the only family she has left in the world.

“I know.” Luke is quiet as well. The sun is streaming in from the wide open windows, the blue sky Monagesque winter indifferent to the emotional turmoil bubbling in the two Errols. “Can’t you wait for the next season?” Cass asks, knowing that it’s a no-go as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“They’ll replace me,” Luke says matter of factly. F1 is a brutal, competitive business with a million contenders waiting in the wings. Everyone vaguely involved or interested in F1 knows that.

“I’ve spoken with Maurizio already. I can take the casts off this week, then I’ll start press, then the factory after that. The doctors can fly in or I can fly back for treatment, and Matthew will meet us there - he’s actually got his physio license on top of being a trainer, so that’ll be helpful.” Luke’s trainer hadn’t been around and for some reason his absence had made Cass forget about the existence of F1.

“So it’s all sorted, then,” Cass says softly. She’s been so wrapped up in her little world with Max that she’s missed all of this - she’s not overheard any phone calls, seen any covert discussions. And now it’s being presented to her as fait accompli.

“Not all,” Luke reaches out and takes both her hands in his. “You’ve been the best sister and support anyone could ask for,” he says sincerely. Cass feels like the eviction notice is going to come at any second - he doesn’t need her anymore, and there’s no reason for her to stay in Monaco if he’s going to be in Italy for the rest of the break.

“Will you come with me to Maranello?” Luke asks, squeezing her hands. “I know it’s a lot to ask - you’ve taken so much time off work already, and I know you’re not totally convinced about me going back but I need your help. Just through the press bit. They’re going to ask me questions about Dad, and… I don’t know if I can take that.”

The siblings exchange a glance. They’re not the most emotionally expressive people, she knows, but that’s because they’re experts at burying things below the surface. Stiff upper English lip, at all times. “Do you think we should hold a memorial for Dad?” She asks, turning over the idea in her own head to try and figure out how it makes her feel.

“Yes, but in the summer. Dad liked summer best.” Luke says decisively. Cass almost smiles at how his take charge nature hasn’t dimmed a single bit. She can tell that deep down Luke’s still shaken by the accident, but he’s pushing himself to get over it as quickly as possible. Resilience. That’s always been a key value their dad had tried to instil in them. She has to respect it, even though she doesn’t like it.

“I’ll go with you,” she says finally, squeezing his hands back. “But I’ll be sitting in on your doctor appointments now, and if you step foot in a bloody race car before your doctor gives a clean bill of health I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

—

Max sees Cass’s name pop up on his phone but he rejects the call petulantly. He cannot believe she doesn’t remember calling him her love the night before. She’s fucking unbelievable, that’s what she is. Literally the first time she’s ever told him she loves him and she was blackout drunk. That’s so fucking annoying.

He’s packing for his trip to Milton Keynes, where he’ll be starting the next season. The month off has been much nicer than he’d expected, and he’s ready to see the new car. He’s going to be a real contender this year, he can feel it in his bones.

Maybe she didn’t mean it, he thinks to himself glumly. Maybe she’d been calling Charles, Daniel and Lorenzo “my love” all night and he was the only idiot to actually think she loved him. The only one who was so starved for love that he’d grab hold of the first person to ever tell him that - other than his mum, obviously - and pledge his allegiance to her forever.

He throws another crumpled up Red Bull t-shirt into his suitcase angrily. Cass must be the most fickle person alive. Ice queen one moment, lava hot the next. Then the ice age returns the second she realises she might actually have shown genuine human emotions to another person. Just like how they’d been having a perfectly nice day when she’d clammed up over her mum and just fucking left. He balls up a pair of gym shorts and flings it into his suitcase, kicking a pair of trainers aside for good measure.

His phone rings again and he almost hangs up, thinking it’s Cass, but it’s his dad. He puts him on speaker as he continues packing, listening with half an ear as Jos drones on about some sponsor events and interviews they’re supposed to go to together. “Ferrari just announced that Errol will be back next season,” Jos says casually. “That’ll be good - a broken glass just needs a tap to fall apart.”

Max leans back, frowning. Cass won’t like that. He ignores his dad’s implicit encouragement to smash the shit out of Luke Errol so that he won’t be genuine competition. Jos only has one mode, extreme violence. He has always been a hammer when a screwdriver is needed. Max trusts his own skill, he doesn’t need to rely on anyone else failing for him to succeed. Jos prefers a sure thing.

“It’ll be good for the cameras, anyway,” Jos says. They’re filming some Netflix thing this season, and all of them will have cameras following them around during the races. He’s pretty sure they’ve asked Daniel if they can follow him for pre-season, but no one really gives a shit what Max is up to until the driving starts. He prefers it that way.

“Okay, see you soon…” Max is talking to blank air. Jos always hangs up without waiting for Max to say goodbye.

He sighs and resumes his packing. If Luke is back racing, that means he and Cass definitely won’t be together. Especially not if there are cameras everywhere, tracking their every movement. He doesn’t give a flying fuck, but Cass is so camera shy - and there’d definitely be interest in a driver’s sister dating another driver. He remembers Christian’s words from ages ago - he knows the spotlight would be intense. He doesn’t know if their relationship - whatever it is - can withstand that kind of pressure.

—

Cass nibbles at her fingers as Luke’s casts get cut off, revealing paler than normal, slightly spindly-looking legs. “And you’re certain that he can drive in the race car?” She interrogates the poor orthopaedic surgeon again. She’s been asking very pointed questions throughout this whole process, and the doctor - who speaks only halting English - has been trying very hard not to say anything that might make him liable for a claim in medical negligence, she thinks.

“Leave him alone, Cassie,” Luke says. He’s in a terrific mood, as well he should be. He admires his bared legs, leaning down to scratch an itch. “God that’s been bothering me for ages. Feels nice to have a bit of a breeze, eh?”

“You could do with a good wash, that’s for sure. That cast stinks.” Cass pretends to hold her nose as Luke makes a face at her. She doesn’t want to rain on his parade, and of course she’s happy that he’s doing better, but every milestone means a step closer to him actually racing cars.

“The fractures are recovering well - the breaks were uh… clean,” the surgeon says helpfully. “He will take… six more weeks? If not less.” Cass scowls. They have exactly eight weeks to the first testing session - the first time she’s counted down to it - which means Luke will definitely be well in time to drive in the first race of the season.

Dr Duval has already signed off, slightly too blasé in Cass’s opinion, also holding Luke’s hand for a little too long. She’s probably angling for some Grand Prix tickets, if not a date, Cass thinks uncharitably. “Hm, the sutures are strong, he will be fine,” she’d sniffed at Cass’s reminder that the doctor said a good shake would literally kill him. “Ah, that is many weeks ago! Monsieur Errol is a marvel, he is healing beautifully. And personally, Monsieur Errol - I hope you win the championship.”

The orthopaedic surgeon gives Cass a various paraphernalia meant to keep Luke’s bones steady, then signs off as well. Luke is told to use his wheelchair as much as possible so as not to aggravate the healing fractures in his legs, and they’re sent on their way.

Charles has already left for the Sauber factory, Daniel - and Max - to Red Bull, Lewis to Mercedes, so they make their way back to Luke’s apartment by themselves in a taxi. “You should really learn how to drive, Cassie,” Luke remarks when they finally reach the apartment, having been subjected to incessant French chatter the entire ride about what a massive fan the taxi driver was of F1.

“I live in London, dolt. I don’t need to drive.” Luke raises his eyebrows. “What about when I move to the Cotswolds? I’m not going to drive you, and we’re not going to have a driver anymore.” Cass worries her bottom lip with her teeth. She’s still nervous when they journey around Monaco, although she’s managed to keep it from Luke. She just looks out the window and closes her eyes tightly until they reach their destination.

“Anyway I wanted to talk to you about something,” Luke says once the front door is closed and they’re back inside. “What?” Cass half listens as she puts the medical equipment she’s been given next to all of their other things by the door. They’re leaving the next day for Maranello, and there’s no sense in unpacking it just to put it back into a bag in a few hours.

“… so yeah, there’s going to be loads of cameras and stuff. Just wanted to let you know so you’re not stressed out when you see them.” Cass’s brow wrinkles. “Don’t you always have cameras following you? It’s press week, isn’t it?”

Luke’s lying flat on his couch, legs stretched out in the patch of sunlight that’s coming in through the window, enjoying the warmth on his newly bare skin. “Yeah, but this is like a longer term thing. They’re following us around the whole season, they’re going to make a documentary about us or something.”

Cass snorts. “Who’s going to watch that? Bunch of prima donnas fighting over who’s car is faster every weekend.”

—

Chapter Text

“Hello, my name is Luke Errol, and I drive for Scuderia Ferrari,” Luke smiles at the interviewer, who beams back. “That’s perfect! Okay that’s it for the background shots, and now we’re going to follow you around to,” she glances down at her checklist. “The Ferrari offices, where we’ll film you walking around and saying hello to people. Fab.”

Luke smiles and smiles and smiles all day, even though Cass knows he must be exhausted. It’s their fourth day in Maranello and it’s already been packed with more human interaction than Cass thinks she’s ever had. Luke’s still in his wheelchair for most of the day, but whenever he’s in front of the cameras - meaning not in super top secret technical meetings - he tries to walk as much as he can.

Everywhere they go people want to take a photo with Luke - even in the restaurant where they’d gone for lunch, they’d taken a photo and told Luke proudly they were going to put it up next to the one they had of Michael Schumacher. Luke had been deeply touched, so touched that Cass didn’t even make fun of him for offering to sign it.

She and Luke are being driven around by his trainer, Matthew, in a very luxurious Ferrari four-seater, with the final seat being occupied by Francesca, Luke’s press agent from Ferrari. The moment Francesca had seen Cass she’d gotten on the phone and ordered her a bunch of new clothes, ones more fitting for the sister of a Ferrari driver according to her. Cass isn’t entirely sure what’s wrong with her clothes, but Francesca does look fantastic so she shrugs her shoulders and let’s her do her work.

The car is fitted with all sorts of recording gear from the Netflix crew, so Cass keeps quiet in the back seat as Luke and Matthew chat about Luke’s training regimen. She was definitely shocked when she saw the massive number of cameras and microphones and people that seem to follow them around non-stop, and they haven’t even reached the press bit properly yet.

Francesca snaps at the camera crew to turn off their cameras the moment the car gets to the factory, citing sensitive data and trade secrets. They wait until the camera crew leaves before jumping into action, Matthew unloading the wheelchair and he and Cass helping Luke into it as Francesca watches to make sure no one is filming sneakily. They don’t want anyone thinking there’s a weakness in the Ferrari camp.

Cass wheels Luke in to the factory, Matthew melting away diplomatically. “You don’t have to be here for this bit, Cassie,” Luke grunts slightly when the wheelchair bumps over some uneven pavement, Cass apologising and making sure she pushes the chair over the smooth bits only. “We’re just filming some bits for pre-season, no interviews here.” Cass rolls her eyes, tightening her grip on the handles. “What am I supposed to do instead, sit in the hotel room and wait for you to come back?”

In truth, she’s spent too much time doing exactly that, but instead of waiting for Luke to come back she’s been waiting for Max to reply to her texts. It’s odd being in this situation - he’s always been really good at responding, and she usually saves all her unread texts until the end of the day when she schedules an hour to reply, but now she’s obsessively checking her phone whilst he’s radio silent.

He’s probably busy doing exactly the same thing Luke’s doing, she reasons to herself. Luke’s schedule is packed from morning to night with interminable interviews, discussions with the engineers and meetings with the team. Max is probably over in England without a second to spare, working flat out to get ready for the season. Although he hadn’t been too busy to message her back when they first dated - but maybe Red Bull had more going on that Toro Rosso.

It’s frustrating, though. Even when he does reply his messages are damnably short, almost closed off. She doesn’t know what’s going on with him, but it’s a helpful reminder that racing always comes first for these boys. Maybe with the season starting he’s got no time for his winter romance.

This leaves a lot of time to think about her maybe-mother as well. She’d written down notes about each person on the list and sent the annotated list to her dad’s lawyers, and for Josefina Carrera she’d just attached a link to the website she’d seen. They’d have to handle the rest. She’d always wondered what her mother was like, where she was at any given time, how she would have reacted to things that happened in Cass’s life. Now she can actually put a face to the name.

She’s seen pretty much all of the factory by now, since the Ferrari staff has been treating her like an extension of Luke. The mostly-Italian staff are incredibly warm and friendly, even if they do think her clothes are terrible. But it’s very clearly Luke’s life - there’s nothing there for her to do all day except tag along with whatever it is he’s doing.

It’s made her realise that she really, really misses dancing. She’d shoved all that down to focus on Luke and his recovery, but now that he’s almost better she needs to start thinking about returning to her regularly scheduled life. She’d had to tell Madame Lloyd about the extra two weeks off, and whilst it’d thankfully overlapped with a break in the performance schedule, Madame Lloyd had been deeply unimpressed.

“Ballet isn’t a hobby, Miss Errol,” Madame Lloyd had said sniffily. There are a thousand girls who would kill for your job. That goes unsaid. They’d been very understanding and empathetic about her taking time off when her brother had been near death, but now that he is clearly better since he was returning to the very dangerous sport of racing motor cars, their patience is wearing thin.

She’s promised undying devotion the second she got back and has been spending a bit of time working through exercises in her ballet room, but without space to practice her jumps and pirouettes it’s getting pretty monotonous.

“Miss Errol, could you come with us please?” They’ve reached a more secretive part of the factory, where they store the new car parts, and even Cass can’t go in. She lets go of Luke’s wheelchair, which he pilots into the room by himself, and follows the nice engineering assistant to a spare office. This engineering assistant, Michelle, seems to have picked the short straw because she’s always having to escort Cass around whenever Luke’s testing the car.

“… and we would really love it if you could - I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could come by… if it’s okay!” Michelle is stammering something out, and Cass snaps back to reality when Michelle pauses for Cass’s answer.

“Umm… sure?” She has no idea what she’s agreeing to, but she feels bad that Michelle has had to babysit her for the past few days. Michelle beams at her, and starts babbling about picking her up on Saturday morning, and Cass realises that she’s agreed to go to Michelle’s adult ballet class and give a demonstration to the students there.

She’s not sure what to expect but it’ll be nice to be back in a studio, even if she does feel a bit like a performing monkey. She spends the rest of the day hanging around the Ferrari factory watching Luke do videos for the Ferrari marketing team with his teammate, Seb. She even gets pulled in to one of the videos when the ever-friendly Seb notices that Luke’s getting tired and diverts attention to Cass, standing behind the camera, instead.

“Of course we cannot listen to the word of Luke himself - we should ask his sister, no?” Cass freezes as the camera swings around to focus on her. She notices Francesca handing Luke a bottle of juice whilst the camera’s off him. “Cassandra - can Luke cook?” Cass pretends to be thinking about it to buy some time, covering her smile with her hand. She doesn’t want to call Luke out, but she’s a terrible liar.

“He’s… not great,” she admits reluctantly, smiling when all the Ferrari marketing staff around her burst into laughter. “She’s being generous to him, we have seen him trying to cook the pasta before and he was very bad,” Seb announces teasingly, drawing the camera’s eye back to himself.

“Cass cooks for both of us. She’s really good at it, so it’s easier to let her do her magic,” Luke finally admits ruefully. He’s finished his juice and put it to one side, and the sugar boost seems to have worked its magic on him. The marketing team moves on to the next question, and she relaxes. She hadn’t realised how stressful it is to be on camera, worrying about saying something stupid, and she wonders how Seb and Luke can do it all day.

“You couldn’t pretend even a little bit?” Luke teases when they’re in the car on the way back to the hotel. Cass darts a nervous look at the camera right above her eye line. “I’m bad at lying, you know that,” she says, taking out her phone to check if she’s got any messages. She does, but not from the person she wants to hear from.

“You’re always on your phone these days,” Luke comments. Cass glances up at the cameras again. Of course now is the time that Luke would choose to suddenly become the most observant man in the world. “Is it… Ben?” He gives her a cheeky grin.

Cass rolls her eyes as subtly as she can. She fully regrets telling Luke about Ben but he’d been bothering her all week about her love life, ever since she’d stayed out all night. Knowing that she’d not get any peace from him if she even mentioned the words “Max Verstappen”, she’d pretended that Ben had been town and that she’d been with him, and now he will not let up about asking about him.

“Leave me alone!” She pretends to hit Luke on the shoulder, careful not to jostle him too much whilst tucking her phone back in her bag. Luke’s in full playful mode, happy to have ended the day, and he starts singing “Cassie has a boyfriend, Cassie has a boyfriend” in an off-key voice. Too much protests will lead to more questions so Cass just ignores her older brother, happy that he’s in such good spirits.

When they get back to the hotel, Francesca has a surprise for Cass. She opens the door to Cass’s room with a flourish and Cass is genuinely shocked by how many racks of clothing have been shoved into her room. “These are the daytime clothes… the night time clothes… these are the shoes…” Cass walks in as if in a daze, picking up the most beautiful pair of shoes she’s ever seen.

“These are amazing,” she breathes, hugging them close to her chest. They’re terribly impractical, pink satin with tall, spindly heels with metal vines snaking over the whole shoe. They’d be destroyed in a second if she stepped out of her London apartment in them. They’re the shoe of a person who lives on a red carpet.

“Ah, that is for the prize giving ball this weekend,” Francesca says, pulling out a very low cut dress. “It goes with this, see?” Cass furrows her brow. “Prize giving ball?” She echoes, taking the dress that Francesca is now holding out to her impatiently.

“You know, the one where they give out the prizes. Luke got third this year, so he gets the third place trophy. Seb’s second! It is nice, we have a big table with all the Ferrari people and good food, drink, dancing. It is in Paris this year, so French food, but ah well. Better than the Russian food we had the other time.”

“Oh, I can’t come - I’ve got something on this Saturday so I won’t be able to fly to Paris…” Cass says, trying her best to look very, very sad that she can’t go for what will undoubtedly be the most boring night of her life. Watching a bunch of F1 people get prizes! She was sure Luke could handle that without her.

At Francesca’s disbelieving look which clearly says, what could you have on in Maranello of all places, Cass explains about Michelle’s ballet class. Francesca’s expression clears. “Ah, she finally gathered the courage to ask you! It is no problem.” Cass smiles, happy that she’s escaped the obligation and already thinking of how she’ll spend her free night, before Francesca continues. “Her class is eight in the morning and we leave at three on the jet. Fantastico, it’s decided.”

She snaps her compact closed and gives Cass a dazzling, yet terrifying smile. Cass decides that between getting on Francesca’s bad side and going for a boring dinner, she’d rather suffer through the dinner. “I will come tomorrow morning with the stylist to show you what to wear, but I think she will have left a book of pictures of what goes together - ah, there it is. You can look through that first, then we can discuss tomorrow. We want a bit of your own style in there.”

Cass muffles her groan as Francesca turns her evil eye on her. Homework. On fashion! When Francesca leaves, she flips through the book while fighting the yawns that threaten to crack her jaw in half. She’s almost asleep when her phone buzzes violently on the pillow next to her. Max! She sits up so suddenly that she feels slightly dizzy.

“Hello?” She answers eagerly. It’s Jamie, and she swallows her disappointment, feeling guilty. She’s not spent that much time speaking to her friends since most of her time has been spent with Luke or Max, but she hasn’t forgotten that they really pulled through for her when she’d first found out about the accident.

“… and then Lisle literally stomped on my toe when I was just about to do my jump that clumsy cow,” Jamie is complaining about his fellow Paris Opera Ballet dancers, something every dancer secretly - or not so secretly - loves to do. Jamie has to hide his bitchy side from his colleagues though, because the Paris ballet is extremely political and he can’t be sure that his words won’t get back to the people he’s complaining about. That’s why Jamie saves up his complaints until Cass picks up the phone. Cass settles back against her pillows, knowing that this conversation will probably last another hour at the least.

—

Max fiddles with his phone as he sits through yet another engineering meeting with the Red Bull team. He actually loves these meetings, since he gets to talk about his favourite thing ever and actually have people pay attention to him, but he’s been stuck in meeting after meeting for the week that he’s been here with barely a second to himself.

When the meeting finally ends, he checks the time and groans. It’s way too late for him to call Cass, and he feels funny texting her when the last time they left it so weird. She’s sent some texts asking how he is, and he’s typed and deleted so many words that he’s starting to get confused about what he’s actually said. He’s kept it mostly to brief, positive messages like -

Cass: hey maxie, how’s the factory going?

Max: good

The shorter his messages, the less opportunity to fuck up, he reasons with himself. Also, it’s the truth. The factory is good. They’re really going to challenge for the championship this year, Christian has said, proudly revealing the car that they’ve designed. It’s a beautiful car, tailored slightly more to Max’s driving style, although that goes unspoken so as to not piss Daniel off. He’s spent hours in the sim already, getting to learn the way the car works. He can almost taste victory on the tip of his tongue.

But Cass’s messages have dwindled somewhat, probably since she’s in Maranello with her brother. Max fights down his automatic reaction of jealousy, since he wishes Cass was here with him instead, but he knows the two Errols are going through something he will hopefully never understand. Actually he’s pretty sure he’ll never understand it because Mr Errol had been a nice, loving dad and Jos is… not like that. But that’s a bridge he’ll cross when Jos actually dies, he supposes.

The Ferrari team have been absolutely churning out promotional material, trumpeting the return of their beloved driver from the almost-dead. His Instagram feed, already filled with racing things, has become absolutely spammed with videos of Luke and Seb doing things. He’s watched them all just in case Cass happens to be in it, as she had been in the first video, somewhere behind the cameras. Luke can actually be quite charming when he’s not glaring at Max for daring to touch his baby sister.

“Oi Max, want to get a drink?” Daniel slings an arm around his shoulder. Max agrees gladly, and the pair find an empty pub somewhere near the factory and get a pint each. Daniel’s the most entertaining drinking partner anyone could ask for, and they’ve definitely developed a good friendship over the years. Even then, he’s shocked when Daniel starts the conversation with the blunt, “So - are you and Cass Errol friends with benefits, or something more?”

In truth he can hardly believe it took Daniel this long to bring this up. He’s known that Daniel’s known since the night at the club at least, and the chatty Aussie is hardly known for his discretion and tact. But, just out of curiosity - “how long have you known?”

“Mate have you forgotten that I was the one to put you up to hitting her up that first day she came to Monaco? Anyway, all you need to know is that I know, and right now you’re looking… shall we say, not great, so… what’s up? Trouble in not-so-Paradise?” Daniel shoots Max a knowing look. Max responds by burying his head in his hands.

“You guys looked pretty loved up at the club and you came here two days later like a little thundercloud so I think I can draw up a pretty decent timeline,” Daniel continues when Max doesn’t say anything. “What did you do, call her another name? Did she call you another name? Ooh, what about - did she find out about your cross dressing thing?”

“I don’t fucking cross dress,” Max whips his head around to see if anyone’s around to hear. Luckily there doesn’t seem to be anyone in this gross pub in the middle of nowhere, but it’s second nature after being followed around by freaking Netflix cameras and nosy press officers all day. He prefers to keep his personal life personal, even if his press officer, Jessica, tells him that she needs to know everything about him before anyone else does.

It’s a relief to tell Daniel everything though, because he knows that when it comes to dealing with emotions he is definitely bottom of the class. Daniel will know what to do. 

“You’re upset with her because she… didn’t remember telling you she loved you when she was drunk?” Max can’t read the expression on Daniel’s face, partly because it’s dark in the pub and partly because it seems like Daniel’s toggling between a smile and a frown. It becomes clearer when Daniel starts laughing. Max is kind of offended, to be honest.

Daniel pinches the top of his nose with two fingers, clearly trying to control his laughter. “What the fuck, man? You’re so bad at this,” Daniel chortles. “I’m glad this amuses you,” Max says petulantly, glaring at Daniel. Daniel, sensing Max’s very obvious annoyance, calms himself.

“Dude, she was drunk,” Daniel shakes his head before patting Max on the shoulder. “Also - everyone in this fucking country calls each other love. The barman called me love just now, and I’m pretty sure we’re both straight. Anyway, you need to figure out if you’re even together in the first place before even thinking about this kind of shit. Gotta take baby steps, little baby.”

“Not a baby,” Max grumbles, crossing his arms. It’s not the answer he wants, but it’s the answer that he’s been suspecting, which is partly why he’s been in such a terrible mood. They’d be so good together if she let down that Great Wall of ice that she’s built around herself and just admitted to herself and to him that they were meant to be together. He knows that because they are fucking amazing together, and the night at the club is proof that they can be together in public.

But Cass is hard to predict. Within the bounds of his apartment she’ll act like he’s the only man in the world, but the second they step out of his front door what she’ll do is a mystery to him. She’ll cry in his arms, give him devastating smiles that could bring him to his knees and then pretend she doesn’t know him. It’s really fucking annoying, which is definitely something he’ll tell her the next time they speak.

He drains the dregs of his second beer, and gets up to order another round. By the time he’s back, Daniel’s looking at him contemplatively.

“Is Luke gonna be a problem this time round, do you think?” Daniel says, tapping his chin. Max smiles slightly at Daniel’s confidence that he and Cass will actually sort things out enough for Luke to find out about them.

“I mean you guys have spent some actual time with each other since the last time, but it’s a totally different ball game when it’s his baby sister.” Max leans back, considering. He hasn’t really considered steps beyond getting Cass herself to acknowledge that they are in a relationship, but it’s a good question - Cass will do anything for her brother, especially after this accident.

Anyway, while they have a pretty good relationship, he wouldn’t exactly call Luke Errol a friend, not in the way he’d call Daniel his friend. But he likes to think he’s shown himself to be a normal guy, not the violent idiot Luke assumed he’d be after hearing stories about his family. He’ll probably never think Max is good enough for Cass, but that’s okay because Max doesn’t think he is either. They’re on the same page with that at least.

“You’ll just have to put in a good word for me,” Max says, smiling slightly when Daniel pretends to shove a knife through his heart and slumps over, playing dead. “Jesus, I’d rather have my F2 engine all over again,” Daniel groans. “What if I get the next round?” Max suggests. The dramatic Aussie perks up, as Max knew he would. The man’s the biggest cheapskate on the grid.

“How good of a word?”

—

The next morning, Cass is awoken by a gentle knocking on her door. She lies in bed, wondering whether she’s still dreaming, when the knocking becomes a lot harder and more insistent. She stumbles out of bed, bleary eyed, and opens it to reveal an impeccably dressed and impeccably impatient Francesca and another woman.

Francesca walks in straight to the racks of clothing whilst the other woman introduces herself as the Ferrari fashion stylist, Petra. They spend the better part of an hour going through the racks as Cass makes hopeful suggestions which Petra shoots down as gently as possible. It’s clear to Cass that whatever she’s been wearing up til today has been absolutely tragic, and that they don’t actually want any of her own style peppered in here, given Petra’s horrified face when she brings out her trusty navy jumper-black jeans ensemble.

“It’s quite a nice jumper!” Cass protests as Francesca whisks her old clothes away, never to be seen again. “My dear, you are part of the Ferrari family now,” Francesca says, shaking her head woefully. “You cannot be wearing a jjjjump-er. And absolutely not these shoes,” Francesca says, pointing at Cass’s battered sneakers. Our brand is luxury, sex, la dolce vita!” She gestures to the racks of sophisticated outfits behind her.

Cass emerges from her room a while later in a silky white top, skintight leather trousers and sleek black high-heeled boots - she’d drawn the line at the dominatrix-y stilettos that Petra had initially suggested out of fear that she’d turn her ankle - and an oversized red Ferrari jacket. Francesca has confiscated her puffer coat, somehow making it disappear without leaving the room.

The outfit isn’t particularly comfortable, at least not compared to her beloved warm jumper and baggy jeans, but she must admit she looks pretty cool. She doesn’t understand how people wear just leather jackets in February though, she’s absolutely freezing cold. There’d be no way she could be out all day in London dressed like this.

“Oh Cass - by the way, I totally forgot to tell you this but we’re supposed to be at this prize ceremony tomorrow,” Luke mentions as they get into the car. He twists around to give Cass a second look. “You look nice,” he says encouragingly. “I like the jacket,” he nudges Matthew around and points at the Ferrari prancing horse logo. “Very nice,” Matthew chimes in dutifully, giving her a smile.

The German trainer is a quiet man, and she hasn’t really interacted with him much since he met up with them their first day here. He’s a lot older - in his mid-40s, Cass would estimate - and looks more like a scientist than a trainer, with silver-rimmed glasses and neat combed over hair. His husband is an engineer in the Ferrari team, and they in Maranello when not travelling for work.

“Were you going to mention that the prize ceremony is in Paris?” Cass ignores Luke’s compliment and gives him a hard stare. She might have agreed to follow him around but that doesn’t mean she’s going to fly across countries without any notice. “Ah, shit, sorry Cassie - I totally forgot, but yeah… it’s in Paris,” Luke looks vaguely shame faced but then brightens up quickly. “Oh, you can meet up with Jamie! He lives in Paris doesn’t he?”

She’d actually already mentioned it to Jamie the night before and he’d immediately started planning a night out with his Paris friends for after the prize ceremony ends. She pretends to grumble a bit, but she’s secretly a bit excited. She hasn’t seen Jamie properly for ages and it’ll be nice to be with her own friend for a bit - she feels like she’s been living Luke’s life for the past two months.

She wants to check her phone to see if Max has replied, but she’s wary of the cameras peppering the car catching a glimpse of her screen. She waits patiently through the drive to the factory, the walk through of the factory, the afternoon of interviews that Luke conducts - impressively - almost entirely in Italian. There are cameras everywhere, all the time.

By the time she gets back to her room she’s completely exhausted from keeping a smile pasted on her face just so that no press camera uses footage of her frowning to suggest Luke’s not doing well. It’s something Francesca had warned her about the first day there. “They will use anything, anything,” Francesca had said, waving her hands energetically in the air. “You think you are safe. Then one bad result and poof - there it is. You must be careful.”

She knows Francesca means well, but she’s already in her head enough and didn’t really need anything to increase her anxiety levels. Luke’s gotten loads of questions about the accident, and pretty aggressive questions on whether he felt he was still fit enough to compete, and every time an interviewer mentions the rapidly nearing start of the season Cass struggles to stop from flinching.

It’s not until the Saturday morning that Cass finally does something that feels normal to her life. She wakes up incredibly early, dresses in a leotard and pair of exercise leggings and fluffy socks, and heads to class. Michelle picks her up in a cute little red car and drives the short distance to the nondescript building where the ballet class is being held, chattering nineteen to the dozen the entire time.

The class is filled with men and women of all ages, and is taught by an elderly woman that Michelle just introduces as Madame. “Thank you for attending our humble class, Miss Errol,” Madame says, extending a hand to Cass. From the line of her arm to the elegant way she holds herself, Cass can tell she dances - or danced - beautifully.

“No, thank you for letting me join,” Cass says, taking her hand and curtseying deeply. Madame laughs, a surprisingly deep laugh for one so old, and announces to the class. “See, this is a girl who knows her ballet etiquette! You all can learn from her.” Cass blushes but is pleased to see that the students are all smiling along with Madame’s grandstanding rather than glaring at her for being a teacher’s pet like they would have if she’d been back in London. Then again, this is a class for amateurs rather than a competition for performing roles.

Cass and Michelle find spots at the bar and Cass immediately falls into the peaceful routine of a ballet class. It’s almost meditative for her by this point, the plies and tondues and stretches. Then they clear the bars and practice jumps and spins, everyone trying to show off for Cass.

“We will now begin practice for our performance of Giselle,” Madame claps her hands together. “Miss Errol, I saw your performance last year - maybe you could show us some small part of the first act?”

Cass knows its shallow but she absolutely loves performing in front of everyone. It’s been so long - the longest she’s gone without performing since she was a child - and she pours all of her energy into conveying the joy and innocence of Giselle in that first act. She misses her costume, the swishy skirt that adds so much to the movements, her specially broken in shoes. It’s not quite the same in leggings and a pair of ballet slippers borrowed from Michelle.

But the music is unchanged. She lets herself melt into the romantic poses, the smooth dips into curtseys, then pulls herself up as high as she can to do the series grande battements and then the rapid twirls ending in a dramatic bow to end the performance, a big smile plastered to her face - this one all natural, unlike the ones she pastes on for the cameras.

The class fills with the sound of applause, and Cass beams at them, breathing slightly heavily. She’ll have to work on her stamina when she gets back if this has gotten her short of breath, that’s for sure. She’s filled with the performer’s high the whole way back to the hotel, so pleased with the adrenaline and pure joy of dancing that she almost forgets that she’s supposed to leave for Paris until about five minutes before she’s supposed to be in the lobby.

—

When they get to Paris - on the Ferrari jet, naturally - she gets her own room, a gorgeous suite with a balcony that opens up to a view of the Eiffel Tower, but she’s got no time to enjoy it because Francesca has arranged for hair and makeup and for someone to come and zip her into her absolutely breath constricting dress.

When the team is done with her she can barely recognise herself. Her eyes are rimmed with black kohl, and she’s got false eyelashes on, and her hair has been smoothed, then curled, then partly braided. She’d never put in this amount of effort on a normal day, but she doesn’t want to embarrass Luke or the Ferrari team.

Luke’s already waiting in the car when she reaches it, and he lets out a wolf whistle when he sees her. “Where’s the rest of your dress, Cassie?” He teases. The dress is red, of course. It has a strapless corset bodice, before falling in silky folds to the floor. It also has a slit up to nearly her hipbone, and she keeps trying to pull it closed. Cass gives him a deadpan “ha-ha”, and gets in the car with slight difficulty because she can hardly breathe with how tight the corset is.

The car they’re in is also filled with cameras, which makes Cass slightly paranoid that she’s going to flash them with how high the slit of the dress is. On the short journey to the hotel where the ceremony is being held Cass only thinks of how excited she is to go back to her quiet little flat in London where there are absolutely no cameras or microphones or nosy journalists. She absolutely can’t stand being watched all the time, and she feels like she can’t say anything in front of the cameras, so she just stays as silent as possible.

The car is so well sound proofed that she doesn’t realise how many people have gathered by the red carpet until the door opens and her ears are assaulted by the sound of excited cheers and screams. Luke gets out of the car and waits patiently for Cass to join him. She stares down the length of the red carpet which now looks very long indeed, and wonders if Luke will be able to make it down without aggravating his fractures. She takes his hand, partly for moral support and partly for physical support.

“Thanks for coming, Cassie,” Luke squeezes her waist as they pose together on the red carpet, Cass feeling vaguely stupid for being there because no one really cares who she is. Literally no one asks her for her name, and she’s told - quite rudely - to get out of the frame for some of the pictures.

They love Luke, though. He signs countless caps and photos, answers interminable and insensitive questions about his health and their dad and mistakes he’d made in the previous season which if he hadn’t made could have resulted in him being the actual champion instead of second runner up. Cass thinks that the highly strung ballerinas she worked with might have decked the interviewers in the face if they’d been asked any of these questions, but Luke handles all of them impeccably.

She has her arm around Luke’s waist and can feel him leaning on her more and more as they continue down the gamut of press outlets. “Should we go inside?” She whispers as they’re guided to the next interviewer by Francesca, sensationally dressed in a whisper of black silk. “Just a couple of more, bean,” Luke grunts under his breath as he starts favouring one leg more than the other.

“So, Luke, we know you’ve seen the new car - what do you think your prospects…” Cass zones out as she’s heard Luke’s response to this a million times. “- and will your performance suffer without your dad around to support you?” Cass feels Luke’s arm tighten around her waist for a second before he relaxes, giving the interviewer a neutral smile.

“Of course I’ll miss having my dad around, he’s - has been with me since karting days and was always a great support and source of advice,” Luke says calmly, thought Cass is shaking like a leaf at the casual mention of their recently deceased father. The interviewer opens her mouth to ask a follow up question, but Luke shuts her down with a smile and nod, turning so that they can move on to the next person who thankfully asks about some car bits.

“You okay?” Luke murmurs under his breath to Cass. “Are you okay? How can you be okay, these questions are outrageous!” She says, aware that her voice is slightly too loud and that Francesca - standing a few feet away with Seb - is shooting them warning looks. “They’re not unexpected,” Luke says grimly. Cass nods slowly, knowing that Luke has been in this cut throat world his whole life and has probably been dealing with this kind of stuff for ages. She’d thought ballerinas were bitchy - until she met the freaking F1 journalist pool.

And she hadn’t really thought about how Luke’s not just lost his father, like she has - he’s lost a constant in his life, something that she’s never had. Their dad had always gone with Luke to his races, to his meetings and just generally been around for him. Cass is used to fending for herself, Luke’s never had to. She squeezes his hand as they make their way into the place where the ceremony will be held.

When they finally find their seats inside the dark, cavernous ballroom, Luke collapses gratefully into his next to Seb. “I need a drink,” he groans, propping his legs on Cass’s chair. Cass immediately offers to go grab one, wanting to explore the room. There’s a bar at the end of the room and she makes a beeline for it, wobbling slightly in her vertiginous heels.

She makes it to the bar and places her order, then turns to survey the room. It’s filled with people involved in motorsport, some of whom she remembers from their visits to Luke’s hospital room. It seems like just yesterday that she was in that room and in some sense she feels like she never left. She doesn’t know if she’s ready to leave him alone, but at the same time she feels like she’s being suffocated by the intense scrutiny Luke’s under, scrutiny that extends to her while she’s next to him. His spotlight is so strong that it’s starting to burn her too.

There’s a queue at the bar and she waits in the line, taking the opportunity to check her phone for messages. Max has been sending shorter and shorter responses to her questions, and she’s found herself wondering at night whether he’s met someone else. It’s not out of the question - since she’s been spending so much time with Luke and also helping to hold his phone during his interviews she’s seen him receive an insane number of flirty texts, tweets and messages on Instagram from genuinely gorgeous women.

She’s spent a fair amount of time thinking about the inevitable end of her time with Max. She knows they shouldn’t even have started anything but she’s always had very little discipline when it comes to him. And with how awful everything had been with her dad and Luke she’d just wanted something for herself - something that was absolutely selfish and lovely and perfect. Max has been the brightest spot of the past two terrible months.

But she knows she’s been dragging out the unavoidable truth that she’s going back to her life in London and he’s going back to his life… all over the place. She’ll be back in London straight after the next week in Italy, and work is expecting her back in the very next day.

She can feel a headache building behind her eyes, the product of so much travel, the stress of having to keep the true extent of Luke’s condition under wraps and being watched all the time. She pinches the skin at the top of her nose to try and relieve the budding pain.

—

Max is dressed in a too-small suit, standing grouchily on the red carpet and answering the most mind numbing questions known to man. Do you think you can win the championship next year? Have you seen the car? Who do you think is the number one driver of Red Bull? He doesn’t bother pasting on a smile, answering as briefly as possible before moving on to the next interviewer, chivvied along by Vicki, his long-suffering PR girl.

“When can I leave?” He whispers to Vicki. She looks down at her phone and taps on the screen a couple of times. “So we’ve got Action of the Year, then Rookie of the Year, then yours - Personality of the Year.” Max rolls his eyes. He can’t believe Christian specifically insisted that he come for this, considering he’s not even won an award for his driving skills. He’s won the stupid Personality of the Year award every year since his debut and sitting in the audience watching the championship prizes being given out is just a reminder that he’s not up there.

He could have been there if his fucking car hadn’t retired seven times. “And then we’ll have the awards for the top three - Errol, Vettel and Hamilton. You don’t have to stay for those but it won’t look great if you don’t.”

Max perks up. Of course he hadn’t forgotten that Errol had gotten third in the championship, but it’s only now occurred to him that he might be here. The man had been shattered into pieces what feels like mere weeks ago, and now he’s apparently walking around like nothing happened, attending prize ceremonies and filming marketing videos with Seb Vettel.

But if Luke Errol is here, that means Cass Errol might be here. He’d not mentioned the night to her and she hadn’t mentioned it to him, but their messages have been dwindling to little how are yous and it’s so cold today and shit like that. He needs to see her in person to have a real conversation. He can’t help the little jump in his chest at the thought that he might see her soon, even if they’re surrounded by people, even if she pretends she doesn’t fucking know him.

A heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder and he suppresses a groan. His dad’s been stuck to him like glue ever since he had a fight with his girlfriend and it’s a massive pain in his ass. Not to mention he won’t be able to even look in Cass’s direction so long as his dad is here. Jos starts grumbling in his ear about his response to some of the questions, bitching about something he’s said, or should have said.

Max fights the urge to shrug off the hand, knowing he’ll just get more grief, and finally Vicki murmurs that they should probably head in since the ceremony would be starting soon. He shoots her a grateful look as Jos wanders off to find someone else to bore and she ushers him into the cavernous ballroom that’s weirdly dark.

He’s deposited by Vicki at the Red Bull table where Christian and Geri are already seated. “Where’s Daniel?” Max asks immediately after greeting them. Geri gives him an amused smile. “It’s almost like you don’t want to sit with us two oldies, Max,” she teases, leading to a snort of laughter from Christian. “Of course he doesn’t - he’s probably dying for a drink! That’s where Daniel, went, over to the bar,” Christian says cheerfully, giving Max permission to leave the table.

Max tries not to jump up - he doesn’t mind talking to Christian and Geri but there are about a million other things he’d prefer doing, like drinking, talking to Daniel or most preferably, making out in a corner of the dark room with Cass - and he walks slowly over to the bar, looking around discreetly to see if he can spot the Ferrari table. Unlike in the paddock where everyone’s in their team colours, here everyone’s in suits and dresses so it actually takes a lot more effort.

He relies on his Cass radar, which starts to tingle when he gets within twenty feet of the bar, and there she is. She looks like an innocent Jessica Rabbit, hair tamed into smooth waves, wearing a dress that reveals almost her entire left leg as she waits in line. He steps up right next to her, and traces his fingertips along the top of her leg, the movement hidden by how closely they’re being pressed together amidst the crush of the bar.

She looks up, green eyes wide and her mouth an ‘o’ of surprise, then when she sees it’s him she looks immediately straight ahead, but he can see the smile creeping across her face.  “Someone is going to see you,” she whispers. Even over the clamour of people trying to get their drinks he can hear her as if she’s speaking straight into his ear. “It’s pitch black in here, no one can see anything,” he replies, whispering too. The two of them are standing stock still except for Max’s right hand, which is gently stroking the bare skin of her leg.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Cass says quietly, shifting her balance so that more of her skin is bared to his touch.

“It was kind of a last minute thing,” Max replies, fighting the urge to just take her hand and pull her from this stupid room filled with idiotic people so that they can finally be alone.

“Did you win a prize?” Cass’s breath hitches as Max bends as if to brush something of his trousers and his fingers slip under her dress to run down her inner thigh for a second before he straightens up and withdraws his hand entirely.

“Barely,” Max rolls his eyes. The bartender waves Cass over and she takes a step forward so that she’s right in front of Max, who groans under his breath as he feels her body pressed against his. She orders her drinks and Max remains impatiently quiet whilst the bartender gives her a much too friendly nod and some chat about her order before he whisks off to get the ingredients.

“The Ritz - Room 801,” Cass tilts her head up to pretend to look at the ceiling, which has some weird light installation, letting Max look down at her completely innocent expression. “I’m meeting Jamie for some drinks later, but - 2am? Can you meet me back there?”

If she had asked him to set himself on fire and run around the room naked he would, so it’s no problem at all for him to nod slightly. He feels a hand slip in and out of his jacket pocket so quickly he’d have thought she’d grown up a street urchin instead of a sheltered princess, before  she squeezes his hand briefly then disappears into the crowd with her drinks. Later, when he reaches in, he’ll find her key card.

—

Cass stumbles up the corridor to her room, pleasantly buzzed. It had been amazing to catch up with Jamie, and to meet his Parisian friends even though her French was a little rusty. Jamie’s so much more social and outgoing than she is, so his friends span all kinds of industries and not just the world of ballet.

But she’s spent all night thinking about Max waiting in her hotel room.

When he’d gone up to accept his award, he’d been so cute - all awkward smiling and stilted answers to the questions he gets asked on stage. Cass could tell that he was trying to temper his blunt Dutch humour when he responded, which made her smile a little. She’d still been smiling when Max gave his little acceptance speech, his eyes searching the dark room and finally finding hers just before he’d left the stage. He’d given her a little smile in return.

She’d asked for another key at the concierge, then taken the lift, and then she’d walked down the corridor and now she’s outside her door. She takes a breath, hand placed flat against the door, then taps her key card against the sensor and pushes the door open quietly, taking a few steps in and kicking off her shoes gratefully, her feet digging gratefully into the lavish carpet. The shoes had been gorgeous but absolute torture after the fifth hour of wearing them.

She reaches out blindly for the light switch and flicks it on, blinking as her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. The room is empty, the bed pristine, and Cass swallows a little bubble of disappointment that Max isn’t here. She checks her watch - it’s exactly two, which made sense because she’d timed her departure from the drinks to make sure she’d be back exactly on time.

She walks over to the little vanity table, taking off her jewellery and brushing out her hair. She walks to the bathroom next to brush her teeth, one eye on the clock the whole time. She’d wanted to meet Max in her dress with all her makeup on, but after half an hour she gives up on that and takes the dress off to take a shower and wash her face.

She’s clean faced, in her pyjamas and lying in bed with most of the lights off when the door beeps and opens. “Hello?” Max stumbles into the room, clearly drunk, with his bowtie undone and hair all messy. Cass sits up, smiling. “Max!” She exclaims, getting out of bed and going over to him. He’s still holding his trophy so he must have come straight from his night out as well.

She wraps her arms around him waist and presses her nose to his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne, all fresh laundry and the forest, and she can feel him doing the same as he presses his face into her hair. There’s something just so comforting about being with Max, the familiarity of his presence mixed with the feeling of safety. “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbles into her hair. “The team wanted to do drinks and it was hard to leave.”

“It’s okay,” Cass replies, leaning her ear against Max’s chest. She can hear his heart beating steadily against it, and it’s the most soothing sound in the world. “I’m just glad you could come.”

She could have stayed there forever, but Max pulls away, dropping his trophy on the floor carelessly. “We need to talk,” he says urgently, his hands around her biceps. He has to blink a couple of times to steady himself, but he’s clearly feeling strongly about something as he leads her to the bed and sits her on the edge, taking a seat next to her. She’s filled with apprehension - we need to talk are four words that rarely lead to a happy ending, as any television show can tell you.

“Do you love me?” He asks abruptly, looking at her as carefully as he can, three sheets to the wind. Cass blinks, more at the unexpectedness of the question than anything else. She’s tried not to spend too much time thinking about this, not wanting to get too emotionally invested really because she’s always thought they have an expiration date.

Max makes her so happy. Just seeing his face - just the thought of seeing his face - makes her smile. And his stupid jokes and singing Taylor Swift, and his protectiveness and the way he kisses, and his strong arms and obsession with cars, and how gentle he is with little kids, and how he took care of her when Luke was in the hospital, and how he loves the sun but stays in the shade so she doesn’t get sunburn…

But he’s here one day and gone the next. And she’s absolutely filled with jealousy whenever he’s not with her, and she knows the second he steps in a race car she’ll be completely incapable of thinking straight - not that she’d be thinking straight in the first place with Luke in a car right next to him, and all of this is so not conducive for the peaceful home life she needs to balance out her hectic work life.

But he’s not asking if she wants to be in a relationship, just how she feels about him, and maybe it’s the cocktails she’d downed or maybe it’s the fact that she’s never stopped loving him all these years even though she’s tried to squeeze that into a little box and shove it deep down inside, but she finds herself saying yes in an almost surprised tone.

“I love you too,” Max says back happily. The two of them just sit and smile at each other, like idiots, until Cass’s always lurking anxiety rears its ugly head. “But - I’m going back to Maranello tomorrow morning, and then back to London after. I won’t see you anymore after today,” Cass frowns.

Max flops back onto the bed, checking his ugly watch. “What?” Cass asks when Max lets out a giant sigh. She turns and props her chin on her knees, waiting for his response. “It only took you two minutes to burst the bubble,” Max says sadly, turning onto his side. His fingers trace the pale skin of her shins above the fluffy socks she’s got on.

Cass stretches out her legs to give him better access. “Well, it’s true isn’t it? What has changed about our lives in the past two years? I’m still a ballerina and you’re still a race car driver, and never the twain shall meet and what-not.” Max looks so sad that Cass can’t help herself from leaning over and kissing his cheek.

He catches her before she can sit up again, and pulls her down so that she’s lying next to him, his arms wrapped around her. “Can we pretend for tonight?” He murmurs, his long eyelashes fanning out at the top of his cheeks as he blinks slowly, drowsily. She's so close that she can see the blonde tips of his eyelashes, making her feel especially tender towards him. He's got the eyelashes of a little boy, all spiky and unfairly long. Any woman would kill for those eyelashes, she thinks toh erself.

“Okay,” Cass agrees, biting her lip because it hurts how much she wants them to be together - she just knows that it’ll be too hard. She shuffles a bit so that they’re nose to nose, so close that she can almost feel Max’s eyelashes against her own skin. “We’re in our bed in our room in the little house we both live in,” she whispers, spinning their little fairy tale. “In Monaco?” Max says hopefully, opening one eye.

“Not in Monaco,” Cass laughs quietly. “Somewhere… a magical place where we both want to live. And we’ve just come back from a race, which you won, and… we got back just in time for my amazing performance as the lead in Swan Lake…” She trails off, not wanting to give voice to something she’s thought about but in such an abstract and embarrassing way that she can’t even say it.

In the part of her fairy tale she doesn’t say because it’s crazy for any career oriented twenty year old to think this about their ex-boyfriend who comes with so much baggage he could start a shop. An ex-boyfriend who spends the better part of the year travelling the world, driving around in circles very quickly and exceptionally dangerously. The part that goes, and we’re married, and we have a little baby with my hair and your eyes or your hair and my eyes, and the baby is the most well travelled kid in the whole planet because we’re always together and no one gets left behind ever.

“Am I still friends with Daniel?” Max asks dreamily, snapping Cass back into reality. “Of course you are,” she says, tracing the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Why wouldn’t you be?” Max pouts, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck. “I don’t think we’ll be friends this year,” he mumbles into her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

“Because - I need to show I should be number one driver, if I want to be the youngest champion ever,” Max frowns. “They need to give me the best strategies. And set the car up the way I like it. I mean - the car is pretty much built for me now, but I need to prove to them that I’m worth it. And that means… showing Daniel isn’t.” He looks more resigned than sad, and Cass is reminded all over again about how cut throat the business of F1 is.

“You’re best friends with Daniel, and it’s always summer, so tomorrow we’re going to have a big barbecue party with Daniel, and Luke, and Victoria and all of your friends and all of my friends,” Cass says.

“And my other little sister, Blue Jaye,” Max adds sleepily. Cass makes a face, surprised that any woman would touch Jos with a bargepole, but dutifully adds Blue Jaye to the list of guests at their imaginary garden party. “That sounds nice,” Max murmurs, his eyes closed.

“And we’ll have our party in our little garden which has so many flowers, and a swimming pool… and the weather will be perfect and then we’ll watch the sun set and it’ll be gorgeous, and then we’ll sit around a little fireplace and make s’mores and tell stories,” Cass finishes. Max is breathing slowly and deeply, and Cass smiles at his peaceful face.

She reaches over to turn off the lights and pulls the duvet cover over the two of them, letting herself snuggle up to Max to steal some of the warmth his body is throwing off. He’s like a little furnace, which feels incredible because she’s always cold, and she buries her head in the crook of his neck, and in no time at all she’s fast asleep.

—

She wakes up to the feeling of being absolutely smothered. Max has somehow pulled her so close that she can’t lift her head from his chest and she has to wriggle fairly vigorously to get free of his arms, inadvertently hitting his nose with the back of her head.

“Ow, fuck!” Max exclaims, letting her go immediately so he can clutch his nose with both hands. The two of them flop onto their backs, Cass rubbing the back of her head and Max cradling his nose. Cass can tell from Max’s groan that he’s probably suffering from as bad a hangover as she is.

She reaches out a hand and pats his face gently. “There, there,” she says, stifling a laugh. One glance at his disgruntled expression has her curling up with laughter. He catches her hand and gives her palm a kiss. “I love you,” he says, looking up at the ceiling. He says it so casually, so easily, that she’s sad all over again.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Max is startled when he turns to the side and sees that she has a tear running down the side of her face. It’s a fairly dramatic reaction to him saying he loves her, one that suggests to him that she finds his statement… horrifying?

“It’s the morning,” Cass says, sniffing. “I have to leave soon, and I won’t see you anymore,” she pulls a pillow over her head, embarrassed. “We’ll see each other,” Max pulls the pillow off, and hovers over her, head tilted. “You’ll come visit your brother, won’t you?”

“Yeah, for like - three days a year. And Luke’s moving back to England, too, so I won’t be going to Monaco any more.” Max sits back, digesting the information he’s just been presented with. Three days a year of seeing Cass - that’s like telling a man he’s going to starve forever after serving him a feast.

“I can stay in Milton Keynes until the season starts,” Max says uncertainly, his hungover brain trying to remember what he’s got scheduled over the next few weeks. There are a couple of promotional things he has to do, a trip to visit sponsors in the Netherlands, but he can shorten those… “Won’t we just be delaying the inevitable?” Cass says softly, her mouth turning downwards in a sad frown.

“We know how this turns out, we’ve been here before. We only last the winter,” Cass says, wiping away her tears roughly. “Things have changed,” Max says urgently. He can feel her slipping away, her little shell coming up around her after all their defences were torn down the night before. “I’m in Red Bull now, and I’ve got more power in the team - I can say no to things, I’ve proved myself…”

“You said last night that this year you’ll have to prove to the team that you’re worth it, that you can beat Daniel,” Cass reminds him gently. “And before the accident maybe I had more leeway at work, but after being away for so long I’ll have to prove myself all over again too. We’re both still so young, Max. We still have so much more room to grow before we can do what we want and forget about everyone else.”

Max is scrambling. He’d been wracking his brain for the perfect thing to say to her so that she’ll realise that they’re meant to be together, but she’s presented him with irrefutable logic. He’s not a champion, he’s not even in the top three - he still needs to show his family that their sacrifices meant something.

“I’ll move to London, how about that?”

Moving to London meant he’d see her between every race. They’d have sleepy mornings together, dreamy nights like the night before, he could become part of her life and she could be part of his. Christian would be thrilled - not about being with Cass, he’s never going to like that - but he’ll be so much closer to the factory. He’ll tell Christian that’s why he’s moving - a true show of dedication to the craft.

Jos would be livid. He’d know there was only one reason for Max to move out of his sunny, tax-haven home of Monaco where basically every racing driver lives. That reason is staring at him right now with big, wet green eyes.

“Oh, but you’d hate London.” Max is baffled that Cass has started crying again. “You’re a summer boy, and you’ll move and then some day in November when it’s freezing and raining outside and you can’t go out on your yacht you’ll be miserable and you’ll hate it. And then - then you’ll leave.”

“I know what it’s like to live in a place where it’s always raining, I grew up in the rain,” Max tries to reassure Cass. “And, unlike when I was a kid, we can actually do this thing called paying for a flight to go somewhere else. It’s called a holiday, have you heard of those?” He teases, trying to break Cass out of her negative spiral. His heart is pounding - he knows she’ll have to leave soon, and that if she leaves before they sort this out they’ll be over, and if she rejects his London suggestion there’s nothing else on the table.

—

Cass knows she’s throwing roadblocks up when Max is trying desperately to tear them down, but she knows what it’s like to be the person left behind by a racing driver. She’s spent her whole life that way, seeing her dad and Luke a couple of weeks every year. If Max was living with her maybe it’d go up to a whole six months if someone carefully counted up all the days they’d be together, in between races and meetings with sponsors and travelling for work.

“I just - I need some time to think about this, okay?” Cass is deeply, desperately touched by Max’s offer to move to London, but she knows she has to be the adult out of the two of them because Max has the very racing driver attitude of do now, regret later. She’s pretty sure he’s not thought about any of the consequences of moving to London, whether its lifestyle or logistics.

“Stop always thinking so much!” Max exclaims, grabbing her hands. “I love you and you love me, you said so last night. So why won’t you just let us be together? Please, kleintje. We can make it work, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Cass shakes her head. “Look I’ve got to go to the airport - just give me some time to think about this and - and I’ll call you later, okay?” Unlike two years ago, Max knows better than to give Cass an ultimatum, but he’s incredibly pissed off. And scared. He feels like he’s already lost, and there’s nothing he hates more than losing.

He stands up, trying to maintain his dignity after baring his soul and laying out all his cards completely to his ice princess, and after putting back on his suit jacket and his shoes, he picks up the idiotic glass trophy that reads Personality of the Year - Max Verstappen with detachment. He puts one hand on the doorknob, shoulders slumping. This is it, then.

He hears the sound of feet pounding on the floor and lifts his head just as a little body barrels into his back. “I do love you, Max.” Cass’s voice is muffled from her face being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades. “I just need some time to think about this. But I love you. I’m sorry… Thank you.”

It feels like goodbye.

—

Luke can tell something’s up when they’re in the Ferrari jet on the way back to Maranello. He’d had an early night, exhausted from all the standing and walking, so he’s super alert compared to the still hungover and very conflicted Cass.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” He leans over and pokes Cass in the arm from his seat opposite her. “Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about work,” Cass says, looking out the window. “Are they still bothering you about not being incredibly dedicated or whatever it is?” Luke asks. Cass shakes her head.

“No, just thinking about… going back to London and all that. I’ll be sad to leave.” Cass gives Luke a smile, not wanting him to feel guilty about keeping her with him for a couple more weeks. “You don’t have to, you know,” Luke says hopefully. “You could take an extended break… come with me for the first half of the season or something. Tell work I need some emotional support. It’ll be nice to have you around for a bit longer.”

Cass is already shaking her head before he’s finished speaking. “I’m not a person when I’m here, Luke,” she says. “I’m invisible, an accessory. And I love you, but I can’t live like that. I’m too selfish.” Luke shoots her an amused look.

“That’s not being selfish,” he says gently. “And you know what? If this accident and all the shit we’ve been going through has taught me anything it’s that we should just be selfish. Don’t wait for the perfect thing to come along or the perfect time to do it. Do whatever you want. Take your risks, make your mistakes, and if it turns out well then good and if it doesn’t, learn from it. We’re here for a good time, not a long time.” He leans over and gives Cass a fist bump, which she returns with a smile.

“Thanks, Luke,” she says. It’s funny to her that her normally risk-averse brother has changed his attitude towards life so completely, but not too surprising. But it does make her think about taking chances. She’s lived her life in such an orderly way, making sure she bubble wraps herself from any potential hurt, and then one day the universe comes along and smashes that to pieces with a fucking heart attack that smashes her dad and brother into the side of a mountain.

And if that doesn’t just tell you what the universe thinks of the carefully laid plans of mice and men. Cass mulls over this the entire flight, and during the drive back to the hotel, and while she unpacks her things from her suitcase.

And then she opens up her phone, finds Max’s name in her contacts, and calls him.

“Hello?” Max picks up immediately, and her confidence in her decision is bolstered by the rush of happiness that floods through her at the sound of his voice.

“Okay,” she says, smiling so hard her face hurts.

“Wait - you’re sure?” Max asks on the other end of the crackly line, the disbelief in his voice clear.

“Yes - move into my place, we can… take it day by day,” Cass laughs, filled with the feeling of freedom that one can only get from throwing all caution to the wind. “I’ll see you back in London. I love you.”

—

Chapter Text

Cass is one of nature’s born worriers. She can’t tell whether it’s a by-product of being a ballerina or whether it’s from years of ballet, but she can often be found worrying about the way she’s tied her shoes, or whether her calf muscles are sufficiently warmed up, or whether she’d landed that jump absolutely perfectly.

So in the week between the prize giving ceremony and her return to London, she worries.

She worries about her job - will she miss out on any roles because of her absence? Will she still be performing at the same standard after such a long break? Has she put on too much weight from her break?

She worries about her brother - how will he cope once she’s gone? Will he be lonely living in their house in the Cotswolds? Will he be able to cope with the physical and mental pressures of going back to racing?

And she worries about Max. What will living with him be like? She worries that he’ll hate living in London. That he’ll miss his friends, the sun, the sea, the partying. That he’ll resent her, and she’ll never see him anyway because he’ll be all over the world, that they’re rushing into this decision.

Jamie tells her she’s worrying over nothing. “He’s a grown man who can make his own choices, sweetheart,” he says over the phone when she calls him in tears one night. “But what is it’s the wrong choice?” Jamie tries his best to comfort her, but she can’t stop the thoughts from churning in her mind, especially because there’s literally nothing else to occupy her mind.

She follows Luke around in his never ending cycle of press-factory-sponors. She has some fantastic meals, slurping up pasta and eating steaks carved off prehistoric looking bones, and then she worries some more about her weight. She smiles and shakes hands with middle-aged, white men and wears whatever Francesca tells her to, and sits in silence as everyone around her speaks in rapid Italian.

“Maybe you can talk to Max about it?” Mara suggests. She’d called her to talk about her coming back, but she’d mentioned that Max was going to move in with her and Mara had freaked out, which made Cass freak out.

“What about Ben?!” Had been Mara’s first question - a fair one, since Mara has been dating Nick, the bass player in Ben’s band and as such has seen Ben far more than Cass has. “He’s so in love with you, it’s crazy. You need to tell him you guys aren’t together!”

“But… we were just kind of dating, we never had any talk about being together in the first place,” a flustered Cass had said. To be honest, she’d kind of forgotten about Ben, which makes her feel guilty, and then she worries about that as well. Texting him about it feels impolite and impersonal, but she doesn’t really want to speak to him about it either because she knows he’ll give her sad puppy dog eyes and also she hates confrontation.

“Anyway, I can’t talk to Max about it. He’s so confident about every choice he makes, it’s incredible. It’s like he doesn’t understand second guessing himself. Honestly, I wish I could live for one day with that level of self assurance. It must be incredible.” The two ballerinas muse about what life would be like with anxiety, and after they hang up Cass makes herself call Ben. He picks up immediately.

“Hey Ben… how are you?” Cass listens as Ben goes into great details as to exactly what he’s been doing for the past two months, which appears to be solely focused on getting his band’s album done. She waits in vain for a break in the conversation where she could naturally interject with the information that she won’t be seeing him anymore. It’s difficult, because how do you tell someone you weren’t really dating that you’re not going to not-date them anymore?

Then she gets the chance. “Anyway, our album release party is going to be on the 13th so put that in your diary - it’s gonna be sick!” Ben enthuses.

“So, Ben - you know I’ve been away for these two months and, well… I think - just because I’m really going to have to focus on work and I’m kind of still processing everything, and I’ve got lots of family stuff going on, I think that I probably won’t be able to see you…”

“Oh, yeah that’s cool,” he says in a disappointed voice and Cass internally celebrates a peaceful, conflict-free conversation. “- just let me know if I can help you out with anything okay? Ah, shit - I’ve got to go, I have another call coming, it’s the label - but I’ll see you on the 13th!” Before Cass can protest, she’s talking to dead air. She just stares at the phone after, wondering whether he’s actually understood the message or not. Maybe she’s being invited to the party on the 13th as a friend?

She calls Max instead, the anxious thoughts that rattle through her brain calming when he picks up. “Hey, what are you up to?” She asks, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. If she pretends hard enough, maybe she can imagine that he’s here with her.

“I just came from dinner with the team, some pre-season morale booster that Christian set up,” Max hiccups. She can hear the smile in his voice, and the cheerful slurring of his words suggests morale has been sufficiently boosted.

“Are you all set with the movers?” Since Max has a pretty tight schedule, he’s hired a moving company to just go into his place in Monaco, pack it all up and ship it to her flat. He’s heading to the Netherlands for the weekend before properly moving in on the Monday when Cass is back. She’ll have one night to make space for his things before she has to go back to work.

“Yeah, Christian got his assistant to send someone over to take photos of everything to make sure no one steals it, can you imagine? Who wants my old pants?” Christian Horner has been unsurprisingly very supportive of Max moving closer to the factory, and apparently is taking a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to why exactly he’s moving. Cass is sure that Daniel, massive gossip that he is, has probably let slip his boss by now.

“Where’d you go for dinner?” Cass asks, putting him on speaker as she opens up her suitcase to start packing up to return home. She has one more day in Maranello then she’ll be heading straight back to London. Luke will be here another week before he goes back to Monaco to pack up his life, then they’ll both go to the Cotswolds house on the weekend to sort out their dad’s things.

By the time she’s filled two suitcases - Francesca had gone way overboard with the amount of clothes she’d got for Cass - Max has returned to his hotel and she can hear the yawn in his voice. “… and… I’m going to see my mum and Victoria soon, which will be cool. I wanted to tell Victoria about us, is that okay?”

Cass mulls over this for a while. She hasn’t told Luke yet, more because she doesn’t know how to explain how she’s gone from not even mentioning Max to Max moving in with her. Luke’s got so much else to deal with that she doesn’t want to add to the long list of things he has to worry about. Her brief time being the anchor of their family has taught her that it’s a lot of pressure to be under, even if Luke bears it well.

“I actually haven’t said anything to Luke yet,” she says, folding the few ratty old t-shirts that Francesca let her keep and putting them into the over-filled suitcase. There’s a pause.

“Why?”

Cass immediately wishes she could take the words back, because she can hear the hurt in Max’s unusually flat, measured voice. She knows it’s because he thinks that she thinks Luke will disapprove, but that’s obviously not the case. She just… doesn’t know how to bring it up. It’ll definitely invite questions. Questions she’s not sure she’s ready to answer.

“I’m going to tell him, I swear!” She actually hadn’t planned on saying anything, but it’s almost her last day with him in person and she has to tell him some time. Definitely before he gets back to London. Which means within the next couple of weeks.

Max sighs over the phone, and then is uncharacteristically silent, and she feels like a terrible person. She knows he’s really excited to move in together, and she feels like she’s feels like she’s raining on his parade constantly. “Do you feel like we are… rushing things? Are you not ready?” Max asks haltingly. She feels like a monster.

“No, of course not. Yes, absolutely, tell Victoria,” she says emphatically. “Tell your mum, tell your dad… tell Blue Jaye, even. I’ll tell Luke. Tomorrow. I promise.”

She’s rewarded by Max’s little “yay” on the other side of the line, his mood immediately lightened. He’s so mercurial, but she knows this one is on her. “Blue Jaye will be with her mum, and my dad definitely won’t be there - restraining order’s still working, remember? But Victoria’s boyfriend will be there, so maybe I’ll tell him too…”

She closes her last suitcase and sits on it. “Okay, I can hear you falling asleep over there,” she says as she zips up the case, tiredness hitting her like a truck suddenly. “I need to take a shower after all this packing, then I’m going to head to bed too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah I need to head to the shower too,” Max is so sweet when he’s sleepy, his voice all mellow and rough. “Talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Cass says, smiling slightly. She still feels kind of shy saying those three words, but Max refuses to hang up until she says it so she’s been getting some sort of exposure therapy.

—

She keeps searching for the right time to talk to Luke the next day, but it’s absolutely crammed with insanity. Even though the Netflix cameras have moved on - apparently to Australia to film Daniel - there’s still no end to Luke’s press requirements.

First they head for an interview with an English journalist who’s flown over just to speak with Luke, who’s going to be the front page feature for his magazine. They spend half a day together, following Luke around on his “regular” schedule.

The journalist gets bored with Luke’s hyper media trained answers some time after breakfast, and when they’re watching Luke fiddle with the simulator he turns to Cass suddenly. “What about you, Cassie?” He says with an oozy familiarity that makes her shudder on the inside. She’d never given him permission to call her by her nickname, but she knows if she corrects him she’ll be labelled a massive bitch in his article.

“You’ve been with your brother in Monaco before this, haven’t you? I saw photos of you with many of the drivers, all young, handsome athletes,” he continues. Cass does her best to keep stock still, not wanting to give herself away with even a single blink. She’d been annoyed by how invisible she was to all the people crowding around Luke but after being on the receiving end of that suggestive, smirky tone she misses anonymity.

“And you’re a - dancer, aren’t you?” The way he says it is as if she’s some sort of lady of the night, luring men in with her sinuous hips. Her temper flares up, but a quick glance at Luke reminds her that she’s got to keep it under wraps for him.

It’ll be awful if she messes up his article.  Apparently this magazine is the top sports one in the world, and it’s an amazing coup for an F1 driver to be on the cover. Luke’s been buzzing about this one for ages, and Francesca - it’s absolute sponsor bait. If only the journalist wasn’t a total dick.

He continues with this line of questioning for a bit, unimpressed by Cass’s performing credentials and she hates herself a bit for trying to show off with a recitation of all the lead roles she’s done for one of the top ballet companies in the world since he clearly doesn’t care.

“So, going back to your time in Monaco - how did it feel to hear that your father had died in a car accident? And about your brother being in a - what was it, a medically induced coma? Must have been hard, hmm?” He looks sympathetic, and Cass is relieved that he finally appears to be experiencing normal human emotions.

“Yeah, it was pretty difficult - I’m really grateful to the doctors and physios and all the other staff at the hospital for helping Luke recover so quickly, and -” the interviewer cuts her off with a quick shake of his head. “How was the support from the racing community?”

Of course, his audience didn’t really care about the tireless medical staff piecing Luke together. They didn’t care about their dad, her feelings. But she responds dutifully. “Yes, we definitely felt a lot of support from the racing community and the Ferrari family. Luke and I were really touched by how many people came to visit when he was in hospital.”

“And one person visited quite a lot, didn’t he?” Cass feels a chill run down her spine as the journalist whips out his phone and starts scrolling through his photos. She thinks of when Max had come to visit, her sitting in his car in full view of the rest of the world in the hospital car park, eyes rabbit pink from crying. The day Luke had woken up.

“You’re a lucky girl, aren’t you? He’s certainly very handsome,” the journalist says smarmily, showing her the photo he’s pulled up on his phone. The photo is blurry, clearly a super zoomed in shot taken from far away, and she feels herself cringe with disgust that someone could take a photo of someone clearly grieving in a hospital car park. Her red hair is unmistakable, but as she squints at the photo she notices something off.

The hair of the other person is dark.

The photo is of her hugging Charles.

It must have been taken in Monaco, one of the days when Luke hadn’t been doing very well. An infection resulting from one of his surgeries, something that in hindsight had been quickly fixed but at the moment had felt absolutely overwhelming. She’s clutching on to Charles as if he’s a lifeboat saving her from the Titanic, her face buried in his neck, his face buried in her hair. He had been crying as well, she remembers distantly. They’re locked in an embrace of total misery.

“How did you get this photo?” She says through numb lips, fighting down her utter incandescent fury that some parasitic paparazzi has snapped a picture of two people mourning and decided to use it for gossip fodder. For Luke, she reminds herself, trying to look over at her brother who’s obliviously driving his bloody simulator, but she’s almost blind with rage.

“That’d be telling, wouldn’t it?” The journalist is satisfied with his scoop and whisks his phone away, snatching it out of Cass’s trembling hands. “Lovely story though - the grieving sister finding solace in the arms of a possible future team mate and competitor. Charles is the anointed one in the Ferrari family, don’t you know? He’s going to be called up any time now, Sebastian booted out like last year’s rubbish.”

“Sebastian is fantastic, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She answers woodenly, staring straight into space. Maybe if she dissociates enough the journalist will stop speaking to her. She’s not so lucky. “You’re right, he’s a two time world champion, after all. Then - will it be your brother who’s out? He was good last season, but who knows if that crash scrambled everything up? You know the saying, you can fix the broken glass but you’ll always see the cracks?”

Cass squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out his hateful words. The journalist chuckles, seeming to enjoy her clear unhappiness at their conversation. “Ah, who’re you going to root for this season, then? Your brother or your boyfriend? Must be so conflicted, poor little girl,” he says condescendingly.

She’s saved - or maybe the journalist is saved, because she’s about a second away from punching his lights out - by Francesca appearing, her sixth sense for PR fireballs working again after having malfunctioned for the past five minutes. “Julian, you don’t have a drink! This is unconscionable, please, come with me,” she gushes over the journalist, who preens at her attention. Cass is so disgusted with him that she can’t even look him in the eye as he oozes out a goodbye, shaking her hand with his own sweaty paw.

“Hey! What were you guys talking about?” Luke pops up from his simulator chair and Cass swallows hard, wondering whether her brother who’s worked so hard to get back in fighting shape is going to be replaced by Charles, one of his best friends. Before she can say anything, he shoots her a massive grin. “I bet it was about me. Did he ask you if you think I’m going to be champion this year? That’d be a great story, wouldn’t it?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Cass says noncommittally, not wanting to upset Luke by complaining about the journalist. Luke has a reputation for being ice cold and unflappable, but when it comes to her he’s protective beyond relief and she wouldn’t be surprised if he told off the journalist, which would definitely result in an unflattering article.

Also, she doesn’t want Luke to provoke the journalist because that might result in him repeating the horrible things again. And she doesn’t know if Luke will be able to take that level of negativity right before the start of the season, not when he’s been trying so hard to stay physically and mentally fit.

She gives the creepy journalist a wide berth for the rest of the morning, all too happy to say goodbye after lunch where Francesca plies him with the finest Italian wine they have on offer, so much so that he stumbles when he gets into his cab and almost face plants on the pavement outside the Ferrari factory. Cass uncharitably wishes he had.

“I think I can drive the two of us to the next thing,” Luke says casually, looking between Francesca and Matthew. “I should probably get some use out of these legs, toughen them up a bit.” Matthew protests a bit, but he has a massive (and not very subtle) crush on Francesca so he’s all too happy to slide into Francesca’s sleek red sports car as Luke and Cass get into the four-seater Ferrari.

Luke lets out a sigh of relief as they shut the doors and are ensconced in lovely silence. “Damn, that journalist was tough!” He exclaims merrily as he checks his mirrors and does up his seatbelt, always careful. That’s how he survived the crash, the police had told her. He’d had his seatbelt on, their dad hadn’t. Cass starts at the sudden recollection, wondering why she’s thinking of the very bad day.

She does up her own seatbelt with shaky hands as Luke starts the car, blinking away the memories. The sombre, French-speaking police. Their looks of pity. Luke hidden away, deep in the bowels of the hospital receiving life saving surgery. The doctors saying horrible things in flat, unemotional words. Identifying her dad’s body in the morgue even though they already knew it was him.

“I’m feeling great, Cassie, the old muscles are all fired up now,” Luke’s saying with complete confidence. He flexes his leg, showing her how it bends easily despite the metal pins holding it together. “And did you notice - I didn’t have to use the cane at all today, even though we were walking everywhere!”

“That’s great, Luke,” she murmurs. Luke glances over at her. “You’ve got that squint going on, bug,” he announces, tapping his forehead to show her where she does indeed have a furrow from her frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Um…” Cass says, fingers twisting nervously over each other. “Okay, but you have to promise not to get mad,” she stalls. When Luke promises, still happy about the functionality of his now-working legs, she stammers out the truth. “Okay so - when you were in the hospital I was going through kind of a tough time, and you know how you live in the same buildings as like a zillion other people? So there was one day that Max kind of fetched me back to the hospital and -”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking to him again?” Luke says in disbelief, taking his eyes off the road again to shoot her another look.

“Well - I mean, it’s not forever since obviously the season starts soon, but - he’s going to live with me. In London. Um… from next week. In my flat. We’re seeing each other again. And - um. He’s going to… live with me. I said that already, didn’t I? So… yeah.”

The silence in the car is absolute. Cass doesn’t dare look over at Luke because she’s not sure she’s ready to see what his expression looks like right at that moment.

She hears him swallow, hard.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Luke’s voice comes out slightly strangled, and when she sneaks a glance over he’s staring straight ahead at the road, his knuckles whitening from the tight grip he has on the steering wheel.

“You are?” Cass doesn’t mean to sound disbelieving, but she does.

Another swallow.

“Yes, I am happy for you. You deserve happiness, and clearly Max… makes you happy. I suppose.” He can’t help himself from adding the last two begrudging words, but Cass cheerfully ignores that part and, despite wanting to throw a massive hug around him, just squeezes his elbow so he doesn’t get distracted while driving.

“Thanks, big brother,” she says, taking out her phone to text Max the good news. They continue driving on, Cass wincing instinctively when Luke takes a sharp turn off the highway.

“Are you… are you not scared?” They both know exactly what she’s referring to, the trauma of the accident even deeper in Luke’s bones than in Cass’s, but Cass forges on when Luke is silent. “I get nightmares, sometimes. And - when we’re in the car like this, I get a bit scared when it goes too quickly, or if I see a car coming the other way when I don’t expect it. I know it’s stupid, I wasn’t even in the car, but…”

Luke’s voice is quiet. “It’s not stupid. I - I can’t explain it, really. I just knew that if I didn’t get back into the driver’s seat immediately, I’d never do it again. And I imagined a life without racing and it just wasn’t a life I wanted to have. So yes, I was scared but… it’s worth the fear, for me. The fear of never racing again is greater than the fear of racing. Does that make sense?”

Honestly it didn’t, but Cass supposed that as long as it made sense to Luke that’s all that mattered.

—

After the unexpectedly smooth conversation with Luke, Cass is unusually filled with optimism. She’s pleased to be back in her flat, the creaky step that used to bother her making her smile. It’s a lovely change from the weirdly perfect apartment complex in Monaco with it’s vigilant receptionists and expensive “signature” perfume wafting through the air.

She tells herself she’ll unpack later as she takes a long, hot shower and falls into her bed, but the next thing she knows she’s being woken up by knocking on her front door. Squinting blearily as she heaves herself out of bed, she heads to the front door and opens it to see a burly man in a onesie holding a clipboard.

“You’re not Max Verstappen,” the man says disappointedly when she turns up. “But ‘ere - we’ve got a couple of trucks with stuff to unload, could you sign this to confirm receipt?” Cass takes the clipboard and pen that he shoves towards her and takes a step back as he starts to wave in a seemingly endless stream of onesie clad men carrying boxes of various shapes and sizes.

“Where do you want these, love?” A man shouts in her direction as she clutches the clipboard to her chest to make room for them. There is unfortunately not much space - she’s somewhat of a collector herself - so she directs them to Jamie’s old bedroom, which she’d been using as a ballet studio. The small space fills up pretty quickly and she watches helplessly as they just start piling boxes in any space available.

She can’t remember Max having this much stuff, but then again she hadn’t looked around his apartment properly.

Cass 🌸 has sent 9 photos

Cass 🌸 : i thought you were going to be here when the movers arrived

Cass 🌸 : are you a hoarder?!

Cass 🌸 : where are you?

When pretty much every surface is covered in boxes, the leader looks at Cass. “We got about half a van left, miss. Is there anywhere else we can put it?” When Cass shakes her head, he frowns. “Well - we’re an unpacking service as well, so let’s see if we can make some space by taking the boxes and what not out, eh?”

He seems to sense that Cass is panicking slightly because he hesitates for a second then reaches over to give Cass a friendly pat on the top of her head. Cass musters up a smile as she wanders from room to room to give at least the slightest impression that she’s in any way helping the multiple professional movers who are deftly taking things out of boxes and wrappers and folding all the boxes flat impressively quickly.

The movers manage to bring everything in eventually, and they disappear just as quickly as they appeared, leaving behind stacks of things everywhere. She can’t see the couch, can barely see the floor, and all of her things have been corralled into little clusters to make space for Max’s trophies, and signed photos and helmets, and little souvenirs that he must have collected over his career.

He still hasn’t replied to her messages, so she takes a deep breath and starts trying to organise things into a vague sense of order. The trophies and helmets will all go into the spare room, she decides, and she spends a good hour shifting things around. Max’s clothes - a ridiculous number of identical white t-shirts, blue jeans and Red Bull gear - all get unceremoniously dumped on the couch.

His kitchen things are far nicer than hers, so she takes one of the boxes left behind - the movers seemed to sense that some things in her flat would have to go to make room - and stacks her chipped plates, cups and frankly carcinogenic pans inside to replace them with Max’s. His silverware is also in much better shape, so her knives and forks go into the box as well.

She’s a few hours in the doorbell rings. She’d gotten into quite a good rhythm of packing and chucking so she gets quite startled by the sound and it takes her a minute before she realises that it must be Max. The bell rings another time, her ever impatient boy unable to help himself, as she jumps up, runs to the door and flings it open.

“Oomph -” she knocks the air out of Max’s lungs as she bowls into him, hugging him as tightly as she can. “You’re here!” She beams up at him. All the annoyance of having to unpack for Max whilst he was MIA disappears as she buries her face into his chest and breathes in the scent of his cologne. “Welcome home.”

“Sorry I’m late, I -” he pauses, and Cass looks up to see his puzzled expression. “Why do you have so many things?” Cass takes a step back. “What do you mean? This is all your stuff!” She points to the couch. “Look, there’s all your clothes - and you’ve got a million random things in the spare room as well. Wait, didn’t you see the messages I sent you?”

Max digs in his pockets and offers up his phone - completely dead. “Sorry, kleintje, were you unpacking all this by yourself? They were supposed to come in the afternoon, and it’s only just noon now. I guess they were early.” He leans down to give her a hug and a kiss, and she pretend-grungingly accepts it, finally letting him into the flat.

“They must have packed up all the things that came with the apartment,” Max muses as he walks over to the kitchen and picks up an enormous silver wine bucket. “I hope I don’t have to pay for these!”

“Oh!” Cass suddenly remembers something and darts into her room. “Here!” She returns with it clutched in her hand. “This is your key - look, I got you a keychain for it,” she hands him the key on its Ferrari keychain, which makes him burst into laughter.

“Absolutely not, Christian will murder me,” he says, struggling to pull the keychain off. “Hey, I actually had to pay for that,” Cass protests, wrapping her hand around his to stop him. “Kleintje, if I bring a Ferrari keychain to the Red Bull factory I might as well start looking for a new job immediately,” Max laughs, although he stops tugging at the chain and just slips it into his pocket.

“Well, I’d say we could start on the unpacking tomorrow but you have to go to work and it looks like we’ll have nowhere to sleep,” Max says, surveying the overcrowded room.

Max is cheerful and pretty efficient, not really caring if Cass wants to throw his things out. He’s deeply unsentimental about most of his things, and it’s only when they come to his trophies and helmets that they have a disagreement. “Can’t we put these in storage?” Cass asks, heaving up the immense stack of medals that Max had once had hanging proudly on individual hooks in his place in Monaco.

“No!” He snatches them from her and holds them to his chest as if they’re his babies she’s just suggested chucking them out of the window. She half expects him to hiss and call them his Precious, like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. “Look, I won this one when I was seven, I was the smallest kid on the track and nobody thought I was a threat but I showed all of them. And these three -” he holds up a couple of tarnished golden medals. “I won all three of these in the same year. That was the year people started talking about how I could be in F1.”

He’s so passionate talking about all his wins, his eyes shining at the memories of his childhood triumphs that Cass’s heart melts. She looks around forlornly at the room, filled to the brim with prizes. She’ll never be able to use it as a studio again. “Fine, you can keep them,” she says, resigned. “But you need to build some shelves for these things - and half of those helmets have to go into storage, or to your mum’s - no, I don’t want to hear another word about them!” She rushes out as Max opens his mouth.

“I was just going to say thank you,” he says ever so sweetly, putting the medals down on the floor and wrapping his arms around her. “Oh come on, now you’re just trying to make me feel bad,” she complains, burying her face in his chest. She can feel his chest rumble as he laughs. “I liked it just now when you said welcome home,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice, and when she looks up his blue eyes are sparkling the same way they had been when he’d been talking about his medals.

“Did you?” Cass smiles back, hugging him tighter. She can’t help herself, his cute little dimples are showing and he’s all warm and cuddly. “I can definitely see myself getting used to it,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead. “I love you. Ik houd van je. Ich liebe dich.” He peppers each word with a kiss on her upturned face.

“Mmm, stop seducing me with your multilingualism,” Cass teases. “My French has been improving, you know. Charles and Lorenzo and I practiced together when we were in Monaco. Je t’aime,” she says proudly.

“And which Leclerc brother did you learn that from?” Max raises his eyebrows as Cass scrunches her nose up at him. “None of your business,” she says loftily. “Anyway, are you ever going to tell me what kleintje means? I can’t even figure out how to spell it for Google Translate,” she pokes his chest with a finger.

“It means little one, because you’re so small,” Max explains. “Especially when we were kids, you were this tiny little thing, all big eyes and red hair.” He tugs one of her curls. “Ugh, don’t remind me,” Cass groans, raking a hand through her hair. “I hated my hair when I was a kid. I literally used my first pay check to get it smoothed out, and this was the best they could do.”

“Well, it made you easy to spot,” Max remembers. “I could spot you a mile away, even when there were like a million people around. That was helpful.” Cass tilts her head, thinking back. “You did manage to find me pretty much any time I went along for Luke’s races,” she muses. “Which is pretty impressive because it was always so crazy.”

“I think I still have some of the books you gave me,” Max says, looking around. “They must be somewhere around. They’re the only books I have, so they won’t be hard to find.” Cass gasps. “What? You told me you loved reading! That was all we talked about!”

“I mean, I liked the books you gave me, they were good…” Max hedges, but he caves at Cass’s accusing look. “I didn’t have much time to read, okay? I kept getting carsick when I was trying to read it in the car and when I wasn’t in travelling to races I’d be in the kart or working on it or I’d be in school. I had homework, kleintje!”

Cass laughs at his injured expression. “What about now, do you get plane sick when you’re flying to the races? I could have sworn you had hours and hours free this winter break to read…” She shrieks with laughter when he starts tickling her mercilessly. “You know why I didn’t have time to read this break,” he says, catching her when she trips whilst trying to escape from his tickling fingers.

“Why’d you pretend to like reading, then?” Cass asks, out of breath a while later when they’re lying on the floor surrounded by Max’s silverware. “Why’d you think?” Max snorts. “You were the prettiest girl at the track and didn’t give a shit about racing, and it was easier than learning about the ballet. Do you know how long it took me to read the books you gave me? But I kept going just so I’d have something to talk to you about. Admit it, you were impressed when I started talking about that Harry Potter guy, weren’t you?”

—

She’s packing her bag for work when Max gets bored of arranging and re-arranging his trophies in her spare room and comes into her - their - room and flops on the bed. “What time are you going tomorrow?” He asks, watching as she picks through the many leotards she has, trying to decide which one to bring.

“Eight - and don’t sit on the bed in your outside things!” she says, throwing a pair of socks at him, before getting back to her outfit options. She feels like it’s the first day of school or something - she’s never been away from work for this long, not since she started, and she’s nervous about how she’ll slot back in. She’s a principal dancer, meaning she’s one of the top ballerinas in the company, but she’d only just been promoted so she feels like she still needs to prove herself.

“Ugh, that’s so early,” Max complains, getting up. He strips off all his clothes until he’s just in his underwear and lies back down on the bed as Cass watches, gobsmacked. “That’s your solution? Go take a shower, nasty boy,” Cass throws another balled up pair of socks at him, which he catches handily.

“You didn’t think I was nasty just an hour ago,” Max raises his eyebrows suggestively at Cass. “Yes, and I’ve taken a shower since then and you’ve not showered since you arrived so now you are a nasty boy who needs to get clean,” Cass points in the direction of the bathroom. Max gets up and walks towards the bathroom, causing Cass to cheer as she holds her nose teasingly, until Max scoops her up under her armpits and picks her up.

“What are you doing?” She screeches, feet scrabbling in the air. “I saw some dirt on your nose just now so you need to take a shower too,” Max orders, pulling her wriggling body as he walks backwards into the bathroom. “Max! You’re being ridiculous!” She laughs as he lifts her entire body up and steps into the tub, clutching her tight as he turns on the water.

“Fuck, this water is freezing!” Max swears as he immediately lets go of her so that he can turn the water off. Cass just stands there, laughing her head off. She’s completely drenched, her hair sticking to her skin and her clothes sopping, but she can’t stop her laughter. “You need to turn the water on for a bit so it heats up, my love,” she snorts. “Welcome to England.”

She reaches over him, twists the shower head away from the two of them and turns on the water so that it runs against the wall instead of hitting them directly, then starts stripping out of her wet clothes. Max shucks off his wet underwear then wraps his arms around her, stopping her from stepping out of the tub. “You can’t take off all your clothes and then just leave, kleintje,” he says, pulling her close. Cass automatically tilts her chin up for him to drop a kiss on her lips.

“I think the water’s gone through all the hot and is about to get cold again,” she murmurs against his lips some time later. She reaches over his shoulder and twists the shower head so that the stream of water falls on the both of them. Max groans with pleasure as the hot water runs down his back. “That feels so good,” he says with feeling. He picks up her bottle of soap and squeezes some in his hand, stopping suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Cass asks, halfway through tipping shampoo on his head. “I love this smell,” he says with feeling. “What, the shampoo?” She holds the bottle out to him. “Yeah, the minty smell. It’s so nice,” he says, breathing in deeply. She brings the bottle to her nose and breathes it in. “Yeah, I suppose it’s nice - I’ve been using this since I was a kid, it’s supposed to be good for your hair. It’s rosemary and mint - the rosemary’s the thing’s that’s supposed to be good for you.”

Max has lathered up his hair until it’s sticking straight up, which makes Cass laugh all over again. “I love you, and this is so cute, but I wasn’t joking about the hot water running out,” she says, pushing him under the stream of water so that he can rinse all of the soap out.

Cass’s spare towel is laughably small on Max and she adds bigger towels to the list of things they need to buy. It’s started raining outside and her apartment has grown very cold, so after she puts on her clothes she switches on the radiators. “It’s so cold,” Max moans as he towel dries his hair. It’s still all spiky and cute and she can’t resist running to get her phone so she can snap a picture of him.

“Have you started regretting moving here yet?” Cass aims for a jokey tone but it comes out slightly worried. “No,” Max says flatly, shivering as he digs through his piles of clothing still perched on the couch and pulls a sweater on. “What’s for dinner?”

Cass takes a look at her over crowded kitchen. “Shall we go out? There’s an Italian place down the road that’s good,” she suggests. “It’s raining,” Max points out. “Oh come on, you big baby. You’re from one of the rainiest countries in the world, you can take a bit of wet.”

When they get to the restaurant, Cass has to admit that it may not have been the best idea. They’re both completely drenched all over again, Cass’s flimsy umbrella having blown inside out halfway through the walk. Max had snapped off one of the arms whilst trying to pull it back into shape and then had chucked it into a bin in a fit of rage, and then they’d had to walk in the rain the rest of the way.

Cass has a sinking feeling that London isn’t showing it’s best self to Max on his first day living in it. She can’t think of what to say as they take a seat in the thankfully half-empty restaurant, Max’s sullen expression silencing any word that finds it’s way to her tongue. An uninterested teenage waitress drops off a couple of menus and a two glasses of tap water and they study the menus in silence.

“We had our first date here,” Max comments blandly as he flips through the pages of the menu. Cass frowns. “We had our first date at Ikea,” she corrects. “Yeah, then we came here, and you had a prawn linguine and I had beef carpaccio and lasagne, then we went to your place and I built your bed for you.”

“I built that bed,” Cass says, scrunching her nose up at him. “You just stared at the instructions and got pissed off.” Max shrugs, his mouth titling up at the side as he concedes her point. “Do you think it’s kinda crazy that it’s now our bed?” Cass reaches out and grabs his hand. "No," Max shrugs. "I knew you'd fall my charms eventually. It only took like... twelve years." Cass laughs, relieved that his bad mood seems to have passed. 

After dinner they head back to the flat. The rain has fizzled into a light drizzle, and Cass avoids looking at her poor umbrella, sticking out of the bin. She and Max walk hand in hand down the street, which is quiet at this time of the day. "This is nice," Max comments. Cass looks at him in surprise - she knows he hates the rain and the cold, so she can only imagine he's being facetious. He sees her expression and clarifies. "Walking in public like this," he gestures to their joined hands, "This is nice." 

"Do you remember when we went to the Ikea and you thought the cashier recognised you, but he actually thought you were his old classmate?" Cass laughs. "I think people expect to see fancy racing drivers far less in London than they do in Monaco, and definitely nobody cares about the ballet dancers. It’s easier to be anonymous here." She tells him about the awful journalist and the picture of her and Charles from the hospital.

He reacts predictably explosively. "What the fuck - he can't get away with that! You should tell Luke, he'll get the Ferrari marketing team on them. They should be doing their job and keeping this uitschot away from you." Cass shakes her head. "It's a huge opportunity for Luke, I don't want to screw it up. It's his big come-back story," she reminds him as they climb the stairs to her flat. Max sighs, wrapping his arms around her. "You shouldn't have to go through that, though," he says. 

The flat is in just as much of a mess as when they'd left, and Cass has a sinking feeling that unless they start getting rid of a lot of things it's going to be this way forever. There's just so much stuff. Max, already a much tidier person than she is, frowns at the scene as well. “I’ll sort it out when you’re at work tomorrow,” he reassures Cass.

“What, are you going to get someone to come in and tidy?” She teases. It would never have occurred to her that someone could move country without even returning to their home in the first place, just by paying someone to do all that. It’s not very English, that’s for sure.

“Don’t ask questions if you’re not ready for the answers,” Max shoots back, shooing her away protectively from his fifty identical white t-shirts when she starts sifting through them. Cass rolls her eyes and decides to retreat to her - their - bedroom, where there’s the least amount of clutter.

—

The next morning she wakes up feeling warm and cozy. She hasn’t had to wake up for work in two months, and she’s gotten used to sleeping in. Today getting out of bed is especially hard because she’s completely surrounded by Max, who takes up about three quarters of the bed.

He’s fast asleep, and she takes a moment to drink in the peace in his expression. He’s normally so animated, his heart on his sleeve, and on his face, and on the tip of his tongue, that to see him so utterly still is an anomaly. She’ll get to see him like this every morning - or at least every morning when he’s at home. She smiles at the thought.

She tries to extricate herself from the bed but he tightens his arms around her, muttering something in his sleep. “Max,” she whispers, shaking his shoulder gently, then slightly harder when he doesn’t respond. “Max, I need to get ready,” she says, kissing his forehead.

He doesn’t open his eyes, but gives a sort of begrudging groan, releasing her from his arms. She climbs out of bed and gets ready as quietly as she can, but when she slips back into her room to get her gym bag he’s sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. She imagines this was how he looked as a little boy, asking his mum for five more minutes.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispers, giving him a kiss before leaving the room just as quietly as she entered.

—

Her first day back is as tough as she’d anticipated. Her turns aren’t as sharp as they had been, and she needs to build back her stamina because the jumps section of class leaves her struggling for breath. Madame Lloyd calls her to her office in the afternoon and looks her up and down. “Well, what can we expect after you’ve been eating pasta and sitting around for two months,” she sighs, tapping Cass’s waist with a ruler. Cass sucks in her breath instinctively, but it’s too late.

“We expect full dedication, Cassandra. You are a principal dancer with the Royal Ballet, which comes with responsibilities. You’ve had a very long holiday and it shows in your work. Did you even bother doing class every day? No? Well… I don’t even know what to say about that.” Madame Lloyd shakes her head in stern disappointment, and Cass wishes she could melt into the ugly maroon carpet. She feels about an inch tall.

Madame Lloyd waves her away, and Cass leaves the office, head hung low. She’d expected to be in rehearsal all day, forgetting for a moment that she’d missed the casting cycle and wouldn’t be given any main roles for the next season’s productions.

Her days here are normally packed with activity - class, rehearsals, costume fittings, physio sessions, performing. She usually doesn’t have enough time in the day to do everything she has to. But now she feels extraneous, wandering around the halls like a phantom.

All of the studios are full, so she can’t use them to practice, and both Alexei and Mara are busy. In the end she decides to head home, although she can’t help but feel that after Madame Lloyd’s dressing down she should really be doing some work. At least Max is at home, she thinks to herself with a small smile as she sneaks out of the studio door, looking over her shoulder as if Madame Lloyd is watching.

She stops by the supermarket on the way back, her mood gradually improving as she picks through the vegetable selection. She gets a lot more protein than she normally would have, since she’s got a growing boy back home. She grabs a few bags of popping corn, thinking that they could have a movie night.

She enters her usually serene, quiet home which appears to have turned into some sort of crime scene. There’s things everywhere, even worse than when she’d left. Her couch has disappeared, leaving behind stacks of clothes and other random household goods in its negative space.

Her books, once neatly stacked in the shelves, have been taken out and scattered. Max has clearly put in some effort into shelving his helmets but they’re too bulky to fit where her books had once been and he’s given up halfway, so there are also helmets lying all over the floor.

“Max?” She calls out after she locks the door behind her. She puts the bag of groceries down in the kitchen - another huge mess, filled with the boxes she'd half-filled the night before - and walks into the spare room, where she can hear some noise. Max has set up his television and Playstation, and is sitting cross legged on the floor, face a picture of concentration as he releases a string of angry Dutch into his headset as a bunch of tiny men run on a field of green on the screen.

He catches sight of her in the doorway and says something into his headset, pausing, then responding with a laugh and a casual “fuck you” in English, before taking off the headset and turning off the screen. “Hey, kleintje, you’re home early,” he comments, standing up and loping over to give her a hug.

“You said you were going to fix up the place, but it’s a bigger mess than ever!” Cass exclaims, waving an arm at the room. He’s moved all his things up against the wall to make space for his gaming setup, but otherwise everything is as it was the night before.

“The shelves won’t arrive until Friday, so I was just taking a break from choosing what we should get rid of,” Max says calmly, rubbing her shoulders. She hadn’t realised she’d raised them to nearly her ears out of frustration. “I thought you were the neat and tidy one in this relationship,” Cass sighed as they walk out into the living room.

“I may have a significant amount of help in the tidying up area back in Monaco,” Max admits sheepishly. “But look at what I found!” He reaches into the bookshelf and pulls out a battered copy of The Hunger Games. Cass takes it from him and leafs through the pages as Max talks. “It’s the one you gave me when we were in Italy, do you remember? When I won the Minimax series?”

“What are all these?” Cass points at words which appear to have been highlighted at random. Max blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “They’re words in English that I didn’t understand,” he admits. “I wanted to ask you what they were when we were kids, but I guess too much time passed and I forgot to ask.”

“Did you learn what they were in the end?” Cass asks, genuinely curious. Max takes the book from her and looks through the words he’d highlighted a decade ago. “Not all of them - what is this one? Gingerly - I know what ginger is, but how can someone be like ginger?”

They take a seat on the couch - after Max quickly pushes some things onto the floor - and Cass lies back against Max’s chest as they go through words that Max had highlighted, Cass trying her best to give explanations as to their colloquial meaning. Cass finds herself thoroughly distracted from the mess that is her home for a good hour, until they reach the end of the book and she looks up at her messy living room all over again.

“Come on, let’s get some of this cleared up.” She orders Max to start building the flatpack cardboard boxes that the movers had left behind and she sorts out all the things in the living room into three piles - keep, throw and donate. She manages to get Max to part with forty of his fifty white t-shirts, and she herself decides to donate her old books. Max puts all but one helmet into a box destined for his mum’s place which he says has loads of space to put his memorabilia.

When the living room is clear, she moves to the kitchen which is where she discovers the groceries that she’d left behind hours ago. “Oh, shoot - these should have been in the fridge,” she frets. She opens the fridge, and is stunned into silence by the sheer volume of neatly labelled plastic boxes that have overtaken every single shelf.

“I may or may not be on a strict diet after my weigh in yesterday…” Max says as he tries ineffectually to move things around to make a bit of space for her food. “This is all the food I’ve been sent for the week.”

“What am I supposed to eat, then?” She says, picking up one of the boxes. It’s portion controlled, naturally, and has a list of all the ingredients and nutritional information on the top. It looks quite good, actually, but she won’t let that sway her - after all, it’s not for her to eat.

“Should I buy another fridge? We could put it in the spare room…” Max trails off, probably remembering how stuffed that room already is. “Sorry, I should have realised this was selfish - I’ve lived by myself for too long,” Max says apologetically.

“It’s fine, we’ll just have to get used to living together,” Cass sighs, turning and burying her face in Max’s chest for a while. He just hums and wraps his arms around her, seeming to sense that she needs a hug. “Why are you back so early, anyway?”

“Oh… just an early end to the day,” Cass says vaguely, not wanting to get into the details of how disconcerting her whole day had been. She had felt so out of place at the opera house, the place she used to think of as her second home. She’s expendable, and every turn she’d taken had served to remind her of that.

Max is her anchor. She leans up and gives him a deep kiss, her hands tangling into the short hair at the back of his head. “I’m not complaining, but what’s that for?” He murmurs against her lips, smiling. She leans back, propping her chin on his chest. “Nothing. I’m just really happy that you’re here. You just make everything better.”

Chapter Text

She has to crack Madame Lloyd if she wants a shot at being cast in a lead role this season, Cass decides. Even though Madame Lloyd isn’t technically supposed to have a say in who gets cast in what role - and technically casting season is over - she’s the one who pulls the strings behind the scenes.

The only thing Madame Lloyd likes more than a perfect turnout is dedication and hard work. Luckily for Cass, she’s got all three of those things. She just needs to show them to Madame Lloyd.

So she makes sure she’s the first one in to the studio for class, and the last one out. After the first disconcerting day, she steels her spine and joins rehearsals for parts she hasn’t got. Alexei is a massive help with this, letting her know when anyone can’t make a session due to injury, illness or over scheduling.

Her massive breakthrough comes when one of the principal dancers decides to take a sabbatical to be a dance stunt double in a movie. Alexei whispers the gossip to her over the barre at morning class, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “She’s leaving this week - Madame Lloyd was fuming, I heard the receptionists talking about it this morning.” Alexei has a very strong spy network spread throughout the company, and he’s also a champion eavesdropper.

“Anyway, I heard your name being floated around as a replacement…” Alexei adds as they turn to focus on the movements of their left legs. “Boynton is sympathetic to your plight - and Liliane, you know the new choreographer? She was saying that it’s a shame you don’t get more solos. It’s looking good.”

After class, she and Mara go to grab a quick bite to eat since Mara has a full day of rehearsals ahead of her. Even Mara’s heard the news, and it’s all she can talk about. “This is your chance, Cass! You should go to Madame Lloyd and demand it - I mean, they can’t use the casting cycle to ice you out if there’s an empty spot!”

“There’s a queue of girls waiting for that spot who didn’t take a two month holiday,” Cass says glumly, forking up some of her salad. Ever since Madame Lloyd made the comment about her weight she’s put herself on a strict diet, but it’s utterly miserable eating salads all the time, especially in winter.

“Oh come on, Cass, you weren’t on a holiday - you were looking after your brother! And grieving your dad. Speaking of which, is the memorial still going on this spring?” Cass nods in response to Mara’s question. Since she had loads of time to spare - when she wasn’t hanging around hopefully at studio doors or helping Max move in - she’d started arranging her dad’s memorial service at their Cotswolds house. So far she’d gotten the priest, the food and had invited a couple of people. Her dad would have wanted a proper party though, so she’s going to have to get the rest sorted out with Luke.

“How are you doing about… all that?” Mara asks tentatively. Cass considers her question for a while before responding. “I’m doing okay, I suppose. It just seems surreal, like - I used to see my dad for a couple of weeks a year and it feels like he’s still out there somewhere, just out of reach. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet. Luke’s definitely going through it, though.”

Mara nods slowly, although Cass can tell she doesn’t quite understand what she means. “The memorial service should be good, though. My dad had loads of siblings and they’re all coming - and their kids too. You know, I’ve barely met my cousins but apparently quite a few of them live in London. Maybe Luke and I can arrange a hangout some time.”

Mara shudders. “Oh my god, that reminds me - did I tell you about what my idiot cousin did to me this weekend? Some people aren’t worth the air they breathe, I swear to God…”

—

It’s late in the afternoon and Cass is on her way out of a rehearsal studio where she’d been helping Mark, one of the male principal dancers, block out a pas de deux when she gets stopped by Madame Lloyd. The appearance of the cadaverous woman gives Cass quite the shock, especially as she appears suddenly out of the shadows. The thin lipped smile that Madame Lloyd gives when Cass visibly starts at her appearance makes her think that the older woman gets a kick out of scaring people this way.

“Come to my office, Cassandra,” Madame Lloyd orders, before drifting away very quickly - so quickly that Cass has to jog a bit to keep up. She wonders how she does it, and decides the woman must be half ghost.

“I’m sure you will have heard by now that Elisa will be leaving us for a period,” Madame Lloyd curls her lip disapprovingly. “She will be leaving behind a heavy schedule with two lead roles and also significant participation in the mentorship programme that we run with White Lodge. Your name has been mentioned as a potential replacement.”

Cass waits for Madame Lloyd to finally tell her what she has been waiting all week to hear, and can’t hold back a massive smile when Madame Lloyd relents and says, “you will be taking over her responsibilities in the interim period.” Madame Lloyd can’t wait to rain on her parade though, because as Cass is babbling words of gratitude, she snaps, “Make sure we do not regret our decision.”

She leaves the office in a daze, immediately pulling out her phone to call Alexei, who’s immediately super excited. “This is brilliant - I’m the Basilio for Elisa’s Kitri in Don Quixote so we’ll definitely be performing together. Ah this is amazing! I’m going to see if we can schedule some extra practice time with the choreographer, we’ll need it if we’re going to get up to speed.” He rattles off more congratulations before he has to go for his next rehearsal.

Cass is immediately given a copy of Elisa’s schedule, which was absolutely packed. She’ll also have to go for costume and wig fittings, since Elisa’s things definitely won’t fit her. She’s excited to be busy, though, because she’d been starting to feel slightly depressed with how little she had to do at work.

She’s not got anything on til the next day so she decides to head home to give Max the news. Max has been in an absolutely foul mood because of his diet, so she’s pleased to be bringing home some good news after being quite mopey about work herself.

The flat has started to come together, Max having gone out in his car to disseminate their boxes to various donation points, storage units and shipping facilities around London. The shelves had finally gone up as well, despite the workers not turning up on the Friday as expected. In the end, Max had sheepishly called up Christian’s PA to ask if she knew anyone who would come down to help fix the shelves since he didn’t know how to do it himself - she’d kindly sent her brother, who had put the shelves up in about fifteen minutes and pocketed a cool £1,000.

When she gets home, Max is sitting on the sofa, playing FIFA. She’d gotten to learn the names of many video games over the past week, since it’s all Max seems to do when he’s not working out, eating or doing home improvement. Now she knows that when she sees a vast expanse of green on the screen it’s most likely FIFA.

He perks up when he sees her, telling his friend on the headset that he needs to pause for a while. “Don’t stop on my account,” she says, leaning over to kiss him before straightening up to survey the room. He’d been arranging things again, she could see - a couple more trophies had been moved away, presumably into the spare room, and there were now some pictures over the fireplace.

She walks over to take a closer look. “Oh Max, where on Earth did you get these?” She marvels, picking up one of her and Luke as kids. There are also photos of him with his own family members - she scrunches her nose up at the one of him and Jos - and also one of the two of them.

“This must be from my dad’s birthday party,” she comments, recognising the green dress. It’s a mirror selfie, slightly blurry, but she’s touched that he’s clearly gone through the effort of finding the photos, printing them out and finding individual frames for each.

“The printing company sold frames so I ordered everything online,” Max says proudly. Cass had quickly realised that Max had never done anything to furnish a house in his life, having literally gone into a show flat in Monaco, pointing at the furniture and asking if he could rent that too. The rest of the things had been brought in by an interior designer his mum had hired for him.

“Anyway, I asked your brother for pictures of your family. He seemed to think it was pretty funny that I was in charge of decorating around here,” Max adds, coming up behind her and snaking his arms around her waist. Luke’s been busy packing up his place in Monaco so they haven’t spoken much, but Cass is heartened by the fact that Max is comfortable enough to reach out to him - and that Luke’s been nice enough to respond.

“Hmm, I’m not sure that’s how I would describe it,” Cass teases. “I think Mervin put in a good shift when he was putting up the shelves.” Christian’s PA’s brother had been an F1 fan, and after he’d done the shelves he’d had lots of opinions on where each trophy should go. He’d called it the “implicit hierarchy of the shelving order”.

“How was your day?” Max asks as he returns to the couch, Cass curling up in the seat next to him. “Oh! Elisa - you know, the principal dancer who could be a model - she got a movie role so I’m going to be filling in for her!” Max gives a little “yay”, knowing how stressed she’s been about her lack of work the past week.

“I’ll have to spend lots more time at work, though,” she says sadly. More time at work means less time with Max, and she can feel the days slipping away from them already. They only have a few weeks before he heads off for the first race of the year in Melbourne.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Max nudges her with his foot. “You’ve been wanting more work all week, and now you’ve got it you’re all sad? Also, since I live here now I’ll be back so much more than if I still live in Monaco. I’ll be back the Monday after Melbourne for a week and a half before the next race, remember?”

Cass manages to muster up a smile, but it doesn’t fool Max. “It’s just for a while, kleintje… Our lives won’t be like this forever. Who knows, I could lose my seat or you could quit ballet, then we’ll spend so much time together that we’ll be sick of each other,” he teases.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Cass kicks Max with her socked foot. He’s not nearly as superstitious as she is, but she’s surprised he would make a joke about losing his seat. His whole life is Red Bull, as evidenced by the heaps of Red Bull merch that now decorates her flat.

“Anyway, I wanted to show you what I did with the trophy room,” Max says, dragging her to her feet and into the ex-spare room, now accurately described as a trophy room because of the entire wall of shelves covered in Max’s silverware. “So this is all my stuff,” he gestures to one wall. “And look - I put in a barre for you, so you can practice in here too,” he points to the other wall, where a slender metal rod has been drilled into the neighbouring walls.

“Hmm, we’re definitely going to have to patch those holes up if we move,” Cass comments, running a hand down the barre. “But thank you,” she turns to give Max a smile. “I was missing my studio space.” He’d done a lot more than just put up the barre - to make space, he’d gotten rid of a lot of stuff, like her old television and the chest of drawers that Jamie had left behind.

“I can’t believe you did this all in one day,” Cass marvels. “I might have called Mervin… and some of his friends for help,” Max admits.

—

Her schedule falls into place pretty quickly, and so surprisingly easy that she forgets what it was like before her break. When Max is around, they have breakfast together - Max out of his little plastic boxes, Cass usually having coffee and a slice of toast - and then Cass leaves for the studio. She has rehearsals all day, slowly building up her stamina and finesse, then either wig or costume fitting or physio sessions. She gets home around six in the evening, since she’s not got any performing duties as of yet - Elisa is leaving around the same time as Max - and then they have dinner and watch a movie.

All in all, she spends more than half her day with Max, even if a big part of that is fast asleep. It’s lovely to wake up and go to sleep in his arms, though - she sometimes struggles to get out of bed because of how cozy their little bed is.

So on the day that Max is supposed to leave for Australia, the Wednesday before the race, she wakes up before Max as usual and allows herself to just lay there in his arms, absorbing the warmth. “I can tell you’re awake,” Max murmurs sleepily without opening his eyes, drawing his arm from under her and shaking it. She’s told him before that they don’t have to sleep that way, since she knows his arm goes numb some time in the night, but he insists. He says she’s like his teddy bear.

“I don’t want you to go,” Cass says grouchily, burying her face in the crook of his neck and breathing in deeply. She wants to memorise the way he smells in the morning - a mixture of her soap and a scent that’s just Max, all sweet and warm, like fresh bread. “Quit your job, I’ll take care of you,” she says half-jokingly.

“On your ballerina salary?” Max laughs, pulling her over him so that she’s lying on top of his chest. “That won’t cover even one night in Ibiza, darling,” he teases. Cass digs the sharp point of her chin into his chest as a retort. “Excuse you, I have assets now,” she replies, alluding to the money her dad had left behind for her and Luke.

“You’ll have to earn your keep though - you could work at the waste processing plant in Cornwall, or the cement factory in Newcastle…” She pretends to think of jobs for Max at the businesses her dad had once owned, that she and Luke are in the process of selling. They’ll only be left with the asset management fund, which will be turned into their family office, and a couple of hotels, but Max doesn’t know that.

“Absolutely not,” Max says firmly. “Just be patient, kleintje. It won’t be like this forever. Our time will come.” Cass rolls her eyes at the least patient man in the world telling her to be patient. “I guess patience isn’t either of our strong suits,” she admits. She snuggles back into his side, wanting to delay reality for a little while longer.

Eventually they have to get up, and Max has to pack his suitcase for his trip. Cass helps him with packing up his toiletries as she brushes her teeth, and she’s putting in his bottle of cologne when her hand brushes something solid and metal inside the toiletries bag. She reaches in and takes out the item, turning it over in her hand.

“Is this…?” She asks, walking out to the living room where all of Max’s clothes still live, and showing him the necklace in her hand. “Oh, the St Christopher’s medal you gave me - yeah I wear it in the car, under my thermals.” Cass turns it over in her hand. “You still have this? Even after we broke up?”

Max shrugs. “Yeah, I mean - it’s supposed to protect me right? That’s always good.” But he’s avoiding her eyes as he says it. “You’re a terrible liar, my love,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But I’ll pretend to believe you.” Max laughs, caught out. “Okay, fine. I kept it because it reminds me of you, are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Cass murmurs into his cheek after pressing a kiss to it. “It makes me very, very happy to know that you’ll have this when you’re in that death trap of a car. I gave Luke one as well, ages ago - I must remember to tell him to wear it as well.”

Max raises his eyebrows. “Well your brother is a super goody two shoes, and it’s technically illegal to wear any jewellery in the car, so he probably won’t.” Cass shakes her head. “You’re just jealous because you want to be the only driver with one of these babies,” she teases, putting the necklace around his neck. He catches her when she tries to pull away, pulling her into a kiss.

“Mmm, you know me too well,” Max smiles against her lips. She doesn’t want to let go of him, knowing that every touch might be the last for the next week. She can’t stop touching him, little pats on his elbow or back or knee, anywhere she can feel his warm, bare skin against hers. She rests her head against his chest and they sit on her living room floor that way for a while, until Max sighs.

“I’ve got to go, kleintje,” he says, gently disentangling her arms from around him and pulling her so they’re both standing up. To her horror, she feels the tell-tale pressure form at the bridge of her nose, a signal that tears are going to start falling at any second. Be strong, she reminds herself. Our time will come. But she can’t stop herself from sniffing slightly.

“Don’t cry,” Max says awkwardly, using his thumb to wipe away the rogue tear that’s fallen from her eye. “I’ll be back soon, remember? It’s okay…” He makes soothing noises as Cass squeezes her eyes shut to try and control her emotions. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Cass says, putting on a smile for Max. She knows he’s been dying for the season to start, and she doesn’t want to ruin this day for him.

“You’ll be great,” Cass gives him a tight hug, resting her head on his chest for a second and feeling the beat of his heart against her cheek. “Can you do something for me, though? Can you keep an eye out for Luke? It’s his first race since the accident and he’s been so focused on getting here that I’m worried about what’s going to happen now that he’s actually reached it…”

“Anything for you,” Max promises, giving her another squeeze and dropping a kiss on her head. “Okay, I better go for real now, if not Christian will kill me for holding up the jet,” he says, kneeling down to zip up his suitcase. “You’ll be okay without me for a week, won’t you? You’ll probably enjoy having your space back,” he says cheerfully.

Cass can tell his mind is already on the next few days, probably racing around the track in Melbourne in various conditions. She walks him to the door, trying her best to keep a smile on her face. “I love you,” she says as Max steps out the front door. He turns and looks down at her, his eyes focusing on her and softening. “I love you too, kleintje. You’d better be cheering for me, and not your brother!”

With that cheerful message and a final goodbye kiss, Max runs down the stairs and out the door.

—

He makes it to the Red Bull jet with about fifteen minutes to spare before scheduled take off. It’s just him and Christian for the flight, since Daniel’s been in Australia for weeks already now and Helmut is flying straight from Germany.

Christian’s peacefully leafing through some papers, barely looking up when Max boards. “Did you have a good winter break, Max?” He asks, amusement barely concealed in his voice. “Yeah, pretty good,” Max responds as he takes a seat. He pulls out his headphones and laptop, ready to watch some movies he’s downloaded.

Christian clears his throat, making Max pause in his tracks. “I was surprised to see that you weren’t spending your precious winter break somewhere hot and sunny, but instead were moving into a flat in Soho. A small flat in Soho, at that. One that’s being shared with a certain fetching red-headed sister of a red-wearing driver.” Christian says, looking up and raising an eyebrow at Max, who immediately turns a bright, Ferrari red.

“How do you know what size of apartment I moved into?” Max asks, genuinely curious. Christian puts down his papers, and Max can’t help but feel he’s orchestrated their entire conversation, down to what he was doing when Max got on the plane. “I know everything, Max,” Christian says, giving a small smile. With the facts that he’s just been presented with, Max can hardly contradict the man.

“Did you enjoy winter in London, then?” Christian asks, the same mischievous smile playing around his lips. It’s times like this when Max can see through the older man to the young, risk-taking driver he’d once been.

Max can only nod, their conversation halted slightly as the jet prepares for take-off, the flight attendant running through the safety procedures as if they’ve not heard it a hundred times before.  Max checks his messages under the table, smiling when he sees Cass has sent him a message wishing him a safe flight. They’re quiet until the plane is in the air.

“Your happiness means the world to me, Max,” Christian says, leaning over and patting him on the shoulder. “As long as you stay focused on the results.” He looks Max up and down. “Nice necklace.” He sits back in his seat and picks up his papers again, conversation clearly over.

Max puts in his headphones and opens his laptop, all the time trying to figure out how Christian knows so much about his personal life.

—

They arrive in Melbourne and Christian immediately peels off in his own car to some meetings he’s arranged. Max heads to the hotel, checking in and lying completely flat on the bed. These long haul flights are exhausting, especially when he can’t fully relax next to his boss.

He’s already let Cass know he’s landed safely, but she’s at rehearsal and he’s got about an hour to take a nap before he has to go to his media responsibilities. When he wakes up, he sees a missed call from Cass, which he returns. Thankfully she’s out of rehearsals and picks up.

“Max! How’s Melbourne?” They fall into their usual patterns of communication, Max telling her about the beautiful sunny weather whilst Cass gripes about the gloominess in London. “So, Christian knows about us,” Max mentions as casually as he can, because he knows Cass tends to stress out about things.

“… What did he say?” Cass asks after a pause. “Eh, you know he was just showing me that he knew, no big deal,” Max says, omitting the second part that Christian had said about focusing on results. Cass hums on the other end of the line. “Okay, okay, that’s good. How was the rest of the trip?”

They chat for a while before Max has to leave for his first interview - since it’s the start of the season, and they rarely come to this part of the world, their schedules are way more packed than they usually are.

Max heads out of his hotel room to his rental car, where his trainer Brad is waiting. “So, how was your winter break?” Brad asks cheekily. Brad knows all about his personal life, since he plans Max’s days out for him, and is also around Max all the time during the season. “Running in London is shit,” Max says shortly as he gets into the driver seat.

“Is it worth it, though?” Brad asks, in a slightly more serious tone. Of all people, Brad has been privy to the ups and downs of Max’s life and he knows that he’s always been in love with Cass, even though he’d tried his best to hide it after she’d broken up with him the last time. Max can’t hide the smile that spreads across his face, giving Brad the answer he’s looking for.

“Yeah!” Brad punches Max in the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talking about, mate. I’m pleased for you, I really am.” Max drives into the paddock car park with an uncharacteristic smile on his face, one that doesn’t fade even when the photographers stationed outside start snapping pictures of him with an insane amount of flash.

“Good holiday, Max?” One of them shouts at him. He just waves and ignores them, his standard practice. He’s in such a good mood that he even stops to take photos and sign autographs with the few fans that have hung around at the entrance to the paddock, something he rarely does.

His smile lasts all the way until he sees a stoic Luke Errol walk swiftly past him to the Ferrari motorhome, surrounded by journalists and filming crew, his shoulders up around his ears. He remembers Cass’s request to take care of her brother, and he wonders how he’s going to do that without attracting attention - it’s pretty well known in the paddock that he and Luke aren’t close.

But then again, as far as the general public knows, Luke’s been through a deeply traumatic experience and Max hasn’t spoken to him since the end of the previous season, so he steels himself, and calls out Luke’s name. Luke’s head whips around, and he gives Max a nod of acknowledgement as Max walks towards him.

“How’ve you been, man?” Luke says, doing the hand-clasp, back-slap hug that was the universal greeting in the paddock. His shoulders have dropped and he’s lost a bit of the hunted look in his eye now that he’s talking to someone he definitely knows won’t be asking him about the accident. “I’m good, yeah - hey, we should catch up later. Do you want to get dinner?”

Luke’s slightly surprised by the request, but he agrees - maybe because they’re in front of cameras and it’ll be blown out of proportion if he refuses. Responsibility fulfilled, Max heads off with a spring in his step to go find other people to join their dinner so that he’s not stuck in a one on one with his girlfriend’s brother.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to get people for dinner, as Luke’s a very popular member of the grid. In fact, once he mentions to Daniel that he’s setting up the dinner, Daniel takes over and arranges a meal with almost every driver. He finds a steakhouse with a private room, and it ends up being a pretty good party, although it ends pretty early since all the drivers have to be up the next day for practice.

At the end of the night, Max finagles it so that he’s the one driving Luke the short distance back to the hotel. “Hey so - just wanted to check in and ask if everything’s going alright,” Max says awkwardly, eyes fixed straight on the road. “You’re all good?”

Luke lets out a little huff of laughter. “Did my sister ask you to check on me? She’s such a worry-wart.” Max just shrugs, not wanting to say anything either way. He cares about Luke in the same way he cares about the rest of the drivers on the grid, which is to say he doesn’t mean him any harm. He just has that added layer of being someone Cass cares about deeply, and Max would do anything to make Cass happy.

Silence works wonders on the Errols every time. Luke starts babbling about his feelings like Max is his therapist. “Yeah, it’s just a lot with all the questions you know? Like everyone’s waiting to see if I fail, and if I’m not just as good as I was last season that means I’m a worse driver, even though the car has changed as well. I’m good with pressure but this is… it’s just a lot.”

“And my fucking leg is killing me,” Luke adds when Max doesn’t say anything to this. “Don’t tell Cass that, by the way - she’ll just be worried and there’s nothing she can do. But yeah, it’s like 90 per cent. healed but yeah there’s just been a lot of pressure to get ready in time and this is my first race back and I can’t really say that I’m all the way there. I shouldn’t be telling you this, since you’re the competition, but… you asked.”

“Should you be driving if your leg’s not all the way better?” Max asks. He’s driven with fractured bones, sprains, twists and what have you - Jos would never accept anything less - but the way Luke Errol’s body had been shattered only a few months ago is hard to reconcile with the level of physical exertion the drivers will have to put themselves through over the next few days.

Luke shrugs. “It’s a part of me,” he says simply. Max nods in understanding. Not racing is unfathomable. No one puts their lives on the line the way they do without having an immense passion for the sport.

They reach the hotel and Max puts the car in park. Just before he gets out, Luke clears his throat. “Hey man. I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but - I think my sister really loves you. And for you to go through all this to check in on me, I guess you really love her. So… don’t hurt her, okay? Or I’ll have to kill you.” Luke gives Max a half-smile to show he’s joking, although Max doesn’t doubt that Luke could do some serious damage if he wanted to. The man is way more ripped than Max is.

“I would never hurt her,” Max says matter of factly. “She’s everything to me.” The two men nod, in agreement over one thing at least. The valet is hovering by the door anxiously, so Max makes the first move and opens his door, handing the waiting valet his keys. 

The two drivers walk to the lifts where they go their separate ways, since the floors they’re staying on use different lifts. “Hey - thanks,” Luke calls out as Max walks towards his lift. Max turns to give him an awkward little smile and wave, before making his way up to his room. He picks up his phone and calls Cass immediately.

“Hey! How was dinner?” He’d sent Cass a picture of all of the drivers together so she could see that he was hanging out with Luke. She’d been over the moon excited, and had demanded that he call her the second he got back to the hotel. “It was good, I had a beef carpaccio and a chicken salad, they were both very nice,” Max says, the most relaxed man on the planet.

“Max!” Cass almost screams into the phone. “This was your first dinner with my brother since we started dating, tell me what you talked about! Although yes, that sounds like a very healthy, balanced dinner and I’m glad you had something nice to eat,” she adds begrudgingly.

“Chill, kleintje, we just talked about the weather and racing and stuff. I think he’s doing okay, everyone’s looking out for him. He’ll be fine,” he says soothingly. Cass sighs, relieved. “Thank you for doing this,” she says. “Anyway, you should go to sleep, my love. It’s midnight isn’t it? Good luck tomorrow.”

They say their goodnights and Max hangs up, heading to the bathroom to wash up. He unpacks his toiletries bag, smiling as he remembers that Cass packed it for him just that morning. He feels on top of the world with how everything’s worked out for him, and he has a really good feeling for the upcoming season.

—

All the questions that weekend are about the halo, which was making its debut in that race, and about Luke Errol’s accident. Every single driver gets asked what they think about the accident, no matter how tenuously tied to Luke they are. Max beats Daniel in every practice round and in qualifying, and even though Daniel’s his friend, Max feels a deep sense of triumph every time he sees his time on the boards.

It’s Luke, though, that pulls out all the stops. He comes in second in qualifying, ahead of his teammate Seb, and just behind the drivers’ championship favourite, Lewis. When they line up on the grid, Max is right behind Luke’s car at fourth and he has a front row seat to the absolute mastery Luke is showing in his control of his car, even with his dodgy leg.

With every lap he proves again and again why he deserves his seat at Ferrari. When he crosses the finish line in first place, a second ahead of Lewis, the crowd roars despite most of them being Daniel fans. For the first time in Max’s memory, all the drivers gather in the pit lane to watch the trophy presentation, led by Daniel.

Luke stands up on the top step, beaming, as he’s handed his trophy. When he lifts it up, one finger pointed to the sky, the rest of the drivers applaud and cheer, and the sound the Ferrari team is making is absolutely deafening, and Max swears he sees a couple of them wipe tears from their eyes. The fans are going absolutely insane. He wonders if Cass is watching this show of love for her big brother, or her brother’s remembrance of their father.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long. When he’s back in his little room in the Red Bull motorhome after all the post-race interviews, he calls Cass who picks up immediately. “I’m so proud of you, Max!” She says, her voice a balm for all the aches that have seeped into his bones after sitting in a jolting car for over an hour. They chat for a bit, but then Cass has to go for her next rehearsal.

“Love you, baby,” Cass says. “I love you, too,” Max smiles into his phone as Cass hangs up. He’s just so fucking happy, even though fourth place isn’t exactly first, and he knows he has a lot of work to do - it’s hard to begrudge Luke Errol his victory after what he’s been through.

He changes out of his race clothes and takes a quick shower, ready to party the night away with his friends, when he opens the door on perhaps the one person who could begrudge Luke Errol.

His dad.

—

Chapter Text

She’s been fitting in as many extra classes and rehearsals as she can whilst Max is away, so that she doesn’t have to kill herself with practice and try to spend time with Max at the same time. Mara and Alexei have been really supportive, taking turns to keep her company at these extra sessions, even on Sundays like today. Mara’s with her for the early morning class, and she’ll be heading to the studio to do some rehearsals with Alexei in the afternoon.   

Cass is stretching after class when Mara pops the question. It’s an unexpected question, partly because she’s been focusing so hard on regaining her position within the ballet company and also on staying calm despite the lurking thought in the back of her head that at that exact time, Luke and Max are getting into death trap race cars half the world away.

“What are you wearing on Wednesday?” Cass looks up, confused. She’d gotten into almost a zen state whilst trying to deepen her stretch and blinks a couple of times to focus her mind on what Mara’s saying. “What’s on Wednesday?” She asks.

“The launch of Bullet Theory’s album! I’m so excited, I’ve never been to that kind of party before. I’m going to wear my purple dress, you know the one with the high neck? What about you? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of anything!”

Cass had totally forgotten about the party Ben had invited to her over a month ago. If Mara hadn’t reminded her she’d have definitely missed it. As it is, she’s not sure whether she should be going if Ben’s there, since she’d broken things off with him, and she tells Mara the same.

“I can’t go by myself Cassie! Please, please, please can you come? All the band members will be too busy schmoozing the industry guys and I just know I’m going to be hanging around alone like an absolute loser because I don’t know any of them. Oh, please,” Mara begs, eyes as big and round as she can make them.

Max will be back by Wednesday, and she’d much rather spend time with him than go to the party, but Mara’s been such a massive support over the past week that Cass can’t bring herself to say no. So she says yes, and that’s how she finds herself getting ready for a party she doesn’t want to go to on Wednesday night.

Max is lying on their bed, scrolling through something on his phone as Cass does her makeup in the bathroom mirror. She’s wearing one of the outfits Francesca got for her, a sleeveless emerald green corset top and a pair of high-waisted wool trousers. “What do you think?” She asks, coming out of the bathroom and giving a spin. “Hmm, not sure - think you’d better turn around again,” Max says seriously. Cass realises he’s trolling her when he cracks a grin.

She’s relieved that he doesn’t seem to mind that she’s going out without him on one of their few days together. He’s been pretty distracted the past few days, something Cass chalks up to the season having started. When she’d mentioned the party he’d just shrugged and said he should be running through the telemetry the team sent him anyway.

“You look fine,” Max says, standing up and patting her head gently. He’d quickly learned that he was absolutely not allowed to ruffle her hair anymore one she’s ready to go out, since it takes a good half an hour to get it back to how she wants it to look. All it had taken was being late for their dinner reservation by about… half an hour.

“Lovely,” Cass says wryly. Max still has some ways to go to learn how to give compliments, she decides. She puts on some earrings, heavy golden ones, and looks through her jewellery box to see what else she can wear. “Max, can I wear your necklace tonight?” Cass asks, looking for his toiletries bag.

“It’s not a necklace,” Max protests. “It’s a medal. Also, you can’t wear it.” Cass is surprised by his refusal and asks why. “The clasp broke in Australia,” Max says, shrugging. “I need to send it to be fixed.”

Cass frowns at his short tone, but doesn’t think too much of it. The necklace hadn’t been particularly expensive, and it had been a couple of years since she’d bought it. She decides to wear a necklace that Luke had gotten for her after his first year in F1, a golden pendant surrounded with tiny diamonds with a pair of scale - the sign of a Libra, her zodiac sign - stamped in the middle.

When she turns around, Max is holding something out to her. “I got you this,” he says, almost shyly. “What is it?” She asks curiously. She takes the velvet box from him and opens it to reveal a short necklace with a little green clover in the middle, the emerald green matching her top almost perfectly.

“This is beautiful,” she says, awed. “I’m going to wear it right now. Do you want to help me?” She gathers up her hair to clear the back of her neck, as Max fumbles with the tiny clasp, finally getting it around her neck. “I got it in Australia, at this shop in the hotel. I think its looks nice on you,” Max says, dropping a kiss on the side of her neck. She smiles. He’s getting better at compliments, she acknowledges.

“Aw, you were thinking of me,” Cass turns and winds her arms around Max’s neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss even though she knows it’ll mess up her lipstick entirely. “I wish I didn’t have to go to this party,” she whispers against his lips.

“Don’t go, then,” Max replies, to the point as always, but he smiles, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. Cass sighs. “Mara’ll kill me if I drop out now,” she says, letting go and looking in the mirror so she can clean up where her lipstick has smudged. “Do you want me to drop you off?” Max offers, although half heartedly. He hates London traffic, and has already gotten three speeding tickets.

“No, it’s okay - it’s all the way in East London, and it’ll take you forever to go and come back,” Cass says. “I’ve booked a taxi, anyway - I’ll be back before midnight, okay?” She gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Mm, I love being this tall. I don’t need to tiptoe to kiss you anymore,” Cass smiles, taking a deep breath in of Max-smell.

The party is being held in a small club in Shoreditch, and it’s surprising to Cass how many people are queuing up to enter seeing as it’s a Wednesday. She spots Mara hovering near the entrance anxiously, in her purple dress, looking around. “Cass!” Mara waves at her, almost toppling over in her heels. The bouncer reaches out to steady her, looking resigned, as if it’s not the first time.

The bouncer checks their names on the list he has in front of him, waving them in after a bit. Cass feels bad but relieved that they get to skip the queue outside, a feeling that dissipates when they walk down the stairs to the inside of the club. It’s warm and smells strongly of some smokey perfume that turns Cass’s stomach, and is far brighter than clubs usually are.

There’s a stage on one end of the room with a massive screen behind it showing some vaguely moody visuals interspersed with the words “Bullet Theory” flashing in chunky gold letters. On the other end of the room is a bar, and in between the bar and stage are little cocktail tables. Serving staff are walking around with platters of finger food, and Cass happily snags a little prawn cocktail when it’s waved in front of her face.

“Let’s go find the boys,” Mara tugs on her arm the second they step foot in the room. There aren’t that many people inside as of yet, and she suspects they’re all being kept in the queue outside to build some suspense. It’s easy to spot everyone who’s there and she sees Lisa and Kirk, the producers of the album, standing by the bar. Kirk gives a wave, but Lisa looks both her and Mara up and down before turning away dismissively.

She doesn’t recognise anyone else at the bar, but she definitely doesn’t want to hang out with Lisa and Kirk so she lets Mara drag her towards the stage, where some roadies are setting up. “Hey, do you know where Nick is?” She asks one of the roadies whom she seems to be familiar with, and they’re pointed towards the green room backstage.

Their arrival is greeted with a cheer from the members of the band who are all lounging around on squashy sofas in the green room. Mara lets go of Cass’s hand immediately, making a beeline towards Nick, who’s tuning his bass. Cass stands awkwardly at the door, not really knowing what to do. The only person she knows is Ben, and she doesn’t want to give him the wrong impression by heading over.

“Cass!” Ben stands up and comes over, solving her dilemma. He gives her a big hug, and she’s deeply confused. She can’t tell what he thinks of her turning up, and she starts babbling about how she’s just keeping Mara company and that he shouldn’t worry about her being bored. He cuts her off by holding her by the shoulders and slanting his lips across her in a deep kiss.

She freezes up. She can see Mara over Ben’s shoulder, staring at them wide-eyed, and she knows her own expression is probably something just north of horrified. “Um… hey, Ben,” she says awkwardly, quickly taking a step back and out of his reach. The rest of the band has abandoned their rock star poses and are staring avidly at them.

She has no idea what to do, but Ben seems to have clocked her horrified expression because he immediately looks concerned. “Is everything okay?” He reaches out to rub her shoulder in what he probably intends is a comforting way, but she can’t help but take another step back. “Yeah!” Her voice is really high pitched, not really assuaging Ben’s worried expression.

“Hey Ben, can I talk to you outside?” She says, her voice still in it’s weird high pitch. The rest of the band go “ooooh” very childishly, and Ben’s shoulders and head drop in a way that make Cass feel very, very guilty. “Yeah, okay,” he says quietly, his previous ebullient mood gone completely.

They step out into the corridor, and the music is still blaring so it’s difficult to hear each other. She doesn’t particularly want to go anywhere else with Ben, though, so she shakes her head when he suggests going to the alleyway behind the club. “So… I guess I wasn’t particularly good at this over the phone,” Cass shouts over the music.

“Ah, shit, you’re breaking up with me aren’t you?” Ben shouts back, morosely. “I’m sorry to do this today - I thought I already did last month,” Cass shouts right when there’s a lull in the music level, meaning everyone around them can hear what she’s said. She clears her throat awkwardly. “I hope we can stay friends,” she adds lamely.

“Yeah, thanks!” Ben says, reaching out as if he wants to give her a pat on the shoulder, but drawing back just when his hand’s about to meet her skin. “Er - sorry about the kiss, just now. I realise in hindsight it was… inappropriate. Seeing as we aren’t together and all.” He’s taking it surprisingly well, and Cass cheers up immediately.

“Don’t worry about it!” She beams at him. Problem solved, they head back into the green room, where everyone pretends they weren’t eavesdropping like crazy a second ago. There’s an awkward silence as everyone avoids their eyes until Nick says loudly, “I told you mate!” followed quickly by an injured “ow!” as Mara smacks him hard on the shoulder, but it breaks the ice pretty effectively because everyone laughs.

“Alright, alright, let’s move on from this, yeah? We’ve got to get on stage in about five minutes, so let’s get a drink in first.” Ben’s calm and relaxed manner is back, his professionalism taking over any embarrassment or annoyance that might otherwise have knocked him off course. He heads straight to the bar cart in the corner of the room and starts lining up shot glasses.

They each take a shot of tequila before filing out into the main room, Mara and Cass following behind the band. The room has filled to capacity, and the two girls are pressed against each other by the crowd, somewhere near the stage. Mara gives Cass’s waist a squeeze. “I’m glad you managed to get that sorted out,” she says fervently. The band starts playing, cutting off any conversation, and Mara squeals so loudly that Cass thinks she’s gone half deaf anyway.

She’s heard a couple of the songs before, and she must admit that it’s quite nice - if you like maudlin, indie pop-rock, which Mara definitely does. She’s swaying to the music, mouthing along every word with hearts in her eyes. Cass mimes that she’s going to get a drink, and heads to the bar. She orders a vodka soda from the bartender, and she wonders idly whether these parties only hire good looking service staff as she waits for her drink.

The party has a good vibe, the industry people around smiling warmly at the band performing. They all seem to like the music being played, which can only mean good things for Bullet Theory. Ben introduces the next song, eyes searching the room, and she accidentally makes eye contact. They both look away immediately, Cass thankfully having an excuse since the bartender has just come back with her drink.

Even though the party is achingly cool, and everyone around her is having a great time, and the music is nice, Cass can’t wait to get home. Her feet are aching after the long day of rehearsals and she just wants to kick off her heels, put on her pyjamas and climb into Max’s arms, cuddling him like a koala bear. She gets so little time with him that every second away feels like time wasted.

But she can’t abandon Mara, so she returns to Mara’s side, drink in hand, just as the band finishes up its last song. The crowd cheers loudly but not wildly - this is an audience of industry insiders, after all - and Mara jumps up and down with excitement. “Cass that was amazing! I think everyone loved it. Especially that third song - Ben’s such a great lyricist, it was so beautiful.”

The band comes out from the green room where they’d gone straight after their set, and Nick and Ben come over to meet them. “No chance the music changed anything?” Ben asks jokingly as they stand to the side awkwardly whilst Nick and Mara make out right next to them. “Sorry, no,” Cass laughs, taking a step away from the kissing couple.

Lisa comes over and tugs on Ben’s arm, leaning up to whisper in his ear. He seems pretty comfortable with being dragged away by Lisa, and Cass smiles inwardly at how easily he’s adapting to changing situations. “Um, Mara, I’m going to head off since you seem… busy. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Mara thankfully gives a thumbs up over Nick’s shoulder and Cass is able to escape the party.

By the time she gets home all the lights are off, and Max is fast asleep in bed. She showers and brushes her teeth, then climbs over Max into her side of the bed, which is pressed up against the wall. She accidentally kicks him with her foot in the process and he wakes up with a groan. “Kleintje, please,” he says, his expression one of deep suffering. “I need to go to the factory early tomorrow. Let me sleep.”

She whispers a sorry as she climbs under the blanket, burying her face into the crook of his neck and pressing an apology kiss to the warm skin. “Mmm, maybe I don’t need to sleep,” Max says sleepily, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her over so that she’s lying on top of him. She fulfils the dream she’s been having all night of clinging to him like a koala.

“How was your party?” He asks, running a hand gently over her hair. His eyes are still closed, and the room is pitch black, and she’s as cozy as she can ever remember being. “Boring,” Cass whispers back, resting her ear on his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, thumping against her cheek. “This is so much better.”

—

“You have to come,” Luke pleads on the phone. “It’s not even that far for you - and you’d probably want to watch your man too, won’t you?” It’s the week before the British Grand Prix, and Luke has been trying his best to get Cass to come watch an actual race.

Luke’s had a pretty good run of performances, making it to the podium another four times in eight races, but Max is the one who had a brilliant weekend in Austria, winning the race against all odds. He’s still there, meeting the Red Bull sponsors who are based there, and he’ll be back later that night.

“Will Francesca make me wear something fancy?” Cass asks wryly. The weekend is supposed to be blazingly hot, unusual for England, and she can’t imagine wearing the elaborate couture that Francesca likes to deck her out with in that kind of weather. “Well, if you’re in the Ferrari pit, then probably yes,” Luke admits. “Dad always used to come, but now he won’t be here, and I’d just really love it if you could be there,” he says hopefully.

Cass scrunches up her nose, groaning. “Ugh, you went there,” she says. She’s outside the ballet studio and Alexei is beckoning to her urgently. “Come up to the house on Saturday and we can go to the track together?” Luke offers. “It’ll save you some time… unless you’re heading up with Max, he’ll have the special parking pass as well.”

“Oh, definitely not going with Max,” Cass laughs. They’re still keeping their relationship under wraps, not wanting to start any rumours. Luke’s cover article had come out the week after he’d won the race in Australia and it had mentioned Cass as his supportive sister - no mention of her actual profession - who was wink wink close friends with many of the drivers on the track. No mention of the fact that she’d become closer to those drivers as a result of her brother being in a literal coma.

As a consequence, and because there had been lots of speculation online about whether Cass was in a relationship with Charles, she and Max both agreed that it wasn’t the best time to publicise their relationship. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever be ready, although she didn’t mention that to Max. Maybe she’d just wait for him to retire or something.

True to form, by the time she gets home there’s a box of paddock passes and a full outfit waiting for her, the delivery man standing utterly bored by her door. “I hope you didn’t wait for too long, I wasn’t expecting anything!” She says, aghast, as she collects the parcels from him. He must be paid very well by Ferrari because unlike most couriers, he doesn’t complain about waiting and insists it’s no trouble.

She opens the garment bag the moment she gets into her flat, letting out a sigh of relief when she sees a fairly basic outfit. It’s a floaty cotton dress with slender straps, in red of course, tight on the bodice then flaring out into an A-line skirt. A note inside from Francesca instructs her to wear the dress with either ballet flats or platform wedges. A box hanging from the hanger reveals a thin black belt and some simple golden jewellery.

She leaves the paddock passes on the dining table on her way to hang up the dress in her closet - she hates ironing, and Francesca will kill her if she turns up in crumpled clothes. She gets on with her night time routine, getting dinner ready and stretching her calves and feet, and she’s in her pyjamas with a hair mask in when the door opens.

“Max!” She jumps up and runs towards her, wrapping her arms and legs around him in a tight hug. “My champion,” she says, giving him an kiss. “Mm, you taste funny,” Max says, licking his lips. “Oh sorry - face mask,” she says abashedly, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Come here,” Max says, dropping his bags and pulling her face closer to his so that he can deepen their kiss.

“You were amazing,” Cass says, hands slipping up his t-shirt to gently scratch the skin of his back. “We aim to please,” Max says, his own hands busy up the front of her shirt. Cass pulls away with a scowl of disgust. “Do not say that again,” she orders him, pinching his waist in warning. They’d watched Fifty Shades of Grey a week ago and Max kept pretending to be Christian Grey because he knew it freaked Cass out.

“Or else what?” Max challenges her, his thumb distracting her completely as he strokes it over the underside of her boob. “Or else you get to sleep on the couch tonight whilst I try to remind myself that you’re not a freaky, traumatised billionaire with really bad dialogue,” Cass says breathlessly.

“We can’t have that,” Max says, pushing down and stepping out of the jeans Cass has just expertly unbuttoned. “I’m not saying another word.”

Afterwards they migrate to the couch, Cass sitting between Max’s legs and leaning against his chest whilst Max plays with her hair. “Did I get any parcels?” Max asks, fingers expertly untangling a lock of hair that had gotten pretty messed up some time during her welcome home to Max. Cass shakes her head.

“Oh, okay - what’s the box on the table then?” Cass tilts her head to see what Max is talking about. “Oh, Luke sent me some paddock passes for Sunday,” Cass says casually. Max’s hands still on her hair.

“Wait, you’re going to the race? This week?” His voice is stilted, and Cass sits up to turn and look at him. “Yeah, Luke wanted me to keep him company. It’s his first time without my dad, so… yeah, I thought it’d be good to go. I’m heading to the house on Saturday night, and I don’t have anything on Sunday or Monday so it might be a good time to go through my dad’s stuff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Max sounds genuinely hurt, and Cass isn’t sure how to respond, not knowing what the issue here is. “Well - he just asked me today and I was going to tell you when you got home,” Cass says. Obviously there was no way she’d have gone to the race without telling him - after all, he’d be right there!

Max stands up, walking over to the box and opening it. “Ferrari VIP passes. So you’ll be at the race, and we won’t be able to talk to each other at all, huh? That’s great, that’s really great. You’ll be in the Ferrari garage, about five metres away from me, and I’m going to have to pretend we don’t know each other at all. Fuck!”

Cass is genuinely flabbergasted about Max’s reaction. “We don’t have to pretend not to know each other, Max. We just can’t show that we’re in a relationship,” she says reasonably. “Anyway, it’s not about you - it’s about Luke. He needs my support.”

Max glares down at the box. “What about me, then? I need your support too, and you never come. I could have used your support last weekend, and you weren’t there.”

“You did pretty well without me, didn’t you? And I can’t believe you’d equate yourself with Luke, he’s been through so much - and also, this is in England, I don’t need to fly anywhere!”

“The amount of time it’d have taken for you to fly to France or Austria is the same as how long it’ll take for you to drive to Silverstone, so don’t even give me that excuse. And the timing of it all - just when I win a race, your brother calls you to go to the next one, knowing that I’m going to be distracted the whole time if you’re there.”

“You’re crazy!” Cass exclaims, shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t have the energy to talk about this, you’re being absolutely insane right now. I’m not some pawn in this stupid mental warfare you seem to think is being played right now. And also, I can’t believe you’d think that of Luke, he’d never do that,” she adds heatedly.

“Oh yeah, Sir Luke the Good, not an evil bone in his body. Well, newsflash, kleintje - we all have that evil bone. That’s what it takes to get to F1, okay? We’re all always thinking of how to screw with everyone else’s race, and this is just one more thing to add to the list. Jesus fucking Christ!” Max runs his hands through his hair, swears and kicks the back of the sofa.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but I’m not dealing with it,” Cass says, standing up and walking determinedly to the bedroom. “You can sleep wherever you want, but stay the fuck out of my room.”

—

When Max opens the door in Australia he never expected to see his dad. Jos is a broad, stocky man, his thick fist holding the power of an anvil - Max should know. Max takes a step back to let Jos into his room, closing the door behind him. Jos is a shouter, and Max would prefer if not everyone in the hallway heard what he had to say.

“What did you think of the race?” Jos asks, deceptively calm. Max knows this is a trap question, but he can’t quite figure out what the correct answer here is. If he says the race went well, he’ll be accused of being satisfied with a losing position. If he says it went badly, Jos will tell him off for accepting a shit result.

He decides to go with the latter. Jos, predictably, sneers at him. “You could have overtaken Errol on the 12th lap, at Turn 5 and you didn’t even try to make the move. Why not, huh?” He narrows his eyes at Max, blue meeting blue in a battle of willpower. Max, as always, loses and blinks first.

“Because you’re a fucking loser. You have a good car this season and you’re letting the team down with this pussy behaviour. You think what, you’ll crash into him and he’ll die? The fucker’s already on his second life, you should just go for it!” Max takes a breath, blinking as slowly as possible.

“The throttle wouldn’t open up enough for the overtake -” he begins, but Jos slams the flat of his hand against the door, silencing Max. “Excuses! So many fucking excuses today!” He roars. “You know what your problem is? You don’t have the mentality to be a champion. You’re lucky to be on the grid at all, you pussy. You should be driving a garbage truck not a race car, stupid fuck.”

Max is crushed. He hears this often enough - usually whenever Daniel performs better than he does - but he’d actually thought his performance was pretty good today, even if he didn’t win. “Yes, Papa,” he says, shoulders slumping. The acceptance just fuels Jos’ rage, and he’s about ten minutes into his blow-by-blow of everything Max had done wrong during the race when his eyes land on the St Christopher’s medal around Max’s neck.

“… what the fuck is this? You’re wearing jewellery now? Are you a fag?” Jos hisses. Before Max can react, Jos has wrapped a meaty fist around the pendant and pulls until the necklace snaps and he’s holding it in his hand. He chucks it in the direction of the trash bin without giving it a second glance.

“You’re too busy focusing on stupid shit like getting all dolled up to go out with your boyfriends, eh? Yeah, don’t think I don’t see you all dressed up now. These people aren’t your friends. They’re your competitors - every single one of them would run you over with their car if they could get away with it, and don’t you forget it.”

With that, his stream of invective seems to be complete because he smacks Max around the head, turns and strolls out of the room as if he’s just had a perfectly pleasant conversation with his son.

Exhausted by the conversation, Max texts the rest of the boys that he’s not going out that night. He picks up his medal and sits on the bed for a while, turning the medal over in one hand and trying to distract himself by reading telemetry printouts from the race, but he feels antsy and decides that instead of getting room service as he normally would, he’ll go down to the restaurant at the hotel lobby to get some food.

It’s pretty late, and the lobby isn’t particularly busy, but Max keeps the hood of his jacket up in case he runs into any fans since he’s really not in the mood for any conversation. The hotel is set out so that he has to walk past a long corridor flanked by fancy shops before he gets to the restaurant and his eye is caught by a jeweller that seems to be open.

He’s still got his pendant in one hand, and he decides to ask the jeweller if it can be fixed. He wanders in, and to his relief it’s completely empty. “Oh sir - we were just about to close,” the sole sales assistant says, before seeing who she’s talking to. “Mr Verstappen! Oh my god, this is so exciting. How can I help you?”

Max smiles briefly. There are some benefits to being famous after all. He hands over the pendant and explains his issue, and the sales assistant takes it and turns it over in her hands, looking at it closely. Whilst the sales assistant is surveying the necklace, Max wanders around the store, looking at the various shiny things on display.

Most of the jewellery is extremely ostentatious, huge ropes of pearls and chunky precious stones, but there’s a display of simple necklaces that Max is drawn to. There are a couple of different designs, but Max’s eye is immediately caught by a green four-leaf clover the colour of Cass’s eyes. “Hey, what’s this made of?” He asks the sales assistant, who comes over immediately.

“That’s our Alhambra collection sir, in malachite with a chain of 18 karat yellow gold. Very popular with the ladies,” she says, before going into a practiced recital of the history of the design. Max nods absently as she speaks, already imagining it around Cass’s neck.

“I’ll take it,” he says when she’s done. “Of course, sir. And for this necklace - we can’t fix it here, but I could recommend a jeweller who can assist you.” Max sighs, crestfallen. “I’m heading back to London tomorrow, but thanks,” he says, taking his necklace back. “I could recommend one in London, no problem,” the sales assistant offers.

Later on, as he sits in the hotel restaurant eating his roast chicken and salad, he mulls over what his dad said. He hadn’t been able to open the throttle enough, but maybe there was some other way that he could attacked the line? He’s deep in his mental replays of the race when someone drops into the chair opposite.

“Why aren’t you out on the town, kiddo?” Daniel is clearly several drinks in because his voice is deeply slurred which, when mixed with his accent, makes it hard for Max to understand what he’s saying. Max just shakes his head. “I maaaay have seen a fat old Dutchman strutting his stuff around the lifts. Does ol’ Jos have something to do with this?”

Max has to admire the way Daniel is so not scared of his dad. For as long as he can remember, Jos’ explosive personality has dominated the people around him, whatever the circumstance. Even Christian listens to him. Max says as much to Daniel.

“Are you kidding me? Christian listens to him because you listen to him, and you’re the golden boy,” Daniel snorts. “He knows that if Jos tells you to jump, you say how high. They don’t want to piss him off.” Max’s head lifts at this. He and Daniel have never had a conversation about their roles in Red Bull, because Daniel’s always been the wise, experienced driver with Max as the young protege.

But this season is Max’s fourth, and in the world of F1 that’s pretty experienced. He’s no longer a rookie, and he’s started consistently competing with and beating Daniel at qualifying and in races. Jos has always agitated for Max to get preferential treatment, and Helmut has started to get on board now that Max has proved himself in his eyes. He knows it can’t be easy for Daniel to be overshadowed, but that’s the nature of F1. It’s cut-throat.

“What did he say to you?” Daniel asks, leaning back in his seat and propping one leg on the chair, clearly settling in for a long chat. “Same old shit,” Max shrugs. He doesn’t really want to get into it, since Daniel would never understand the way Max’s family works. His family is nice, and his parents give him unconditional support. Max used to be jealous, but he’s kind of just accepted it now. He’d once heard Daniel’s mum telling him that she was just happy he finished a race safely - definitely not something he could imagine his own parents saying. Winning is in their DNA.

Daniel seems to sense that Max isn’t going to go into detail because he changes the subject. “So how’s everything else going? How’s the big house move?” He wiggles his eyebrows. Max breaks a smile for the first time that night.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he says, shrugging again. “We both have too many things, but I spent the last month throwing shit away. By the way, do you want a really old TV? It’s the kind that still has the fucking box at the back. Yeah, that’s what Cass used to have. Couldn’t run FIFA or anything.”

They talk for a bit longer before Daniel is summoned by phone to another afterparty. “You sure you don’t want to come?” Daniel asks. Max shakes his head, and Daniel leans over to pat Max on the shoulder. “Hey, cheer up mate. Fourth isn’t that bad - take it from the guy in fifth.” Max gives him a wry smile.

How does Daniel do it? Everything just rolls off his back like a duck in water once he’s out of the car. He takes life on easy mode. Max sighs, shakes his head, and returns to his solo pity party.

—

Remember what Max thought about things rolling off Daniel’s back? He’s just seen the absolute end of that. It’s race weekend in Baku and it was just one of those days where everyone feels bulletproof, leading to a lot of elbows out. Max is starting right behind Daniel, and he can feel the blood pumping through his veins at triple speed.

Jos is here again, after skipping Bahrain and China, and he’d gotten an earful the night before after qualifying fifth. He and Daniel are neck and neck, and he knows that he needs to prove himself better than his friend to ensure he gets the better strategic calls. If he gets undercut by Daniel one more fucking time he will lose his shit.

His vision narrows until all he can see are those red lights blinking overhead, and the second the lights go out he floors it. The Baku street circuit is narrow, weaving through the historic city centre and absolutely treacherous for overtaking, but Max doesn’t give a shit and neither does anyone else.

Errol and Ocon bump tires the first lap. Sirotkin piledrives into Alonso and Hulkenburg pretty soon after, leading to a shit ton of debris flying everywhere. Perez rear-ends Errol, who has to pit with damage, and then Errol comes out of the pits with a vengeance and absolutely smashes Ocon into the wall, putting the French driver out of the race. The yellow flags are flying.

Max is struggling with his battery, pissing him off immensely. It’s only the fourth race of the season and he can already tell that the fucking engine is shit. He pours his energy into defending against those behind him, building up a train of cars, and by the time Sainz pits and he jumps up to fourth Daniel’s right up his ass.

Daniel’s immensely talented and they’re both driving on the absolute edge, leading to some warning radio messages from his race engineer, GP. “What the fuck is he doing?” Max curses, as Daniel veers right to block off Max’s racing line, forcing him to pull out of his overtake. He can’t let his teammate beat him, not today, not with Jos watching, so Max does what he does best - he gets aggressive.

The two Red Bulls swap position every other lap, with Max finally taking a lead he feels he can defend. Then Daniel moves suddenly to the left, and Max follows suit to block him off right at a turn, and Max suddenly realises he’s been faked out since now Daniel has the perfect slipstream, and he starts weaving to break it when he approaches the left-hand turn and starts braking to get the right entry when Daniel fucking rear-ends him.

His car spins and skids into the run-off area, and he knows even before he stops that his race is over. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He screams, slamming his gloved hands against the steering wheel. He’s already being surrounded by stewards urging him out of the car so that they can start clearing the track. He gets out, glaring through his helmet at Daniel, who’s also being ushered out of his car.

Daniel rips off his helmet and gives him a furious glare back. The two teammates stalk to the side of the track and back to the paddock, not saying a word to each other. They’re absolutely surrounded by camera flashes and shouted questions from the press the second they enter the paddock, their teammate drama drawing them like bees to honey.

Vicki, his press secretary, and Callum, Daniel’s Vicki, grab them by their respective elbows and hustle them into the back of the garage and up the stairs to Christian’s office. “We’ll be back in 10 minutes for press,” Vicki says sternly to Max, who wants nothing more than to sink into the ground as disappear from the look Christian is giving them right now.

He’s never seen Christian this angry. He starts laying into them immediately, the level of rage nearly Jos levels, although more icy than violent. They’re idiots, shit drivers, wasting millions of pounds playing games of chicken, Christian says, and then he orders them to say it was a mutual error. “What the fuck, that’s not fair! He moved twice under braking! There was no way I could have stopped in time,” Daniel shouts, slamming a fist against the wall. “It was just hard racing, I was defending my line,” Max replies, arms crossed.

“You’ve both lost us a hell of a load of points, and you’ll do as I say if you want to remain a Red Bull driver,” Christian hisses, eyes moving between the two of them. Daniel looks frustrated, but Max just nods. He wants to get to his phone to tell Cass he’s okay, and he’ll have to finish press and get back to his room before he can do that.

When they leave, Max tries to apologise to Daniel - he knows it was partly his fault, but that’s the spirit of racing, isn’t it? Daniel shoots him a venomous look and shakes Max’s hand off his shoulder, walking swiftly away with Callum to the press pen. Vicki takes Max to the pen as well, and Max can hear Daniel repeating the Red Bull party line between gritted teeth.

By the time Max returns to his driver’s room his jaw is aching from keeping the words he really want to say from spilling out. His neck is a little sore from the recoil when he got hit, and his trainer makes him run through some exercises before he finally leaves. When he takes out his phone to call Cass, Jos blows into the room but he’s unexpectedly in a good mood.

“That’s the spirit I want to see from you - fuck Ricciardo, he’s not going to get slipstream, not from my boy!” He says jubilantly. Max eyes him suspiciously. Jos happy is never a good sign for anyone without the last name Verstappen. “Don’t let their little mind games fuck with you, eh? You’re number one. Helmut has made that clear with his “mutual mistake” shit. Now all is clear.” He claps Max on the shoulder and leaves just as swiftly as he came, off to schmooze and network.

Finally, he gets to be alone. His phone is absolutely buzzing with messages, but he ignores all of them to call Cass. “Hey, it’s me,” he says, the second she picks up. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m fine.” He hears a whoosh of breath on the other side. “I saw you get out of the car, you and Daniel. How’s he doing? He looked mad.”

Max sits on the little massage bed in the corner, leaning his head against the wall. “Yeah, he’s pretty pissed off. He thinks they should have made it clear it’s my fault.” He sighs. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me what you’re doing. How’re the plants?”

—

Once the season starts it’s a machine, flinging the teams from country to country. He spends as much time as possible in London in between but by the time they get to Austria he figures he spends an average of four days out of the week travelling. Maybe they wouldn’t have had much time to spend together since Cass is also incredibly busy, but he misses her and their pre-season domesticity.

Luckily, Cass has a summer break right when he has a two week break between races and he’s looking forward to a perfect of lying in the sun, eating on the beach and waking up late. After much pestering and leaving brochures around the flat, Cass has finally agreed to go to a private island off the coast of Spain where they will bump into absolutely nobody.

But first he has to complete the British Grand Prix, the last of a triple header that’s sucked the energy out of the grid. He’s had three podiums in a row, culminating in a race win in Austria against all expectations, and the tension between him and Daniel has been ratcheting up to a fever pitch. He’s outperformed Daniel in every race except Monaco, which Daniel won and where Max had limped into 9th, and with Daniel’s contract negotiations ongoing he’s become increasingly aggressive. If he wasn’t being aggressive against Max, Max might have been impressed.

His dad hasn’t been physically present at the rest of the races, but he’s been keeping up a constant stream of communication to make sure Max doesn’t lose his competitive edge. On the other hand, Christian has been counselling keeping a cool head, his watchful eye on the temperature of the two drivers ever since the crash in Baku.

The competing advice that everyone seems to be helpfully offering him is doing his head in, making him see ghosts everywhere. He feels like he’s driving Daniel away, the first real friend he’s had in F1, but this is a crucial year for Max to prove he’s one of the championship contenders. The unreliability of the car is another issue, and he feels like any time he really wants to push it to the limit he’s at risk of sitting about a centimetre behind an exploding engine.

At least he’d won in Austria, the home of Red Bull, but winning triggered a series of sponsor events to celebrate. He’d gone to meeting rooms, factories, fancy restaurants, mountain chalets, traditional beer halls, all in the name of pulling in cash for the team. Christian had alluded to some reparations for the money needed to repair the two cars in Baku and Max had folded like an envelope.

He’s exhausted, hungover and grumpy when he gets home, and even he has to admit that he overreacted at the idea of Cass going to Silverstone. He just wants to maintain his absolute focus to show Christian and Helmut that they’re right in choosing him as their number one driver, to live up to the high expectations they have for him, and he knows that Cass being there will knock him just that slightest bit off. Every brush with the wall will worry her, which will worry him. He’s never been scared of anything before.

After she slams the door on him, he sits in the living room, elbows on his knees, staring into the void. He feels like shit. She’d told him about a deep, personal issue her brother had, related to the tragic and unexpected death of their father, and he’d made it about himself. He’s a fucking asshole.

He just wanted her to be there, supporting him, watching him win. He’s a selfish bastard, but he can’t bear the thought of her cheering for anyone that isn’t him, even though she always maintains she has no affiliation to any team. She’ll be in Ferrari colours, in the Ferrari pit, wearing Ferrari passes around her neck.

But he knows this is on him, so he gets up, knocks on the bedroom door and waits. “Leave me alone,” comes back through, muffled, but he can hear the snottiness that signals tears and he pushes open the door despite Cass’s orders.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” He used to hate apologising, but he knows Cass won’t talk to him unless he starts with the magical words that show her that he knows he’s done something wrong. “Sorry for what?” Comes back the sniffly response. So she’s going to punish him. Max leans against the door frame, crossing his arms.

“Let me see… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” he says, watching in amusement as Cass lifts her head, showing her teary face. She looks like a little kid with her pink cheeks and pink nose, her hair all tangled up and her mouth in a pout. Max walks over and Cass moves her legs so he has space to sit on the bed.

“I’m sorry for making everything about me,” Max adds, lying down next to her and staring at the ceiling. He’s heartened when Cass shifts so her head is lying on his chest, and he tucks an arm around her, drawing her closer. He’s selfish, alright. He doesn’t want anyone else to have even a little piece of Cass.

“What else are you sorry for?” Cass asks, face buried in his chest. Max wracks his brain for what else he can say, when he feels Cass’s shoulders shaking. Panicking for a second that she’s started crying again, he pulls back, only to realise that she’s laughing. “Don’t do that to me, kleintje!” He says, tickling her side as punishment.

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven!” Cass says, laughing uncontrollably now. “I thought you’d like me to come watch you race,” she says, propping her chin up on her fist. “You used to always ask me to come and watch and now you sound like you don’t want me there.” She frowns, and Max kicks himself for making her feel unwelcome at his favourite place in the world.

“No, I want you there,” Max says, trying to reassure her. “And then after that, we’re going on holiday and it’ll be great, just the two of us. I’ll have you all to myself.” He tugs on her until she’s lying on top of him, a lovely warm weight that grounds him. The rosemary and mint scent of her hair surrounds him and he breathes in his favourite smell, arms wrapped as tight around her as possible.

“I’m so proud of you for winning in Austria,” she says, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Did I mention that already?”

“No,” Max lies. “Say it again, I didn’t hear you well the first time.”

—

Chapter Text

There are a million people at Silverstone, or at least that’s how it feels to Cass. She’s been here for hours already, Luke having to turn up several hours before the race begins. It’s a true British summer day, hot and humid with the clouds hanging threateningly low and grey. It’s all anyone can talk about in the Ferrari paddock. Will it rain? They ask each other, as if anyone of them will know. People walk in and out with hands held out, palms up, shaking their heads.

Will it rain? How’s so-and-so looking? Did you see the new upgrades? That’s the conversation going around, and Cass is incredibly bored. She nods and smiles, having learned a little bit about the cars from being around Max, but she ultimately has very little interest in racing outside of the people involved. She’s trying her best to hide her boredom, especially since some of the people here are Luke’s sponsors, but Luke and everyone Cass has met before has been pulled away for his pre-race prep. At least there’s a nice outside patio where she can people watch.

She’s been there for the past hour, watching crowds of celebrities, journalists and fans mingle and hover around the paddock. She’s spotted a couple of sportspeople her brother is friendly with and a fair few celebrities that she recognises, strolling through.

She’s eating a delicious pistachio gelato - the Ferrari catering is absolutely phenomenal, she must admit - when Max walks by. She’s started by his appearance, although she should really have known better. Ferrari’s hospitality suite is second in the row, and Red Bull is right next to them. Nearly all the drivers have passed by on the way to their own garages, actually. Some had even come to chat with her for a bit. Max is fully in race day focus mode and pays her no attention, but his trainer Brad spots her and gives her a little wave. She blushes and waves back.

“Hey, Cass!” A familiar voice makes her head turn, and she smiles awkwardly at the person who is greeting her so cheerfully. “This is cool, isn’t it? I just got asked to come yesterday and I couldn’t say no!” Ben, his neck wreathed with an incredible number of passes, walks up to her and is stopped in his tracks by a couple of fans who ask him to take selfies with them.

He’s beaming, signing autographs and taking photos, and is still radiating happiness when he finally makes it to where Cass is sitting. “Album’s doing pretty well,” he says, flopping into the seat next to her at her invitation. Cass knows that’s the understatement of the year. “Mara told me you guys are going on tour soon, in America,” Cass says in response.

“Oh, not really a tour, we’re just going on a couple of late night shows,” Ben says modestly. “That’s so exciting!” Cass says encouragingly. That’s about all it takes to set Ben off, although to be fair to him he’s had a very interesting week. Despite having pretty low expectations for the album release, somehow Bullet Theory had blown up the charts and had been invited to perform on Graham Norton the night before.

They’re chatting about how Ben had met one of his favourite actresses the night before when a portly, sweaty man comes up to them and shoves a microphone in their faces. “This is the sister of one of the drivers of Ferrari, of course - and this is the lead singer of a new band called Bullet Theory, Ben Carston! Who are you supporting today, Ben?”

The man ignores Cass, which is par for the course here, and Ben gamely responds that he doesn’t know much about F1, but of course since he’s in front of Ferrari - and Cass - he’ll say he’s supporting Luke. “Very diplomatic of you!” The man cheers, before he turns around to speak to the camera whilst walking off. “Well, that was the young couple Ben Carston and Cassandra Errol…”

Cass shoots Ben a look, which he returns with a blank one of his own. “What?” He asks innocently. “Why didn’t you say anything? That man thought we’re together!” She hisses, pushing her chair back and standing up as quietly and unobtrusively as she can. She doesn’t want to make a scene since there are loads of cameras around and Ben is clearly hot property, but she’s really annoyed.

“I didn’t say anything like that!” Ben stands as well to help her pull her chair back further. The stupid skirt of the dress Francesca got her has gotten stuck on the arm rest of the chair, and she pulls it free quickly before Ben can help her any more. “Look Cass - I know we didn’t work out, but I think we’d be good friends,” he says, putting a hand on her arm as she turns to leave.

She wavers, not sure what to say. He’s a very nice person, and they did have some good conversations, but she can’t help but feel like that would make for an incredibly awkward friendship. Then again, he’s heading off to America and hopefully would meet someone else and forget all about her. “Sure, Ben,” she says, patting his hand gently then pulling away.

“Hey, Cassie!” After hours of feeling like the biggest Billy No Mates in the world, she’s suddenly Miss Popular. Luke strolls up with Seb, a constellation of flashing camera lights around them. She catches Seb’s eyes, which are sparkling with mischief, and he makes a big deal about introducing himself to Ben and shaking his hand enthusiastically whilst Luke asks him questions.

“So, how do you know my sister?” Luke asks suspiciously, folding his arms across his chest. Cass can’t help but roll her eyes at his big brother routine, elbowing him in the side. “We’re just friends, Luke, give it a rest,” she complains. “His bandmate is dating Mara. Anyway, don’t you have to go do your job or something?” Of course he’d turn up just as she’s talking to Ben. The universe lives for Cass’s awkward moments.

Luke’s attention snaps to Cass. “Yeah, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come on the track to see the national anthem performance. It should be good, they usually get a celebrity to sing it,” he says, ignoring Ben completely. “And your friend, he can come too!” Seb says, grinning widely at the pair of them. Even though he’s holding on to the top spot in the championship by the slenderest of leads, he seems completely relaxed. She supposes that’s what happens when you’re a four time world champion. 

Completely unlike Luke and Max, especially Max who has had a mixed weekend - stopping on the track in first practice, crashing into a wall in second practice, but ultimately qualifying in fifth place. He’d been in an awful mood on Saturday morning when he’d dropped her off at the Cotswolds house before qualifying, but hopefully his improved performance in quali had helped somewhat.

She’d texted him a good luck message, but he hasn’t responded - unsurprisingly, as the drivers have an absolutely insane schedule today. Seb and Luke have been in back to back meetings and interviews and media things all day, and she expects Max has a similarly packed day.

She - and Ben, tagging along - follow Seb and Luke and their trainers to the track where Ben ooh’s and ah’s over all the cars they’re walking past. He’s absolutely loving the walking commentary that Seb is giving him, pointing out all the different shapes of front wings and describing how they change the aerodynamics.

Soon enough they’re at the front of the track where the rest of the drivers are gathered for the national anthem. She spots Charles and gives him a little wave, which he returns with a rather sombre expression - they all look so different in their race suits, more grown up somehow. Charles looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Max is talking to Daniel rather intensely, arms folded across his chest and an annoyed expression on his face. She tries to catch his eye but he’s deep in conversation and then the national anthem starts so she has to pay attention.

It’s complete chaos the second the anthem ends, with all the guests being ushered off the track quickly and the drivers heading straight to their cars. Cass tries to linger to wish Max good luck in person, but she’s very firmly told to get off the track, please ma’am, and she reluctantly heads to the Ferrari garage where she pulls on a set of noise cancelling headphones that are tuned into Luke’s radio. The one plus is that Ben has gone to the McLaren garage where he’s a guest, so she can sit in peace.

“Okay, Luke, no rain expected, three minutes til formation lap,” the calm, Italian accented voice of Carlo, Luke’s race engineer, comes through the headphones. “Copy,” Luke replies. Luke’s trainer, Matthew, is sitting next to her and shows her all the different settings on the headphones. She can listen to the main commentary, or to individual driver radios, and she switches it to Max’s out of curiosity.

“Max, we’ve got two Mercedes and two Ferrari ahead of us, gearbox looking good, watch for the Haas behind,” Max’s engineer comes over the radio with a similarly calm voice to Carlo. Cass wonders whether that’s a training module these race engineers have - how to calm these hot headed race drivers through sound alone. She switches back to Luke, reminding herself that she’s here to support him.

The cars have started weaving around the track, heating up their tires on the formation lap. There’s a tension in the air as the cars line up in their starting positions, the sound of the 20 rumbling engines running seeping through into her consciousness despite the noise cancelling technology the headphones have.

There are a few beeps, and then the cars absolutely zoom off, deafening her. It’s chaotic from the very beginning, Lewis Hamilton having a terrible start and being overtaken by his teammate. Then there’s a gasp in the garage as Lewis suddenly spins off the track, and Luke comes on his radio.

“Couldn’t avoid him,” he says crisply, to which Carlo replies neutrally. Cass toggles with the settings to hear Lewis’ radio, which is just him cursing an absolute blue streak as his race engineer asks whether he can get back on track. She switches again to the main commentary, which is going crazy over the contact, which they announce gleefully is being investigated by the stewards.

“And it’s Verstappen, then Ricciardo, then Errol - and now we’re on board with Luke Errol as he enters Copse, flat out - and he’s made that stick, Luke Errol’s now ahead of Ricciardo, that’s a man with absolute ice in his veins…” The garage cheers as Luke overtakes Daniel, but now Cass’s heart is in her throat as the next person ahead of him is Max, who will definitely defend his position as aggressively as possible.

The garage groans again as the commentators announce that Luke’s received a 10-second penalty for causing a collision, and Luke’s swiftly called in for a pit stop as he’s complaining about having no front end to his car. The mechanics are a well-oiled machine getting into position as their hands hover anxiously over their tools and Luke’s bright red Ferrari screeches to a stop in front of the garage.

The 10 seconds they have to wait before the mechanics can start work feels like eternity, and then suddenly they jump into action. It’s honestly impressive to watch, almost as quick as a blink of her eyes, and then Luke’s peeling away.

“Errol’s got several positions to make up if he’s aiming for a podium, but he’s a man on a mission and he’s got Leclerc in his sights!” The commentator screams into her ear, and she winces and switches to Max’s radio. “What’s the gap to Bottas?” Max asks, his voice assured. Cass smiles as the screens show Max creeping up steadily on the car ahead of him, presumably that of Bottas.

Charles has a nightmare of a pit stop, the mechanics not putting his wheel on properly, and he retires, bringing the yellow flag out. Cass feels a tug of sympathy for the Monagesque driver - he has really awful luck sometimes. Then a series of laps later, another driver crashes and drivers all start coming into the pits, with the lineup becoming Seb, Bottas, Max and Luke being the first four drivers.

Luke’s on a mission indeed, hovering just behind Max to respect the yellow flag, then he gets the slipstream and dives down the inside of Max’s car. Max refuses to give up his position, veering so close to Luke’s car that Cass has to cover her eyes. “And they’re wheel to wheel, Errol’s had to go almost to another county to get past the Red Bull, but he’s managed to do it! But Verstappen’s not taking that lying down, he’s neck and neck with the Ferrari and - Verstappen’s managed to take the spot back!”

Cass has stopped breathing, her eyes glued to the screen as Max and Luke battle for 3rd position. Luke snatches the spot back with a dive bomb down the inside, then Max zips around Luke to retake the place, their wheels coming dangerously close to each other. Max maintains the lead, finally managing to break DRS, but then Luke absolutely flies past him a few laps later, and Daniel’s right behind so Max has to defend, giving up 4th to Luke.

Then, disaster.

“He’s spun off, Max Verstappen is into the gravel - there must have been contact, Ricciardo was on his tail and now Verstappen just spun!” Her hands are over her mouth in horror as Max’s wheels spit up a ton of gravel as he gets back onto the track. His radio is ominously silent, even though his race engineer asks if he’s okay.

He’s lost a ton of positions, down in 12th, and then his day gets even worse. “Oh and Verstappen is going very slowly, there must be something wrong with his car… And he’s just been called in to the retire…” The commentator says dolefully, but then he - and everyone else - gets distracted by Luke overtaking Lewis, then Seb. “After a 10 second penalty, Errol is driving like he’s got the devil on his shoulder, or maybe like he has angels wings! These are some of the most daring overtakes Silverstone has ever seen, Luke Errol is on a mission today and he is reeling Valtteri Bottas in… and Bottas has oversteer doing into that corner and Errol, in irresistible form today, pounces! Luke Errol is leading the British Grand Prix, ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing absolute greatness!”

“And the British crowd are loving this double English podium of Hamilton and Errol, but most especially Luke Errol, the golden boy, the comeback kid - he’s battled here five times before without a win, and surely he’ll be thinking of his father who was an ever present fixture at his races but sadly passed this winter - but today the sun shines on him once again, he’s Ferrari’s son, he’s Britain’s son and he’s done it, he’s done it -  Luke Errol has won the British Grand Prix!”

The Ferrari garage erupts in joy, with a 1-2 of Luke and Seb breaking the Mercedes dominance of the British Grand Prix, an excited Matthew shouts to her as he urges her towards the pit lane so that they can leg it towards the podium where Luke’s pulling up with his brilliant red car. It’s a blur of activity - or maybe her eyes are just too filled with tears - as Luke jumps out of his car, points at the sky, then runs to her and gives her a tight hug.

It’s actually kind of uncomfortable, her ribs pressing into the barrier and his still-on helmet squishing her head as Luke pulls her as close as he can, but they’re both sobbing, Luke babbling incoherently. “- I’m so glad you’re here - Dad would - ah, fuck -” he lets her go and pulls off his helmet, rubbing roughly at his eyes with the sleeve of his race suit. For the first time in a long time, he looks to her like a little boy. The crew around her are all cheering and suspiciously wet-eyed, then Luke gets pulled away for his interview.

“Congratulations Luke, we can hear from the fans what this means to them but what does it mean to you to be a first-time winner here at Silverstone?” The interviewer’s voice booms around the concourse, the audience getting even more hyped. The cheering is almost deafening, the crowd a crush of fans trying to catch a glimpse of Luke.

“I grew up an hour away from here and it’s - I feel like I’m dreaming, I -” Luke, normally so articulate, just shakes his head, covering his face with his hand. His shoulders are shaking, and Cass can tell that he’s fighting tears. He takes a deep breath and drops his hand, looking around at the crowd.

“It means more to me than I can say. I’m lucky to be alive, even luckier to be standing here - I made a mistake in the beginning and it was a true team effort from everyone to get me to the front. Thank you to everyone in the team, in the factory, and…” He looks directly at Cass. “Thank you to my sister - I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her, and - this is… this is for our dad.” He quickly hands the microphone back to the interviewer and walks away to get weighed before he can be asked any more questions.

Cass is pretty sure all her makeup has been cried off by now, and she probably looks an absolute fright, but she can’t bring herself to care even though what feels like every camera in the world is trained on her. She stares fixedly at the podium as Lewis, then Seb, then finally Luke come out and stand on their little steps. The national anthem starts to play, and Luke keeps having to wipe tears away, but finally they get their trophies and can pop their champagne and spray each other with it.

Francesca, that tough cookie, hustles her off back to the garage so that she doesn’t answer any questions off the cuff. “Luke will have many interviews, so he will be a few hours - you can wait in his driver’s room if you want, or you could check out the concerts or the rest of the track,” she says, vaguely waving in a few different directions. Cass takes the hint that Francesca is done babysitting her and assures her that she’ll be fine on her own.

She heads to the bathroom to wash her face, since her tear streaks have started drying in an annoyingly itchy manner, and checks her phone. She’s got missed calls from Jamie, Ben and a bunch from Max. She hides in the Ferrari bathroom and calls back, sighing in relief when he picks up almost immediately.

“Maxie, are you okay? Sorry I didn’t pick up,” she begins, but then a familiar voice cuts her off. “Hey Cass, this is Brad. Would you mind coming down to the Red Bull garages? If you come around the back I can sneak you in without anyone seeing you I think. It’s urgent,” he says brusquely before hanging up.

Worried, she heads out of the garage, relieved that all the cameras seem to be focused on the media pen and she’s fairly anonymous despite her bright red dress as she walks with her head down into the gap between the two garages and hovers as innocently as possible at the side of the Red Bull garage.

“Psst, here,” Brad says, waving to her from the door he’s opened a minute crack. She walks quickly towards him and he pulls her in, shutting the door right behind. The Red Bull garage is blaring music so he has to shout to be heard. “Thanks for coming!” He yells, walking rapidly the whole time down a hallway.

“Where’s Max?” Cass shouts back, wondering why she’s been pulled here. In lieu of responding to her, Ben points to a door which has a little plaque with Max’s name and steps back. “Good luck” He mouths as Cass opens the door.

At first she thinks Max has been robbed. The entire room is a mess, exercise gear strewn willy-nilly and Red Bull t-shirts and caps lying crumpled on every surface. There’s water everywhere. There’s a toppled standing fan on the table, smashed electronics surrounded by shards of broken glass on the floor. She closes the door behind her, noticing for the first time a hole in the wall where it’s clearly been punched.

There’s no one in the room, but the shower in the ensuite bathroom is running. She steps carefully over the broken glass on the floor and towards the shower. “Max?” She calls out, but the sound mix of running water and the music outside must drown her out. She knocks on the door of the bathroom, which is open, but Max is standing facing away from her under the running shower head. Still fully dressed his race suit.

Cass does some quick mental calculations - it has been well over half an hour since his race had ended, and she wonders how long he’s been standing under the water. Acting almost on instinct, she walks in and opens the shower door, reaching out to turn off the water when Max spins around and grabs her wrist.

“Ow!” She wrenches her wrist away and he lets go immediately once he sees it’s her, but his grip had been really hard and she can already see the beginnings of a bruise forming. “Max, the water is freezing cold - you’re going to catch your death, come out of there,” she says, taking his hand and tugging on it so he steps out of the shower. His head is hung low, probably embarrassed by his fit of pique outside. 

She’s suddenly, overwhelmingly, pissed off. This should be an incredible day and she should be basking in the reflected joy and glory of Luke’s win but here she is with her boyfriend who can’t handle not finishing a race without smashing things up. She walks into the still destroyed room and looks for the little race bag which holds Max’s clean clothes. It’s in the corner, a little smushed, and when she picks it up she drops it almost immediately. It’s covered in some sticky liquid, which - she gives it a tentative whiff - is definitely Red Bull.

“Oh, Max,” she tuts. “This is really - you’re nearly 21, this is just so incredibly immature and look what’s happened, you’ve not got anything to wear out. You’ve brought this on yourself, really you have - I think you’ll have to wear one of these signed shirts if I can find one that’s not covered in glass, Red Bull or… whatever this is…” She picks up an autographed cap that’s been doused with some green goo that appears to be muscle gel. She shakes her head and tosses it into the growing pile of dirty things.

She finally finds a clean set of clothes hiding in a drawer under the massage table, which seems to have been spared most of the destruction, and turns to hand it to Max. He’s still standing by the door, head hung, and she gives a gasp of shock when he finally lifts his head. He’s got a massive bruise spreading across half his face.

“Oh no, did you hit your head when you were getting out of the car?” Cass asks, stepping closer and running her thumb gently over the bruise, her sympathy returning. He must feel absolutely awful. He shakes his head and her confusion returns. He can’t have given himself a black eye, which means… She turns over both his hands, neither of which have the split skin she would have expected of someone who’s punched a hole in the wall.

“Is - is your dad here today?” She whispers. Max’s blue eyes finally meet hers and she wants to cry from the deadness within as he nods. “Oh, Maxie,” she says sympathetically, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him as tight as she can, letting go quickly when he flinches. “Are you hurt?” She asks, fingers deftly undoing the placket at the neck of his race suit and unzipping it to reveal his soaked navy fireproofs within.

“Let’s take all this off before you catch a cold,” she says as calmly as possible even though her heart is racing, helping him pull the fireproofs off and revealing a scattering of bruises - some that look like they could be from the car, some clearly man-made - on his torso. “Oh, my love,” she whispers as she clocks the fist-shaped bruise right where his kidneys are.

“It’s fine,” Max says firmly as he shucks off his sopping clothes and towels himself dry, finally spurred into action by her horrified expression. “No it’s not!” Cass objects indignantly, catching his hands. “You need to ban your dad from coming to the track if this is what he’s going to do to you - how are you going to walk out with that bruise on your face? This is - you should tell Christian, he’ll get it sorted.” Her mind whirs with all the ways she can kill Jos. Obviously she’s must tinier than the brutal older man, but she’ll figure it out. Surely the insane figure piled up in her bank account after her father’s death means she can get access to some very unsavoury characters.

“Stop, Cass,” Max says, sitting down on the massage table. “It was my fault - I made the mistake that led to me spinning out. Then the gravel damaged my floor and I had to retire. It’s all my fault.” Cass shakes her head in disbelief. This is her Max who will never admit when he’s the one who left his towel on the floor even though only two of them live in the flat. Her Max who has the heart of a lion, who can argue over anything, now looking so blank that she’s scared.

She steps between his legs, taking his face in her palms - gently, so she doesn’t press on his bruise. “I’m not an expert and I don’t know whose fault it was. But nobody deserves to be treated the way your father treated you today. Do you understand? Nobody.” She presses a light kiss to his lips, avoiding his cheekbone where the skin has been split.

Max catches her around the waist and pulls her closer towards him, shaking his head when Cass tries to protest about his bruises. “This is helping,” he murmurs as he kisses along her collarbone, tugging at her so that her knees are straddling his hips. Cass gives in - after all, who is she to judge anyone else’s coping mechanisms? Max also knows exactly where to touch her so that she’s putty in his hands.

Her fingers trace the red finger-shaped marks on his shoulder where Jos had gripped him, and she presses featherlight butterfly kisses on each one, dropping her forehead against his shoulder and feeling Max’s arms tighten around her. It’s all been a bit much today, and she’s struck by the painful thought that between Jos and her father, it’s Jos that’s here, alive and hateful whilst her father is six feet under, has missed Luke’s first win at Silverstone. The universe is truly cruel and unfathomable.

—

Later, Max ducks out some side route with Brad to avoid any photos being taken of his bruised face, after they confirm their plans for Max to pick her up from the Cotswolds house the next day on the way to the airport for their week-long holiday.

Cass waits for her dress to dry, having gotten a couple of damp spots on it from hugging Max earlier, and tidies up the room as best she can. She can’t believe a grown man like Jos can possess such awful rage, the enduring pettiness to squeeze out actual bottles of muscle gel on his son’s clothes, break all this expensive equipment and just waltz out, leaving a mess behind.

One her dress is dry she slips out of the room and walks straight into Daniel outside. “Oh, hello! Getting up to no good, are we?” He’s all cheery insouciance until he looks behind her for Max and spots the mess of a room behind her. The immediate flat tightness of his face tells her that he knows exactly what’s happened. “God I thought I saw that piece of shit walking around. Has Max gone already?”

Daniel promises to cover for Max at the team debrief, and tells her that he’s planning a night out to celebrate Luke’s win. “If you could get Max to come, that might be good to get his mind off things,” he suggests. Cass nods noncommittally, but she knows Max is unlikely to turn up with a black eye to a celebration party planned by Daniel with all the other drivers.

But if Luke’s going to London tonight he can drop her off back home, and she can be with Max. She doesn’t like the idea of him sitting in their flat all alone, bruised up and blaming himself, and there’s no way he can go out with a clearly recently punched face. She heads back to the Ferrari garage through the back door and waits for Luke to return. After his very public pointing her out at the podium, lots of people come up to her and offer their congratulations to be passed on to Luke.

Luke appears nearly an hour later, staggering slightly. He’s clearly had a couple more drinks than he should have in between the podium and the garage, and Cass is thankful that Matthew is there to drive them back to the Cotswolds and then on to London for Luke’s celebration party since she’s fairly certain Luke is about a sip of wine away from turning into a bottle.

“Cass you need to - hic - find the, find the address,” Luke mumbles, curling up on the front seat and falling asleep almost immediately. Cass sighs and takes out her phone to text Daniel, who adds her to a group chat of 20 people, only a few of whom she already has saved in her contacts. Max is in the chat, an act of optimism from Daniel.

Daniel Honeybadger: Meet at the club at midnight!

Charles Leclerc: What about dinner?

Daniel Honeybadger: I’m trying to lose five pounds

This was accompanied by a Mean Girls gif of Regina George saying those words. A flurry of replies followed, with people arranging to meet up before the official gathering time at the club. Cass looks at the passed out Luke in the front seat and knows she can’t leave him behind to go home to Max as much as she wants to.

She arranges to meet up with Daniel and his group for dinner, since she thinks it’ll be good for Luke to get some food before hitting the club, and Matthew drops them off before heading to the airport. Luke’s bleary eyed now, still wobbling slightly, but he walks in to the restaurant to be greeted with a hero’s welcome and immediately brightens up. These drivers and their massive egos, Cass thinks fondly.

Cass makes sure that Luke eats as much bread as she can shove towards him to soak up all the alcohol he’s being plied with. There are endless rounds of drinks from the group, and a couple of drinks get sent to Luke from other diners at the restaurant as well. He accepts each and every drink, even going over to the other diners and thanking them. It’s the happiest Cass has seen him in ages - maybe ever.

Any time she’s not spending making sure Luke doesn’t do anything horribly embarrassing - is spent texting Max.

Cass 🌸 : Are you sure you’re okay? I can come home now if you want

Maxie 👹 : I’m fine

Maxie 👹 : going to sleep

Cass 🌸 : Get some rest, we’ve got a big day tomorrow ✈️

Cass 🌸 : i love you

Maxie 👹 : night

She frowns at her phone, not liking Max’s responses. She knows he’s probably in a fair amount of pain - those bruises had not looked pretty - but he’s usually a lot more expressive over text, and he’s never failed to return an “I love you”. She looks up, and Luke’s got an arm around their beaming waiter and they’re belting a Frank Sinatra song at full volume. Thankfully the restaurant has emptied out given the late hour.

“Hey,” Daniel slides into the chair next to hers, the alcohol fumes from his breath almost knocking her out. “You’re a - you’re good for him, y’know.” From Daniel’s earnest expression she can tell he’s talking about Max. They have a special bond, the two of them, despite being fierce competitors on track. Almost brotherly, if your brother tried to kill you every now and then.

Daniel hiccups. “You’re like - you’re a good influence on him. He’s happy, I can tell.” He looks down to where Cass is fiddling with her phone, and a little shadow passes over his face, so quickly that Cass can’t tell if she’s imagining things. “I’ll make sure ol’ Luke doesn’t get surprise hitched tonight, you go take care of our boy,” he says, ruffling her hair before standing up and bellowing, “Oi, all of you - into the cars outside, time to go to the club!”

In the ensuing chaos of herding 15 drunk revellers into taxis, Cass slips away to head home.

—

“Max?” She’s whispering because the lights are all off in the flat. She walks into the living room, which is empty, and pauses. It’s nearly one in the morning, but she follows the little tug in her heart and walks to the spare room, opening the door as quietly as possible.

Max is sitting in complete darkness in his simulator, driving on what she now recognises as the Silverstone track. In the light reflected from the simulator screen she can see his fixed, focused expression, eyes just barely blinking. He’s only wearing a pair of boxer shorts and the blue flickering light makes the bruises scattered all over his body look ghastly.

She leans over and flips the light switch, blinking at the sudden sharp golden light that fills the room. Max doesn’t even flinch, his stare not wavering an inch from the screen. As she waits for the race to end she counts the bruises she can see without meaning to, from the fingerprints on Max’s shoulder to the already green one on his shin that looks like he’s been kicked.

“Hey, it’s late,” she says gently when Max crosses the finish line. Max’s head moves slightly to indicate he’s heard her, but otherwise the only things moving are his fingers as he sets up the next race. “Hey,” she walks closer and touches his shoulder. “I just - I need to finish this,” Max says, finally looking up at her.

“The race is over,” Cass says, not sure whether she’s referring to the real race that day or the virtual one on the screen, but knowing that Max needs to move on from whatever’s tormenting him. She runs a hand through his hair, and he leans into her, drawing in a deep breath before straightening up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks, but he pretends not to hear her. “One more,” he promises, thumbs busily setting up the race and clicking start. She sighs, knowing that it’s impossible to get Max away from a race when it’s in progress, and figures she’ll get ready for bed until he’s done.

It’s so nice to be home, even though she’s only been away for one night, and she takes her time washing her hair and doing her night stretches. Max is still holed away in the spare room when she’s done drying her hair and it’s been nearly an hour, the clock showing three in the morning. They are literally leaving for the airport in four hours and by her estimate he’s been on the simulator for at least seven, so she resolves to get him to bed.

“Max,” she says gently, then again more firmly. “Come to bed, please. You need to sleep - you’re driving us to the airport, remember? You can’t drive without any sleep.” Max is mid-race, and she inadvertently jerks his hand when she shakes his shoulder, causing his virtual car to spin off the track and into the barriers.

“Fuck!” He slams his palm flat against the steering wheel, turning to Cass, enraged. “What the fuck, Cass? I was just about to set fastest lap and you ruined it! Can’t you just fucking leave me alone?” Cass’ mouth opens but no words come out. She blinks hard, eyes filling with tears against her will, and Max’s expression immediately changes into one of contriteness. “Wait, don’t -” he starts.

“Okay,” she says, taking a couple of steps backwards. “I’ll just… fucking leave you alone, then. Enjoy your stupid holiday yourself.” She leaves the room and goes into her room, slamming and locking the door behind her.

She hears Max come out of the spare room and try to open the door, then his heavy sigh as he finds it locked. “Cass, please unlock the door,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it like that.” Cass gets into bed, and pulls the blanket over her head, regretting it when she’s just surrounded by the woodsy smell of Max’s cologne mixed with the Max-smell she loves so much. It makes her far too willing to forgive him, so she throws the blanket off and glares at the ceiling.

“Come on, I need to go to sleep so I can drive us to the airport tomorrow, remember?” He pleads. Cass had originally planned on just letting Max sleep on the couch, but she finds herself getting up and unlocking it. Max, hearing the lock turn, opens the door immediately, wrapping his arms around Cass and burying his face in her hair. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” he says penitently.

“I don’t want to go on holiday with you if you’re going to be mean to me,” she says, pouting. “It’s just been a really shit day for me, okay? I’ll be the nicest person on the planet when we’re on holiday,” Max says. “You’ll love the holiday, I promise. I’ll do everything you tell me to. I’ll be your slave.”

“You don’t need to be my slave, Max. You just need to speak to me like a normal person,” Cass scowls up at Max’s face, then looks away because when he’s feeling guilty his blue eyes are particularly gorgeous. It’s so unfair.

“What are you doing?” She asks as he lets her go and gets on his knees. “I promise I’ll never ever ever tell you to fuck off again, if you’ll forgive me this time and go on holiday with me tomorrow,” Max puts his hands together like a child begging for more sweets.

Cass fights as hard as she can but the corner of her lips tilts upwards, and Max knows that he’s forgiven. When he gives her his little puppy dog expression she can’t help but remember the little boy he’d once been, with round pink cheeks and watchful eyes. “Your dad is an awful person,” she sighs, stroking the scabbed over cut on his cheek.

“Let’s not talk about him right now, okay?” Max deflects. He makes a big show of yawning and then groaning as he gets up, holding on to Cass’s arm for balance as he favours his left leg. “Your bruise is on the other leg, genius,” Cass snorts, although she allows him to lean on her as they walk to their bed.

He laughs and picks Cass up, flopping onto the bed with her balanced on top of him. “Yeah, they don’t hurt that much anymore, just wanted to see if you’d feel bad,” he admits, pulling her in for a kiss. “You should feel bad. I came back early from Luke’s party to spend time with you and you were an absolute beast,” Cass sniffs.

“You’re right, I’m a terrible boyfriend,” Max sighs. “But tomorrow - tomorrow you’re going to see that I’m the best boyfriend in the world, when we get to the holiday I’ve booked. You’ll love it, it’s all peaceful and quiet, and nobody can bother us there.”

Cass just nods in response, her ear pressed against Max’s chest as he runs his fingers through her hair gently, his steady heartbeat lulling her into sleep.

—

Chapter Text

She could definitely get used to this. Well, for a week. She’d probably start to get bored if she lay on a hammock with an icy cold drink and cool breeze for more than a week, right?

“I can feel you thinking,” Max says sleepily. She can feel the rumble of his voice from where her ear is pressed against his chest, mixing with the slow, steady beat of his heart. They’ve been on this island for less than half a day and she can already feel all of her anxiety and stress melting away.

First, they’d woken up late and had to get to the airport in a panic. Thankfully, no one seemed to have recognised Max or clocked the fact that he was walking fairly closely with Cass, since their relationship was still very much a secret - they’d checked in separately just to make sure. They’d basically run to the gate and had been the last to board.

Then the car that was supposed to be waiting for them - a lovely Aston Martin arranged by the Red Bull team - hadn’t been where it was supposed to be in the car park, leading to Max having a very stroppy call in broken Italian with the car company. Eventually, they’d been given a very nice Mercedes SUV, but Max had been in a terrible mood, made worse by the traffic down the Amalfi Coast.

They’d had a short ferry ride across to the tiny private island which held the villa that Max had booked, and then had arrived in paradise. The entire island was reserved for the use of the villa guests - meaning she and Max had it all to themselves.

With a wink-wink-nudge-nudge, the butler who had welcomed them to the island had informed them that apart from daily housekeeping - scheduled to be when they were eating lunch - and room service on demand, the staff would only come to the island when called over the walkie-talkies he’d handed to them on arrival.

“Do you like it?” Max had been adorably nervous, then even more adorably happy when she’d very honestly said that it was the nicest place she’d ever been. They’d been given a beautifully hand illustrated map of the island, which they’d followed to the private beach after changing into more suitable clothing, and had been lying on this hammock ever since. Max had tested the walkie-talkie to order some drinks and snacks, but apart from that they’d been alone.

The hammock was perfectly placed under the shade of lush trees, and close enough to the fine, white sand of the beach that Cass could run her fingers through it if she so chose. The sea was only steps away. She could feel her eyes slipping closed, her sleep debt from the past few weeks finally catching up with her.

“What are you thinking about?” Max asked, reaching up to wind a lock of Cass’s hair around his finger. Her eyes reopen reluctantly. “I was wondering the sea is the same colour as your eyes, but I see now that they’re a little more grey than that,” she said seriously, propping her chin up on his chest and surveying him as if double-checking if they were. “Maybe the sea on a cloudy day,” she concludes. Max smiles down at her, before his eyes drift shut.

“Say more nice things about me,” he orders, fingers running up and down her back in a very distracting way. Cass hums as she traces his features with her eyes.

“Well, you have unfairly long eyelashes,” she starts, drifting a fingertip across them, her touch as light as a butterfly’s kiss. “And gorgeous cheekbones,” she adds, her fingertip following her words. “And these dimples, I could just bite them,” she says, pressing her thumbs into the two deep dimples that immediately form when Max smiles at her words.

She drops a kiss to his smiling lips. “And these lips, I know what they can do,” she murmurs. “Oh yeah?” Max’s voice is rough, his hands wrapped very firmly around her arse by now and pulling her as close to him as physically possible. “Oh yes,” she puts on as seductive a tone as she can manage. “They tell the most hilarious jokes,” she says, bursting into laughter when Max’s eyes fly open and he pinches her in retaliation, and then proceeds to show her exactly what he thought she’d be complimenting.

“Mm, I have a few more nice things to say about you, then you can tell me lovely things about myself,” Cass says, much later. Max perks up. “Go on then,” he encourages.

“Okay,” she settles into a more comfortable position, on her side next to Max with his arm wrapped around her. “You’re a very good driver, when you’re driving I never feel anxious. Luke’s awful at driving - a normal car, I mean. But you’re very good, you don’t go too fast.” Max refrains from telling her that his careful driving is absolutely for her benefit and that he’s collected his fair share of speeding tickets between their flat and the Red Bull factory. He nods at her to continue.

“You’re very sweet, though you pretend not to be. I know you wished my dad happy birthday every year, even after we broke up. Oh, and you’re terrible at lying so I can always tell when you’re trying to fib, which is great,” Cass adds, much to Max’s chagrin. He can’t even deny it because the second he tries lying to Cass his cheeks turn bright red and he can’t look her in the eye.

“And you’re tenacious,” Cass says, kissing the tip of Max’s nose, which has turned slightly pink.  He’s not used to someone saying so many nice things about him in a row - even one would have been rare in the Verstappen household growing up. “What does that mean?” He asks curiously, then laughs when Cass explains.

“Well, only someone tenacious could get you to look away from the ballet for even one second. If I wasn’t so tenacious, we wouldn’t be here right now,” something Cass has to admit. “You’re the same with racing!” She objects, knowing how much time he spends thinking about racing even when he’s on holidays.

“Anyway, my turn to say nice things,” Max says, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow as if thinking hard. Cass snuggles into his side, waiting to see what he’ll come up with. “Okay, I’ve got it,” he pauses dramatically, looking over to Cass who’s intently listening. “Are you ready? Sure? Okay, the best thing about you is… you have very good taste in your boyfri-” he cuts off with laughter as Cass pounces on him and tickles him mercilessly in retaliation.

—

“I can’t believe we’re literally in the Mediterranean Sea and you refuse to eat anything but beef carpaccio and tomato soup,” Cass shakes her head. Max has eaten the same two things for the past three days despite the very extensive menu offered by the villa. Meanwhile, Cass had been enjoying the best the sea had to offer, much to Max’s disgust.

“I can’t believe you ate a slug,” Max retorts, curling an arm around his plate as if he thinks Cass is going to snatch his food. Cass rolls her eyes. “It was not a slug, it was a whelk. And it was delicious.” She picks up a chunk of lobster from her pasta and dangles it in front of him temptingly. “Come on then, try this at least - lobster’s a delicacy, you’re never going to get it in one of your ready meals.”

After a bit of persuading, Max obediently opens his mouth and takes a bit of the lobster, his face contorting. “I feel like I’m eating a piece of rubber from a boat,” he complains as he chews. “Oh stop being so contrary, the food here has been excellent. I’m going to put on a million pounds at this rate, but I can’t even bring myself to care because,” she takes a big bite of pasta. “Mmmm, delicious.”

Max laughs, but refuses to try anything more exotic than what he’s ordered for the rest of the meal. They’re where they have most of their meals, under a small wrought-iron gazebo covered in fragrant jasmine. Every time the wind blows, a flurry of star-shaped white flowers fall to the floor around them. One had fallen into Max’s mouth whilst he was eating, causing him to retch dramatically.

It smells delicious, and Cass is having a hard time deciding whether she wants to spend her time here or on the beach hammock. Since Max is an absolute Energizer bunny, whereas she prefers to lounge around, she winds up spending most of her time reading a book on the hammock whilst Max runs around doing various water-based activities. So far, he’s gone snorkelling, Jet-Skiing, stand-up paddle boarding and something complicated involving a backpack shooting out jets of air.

“Well, I’m tired of beef carpaccio too, but they don’t have anything else I like or that Brad will let me eat on the menu,” Max admits finally, watching jealously as Cass devours an affogato after dinner. Brad has once again lain down the law with Max’s diet after a fairly lax few weeks - starting with his win in Austria. Apparently, eating veal schnitzel for every meal for a week doesn’t really go with the ideal racing driver physique. Usually he doesn’t mind having a cheat meal here and there, but after his DNF in the British Grand Prix, Max has been much more obedient.

Cass feels slightly bad, but since she’s been doing very regular and intense training for the past few months she’s got a bit more wiggle room in terms of diet. Also, she’s got another month and a half before she gets back on stage whilst Max has a race the next weekend. “Why don’t we go to a restaurant in the town for dinner?” She suggests, chasing the last drops of the coffee-soaked ice cream with her spoon.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees us?” Max raises his eyebrows. He’s completely ready to let the whole world know that Cass is his girlfriend, but knows that she’s not ready for the scrutiny. She’s still slightly traumatised by the media circus Luke had been subjected to after his accident.

Cass tilts her head, thinking for a second. “Well… if we go at night, when it’s dark, maybe it won’t be too bad?” She says hopefully. Max has his doubts but he also doesn’t want to say for certain that people will recognise him because that sounds far too arrogant.

So he finds a restaurant, one that doesn’t only serve seafood, right on the shore where the villa staff manage to organise a private table. “Not to worry, signore, this restaurant has the celebrities all the time - Monica Belluci has been there, and nobody said anything!” Max wonders how the butler knew Monica Belluci had been there if nobody said anything, but accepts that the Italian actress is a million times more recognisable and famous in Italy than he is.

It’s nice to dress up a bit, having lived in their swimsuits for the past few days. They’re always in some form of workout gear back in London, or else they dress very casually since they never go anywhere fancy. Max is in a long-sleeved white linen shirt and navy trousers, and Cass is in a floaty white dress printed with tiny flowers, and she can’t resist taking a photo of the two of them on her phone because she thinks they look so cute.

She looks slightly ghostly next to the far more tanned Max, but their smiles are so wide and they both look so happy that she loves the photo instantly and puts it as the home screen background of her phone.

“This might actually be the first proper date night out we’ve had since we got back together,” Cass says to Max after they board a little speedboat that will take them to the mainland. Max, of course, insists on driving it himself. Apparently he has a boat licence as well as a driver’s licence and a super licence.

“That’s because you never leave the house,” Max says dryly as he steers the boat expertly away from the villa’s dock. Cass opens her mouth to deny it, but if she thinks back to the last time she went out it was to Ben’s band’s album release party, where he kissed her, and that’s definitely not a can of worms she wants opened.

“We also can’t go anywhere since we might get recognised,” Max points out. “Once we go public we can do whatever we want.” He says it matter of factly and without a hint of blame, but Cass feels a stab of guilt. Max loves going out, but now that she thinks about it, when he’s in London with her, he stays in every night.

“You can go out for drinks with your friends without me,” Cass suggests. “I don’t have any friends in London,” Max replies bluntly. “I only moved there to be with you, why would I hang out with other people? Anyway, I spend so much time travelling, when would I have made friends?”

“Maybe we can have more people over instead,” Cass says, but then the roar of the engine and wind mixed together makes it impossible to have any more conversation until they reach the dock of the restaurant.

They’re greeted by some burly men dressed incongruously in striped t-shirts and blue neckerchiefs - the restaurant staff - who help tie the boat to the dock and show them into the restaurant.

The restaurant is completely packed, but the butler had evidently stressed their desire for privacy to the restaurant because they’re led around the side of the building to a sort of outdoor courtyard where only a few tables are set up, all spaced quite far apart. It’s a very simple set-up, but fairy lights strung up on the trees and candles set around the perimeter and on every table give it a very romantic atmosphere.

“I’m going to order for the both of us,” Cass announces, grabbing the menu from Max before he can open it. “Don’t worry, I promise there won’t be any slugs - but if Brad complains about anything you’ve eaten, let him know it’s all my fault.” Max relents, deciding he’ll be in charge of drinks, and by the end of the meal they’re both pleasantly drunk and very full.

“Admit it, you liked the calamari, didn’t you,” Cass nudges Max’s shin with her foot. She’d been wearing a pair of high-heeled sandals that kept falling off her feet, and had given up halfway through the meal in putting them back on. The courtyard has been completely empty the entire time they’ve been there, and the combination of privacy and the better part of a bottle of wine have made her lose her usual self consciousness.

“Yeah, and the pasta with the clams was nice,” Max allows, smiling and reaching over to grab her hand. He’s almost caught fire about half a dozen times doing this, the flickering candles veering dangerously close to his shirt sleeve, but no matter how many times she tells him to be careful he just goes for it anyway. “Mijn liefje,” Max murmurs, rubbing the curve between her thumb and forefinger with his thumb.

Their romantic privacy is brought to an end by the sound of lively voices and the clatter of high heeled shoes against the wooden flooring as another group of diners arrives. The waiter who has been serving them bustles in after the group, and once the group of about 10 people are seated, comes over apologetically.

“Mi scusi, the reservation for this group is 10.30pm and your reservation was at 7, so we thought you would not overlap, so we apologise for any disturbance,” he says, tidily gathering up the various wine glasses and plates that have collected on their little table over the past hour. Their slow, romantic dinner has evidently been much slower than anticipated by the restaurant.

Max looks over at Cass to see whether she minds having other people there. Cass is in a fantastically good mood, and also slightly tipsy, so she decides that the Italian speaking group probably won’t recognise either of them. “No, no - we can stay. Actually, I wanted to order dessert - can we get a tiramisu and grapefruit granita please?”

The waiter, visibly relieved that they won’t be making a fuss, takes down their order and disappears back into the main building and Cass and Max go back to their hand-holding and eye-gazing. “It’s nice that they wanted to save the whole area for us,” Cass remarks. “But we should probably go after dessert - it’ll be quite late for the boatman.” Having anticipated getting a couple of drinks during dinner, Max had arranged for them to be driven back to their island by one of the villa staff.

Their desserts are placed neatly in front of them, together with a pair of shot glasses. “Signore, signorina, of course in Italy you must have some limoncello to end the meal,” the waiter says as he expertly fills the glasses from an absurdly long-necked bottle. Max picks up a shot and holds it out to Cass.

“Well, kleintje? One last drink for the road?” Cass reads the challenge in his eyes - she knows he thinks she’s an absolute lightweight - and takes the shot from him. They clink the two shot glasses together and Cass throws back the limoncello, wincing as it burns down her gullet. “Oof - er, thanks, it’s lovely,” she lies boldly to the waiter, who beams at them, before taking his evil bottle of limoncello back to the main restaurant.

“Oh god, I think my tastebuds have gone,” she wheezes to Max, taking a sip of water to ease the burn. Max is laughing at her and she’s protesting when there’s another ruckus in the group dining near them.

“Ay, Josefina, tarde como siempre!” Someone shouts.

Cass is facing away from the group, so she can’t see who it is, but she sees Max freeze and has just an instant sense that something is wrong. She turns around just as a glamorously dressed woman - in a fur coat and sunglasses, despite it being pitch dark and the height of summer in Italy - totters into the courtyard and towards the group.

The woman reaches the table and throws off her coat, before whipping off her sunglasses, all very dramatic and energetic movements. It brings to Cass’s mind the lively confidence of the Esmerelda variation, one of her favourite ballets. In the Esmerelda variation, there’s only one ballerina performing, usually clad in scarlet, holding a tambourine. The poses are all long-necked, with the chin tilting up proudly, every step a real performance. The epitome of attitude.

The chatter of the group swells - clearly they have all been in holding positions for the past hour, waiting for the real star of the show to arrive. The woman they called Josefina, the one who looks and acts like the world is on pause until she arrives. The woman who looks exactly like an older, more voluptuous Cass. Her mother.

She doesn’t have red hair anymore, is the first thing Cass notices. It might be surprising to some that Cass has not had any interest in digging into who exactly Josefina Carrera is, even after her dad’s will had helpfully left her a name for her last remaining living parent. It’s been enough for Cass to know that she exists and that she’d abandoned Cass at birth, never to be seen again.

Until now.

“Kleintje, do you want - we should go now?” Max, usually unflappable, has been stunned out of his perfect English into stammering. He can clearly recognise the woman as well - as he should, since it’s basically like looking into a mirror for Cass.

The woman has the same wide light green eyes, although her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes have all been dyed black. The same very pale skin, narrow mouth and delicate nose. Even the same shape of chin, although Josefina’s is slightly more rounded than Cass’s pointy one.

Cass can’t stop staring at her, the woman she might become one day. Josefina can clearly feel their eyes on her, because she looks up at them across the courtyard, and her eyes meet Cass’s. Their eyes widen at the same time, and for a second Cass wonders what it’ll be like when they first meet, before Josefina schools her expression into one of casual disinterest and looks away.

Max is tugging on her hand, asking if she wants to leave. She nods silently, and lets herself be led by Max through the courtyard, steadfastly avoiding looking at the other group of people. She stands silently as Max speaks to the waiter and pays the bill, and follows him back to the boat where they board.

Max seems to know that she doesn’t want to talk, because he just wraps his arms around her to block her from the wind, pressing little kisses to her hair.

She feels frozen, not from cold but just from the knowledge - well, the confirmation of what she’d kind of already known, but that she hadn’t known for sure - that her mum had absolutely no interest in knowing her. She can’t get the look in Josefina’s eyes - complete and utter disregard - out of her mind. The chill that went through her as the shutters came down on Josefina’s eyes and she’d turned her back on her.

“Do you want a bath?” Max asks, pulling her along with him as he walks into their villa. Cass nods absently, and sits on the velvet pouf by the dressing table in the bathroom as Max pulls the stopper and starts the hot water running. “You like this one, right? The jasmine one?” He opens one of the bottles of bubble bath lining the wall and sniffs it, before pouring a liberal amount into the water.

He walks back over to Cass who is sitting, staring at the foaming water, and kneels in front of her. “Kleintje, are you okay?” He looks up at her, blue eyes earnest. Maybe it’s the sweet sincerity in his eyes, the total lack of judgement, or maybe it’s the fact that Max also has a very difficult relationship with his parents, but for the first time in her life she lets herself feel all the awfulness of being rejected by her mother and shakes her head. “Why doesn’t - why doesn’t she want me?” She cries, covering her face with her hands.

“Oh, kleintje,” Max says, giving her a tight hug. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, and neither of them mention the hot tears that soak his shirt. “You’re the best, you know that right? It’s her loss to not know you. I love you so much, and so do your friends and Luke. You’re the funniest, smartest, most beautiful girl I know. And - and - you’re one of the best ballerinas in the world. And my mum really likes you,” he ends lamely.

Cass sniffs pathetically. “Thanks, Max,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Oh god, I’ve gotten mascara all over your shirt,” she dabs ineffectually at his very damp shoulder. “You’re the best, really. If anyone had to be with me at that moment, I’m glad it was you.” She takes his lovely face in her hands and gives him a deep kiss, trying to pour all the love she has for him into it.

When she emerges from her bath, smelling very strongly of jasmine - Max had tipped nearly half the bottle in - Max is lying down on their bed, flipping through a book. “You were in there for ages,” he comments, looking up at her. He’s already showered and brushed his teeth - the villa, of course, has multiple bathrooms.

“Yeah, just wanted to clear my head a bit,” she says, flopping onto the bed next to him. Half an hour of floating in hot water, mixed with the alcohol she’d imbibed that night, have made her feel boneless. “What are you reading?” Max shows her his notebook, filled with notes about each track.

“We have Germany next, so these are my notes on the Hockenheim track,” Max points to his little sketch of the track and all these little scribbles next to the various twists and turns of the sketch. Cass props her head on his shoulder and wraps her arms around him, taking in his intoxicating Max smell.

“I like this turn here - it’s good to overtake on the outside if you brake around here, you see where the line is?” Cass nods along. Maybe it’s crazy but she feels like she’s sort of started to learn about racing by osmosis from all the time she’s spent with Max and Luke. She even knows what the racing line is now - or at least, she knows what it is.

“What day will you get back from Germany? My dad’s memorial is on the Saturday after, but I’ll be going to the house to help set up everything and finally clear out my dad’s stuff on the Wednesday.” She and Luke have invited all of their dad’s friends and family - including all of his siblings and their children, most of whom they haven’t seen in ages - to the house in the Cotswolds for a big memorial service and party for their dad.

Luke had also invited a few of the other drivers, those who had known their dad on a personal level - she knows Lewis, Daniel and Seb are coming, so Max won’t look out of place there. And he’ll know Jamie, Mara and Alexei, who are coming along as well. Jamie is flying in especially from Japan, where he’s been on the Paris Ballet’s summer tour of Asia.

“I’ll be back on the Friday,” Max calculates. Red Bull and Max each have a fair number of German sponsors, so he’s got more post-race meetings than he normally would have. “But the week after I am going to my mum’s place, I told you?” Cass scrunches up her nose, trying to remember.

Keeping track of Max’s schedule is a full time job, between racing, factory days, sponsorship engagements and business meetings, not to mention family obligations in between. “That’ll be nice, spending some time with Victoria,” she says.

“Do you want to come with me? My mum would like that, she’s always asking about you,” Max offers tentatively. He doesn’t know whether it’s too soon after seeing her mother, and whether that might make Cass go off the entire idea of mothers in general, but it’s been something that he’s been thinking about for a while.

But Cass nods, accepting his offer, and they plan for Cass to arrive a couple of days after Max so that he gets to spend some time with his family without her. “I’ll pick you up from the train station here, okay?” Max says, getting her tickets booked efficiently on his laptop.

“Maxie?” Cass takes a deep breath, burying her face in his chest. “Let’s just - not talk about… you know, her, for the rest of the trip okay? I don’t want to waste any brain space on her, so let’s just pretend that never happened and we just had a lovely dinner together and came back and everything was fine.”

Max can’t deny that they were having possibly the best time he’s ever had in his life up to the second that woman walked into the restaurant, so he agrees. God knows he’s had his fair share of pushing emotions involving his parents deep down inside, so he can’t really blame Cass for not wanting to deal right at this moment.

Chapter Text

There’s a strong scent of jasmine in the air from small, star-shaped flowers weighing heavily on vines twined around the green metal fence of her secret garden. Normally she loves the smell, a signal that summer has reached its zenith, but today she hardly notices it.

The house is filled with people of all ages, here to celebrate the life of Edward Errol, mourn his loss, and move on. Closure. Everyone keeps banging on about how great the memorial event is, and how she and Luke will get some lovely, lovely closure from it. As if holding a party will make it all better. Someone had even complimented the food. She couldn’t care less about whether people enjoyed themselves, if she was honest with herself. 

They’d spent the previous two days sorting out their dad’s stuff, left untouched since his death. Luke had taken his watch collection, some clothes, and the engagement ring their dad had held on to since Luke’s mum’s death. Cass had taken his books, record player and records and a particularly soft jumper their dad had loved.

She’ll have to find somewhere to put all the things - there were far too many books for her tiny shelves, and nowhere to put the record player. She had some of her best memories with her dad with those books and records, though, and had felt a faint sense of comfort when she’d heard the deep, smooth voice of Dean Martin crooning that everybody loves somebody sometime.

She’d thought she’d managed to spread the sadness out into manageable little bite-sized pieces over the past seven months, but it turns out she’d just shoved all of the sadness into a box at the back of her mind and distracted herself with taking care of Luke, getting back into work and being with Max.

It hadn’t even been little jar containing the remnants of her father’s physical body on the mantel piece or the series of photographs of their family that Luke had sent to the event planner spaced all over the driveway up to the house that cracked open the box, although the sight of each had sent a feeling through her like a punch to her chest.

It was a build up of emotions, the creeping sense of sadness and remembrance, the fading scent of their dad’s cologne on his clothes, the realisation that she’d forgotten about the events behind some of the photographs, the sudden, striking thought that one day she might wake up and forget the exact date of their dad’s birthday or the way his voice sounded.

It had hit her rather late in the day, a testament to the strength of her willpower to not feel things. The food and drink had been served and people were milling about, reminiscing and catching up, when she’d felt the urgent desire to leave. So she’d come out here, to the little peaceful garden Edward Errol had ordered built for his little girl, to hide.

Her friends had come and gone, sensing that she needed her space and didn’t want to entertain them. The house had been filled to the rafters with people - the large, extended Errol family had taken up a few rooms on their own, bawling noisily, eyeing the silverware, drinking their cellar dry. Their dad’s friends had colonised the study, chain-smoking cigars as they reminisced about the good old days. 

Luke’s friends had turned up too - Daniel giving her a tight hug, Lewis patting her gently on the head, Seb giving her a book on grief. Charles had come too, sending his family’s love with a sweet, understanding smile. Somehow his condolences didn’t rake a bitter gash through her heart - maybe because she knew that he, of all people, understood loss. His own father had died just the year before, and his godfather a few years before that. They were all with Luke somewhere, maybe watching old races on the projector in their home theatre. 

She ignores the persistent buzz of her phone. It’s been nonstop the whole day, a hornet digging into her side, and she takes it out of her pocket, looking at it with puzzled detachment, then chucks it as far away as she can. It lands with a satisfying little splash in the fountain. She visualises it sinking to the bottom, the lights dimming slowly or maybe going out all at once. She turns the image over in her head, deriving grim pleasure from it.

Max hadn’t come. After all the promises, the scheduling, her packing his good suit into her little suitcase alongside her grim black dress, he’d had to meet sponsors or do something to his car or something along those lines - she’d hung up fairly quickly once she’d confirmed he wasn’t coming to her father’s funeral - he hadn’t come.

“Hey.” She looks up slowly, disgruntled at being interrupted from her sulk. Daniel shoots her a wide grin that seems almost like an automatic reaction because he immediately tempers it into a sympathetic smile. He holds out a cocktail glass as an offering, and she accepts it. If she wants to drink enough to forget this horrible day she’d better start now.

Daniel’s smile drops slowly as Cass tilts her head back and pours the contents of the glass straight into her mouth. “What?” She asks, wiping delicately at the side of her mouth where a drop of the drink - pure gin, it turns out - had fallen.

“I guess it’s a stupid question to ask if you’re okay,” Daniel says, flopping down onto the grass next to her. Cass turns her head ever so slightly towards him, not saying yes but not saying no. She doesn’t have the energy to make him feel comfortable, not after all the meaningless small talk she’s endured in over the course of the day. She tries to emanate a don’t talk to me energy that will make him leave without saying a single word.

Daniel has a thick skin, though, and continues babbling away. He’s leaning back on his forearms, legs crossed in front of him as if he’s got no troubles in the world. “…Yeah, pretty cool place to be,” he says, smiling at the memory of some place, the name of which Cass has missed entirely.

“Anyway, where’s Max at today?” He asks, probing as delicately as he can, meaning the question hits her like a blunt screwdriver diving headfirst into an open wound. “What do you mean?” She responds, voice as sharp as a stalactite.

“Um… nothing,” Daniel says quickly, sensing that he’s touched on a raw nerve. “So, did you hear that new song from your pal, whatshisname? Pretty good, eh?” Ben’s band has some new song out, one that’s storming the charts, something slow and syrupy that reminds her of sitting in front of the fireplace and drinking hot chocolate in winter. Max changes the radio channel every time it comes on. He’s not a fan.

They sit in silence for a while, watching the sky turn orange and red as the sun begins to set. Cass clears her throat, and Daniel jumps slightly as if he’d been lost in thought. “So… I guess you don’t know where Max is, huh?” She says, tempering the annoyance in her voice. It’s not Daniel’s fault her boyfriend can’t keep his word, after all.

Daniel shakes his head, not making a peep. “And you’re here, so it’s not anything work related that absolutely had to happen this weekend,” Cass continues, ripping the petals off a hapless rose that’s fallen to the ground near her. “That’s… good to know, I guess.” She tosses the shredded petals onto the ground in front of her and stands up in one smooth movement, holding a hand out to help the less graceful Daniel up as well.

She walks over to the fountain and reaches in, getting the sleeve of her dress irredeemably wet as she retrieves her now waterlogged phone. “Yikes,” Daniel can’t help himself from remarking before getting ahold of himself and walking by her side back to the house making random observations about the various guests. The extended Errol family is a pretty good source of material, and she even cracks a smile or two at his over the top antics.

They reach the steps up to the house, and Cass is just steeling herself to re-enter the chaotic crowd that awaits when Daniel catches her elbow. “Hey,” he says, a serious look in his eyes. “I know Max, alright? The kid’s definitely fucked this one up royally, but he’s got a good reason not to be here, I’m sure of it. Just give him a chance to explain himself.”

Deep down Cass knows that’s true. Maybe she’s being too harsh to her beloved boy, who has sacrificed so much to be with her the rest of the time. Maybe she can overlook this one, egregious glitch, one misstep amongst many right ones. She nods, leaning over to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Daniel,” she says honestly, giving him a small smile.

A shadow passes over his face, one she only notices because it’s so out of place with his usually happy self, but she doesn’t feel close enough to ask him about it. She opens her mouth to say something comforting, but then a group of her dad’s friends walk past, chattering loudly, and the pair lapse back into silence as they watch them go.

“Let’s go find your brother, eh?” Daniel offers his arm to her, his wide grin snapped firmly back on, the moment passed.

—

Cass is waiting outside a train station in Belgium, eyes squinting against the improbably bright sun as she waits for Max to pick her up. She’d taken the Eurostar from St Pancras in London to Brussels, then two regional trains to reach the town where Max’s mum and sister live. It has taken her nearly six hours.

She turns over her new phone in her hand, the previous one still living in a box of rice since Cass hasn’t lost hope that it can be fixed with an extended drying out session. She didn’t press Max on his reasons for missing her dad’s memorial, thinking it would be better to speak in person. She’d just messaged him that her phone was broken - her new number was proof enough - and had told him what time to pick her up.

He’d accepted the change of subject without any further questions, and Cass expects he’ll be relieved to have skated over any potential fights. She hates fighting anyway, has never been particularly good at it. She finds her tongue tied, her heart beating at twice the speed, the flight urge far stronger than any slim desire to fight.

A sleek blue car with tinted windows pulls up right next to her and her heart lifts then drops as the driver’s door opens and… Max’s mum steps out. Pasting on a bright smile - she might be disappointed but she doesn’t want to offend her boyfriend’s mother, after all - she waves and drags her bag closer.

“Oh, let me do that, you’ve had a long journey,” Sophie waves her protests away as she lifts Cass’s small bag with ease and pops it in the backseat. “You know, Max wanted to get you but it’s crazy wherever he goes and he said you both wanted to be… what is the word? Low-key,” she shoots Cass a wry smile.

Cass had forgotten that Max is a massive celebrity in Belgium, actually, since he never really seems to get noticed in London. She nods, accepting the explanation. “Anyway, we live close to the station - there’s nowhere that far, really,” Sophie continues. Cass is observing the town around her, filled with pretty houses and swathes of parkland. People are enjoying the sunshine, strolling around with their dogs and children and lovers.

It’s indeed a very short drive to Sophie’s house, where she’ll be staying for the next few days. The house is tucked away in a small cul-de-sac. The outside of the house is painted a cheerful yellow, and the garden is lined with large terracotta pots where plants in varying states of health are growing. There’s a very large, rectangular ditch on one side of the garden.

Sophie catches Cass looking at the garden and laughs ruefully. “I love flowers but they’re not very easy to grow, are they!” She shakes her head. “Go on in, darling, I’ll get your bag. He’s waiting for you.” Cass doesn’t have to be told twice, slipping out of the car and walking up to the front door. Max must have heard the car coming, or her door slam, because within seconds the door has opened and he’s pulled her in, lifting her up in his strong arms and pressing a kiss to her lips.

She winds her arms around his neck, hands burying themselves in his hair - he’s had it cut recently, she thinks briefly, thumb brushing over the soft fuzziness - and returns his kiss. He tastes like chocolate and mint, smells like his aftershave and a new laundry detergent, feels like heaven. She files away each sensorial response and notes every minute difference from the last time she’d seen him, two weeks ago.

“Sorry,” Max murmurs, his voice rough. She doesn’t know exactly what he’s apologising for - missing the memorial, not picking her up, general misdemeanours - but she’s so happy to see him that she just nods, pressing her face into his shoulder. He hasn’t put her down since she’s arrived, and she marvels at his strength.

Sophie has tactfully sidled past them into the rest of the house, but Victoria barrels down the stairs right up to them, the noise making them both look up. Max finally puts her down, but his hands linger on her shoulders. “Hey Victoria, long time no see,” Cass says, giving the younger girl a bright smile which falters when Victoria sends her a suspicious look. “Oh, you’re here. Hi.” She brushes past Cass into the kitchen down the corridor, and Cass turns to give Max a questioning look.

“She - um… Might be pissed off at you because you broke up with me. Last time,” he adds, as if they’d broken up more than once. “Did you tell her why we broke up?” Cass asks, poking Max in the chest. This is a bad idea because her very inquisitive finger feels the muscles of his chest, and her other fingers protest that it’s not fair that only one finger gets to feel them, and it turns into her hand pressing against his pectorals, feeling his heartbeat. She’s forgotten what she’d been talking about when Max replies.

“Er, yeah anyway. She’ll be fine. She’s just being a teenager,” he says dismissively as if the two of them are that far from teenagers themselves. He pulls her back towards him, greedy hands cataloguing the shape of her waist. “We should probably spend a little time with your mum, since that’s the whole reason I came here,” Cass suggests after some time - seconds, minutes, hours, who knows - has passed.

Max shrugs with the grin of a son who knows he can do no wrong in his mother’s eyes. It’s nice to see him so relaxed, definitely different from how he is when Jos is around or even on the phone with him. She’s witnessed many phone calls where Max makes various noncommittal noises or just says ja, papa, whilst the Dutch flowing in the other direction is vehemently loud enough for her to hear it from her side of the couch.

“Let me give you a house tour,” he suggests, picking up her bag and bringing her upstairs first. The stairs lead to a small landing with four doors, two on each side. “That’s my mum’s room, Victoria’s room, my room, guest room,” Max says, pointing at each door in turn. “You’re in the guest room,” he laughs, opening the last door and revealing… a shrine to Max.

There can hardly be a photo of her boyfriend in the world that is not represented in this room. If Cass hadn’t known that this house belongs to his mother, she would have advised getting a restraining order, stat. There’s some order to how the photos are placed - childhood photos on the wall, most taken at some form of racing track, and more recent photos in silver frames lining every surface at least four deep. 

There’s also some Max memorabilia - dolls, mini helmets, miniature cars - and a very shiny and carefully arranged array of trophies and medals, all housed in a glass fronted cabinet in the corner of the room. “This is… a lot,” Cass laughs. “Yeah, well, where do you think all the stuff we couldn’t keep went?” He points at the trophies, some of which Cass recognises from their spring purge of Max’s belongings.

“It’s very sweet,” Cass says, surveying the photos she’s more interested in - those of Max as a child. “Oh, this is lovely,” she says, pointing at a photo of Sophie holding a newborn Victoria and a rosy-cheeked Max cuddling up to both of them, looking adoringly down at his little sister. “I remember this guy,” she laughs, coming across a photo of a sulking Max, looking to be about eight years old, holding on to a trophy. “Why are you so cross? You’ve clearly just won something.”

Max steps closer, peering down at the photo. “Oh - probably just something to do with the race,” he says, shrugging as if he doesn’t remember exactly why. Cass tilts her head up to give him an amused glance, and he inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah alright, it was because I missed out on fastest lap to this other kid, van Holstein, who cut across the racing line but the stewards didn’t call him out.” Max remembers absolutely everything about every race he’s ever been in, a skill that Cass finds incredible, given he regularly forgets birthdays and flight times.

“Want to see the rest of the house?” Max suggests, and they continue with the tour. Max’s room is connected to hers through a shared bathroom, which is tiled in baby blue and littered with Max’s toiletries, transported here from their own shared bathroom back in London.

Max’s room is a typical boy room, blue walls and walnut furniture, a big map tacked up on the wall and a navy sheets. A signed poster of Michael Schumacher is behind the door, a few white t-shirts folded neatly on the end of his bed.

“No Playstation?” Cass comments, amused and a little surprised. Max is absolutely obsessed with his Playstation, and it has it’s own little carrying case so he can bring it with him when he travels. “It’s downstairs in the living room, my mum asked me to put it there so she can hang out with me when I play,” Max says, and Cass remembers suddenly how little time Max’s very loving mother has had with her beautiful boy over the course of his life.

They skip Victoria and Sophie’s room, and head back downstairs where Sophie is hovering. “Time for some tea?” She suggests, leading them into the kitchen, where a round wooden table has been absolutely covered with little cakes and sandwiches and a very pretty tea set. Max drops into a chair and shoves a chocolate cake into his mouth immediately, chewing innocently as Sophie nags him indulgently about waiting for their guest to start first.

“I’m a guest too!” Max protests around a mouthful of cake, and Cass doesn’t miss the little shadow of sadness that passes over Sophie’s face although Max seems oblivious. “Don’t worry about me, I’m sure I’ll be just as at home as Max is soon,” Cass says, taking a seat and pouring some tea into the cups set out. Sophie gives her a small smile that says she knows exactly what Cass is doing, and Cass wonders if Max knows how lucky he is to have her as his mother.

“Victoria’s just gone out with her boyfriend, she’ll be back in time for dinner,” Sophie says. “I made a reservation at the new restaurant in town, you know the one I pointed out to you, Max? It’s supposed to be good,” she says, piling Cass’s plate with food, blithely ignoring her protests that she can help herself.

Sophie asks Cass question after question, but Cass hates talking about herself and Sophie is clearly starving for information about Max, so their conversation turns to their common denominator. “Well, he’s decent with laundry,” Cass admits, turning to Max who raises his eyebrows at her. “Okay, he’s very good and he helps me iron all my formal things when he’s around,” Cass laughingly admits.

“Oh, really? He must have learnt his lesson after he turned all of his white shirts purple from mixing all the clothes in one wash,” Sophie laughs as Max turns pink. “He had to go to school in a purple shirt, and we had to get all new ones, do you remember?” Max nods grudgingly. “Papa was furious, he was shouting at me the whole way to school,” he says.

Sophie’s expression shutters for a second, then it clears and she changes the subject to something more pleasant. Cass had wondered about the complete absence of any sign that Jos Verstappen exists in the household - not a single photo out of the hundreds in the guest room had even a side profile of Max and Victoria’s father - but it’s clear to her that he’s a taboo subject for Sophie.

Victoria and her boyfriend return, and Cass slips away to shower and change before dinner. She’s halfway through washing her hair when the door opens. There’s shampoo suds in her eyes so it takes her a beat to rinse them out and open her eyes to see a cheerfully grinning Max who’s already stripping out of his clothes.

“You’ll have to be very quiet,” she says as he opens the glass door to the shower stall and slides in next to her. “I can think of a few ways to keep my mouth occupied,” he says, pressing kisses all over her water-slicked skin. “Not if we do what I have in mind,” she teases, sliding her hands down the muscles of his thighs as she kneels in front of him.

She looks up and see his eyes wide, the pupils blown all the way out so there’s almost no blue left. His nostrils flare in surprise, before his grin returns to his face. “Oh, fuck, I missed you so much,” he laughs, which turns into a groan as she takes him in her mouth, her hand fisting around whatever she can’t fit.

Within seconds he’s panting, sweat beading his forehead as she leaves no part of him undiscovered. Her tongue works inexpertly but enthusiastically over his shaft, the tip and even his balls. Max is a master of self control, but he can’t help himself from whimpering when Cass hums and takes him all the way in to the back of her throat and holds him there, swallowing. “Jesus, Cass, I’m not going to last long and - I want -” he babbles, using his actions instead of his words to show her what he wants.

He hooks his hands under her armpits and heaves her up back to standing despite her protests, pressing reverential kisses to her cherry-tipped breasts, manoeuvring her so that she’s wedged against the wall, one hand finding the back of her knee and pulling it around his waist. “I haven’t been inside you in two weeks, and -” he bites back a groan as he guides himself to her entrance and sinks into her hot, familiar warmth. Cass, taken by surprise by the turn of events, lets out a moan then claps her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with a mix of laughter and desire.

Max pulls her hand away, replacing it with his own. “Shh, kleintje, no one can hear us, remember?” He croons, his other hand drawing idle lines down her bare skin then holding her fast as she tries to buck her hips up for some blessed friction. She says something muffled by his hand, but her furious green eyes are calling him a complete arsehole and begging him to move at the same time.

He acquiesces, anything for his girl, and pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in, lifting Cass almost an inch from the ground. He drops the hand he has over her mouth and uses both arms to lift her up and press her up against the wall instead, her strong legs wrapping around his waist almost instinctively as he sets a strong, hard pace, all intention to tease her gone from his mind as the feeling of being inside her fills his mind and wipes everything clean.

“Can you feel what being away from you does to me?” Cass can barely hear Max’s words over the rushing in her ears and the water pouring down on the both of them, not to mention the complete bliss concentrated in the rubber band twisting in her lower belly that’s just about to snap. “Tell me what you want,” Max murmurs in her ear, hand smoothing her wet hair back from her forehead. She must look absolutely crazy, her hair a tangled mess, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“More,” she gasps, hands scrabbling at Max’s shoulders as he drives into her again and again, and she thanks God and Brad, Max’s trainer, for whatever exercises Max has been doing which have given him the physical strength that is paying off in spades right now. “Tell me - if I’m being too rough,” Max grinds out, his expression one of blissful agony as he nears his own completion.

“No! No, you’re not,” Cass says, clenching her sex around him and making him moan loud enough for it to echo around the little glass shower cubicle. “Shh, quiet,” Cass laughs, covering his mouth with her hand and laughing again when he bites the palm of her hand. “Feel how much I like it?” Max grunts and bears down harder, fervent Dutch whispers tumbling out of his mouth.

Cass moves her hand away from his mouth to brace herself against his shoulder as he shifts his hips to hit a new angle which has her seeing white. “Max,” she mewls, pressing her face into his chest to muffle the sound. They’re both starving for relief, and it’s only seconds into the new angle before they let go of the immense tension building up and he grinds deep and she pulls him in as if she never wants to let go, and they’re both tumbling off the precipice.

“The water’s gone cold,” she murmurs, legs shaky as Max puts her back down on the ground. Max looks up as if he’s forgotten where they are. “Oh, yeah,” he says, reaching out and turning the water off. “I missed you so much,” Cass says, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him tight.

“I missed you too,” Max says in a low voice, fingers gently unknotting the tangles in her hair. “Where were you?” Cass asks, any sense of dignity having evaporated like smoke after the complete shedding of self that’s just occurred. “I had some family stuff,” Max says, fingertip tracing her eyelashes, made longer by the water, with a touch as gentle as butterfly wings.

Cass digests this response. Sophie seems completely fine, as does Victoria, and from what she’s seen of Sophie she’d definitely have mentioned something about a family emergency if there had been one last week. Which means that the “family stuff” was “Jos stuff”, and that was a box Max kept close to his chest, under lock and key.

She doesn’t want to start a fight or, at the very least, a conversation where it seems that Max will not be particularly forthcoming and will probably get very grumpy, right before they have dinner with his mother, sister and sister’s boyfriend in public - in Belgian public, where people will actually care about them, so she holds her tongue. But she knows Max, and she knows that he’d rather stay silent than lie, and if he is withholding information from her then it’s probably because he knows that she wouldn’t be happy to know what he’d really been doing.

But there’s no time to get into that, so she just acknowledges his statement with a nod, and steps out of the shower, getting ready for dinner. But she feels like a brick wall has been erected between the two of them, one labelled Jos, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe, she thinks back, the wall has always been there but Max has always been able to neatly sidestep anything to do with his dad because she is - and she can acknowledge this about herself - pretty oblivious when it comes to things that don’t pertain directly to her.

Maybe that’s why she’s suddenly so aware of the wall. By becoming such an integral part of her life, Max has now become part of her, and Jos is a huge part of his life. Even when he’s not here, he’s conspicuous by his absence, the way he is glaringly obviously not in any of the photos Sophie has up.

Her train of thought is derailed when they get to the restaurant and Max is besieged by people asking for autographs. She slips into the private room Sophie has booked with Victoria, playing the part of a family friend whilst Max draws attention outside with Sophie and Victoria’s boyfriend by his side.

“Is it always like this? He’s not as popular in London,” Cass says into the awkward silence that descends when it’s just the two of them at the table. “He’s very popular everywhere he goes,” Victoria shoots back with flashing eyes. Cass senses she’s made a misstep. “No I just meant - he never really gets stopped when we’re in London, although I guess we don’t really go out that much,” she fumbles, before deciding silence was preferable. Victoria seems to agree, since she makes no effort to start a new topic of conversation.

Thankfully, the rest of their party steps into the room very soon after, and the rest of dinner proceeds smoothly. The conversation revolves around racing, mostly, that being the common interest of everyone other than Cass, but she’s happy to just listen, her hand in Max’s as they debate passionately about some MotoGP race they’d all watched the other day.

The food is delicious, and she’s lulled into such a food coma that she’s very relieved when they get back to the house and Sophie bids them all goodnight. She gets ready for bed in a record-breaking amount of time, and is lying in the very comfortable bed in the guest bedroom, half asleep, when a light cuts across her and a petulant voice sounds.

“You didn’t leave any space for me,” Max announces in a whisper, pushing her gently onto one side of the bed so that he can clamber in. “Mm, I was enjoying having all the space to myself,” Cass mumbles, eyelids fluttering closed. “Don’t get too used to it,” Max says, snuggling up close to her and kissing her forehead. If Cass had been more alert, she would have heard a note of pleading in his teasing words, but she’s fast asleep within the second and misses it completely.

—

The F1 summer break lines up perfectly with the pre-season for the Royal Ballet, so whilst Max is lazing about the house, Cass is deep in rehearsals for the new season’s ballets. She’s back in Madame Lloyd’s good books after half a season of slogging it out, and has been asked to continue with the mentorship programme, to which she’d happily acquiesced.

A new ballet has been choreographed for the season, meaning none of them have any idea what it should look like. It’s both freeing and terrifying, because being the person to originate a role is a big deal - but there’s also no reference point as to what a good performance should look like. It gives each dancer a lot of room for interpretation.

The ballet has been choreographed by a visiting choreographer from the Bolshoi Ballet, Alina Markova, and she has exacting standards. The style of dancing is also slightly different at the Bolshoi, and Madame Markova makes no secret that she expects them to adapt to her style and not the other way around.

It’s for that reason that Cass has been given the lead role, or so she guesses. She’s still the most junior principal dancer, and the rest are pretty set in their ways. Decades of dancing in one style means that muscle memory can override new instructions pretty easily, whilst she’s more malleable.

The story of the ballet is one where a young girl - Cass - is being told a series of Russian folk tales by her grandmother, being played somewhat grumpily by Anne-Marie, the oldest principal dancer in the company. Anne-Marie has to sit on the edge of the stage in a rocking chair as Cass wanders through the folk tales, encountering bears, witches, and even Father Frost. There are dozens of different roles, and a lot of work for the entire company to get through before opening night.

Her favourite scene is the one with the twelve dancing princesses. Alexei is playing a soldier tasked by a king with twelve daughters to find out why, having locked their bedroom door at night, the princesses’ shoes are worn out in the morning as if they’ve been dancing all night.

Part of the story involves the twelve princesses finding twelve princes to dance with, and the crew have done an incredible job over the summer building a huge ballroom for them to dance with. The story involves passing through silver, gold and diamond forests and the ballroom has been decorated with elements of these, with silver and gold vines and branches adorning the canvas backdrop. Cass finds it utterly beautiful.

In every folk tale, Cass is tasked with playing the lead female role. The premise is that she’s asleep, but her grandmother has continued telling her tales, so she’s dreaming that she’s part of the tales. In the one about the twelve dancing princesses, she’s the eldest princess; in the scene depicting the story of The Death of Koschei the Deathless, she plays Marya Morevna, a warrior princess; in the story with Father Frost she plays a hated stepdaughter who triumphs over her cruel stepmother. There are endless costume changes and different personas to play, and at the end of the ballet she has to switch back to her peasant nightdress to pretend to finally fall asleep after listening to the bedtime stories from Anne-Marie.

Since she’s the main lead of the ballet she has to do a lot more press than she normally does, and Madame Lloyd had asked her, with a grimace, to create some social media accounts so that she can post about the ballet. The advertising team of the Royal Ballet get in touch too, sending her a schedule and also various edited clips and posters for her to post.

She’s at home with Max, both of them relaxing on the couch after dinner when she remembers that she’s supposed to create an Instagram account. Max is, she knows, a voracious user of Twitter and Instagram, and helps her pick out her profile picture and username. To her surprise, she instantly starts getting followers. “I’m supposed to post these…” Cass says, handing over her phone to Max, who expertly posts and captions the photos with the words written by the advertising team on her behalf.

“Okay, no more phones,” Max says, tucking her phone away. She’s all too happy to agree, since she hates using her phone, but she pretends to sulk so that Max will bargain with her. She manages to get him to agree to give her a foot massage in return, and she lies there blissfully as Max works on the particularly tight knots of her feet. There are benefits to dating a man who needs good grip strength for his job, she thinks to herself. She’s been rehearsing non-stop for weeks, since there are so many different scenes to practice and with different partners, and it’s nice to have Max around since he’s on summer break.

She’s gotten far too spoiled, and she feels a bit sad that Max is going to be in Ibiza for a week with his friends and she’ll have to take care of herself again. Max has been very good with making sure dinner’s ready when she gets home, and all her laundry gets done. He plays Playstation the rest of the day, and promises her that it’s all he wants to do on his summer break.

The F1 summer break ends soon after Max gets back from Ibiza, whilst she has another six weeks before the Royal Ballet season starts, so there’s about a solid month with Max gone and rehearsals intensifying before they start performing. She’s not looking forward to that period, knowing she’ll be absolutely miserable and missing Max the entire time. She’s gotten used to having him around, having someone to welcome her home and to curl up with at the end of the night.

But there’s nothing either of them can do, so she resolves to enjoy having him around as much as she can. She wants to bring him to places around London, since the weather is far nicer than it was earlier in the year, but she’s too busy at rehearsals and all the additional press, physical training and recovery sessions. Their dinner times are precious to her, and she frowns, knowing that once the season starts even those will go out the window since she’ll probably be performing most nights.

She leans over and wraps herself around Max like an octopus, squeezing tight. “What’s this for?” He asks, amused. He’s used to her sudden affectionate moods by now. He said she was like a cat, alternating between hot and cold. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she says into his chest. He always wears these thin little t-shirts that make it easy for her to put her ear to his heart and listen to it beat.

“My mum really likes you,” Max says absently, his fingers caressing her hair and lulling her halfway to sleep. “I like your mum too,” Cass smiles, listening to the steady thump-thump beneath her ear. “How’s your dad doing?” She’s been deeply curious about Max’s secretive “family thing” that had made him miss her dad’s memorial, but has refrained from asking, partly because she’s been so busy and partly because Max hasn’t brought it up.

He avoids the question as he does any question about his dad. “Mmm, I guess,” he mumbles into her hair. “Did you remember to get the laundry soap I like? The one that smells like lavender?” Cass nods, shifting slightly so that she can get a better view of Max’s face. He’s forgone shaving since they returned from Belgium, and she reaches up to rub at his slightly bristly chin. “You’ll give me beard burn if this gets any thicker,” she says fondly.

His eyes have closed and he makes an almost purring sound. Her eyes trace his features, from his thick, straight eyebrows to his sharp nose and pouty lips. His bruises are all gone, but she can’t help but remember the angry primary colours that once decorated his beautiful face. “What are you thinking about?” Cass asks. He looks so peaceful like this, her passionate, strong-willed boy.

“Daniel,” he replies, somewhat disappointingly but not surprisingly. He’s been hit hard by the news that Daniel is leaving Red Bull, having looked up to the Australian driver for a long time. Max has gotten used to having Daniel as a teammate after so many years together, and he’s been moping about losing his closest friend on the grid to another team. “Maybe Pierre and you can become best friends instead,” Cass suggests.

Max opens one eye and glares at her. “Daniel’s not my best friend, I’m just thinking about how it doesn’t make sense for him to join Renault because they make shit engines and shit cars, and he deserves better than that.” Cass uses every muscle in her face to stop from smiling, because she knows that he will never admit that he’s sad his friend is leaving him, and that he hates it when she calls him out on that.

“Well, maybe he can do a good job with the Renault car and turn it around for them,” Cass suggests. Max pouts, telling her she’s said the exact wrong thing. “I don’t want them to do better, they’re our competitors,” he says grouchily. Cass rolls her eyes, flopping back down onto Max’s chest so that her face is hidden.

“What are you going to do in Ibiza?” She knows that his friends have rented a villa as they usually do, and she has a vague idea that they spend most of their time there in clubs, but she doesn’t know what else they have planned.

It turns out that Max doesn’t either. “I usually just let Martin plan it and follow along,” Max shrugs. “Maybe try and get a tan. You can still come, you know,” he runs his hands along Cass’s arms entreatingly.

“As enticing as you make it sound, I’ve got rehearsals every day. And I also don’t know anyone going apart from you, I don’t want to crash your little boys trip,” Cass says, shaking her head. “It’s not all boys, Martin and Nick’s girlfriends are coming! And Stan and Nelson’s sisters are both coming too, I think,” Max says, as if that’ll convince her.

“You’ll have fun without me, and I’ll be here reading Russian folk tales and trying to get my hips to rotate backwards or whatever it is Madame Markova tells me to do next week,” Cass laughs, then pauses. “Actually, I’ll take that back. I don’t want to jinx myself in case she actually does ask me to do that.” 

“You need to take better care of yourself, you always do whatever they say and end up hurting yourself,” Max says disapprovingly, and Cass smiles at the hypocrisy of her racing driver boyfriend telling her not to get injured on the job. “You take care of yourself, don’t want to get sunburn instead of a sick tan.” 

“I’m not a vampire like you,” Max says, lifting her pasty white arm up and putting it next to his own, golden one. “Look, you’re whiter than snow, that’s why you think I give you beard burn. If you weren’t so pale you wouldn’t even notice.”

“I’ll get the orangest fake tan and then you’ll be sorry,” Cass says, and then they get into a discussion on whether Max’s mum’s tan is real or not (Max insists it is, Cass has observed the weather in Belgium and is pretty sure it isn’t) and then go into a black hole of searching for worst fake tan celebrity disasters until it’s time to go to bed.

Chapter Text

“Again!”

Cass has her hands on her knees, catching her breath after finishing the scene which Madame Markova has choreographed to mimic whirling dervishes. Translated into classical ballet, it means she’s doing endless pirouettes and leaps across the rehearsal room for the entire duration of the scene.

Her knees hurt, her ankles hurt, and she’s lost feeling in her feet, but she walks back across the room and stands in the starting position without a word of complaint. They’ve been practicing this one scene for the entire morning, the scene where the twelve princesses dance with the twelve princes, and everyone’s dripping with sweat despite the best efforts of the ancient air conditioning unit.

Alexei, playing the eldest prince to her eldest princess, catches her eye and mimes blowing his head off with a gun and she stifles a grin just before the music starts up and she snaps into attention. The other eleven princes and princesses start first, and Cass winces when one of the princesses gets dropped by her exhausted partner whilst executing a fish dive, to a sharp glare from Madame Markova, who motions for the rest to continue. Then it’s her and Alexei’s turn to dance.

They start at opposite ends of the room from each other, with Cass pretending not to see Alexei whilst he peacocks around by doing acrobatic grand jetes around the room. He has to nearly bump into Cass, and she’s got to whirl around and tell him off in a snooty (and silent) way, before showing off herself and doing a bunch of jumps and turns, all of which are meant to be higher and more extravagant than Alexei’s. All very Shania Twain, that don’t impress me much, although she somehow doubts the ultra conservative Madame Markova has been influenced - consciously, at least - by the Canadian country singer.

In the end, Alexei gives a deep bow to signify that he’s recognised her superiority, then then all twelve pairs do a synchronised dance, before the scene melts back to Cass as the little girl hearing a bedtime story after a quick change on her part.

They haven’t done the full ballet through yet, but there’s supposed to be some magical switch over which will make it seem as if Cass is walking out of a dream and back into her bedroom, where Anne-Marie will be waiting. They’ll start full dress rehearsals on the stage in a few weeks and she can’t wait for the moment all of it clicks together - the music, the costumes, the set and the choreography.

After rehearsal, she has fittings and an interview, then she’s getting dinner with Mara, her boyfriend Nick and Alexei. Mara has been trying to convince her to go to Bullet Theory’s show with her after dinner, but Cass can already feel exhaustion settling bone-deep and she wants nothing more than to take a hot bath, crawl into bed and not speak to anyone for several hours.

Finally, Madame Markova releases them from rehearsal and Cass decides to head to the physical therapy room to get some help with relieving the ache in her hip before heading straight to the showers. She’ll just have to skip lunch. The physio tuts when he sees the tension all along her back, and it’s agony as he uses various techniques to release her stiff muscles.

She rushes through her shower, then heads to the fittings where she plays mannequin for the costume team as they pin her costumes to her body. “We’ll have to take it in here, and here,” the head costume designer, Jean, directs her assistant as she stands back and observes Cass critically. “The costumes look lovely, Jean,” Cass offers.

Jean harrumphs. “And they want to bring in a celebrity designer, I tell you! When have I ever let the company down?” Cass can tell this is somewhat of a rhetorical question so she holds her tongue, even when the distracted assistant pokes her in the side with a pin.

Finally, after the fittings and an interview with a niche ballet magazine, it’s time for dinner. Mara and Alexei have already left, so she’ll be meeting the group of them at a restaurant nearby. She decides to give Max a call as she walks.

He picks up after a couple of rings, sounding out of breath. “Hey, what’s up?” As always, hearing Max’s familiar voice fills her with happiness. “Nothing much, just wanted to give you a call. I’m heading to dinner with Mara and Alexei now, what about you?”

Max is by the pool, one of his favourite places, and she can hear the smile in his voice as well as the sound of splashing and laughter in the background. “We’re going into town for dinner, and - fuck off -” he must have covered the microphone because she can only hear some muffled Dutch words before he returns.

“Sorry, Martin is being a dickhead,” Max laughs. “Yeah so we’re going into town, then Martin’s doing a set at Pacha, but I swear we’ve been listening to the same beat the whole day and it’s driving me crazy. If he plays this during his set, I’m leaving, immediately.”

Cass can hear Martin ribbing Max back on the other end of the line, and Max shoots something back. “Give me a sec, I’m going to go somewhere quieter,” Max says, and she can hear him getting up and the background noises getting quieter until the sound of a door shutting signals he’s gone into his room.

“There are so many people here, it’s crazy,” Max says, and she can tell he’s lying down somewhere because his voice is coming out a little softer. “I think Martin invited a couple more and then it snowballed. They had to rent the next door villa to get everyone to fit, but they spend all their time here. Thank fuck I told Martin there was no way I’m going to share a room, everyone else had to pair up.”

“You’re such a diva,” Cass laughs. She’s reached the restaurant but she stands outside, not ready to hang up yet. “I miss you,” she adds, quietly. She doesn’t want to be the clingy girlfriend, unable to let go of her boyfriend for just a week, but the feeling of loss is exacerbated by the knowledge that he’ll be heading off for the start of the season soon after his return.

“You miss having someone to do your laundry, you mean,” Max teases. “How was rehearsal today?” Max is trying his best, but she’s about five minutes into describing the steps when she can tell he’s gotten distracted by something else. To be fair to him, he has no idea what the names of most of the combinations are. He can remember the names of the basic steps but Folk Tales is so complicated and involves some other non-ballet moves - it incorporates Georgian dance, for example - that she can’t really blame him.

“I should probably go, I’m horribly late already,” Cass says reluctantly. She doesn’t want to hang up, but she doesn’t want to just talk to Max over the phone either. It’s just always so much better when they’re face to face, without the distractions and noise around them. She can’t sense him, this far away.

“Okay kleintje, have a nice dinner, love you!” Max rattles off, before hanging up. She sighs, putting her phone away in her bag, before heading into the restaurant.

—

The company is all aflutter by the news that Madame Markova has brought in a celebrity designer to do the costumes for Folk Tales. Cass feels a pang of sympathy for their in-house design team, Jean especially, who take an immense amount of pride in their work. There are whispers all day about who the celebrity designer could be, with wild guesses and top names being thrown around with abandon.

In the end, Cass is the first to know. The costume team is now on an immensely tight schedule to get all the costumes done given how many scene changes and dancers there are in the ballet, and she has the most costumes in the show, so they’ve scheduled her for the first fitting. 

She’s catching up with Jean and the rest of the team about their summers when the door opens to reveal a statuesque blonde with a mischievous expression and rather outlandish clothes standing in the entryway.

“Hello, hello all!” She announces, waving her arms grandly as she walks in, followed by a veritable army of assistants wheeling in cloth covered racks. “Now, I know we’re short on time and the lovely Miss Errol here must be dying to dash back to rehearsal, so let’s get the show on the road!”

Against their best efforts, the costume team are drawn to the racks and start ooh-ing and ah-ing as the covers are whipped off to reveal rows of brightly coloured outfits. Jean is speaking with the designer, who introduces herself as Lila Villiers. “Oh my goodness, of course - I should have realised from the designs, but you must be the designer for Capon!”

Jean turns to Cass. From their chats over the course of years of fittings, Jean knows that Cass has absolutely no clue about anything to do with fashion. “Capon is a heritage brand, dear, but Lila here has been turning out the most gorgeous looks. Ah, your couture show for last season - incredible! That sculpted leather dress was to die for.”

Cass stifles a smile at Jean’s complete change in attitude, straightening up when she realises that Lila is observing her. “Try this on,” Lila says with a friendly smile, handing her an electric blue costume.

She changes into the outfit with a little difficulty - the corset is intense - but when she comes out there’s a spontaneous round of applause. She knows it’s not for her, but even then she feels quite embarrassed as she steps onto the little platform and people crowd around her, touching the fabric and adjusting the ribbons.

“This is for the scene where you are supposed to be dancing in the snow, and I imagined these ribbons floating so beautifully behind you when you do the -” and here Lila sketches a few steps. Cass’s surprise at how graceful and precise Lila’s steps are must show on her face because Lila laughs.

“Ah, I grew up dreaming of being a ballerina,” Lila admits. “I did years and years of ballet classes. That’s how I met Alina, actually - seeing her dance made me realise that I just didn’t have that special thing that she had.” She motions for Cass to turn around, and continues talking as she pins the fabric at her back.

“She sent me videos of your rehearsals for reference. You have a lovely way of moving, so graceful. And this posture! I’d love for you to come and show some of the models who walk for my shows how to stand. They grow so tall when young and they become so shy, hunching over all the time.”

She turns Cass around again, eyeing the outfit critically. “Jean, darling, what do you think? I need some of your expertise here. Will this ribbon get in the way of the dancing?” She turns to Jean, who beams at being asked a question by a famous - and more importantly to Jean, good - designer.

Lila’s done an incredible job for someone with no experience with ballet costumes, with very few alterations needed to make the costumes more practical for performing. “Would you do us a favour, darling?” Lila says when Cass has put the last costume on, a deep red bodice and romantic-style tulle skirt with detailed golden embroidery.

“This is for your dancing princesses scene, and I’d love to see you do a few steps for us to see how it moves,” Lila suggests. Cass happily obliges, having gotten rather bored playing mannequin. The assistants clear some space on the floor, and Cass steps into her starting pose, with her arms crossed and chin tilted high, before spinning around and doing one grand jete - there’s not space for any more - and then, feeling a bit like showing off, going into a series of pirouettes.

“Lovely, lovely!” Lila exclaims once Cass is done. “The gold of the embroidery will be absolutely dazzling under the lights, and this shade of red against your skin, with your hair - ah, incredible,” Lila beams. “The other princesses will have red costumes as well, but in different shades, with less embroidery. This was - well, I don’t mind saying it, this was a labour of love. The princesses rehearsal was the first video Alina showed me, and this was the first dress that came to my pen. You inspired me.” She gives Cass a cheeky wink, before telling her that they’re done for the day.

Even though Lila’s inexperience with tailoring ballet costumes means the fitting has taken longer than usual, it’s flown by. Lila has a way of explaining the reason for every part of the design which even a fashion novice like Cass can understand, and she’s put a lot of effort into making sure the costumes look beautiful in movement.

The second she enters the rehearsal studio, she’s mobbed with questions about the mystery designer. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but the costumes are gorgeous,” Cass says, smiling when everyone groans.

“Oh come on, you get first dibs of everything, you owe us a crumb of information at least,” Mara teases, crossing her arms. Cass’ smile dims at the comment. She knows Mara doesn’t mean it in a malicious way, but she’s tried to downplay anything that might make the other dancers jealous. She’s had varying degrees of success over the years, but her being the lead in Folk Tales has definitely ruffled a few feathers.

“Yeah, share your wisdom!” Marta says sneeringly. “But I bet you didn’t take any photos, you’re such a goody-two-shoes,” she rolls her eyes. Marta has been a persistent pain in her ass ever since she joined the company, always insinuating that Cass receives special treatment and has been promoted above more deserving dancers. Cass knows that there are other people who feel the same way, given her meteoric rise to principal dancer, but Marta’s the most outspoken.

“Alright, since you guys want to know - the designer is from some French brand, Capon?” The reactions of the other dancers tell her that she probably insulted Lila beyond all belief by not knowing what the brand is, and she vows to do a bit more research into Capon before her next fitting. Just so she doesn’t embarrass herself any more than she already has.

“Ohhh,” Mara says in awe. “The latest season was gorgeous, all these wispy ribbons and incredible embroidery.” Cass looks at Mara in surprise. She had no idea Mara was interested in fashion at all, their main topics of conversation being ballet, music and boys.

“Yeah, there’s lots of embroidery, a lot of flower imagery, and they have ribbons on top of the straps of the bodices, so there’s this really nice floaty look,” Cass says, trying her best to remember what the costumes had looked like exactly.

“It’s going to be so amazing on stage,” Mara says happily. And Cass knows in her heart that this is it for her. The choreography, costumes, music and set for Folk Tales are all so incredible that if she can just pull off the complicated choreography, this will be the ballet she’ll become known for. The ballet has the opportunity to become iconic, a modern day Swan Lake or Nutcracker.

She’s the lead, and responsibility for putting the ballet up in that mix rests on her 21-year old shoulders. She knows she can do it. She just needs to pull everything together.

—

After many more days of costume fittings, rehearsals and interviews, Max is finally home. Cass rushes home from rehearsal, hands almost shaking with excitement as she unlocks the front door. “Max!” She calls out as she finally gets the door open, and she’s met by a Max with a tan and sun-bleached hair but that same familiar scent as he sweeps her into his arms.

Later, she hears the washing machine beep and she smiles sleepily from where she’s ensconced in Max’s arms on the couch. “Did you put the washing on the second you got back?” She laughs, turning over and facing her blue eyed boy. He’s so predictable, his travel routine never changing. There’s some comfort in that, for her.

“And I unpacked all my food things,” Max says smugly. This close to the season starting, he’s back on his trainer approved meal plan, meaning her groceries will go back to being relegated to the bottom shelf. She can’t muster up any annoyance at this, knowing it’s only for a week before he leaves again.

“Oh, I got you something,” he scrambles up and heads towards the corridor where she knows his backpack will be hung up on it’s little hook on the wall. He returns with something hidden behind his back. “Guess which hand,” he says mischievously, before immediately changing his mind. “No, that’s taking too long. Here!”

He thrusts a hefty red box at her and sits down expectantly, waiting for her to open it. He looks like a little puppy waiting for a treat, all big excited eyes. He’s even bouncing slightly in his seat. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. Max accepts the kiss but waves at her. “Open it!” He begs.

She obliges, pressing the little golden latch at the front of the box and opening it to reveal a glitter so bright that she has to blink a couple of times before her vision resolves and shows her a gold bracelet absolutely covered with diamonds. “Look, the normal one goes all the way around but this one has this bit so you can take it on and off when you’re performing,” Max says proudly.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Cass says, smiling back at Max. He takes her wrist and slides the bracelet on, angling it so that it catches the light. “It’s nice, isn’t it? They said you’d like it.” Cass hears the note of uncertainty in Max’s voice and rushes to reassure him. “I love it, thank you. I’ll have to take very good care of it.”

Max sits back, finally relieved of the burden of having a surprise for her. “I got it for you as an anniversary present! It’s our seven month anniversary today.” Cass raises her eyebrows at him. “We have an anniversary?” She asks, smiling wryly at him. The way they’d gotten together had been in such utter bits and pieces that she’s not even certain when exactly they had started, so to speak.

“Yes we do, and I’ve decided that it was exactly seven months ago today,” Max replies firmly. He has that stubborn look in his eye that means he’s made his mind up and she will never be able to convince him otherwise, not that she has any interest in doing so.

“Alright, thank you,” Cass says, leaning in to kiss his cheek again. With his superhumanly quick reflexes, he turns just in time so that her kiss lands on his lips instead. “This can be my present this time, but next time you have to get me one too,” Max orders imperiously.

“Oh, now that you’ve picked an anniversary date I have to get you presents now too? And what about when you’re away, how will I give you a present then?” Cass laughs.

Max thinks about it for about half a second.

“Phone sex,” he beams.

—

Max has left for Belgium and the flat is quiet again, save for an ominous creaking noise that sounds every now and then. Cass can’t find the source of the noise, and it’s driving her crazy.

“Yeah, it started after you left and it’s just not stopped.” She’s biting her fingernails as she stares suspiciously around the second room, which she thinks is where the noise is coming from. Cass has been searching for days and she’s starting to wonder if she’s imagining it all. She’s been complaining to Max for days as well, and it’s annoying her that he isn’t taking her seriously at all.

“It’s probably nothing, maybe the pipes are just making some noise, your flat is so old anyway,” Max says, distractedly. She can barely hear him over the chatter going on in the background over the phone. “I’ve lived here for four years and they’ve never made a noise, Max!” She says, running her hand through her hair in frustration.

“Yeah, but the building is like what, a hundred years old? It’s nothing, Ca - it’s nothing.” Max catches himself just before he calls her name on the phone. They’re still keeping their relationship very much under wraps and since he’s being filmed or around press pretty much every second of every day that he’s on the track he needs to be careful with what he says.

“Sorry, I need to go - the interviewer just walked in. Just go to sleep, stop thinking about the creaking,” Max says hurriedly and before she can respond he’s already hung up. She sighs, putting her phone down and walking towards the wall and pressing her ear up to it. She can tell that Max thinks she’s overreacting, and she hates it. It’s making her feel like she’s making things up to talk to him, the epitome of a needy girlfriend.

She has no luck finding the source of the sound, and eventually she has to go to sleep in order to be well rested enough for rehearsals the next day. Folk Tales is premiering in a week, and everyone has been freaking out about whether or not they’ll be ready in time. The costumes have been made and the sets have been built, and they’re going to start full dress rehearsals the next day. Cass is extremely excited and also extremely nervous.

The intensity of the choreography has caused a fair number of injuries, despite everyone’s best efforts to stay fit. Alexei has broken a bone in his foot from landing funny after an exhausting rehearsal and she’s going to be partnered with Michael, a veteran principal dancer instead. The corps has been run absolutely ragged, with multiple ligament tears and pulled muscles, but so far they’ve been able to pull through.

She’s been having trouble sleeping so she takes a sleeping pill before getting into bed. After a few hours of tossing in turning, she finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep which is very abruptly interrupted by an enormous crash. She jerks straight up in a panic and scrambles to open her door and figure out what’s just happened.

The living room looks like it’s just been hit by a bomb, all white dust and broken furniture, and she blinks hard, rubbing her eyes because she thinks she might still be dreaming. There is a white bath tub in the middle of her living room that does not belong to her. Then she looks up, and sees a scared little face looking down at her from what used to be the ceiling of her living room.

“Oh my goodness, I heard the most almighty crash and - oh dear, oh dear!” The little face turns out to belong to an adult man who lives right above her, whose own living room has fallen into hers. She’s never met any of her neighbours, but it seems that today will be the day she meets the first one.

She’s still slightly groggy and everything is vaguely surreal as she stands and stares at what was once her living room. She can hear her neighbour trying to get a hold of his landlord, and she wonders whether they share a landlord. He starts talking animatedly as she walks towards the bathtub, feeling like she should touch it to make sure its really there.

“No, no, be careful! The rest of the ceiling could collapse too!” Her neighbour shouts down as she walks closer. “We’d both better get out of the building - oh dear, oh dear,” he frets. Cass obediently goes to her room to collect her things and change into proper clothes. She checks the time - it’s only three in the morning, and she has a good seven hours before work starts. If she doesn’t get some rest she’s going to be a zombie at rehearsal.

Mara’s asleep, as is Alexei, and Cass bites her lip as she stands outside her apartment building staring at her phone. All her friends in London are in the company, which means early nights until the season starts. All her friends except… Ben.

He’s online, so she takes a chance and send him a message asking if he’s awake. He responds in seconds, and Cass feels a rush of relief, most likely from the tired cells of her body sensing rest is near. She gives him a call.

“Hey, Cass, is everything alright?” He’s concerned, then shocked when she explains what’s happened. “You can definitely crash here until you’ve found somewhere else to stay, I’ve got more rooms than I know what to do with,” he assures her, giving his address which is only a fifteen minute drive away at this time of the day.

Ben’s moved since his album has come out, and now lives in a very fancy complex with extremely tight security. Because of that, he comes down to get her from the reception, clad in a hoodie and tight jeans.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Cass says, apologising for the late hour. “No, don’t be silly, I was writing some music - fuck, it’s lucky the ceiling collapsed in the living room, what if it had been in your room?” He looks really shaken, leaning down to give her a hug. “Here, let me take your bag - is this all you brought? You can stay as long as you like, really.” Ben’s rattling off a million words a minute, exhausting Cass’s brain.

They take the lift up, and the doors open right into Ben’s apartment. “Here’s your key - you need it for every door and lift here, so don’t forget it. I’ll give the concierge your name, and your photo, so they’ll know you’re staying here.” They pass by an open plan living and dining room, and Cass catches glimpses of the kitchen and a couple of other bedrooms.

“Here, you can stay in this room,” Ben pushes open the door and gestures towards what’s clearly an interior designed guest bedroom, all cream linens and fluffed decorative pillows. “There’s an ensuite, and - there’s a little something here,” he motions towards his cheek. Cass lifts her hand to her own cheek, and finds some white plaster stuck to her face.

“You must be really tired so - we can have breakfast tomorrow? Have a good sleep,” Ben says, rapid-fire. Cass wishes him a good night and he gives her another hug before turning and heading to another room. In the glimpse that Cass gets as the door opens and closes, it’s an identical room to hers a few doors down.

She doesn’t bother doing much except for pushing the decorative pillows off the bed, turning off the light and falling into a grateful, deep sleep.

—

She wakes up with a start a few hours later, the sun streaming in the window. For a second she’s disoriented, not knowing where she is, until she hears the sound of Ben’s voice singing distantly and she remembers the demolition of her flat and her late night flight to this very lovely home.

She gets up and does her normal routine - she’s woken up earlier than usual, probably because the curtains hadn’t been closed - before she emerges into the flat, fully dressed and carrying her ballet bag. Ben’s in the living room, strumming his guitar and singing. Just as she enters the living room he stops, scribbling something down on the notebook in front of him.

“Morning,” she says awkwardly. In her sleeping pill-fugue state, this had seemed like a brilliant idea, but in the cold light of day she’s wondering what on earth possessed her to go to Ben’s house of all places. She could have gone to a hotel, she thinks to herself in hindsight. She’d just been so tired and, if she’s honest with herself, in a state of shock.

Ben was right, the ceiling could very well have fallen into her bedroom instead of the living room, and she’d be crushed like an ant on a sidewalk, one week before the premiere of her ballet. She’d be written about, maybe once or twice in ballet magazines, then replaced by her understudy and promptly forgotten, a footnote in history.

And Max had told her to forget about it. She knew on some level that there was no way for him to have known about the structural integrity - or lack thereof - of the ceiling but he’d been so cavalier with her concerns that she’d told herself she was overthinking it.

Ben jumps up at the sound of her voice, closing his notebook and putting his guitar down. “Hey, did you have a good sleep? You looked really out of it last night - well, this morning, I guess. You’re looking better now,” he says hastily, as if worried she’ll take offence at his words.

“Yes, I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay, I’ll check into a hotel tonight,” Cass says. “Oh, no, you really can stay here as long as you want. I’m flying to LA tonight to shoot our music video so I won’t even be here for a month,” Ben says. He looks like a puppy that’s offering up a stick it’s collected.

Cass considers this. Max is going straight to Monza right after Belgium so he won’t be back for another two weeks, and she should be able to find a new place by then. And Ben not being here will remove the awkward factor of it being his flat. “Well… alright, thank you. Can I pay you rent, though? I’ll only be here for two weeks, maximum,” she says.

“I’ve made more money in the last few months than I ever thought I’d make in my life,” Ben says, rejecting her suggestion gently. “It’s enough to know that you’re in a place where the roof won’t collapse on your head. Take your time, really.”

—

On the way to work she calls her landlord. There’s no way the ceiling collapse is in any way Cass’ fault, so he agrees begrudgingly to terminate her lease in two weeks and to return her deposit. Then she takes a deep breath and calls Max.

“Hey,” he says, picking up after a few rings. “I can’t talk for long, I’m getting ready for practice.” Cass takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’d never been the type of girl who needed to call or text people, but Max has somehow trained her to need to be on the phone all the time just to turn into the type of boyfriend who never has time to talk.

“Well I’m sorry to disturb your very busy and important day,” she says with acid in her voice. “I’ll give you the quick summary. The ceiling in the flat has fallen into the living room, I’m going to be staying at Ben’s for two weeks, we need to find somewhere else to live. Good luck with practice.” She hangs up and tosses her phone into her bag then walks into the Tube station, where there’s blessedly no phone reception for the next half an hour.

The longer commute means she’s rushing for class, then it’s time for full dress rehearsals, where phone usage is strictly verboten. Madame Markova is a perfectionist to the nth degree, but so is Cass, so the hours fly by as they run through all the scenes over and over again.

It’s only through running through the entire ballet that Cass truly feels that she’s on the stage the entire time. Unlike Clara in the Nutcracker, who is almost always on stage but has long periods of sitting and watching, she’s dancing almost the entire time.

But the set is absolutely gorgeous, the rotating stage paired with some miracles of engineering which lift and lower various pieces of set dressing to make it seem like her dreams are coming to life with every set change. The costumes are ethereal, bringing a sense of whimsy and lightness to the sometimes moody music, the bright colours flashing vibrantly against the greens and greys of the set.

Cass is smiling ear to ear when rehearsals end, even though every single muscle in her body is screaming. She wonders if Ben has a bathtub somewhere in his flat, because she definitely needs to submerge her body in bath salts mixed with a little bit of hot water. She’s barely had time to eat all day, but adrenaline has her on a high.

She’s still surprised when Madame Markova invites her to have dinner with her and Lila, though she accepts quickly. She has deep respect for the ex-ballerina, and wants to pick her brain about the flow of movement in some of the scenes. Lila’s presence will also be good in easing any awkward silences, since the designer is far chattier than either dancer.

She follows Madame Markova to a fancy restaurant, feeling slightly self conscious in her usual work uniform of tracksuit bottoms and a leotard with a wrap-around cardigan over the top. Madame Markova is dressed in a severely tailored black dress, and Lila turns up in a beautiful bright pink printed silk caftan.

Lila orders lavishly for the table, and they make small talk until the wine arrives. “A toast,” Lila says, beaming at the two of them. “You’ve created a beautiful ballet, Alina, and Cass has brought it to life. I can’t wait for the premiere.” Cass blushes as they clink glasses together, then takes a hasty sip, hoping the alcohol eases her nerves a little bit.

“I have had this ballet in my head for my entire life.” Madame Markova speaks definitively and curtly, no question marks tainting any word coming from her lips. Cass wishes she had that confidence and certainty. “I did not get the opportunity to perform it during my career. But I saw you perform, and I knew you could do it. You have not disappointed me yet.”

With a start, Cass realises that Madame Markova is speaking to her, and rushes to give effusive thanks, but she’s cut off by a swift shake of the head by Madame Markova. “No. You do not thank me for your dancing. I thank my God for the inspiration, you can thank yours for your ability. Above all that, it is this,” she hits her chest with the flat of her hand, “which you should thank.”

Cass can’t really tell what she’s indicating - her heart? - so she nods slowly, but Madame Markova is sharp as a tack and catches on immediately. “You are a good dancer. Lots of talent. Good emotion. But what makes you the one for my Folk Tales is the work. I see you every day practicing after everyone goes home, and that desire is what is needed to reach the next level.”

Cass is as bright red as a tomato, and she can feel the blush spreading down her chest as a wave of heat. “You’re a gorgeous dancer, Cassandra, such clean lines, and those jumps! You make my designs come alive. Oh, the princesses scene when you do all those jumps - when we were younger they’d say only men have the strength to make those leaps, but you’ll prove them wrong.” Lila gives her a motherly smile.

The conversation turns to the ballet itself, and Cass is relieved they’ve stopped talking about her even though she’s floating on clouds at all the praise. It’s rare to receive praise as a ballerina, with every minute mistake focused and fixated on, and it’s a perfect balm to the horrible day she’s had. 

“I can’t wait to see the finished product,” Lila says, giving Cass a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek after dinner ends. “Take care of yourself, darling - after all, you’re my muse!” She gives Cass a wink as she slips into a chauffeur driven black car with Madame Markova, who just gives a wave. Cass feels almost buoyant, as if she’s been given a glowing report card from school, as she makes her way home to pick up some clothes.

The flat is pretty much in the same condition she’d left it in, all dusty and with the ceiling missing, and she edges carefully around the hole in the ceiling to get to her bedroom, quickly stuffing a suitcase with a week’s worth of clothes and things.

On the way back to Ben’s she checks her phone to reply to Max’s messages, a long string of which have come in the past few hours. It’s past midnight, and the race is the next day, so she’s surprised that he’s still been texting her instead of going to sleep. The second she replies to say she’s been in rehearsals all day, he calls her.

“Hey, kleintje.” Max’s voice is a bit sleepy, low and raspy, and Cass forgets why she was upset with him in the first place. “How was rehearsal?” He’d been sending messages non-stop throughout the day, but Cass had only gotten the time to look at them now. She doesn’t feel as bad since he’d been pretty annoying that morning.

“It was good, I actually had dinner with Madame Markova and the designer for our costumes, Lila,” Cass says. “I’m just heading back to Ben’s now from our place - honestly Max, it looks like a bomb site with all the plaster everywhere.” She’s taking a cab due to the late hour, which means she can talk to Max the entire ride home. “Why are you staying at this guy’s house? Why don’t you just stay in a hotel?” Max sounds more awake now, and she can tell he’s pissed off.

“Well, he offered, and he’s not going to be there anyway, and there’s a kitchen so I can cook my own meals,” Cass says. “It’s still weird. I don’t know what possessed you to call that guy,” Max says, definitely upset now. “Well, sorry if I was in a state of shock that my bloody ceiling fell into my apartment with a bathtub, which could have fallen on me by the way, and went to the first place I could think of! Something that maybe I wouldn’t have had to deal with alone if, maybe, my boyfriend either lived with me or actually took me seriously when I told him there was a bloody creaking noise in the flat!”

Cass is upset too, because Max is living in luxurious hotels whilst she’s basically couch surfing and having to figure out where they’re going to live by the time he gets back, all during the last week of rehearsals and the first week of shows.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Max says abruptly, and before Cass knows its she’s listening to the dial tone. She stares at her phone which helpfully says Call Ended in disbelief. He actually hung up on her? That absolute bastard!

When she gets back, Ben’s rolling his suitcase out into the hall. “Oh! I thought I was going to miss you, but I guess we’ll be able to say goodbye,” he says, giving her a cheery smile and a brief hug. “There are some groceries in the fridge, please help yourself. And you have access to the gym in the building as well, you just need to tap the card. And there’s a swimming pool and steam room and sauna, if you want to use them. Stay as long as you like, okay? And take care, make yourself at home - seriously, go into any room you want, I literally just moved in - and good luck for your premiere!”

She’d actually forgotten how much Ben talks until she’d come over the night before, but now she can’t help but notice it every time he speaks and compare it to how spare with his words Max is.  After he leaves, she takes him up on his offer and wanders through the huge flat, marvelling over how many rooms it has. Ben even has a library, filled with well thumbed-through books, and a music room with a big grand piano and his collection of guitars.

Finally she hits the jackpot and finds a bathtub, so she takes a long, hot bath as she ruminates over where she’s going to live. She needs to find a place, and soon, because she’ll need to get everything signed and ready before Max comes back.

She tells herself she’ll take a look at the links Max sent when she gets into bed, but it’s so warm and comfortable that she falls asleep immediately, her body telling her that it’s had enough for the day.

Chapter Text

If there is one thing Max hates more than anything, not having control over the situation, not being able to get what he wants. And sitting in his hotel room in Belgium, glaring at his phone - the picture of him and Cass that’s his home screen background taunting him - he feels completely powerless.

Cass is sleeping in some guy’s house, and he knows that there’s no way anything will happen between the two of them, but he hates the idea of this guy being her knight in shining armour when it should be him. But he’s here, all the way in Belgium, and Cass is in London, staying in some rock star’s penthouse.

Yeah, okay, maybe he’d spent some time Googling this Ben guy who sends Cass a suspicious number of texts, especially earlier on in their relationship. It’s tapered off now, but he remembers seeing Cass’ phone absolutely blowing up with non-stop messages, Ben’s name flashing up every few minutes. It had really annoyed him when they’d been back in Monaco, but he hadn’t been able to say anything because they hadn’t been official. By the time he’d moved to London, Ben had been out the door, but he hasn’t forgotten his existence.

And yeah, being an F1 driver is pretty cool, but being a fucking rock star is a different level. There are hundreds of comments on Cass’ Instagram asking if she’s dating Ben, articles listing her as his girlfriend online, photos of them hanging out taken by paparazzi. No one’s ever bothered taking photos of Max and Cass together, mainly because neither of them are instantly recognisable to the average person on the street.

Which is great, because Cass hates being photographed, and she’d definitely never leave the house with him if people started taking photos of them on the street. He feels slightly better that the photos of Cass with Ben are all group shots, most of them with Cass standing next to Mara instead of Ben, but that hasn’t stopped people from speculating wildly about the potential relationship. Which really pisses him off. Don’t people have better things to think about?

Frustrated, Max pulls out his laptop and goes on an Internet rampage of real estate listings. He knows Cass isn’t too picky about where she lives - their current place is proof of that - but he has requirements. He hated Cass’ old apartment, is secretly happy they get to move out, and wants to get something a little… nicer. For someone who grew up in the nicest house he’s ever seen, Cass has absolutely no standards for her environment. He wants at least three bedrooms, a garden so that they can plant some of those flowers she loves, a garage, and lots of windows.

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time he finds a place he likes. It’s got nice old-timey furniture that Cass will like, is pretty close to the station with a train that goes to her work, and maybe the photos were taken in summer but the entire place is filled with light. He wants to call Cass but she’s fast asleep, so he sends the link to Maura, the team assistant, and asks her to sort it out.

Satisfied with his progress, he snaps his laptop shut and falls into a deep dreamless sleep.

—

He wakes up late the next day to Brad banging on his door, and he’s dressed and on the way to the track ten minutes later - a massive plus to always wearing the same clothes. There’s Netflix cameras following him today, so he keeps his phone in his pocket the entire time, but in the back of his mind he’s wondering how Maura’s doing with the house hunting.

It’s a typical race day for him, with a couple of extra press and fan responsibilities thrown on top due to his half-Belgian heritage, meaning it’s chaotic and busy all the way through. His dad has turned up unexpectedly and is huddled in a corner with Helmut every time he sees him. That’s how he prefers it, really, because that means he’s not being told off for a seventh place qualification.

Or at least he thought that because he’s in his driver’s room, trying to call Cass just before he heads off for the drivers’ parade, when a heavy hand clamps itself on his shoulder. “Fucking shit qualifying yesterday,” his dad says amiably, his ice blue eyes pinning Max to the spot. He’d entered the room without Max noticing, probably because Max had his headphones in and had been staring at his phone screen waiting for Cass to pick up. Max nods slowly, using every drop of his hard-learned composure to not flinch. It’d be like showing a red flag to a bull.

“I’ll do better today,” Max replies, briefly. His dad doesn’t like excuses, so he makes none. He covers his phone with his hand, where he can see Cass is trying to return his call and her photo has popped up. Luckily, his dad’s not paying attention to Max at all now that he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear. He’s blathering - a word Cass had recently taught him and which he now uses all the time - on about some sponsorship meeting he’d set up the next day, and Max listens with half an ear until Brad comes in and tells him its to head out.

There’s the usual drive around the track, smiling and waving at fans. There are a significant number of Dutch fans, easily identifiable by their orange outfits, and they go absolutely crazy when they see Max. Then they all have media duties, before the national anthem is played and then it’s time to get into their cars.

Max climbs into the RB14, the seat moulding to his body, helmet and earphones blocking out the din of people surrounding him. “Radio check,” he says, settling into his race mode, his mind wiped clean of everything but what’s right in front of him. “Loud and clear,” GP replies, his calm voice the only sound that makes it through the mental buffer Max has put up.

Max reaches up and squeezes the St Christopher’s medal around his neck three times, his final pre-race ritual, then shuts the visor of his helmet. The track is cleared of people, then the only sound he can hear is his breathing as the lights flash and then - go.

He’s off the line in a split millisecond, dipping around Luke’s Ferrari by the time they reach the first turn. He takes Grosjean on next, before going around a turn and seeing the two Force Indias side by side with Hamilton and Vettel. He decides to let them take each other out, hovering just behind in case he can pick up an opportune tow, and just then he hears GP telling him that there’s been a crash.

“Who is it?” He asks, hand going up to squeeze the St Christopher’s medal once. The safety car is out, and he’s stuck driving at a ridiculously slow speed. “Hulkenburg, Leclerc, Alonso, Daniel and Errol,” GP’s voice comes back. A clusterfuck, basically, “Are they alright?” He keeps his voice as neutral as possible, but heart speeds up for a second - Luke’s made of glass as far as he’s concerned, just a bunch of bone fragments tied together with ribbons - before GP reassures him that they’re fine.

It takes a while to clear the track, but he’s ready when the safety car retreats into the pit and manages to overtake Perez easily. Ocon’s pit stop is a little slow and he comes out behind Max, and that’s Max into the top three. He spends the rest of the race keeping Bottas behind, but it’s a pretty standard race from his perspective the rest of the time.

He crosses the chequered flag in third place, up on the podium step. The lowest one, but still. His dad won’t be pleased but he won’t be pissed, either. Max bounds out of the car onto parc ferme, and sees the clouds of orange smoke released by the Dutch fans. He beams and waves at them as he does his post-race interview, the interviewer laughing because they can barely hear each other over the cheering.

There’s such a rush to being on the podium, this surge of adrenaline and dopamine that comes from people screaming your name when you lift a trophy - sure, maybe it’s third place, but he’s been on the top step before and he will be there again. He closes his eyes, savouring the feeling.

It’s never guaranteed, of course - your competitors might bring upgrades that demolish your car the next race, you might drive into a wall, you might be the greatest driver to ever live, survive everything and then fall whilst skiing. Life as a racing driver is precarious, dangling over a tightrope.

He fucking loves it.

—

The huge amount of support he gets in Belgium means he’s got endless media post-race, then he has to shake hands with all his sponsors, take a couple of photos with fans, takes a couple of shots with Daniel at the Red Bull bar. “One of the last times,” Max says, a moment of sentimentality overtaking him. “They’d let me in for a drink or two,” Daniel winks at the catering staff, a big burly tattooed man who blushes and stammers something that makes Daniel laugh.

He’s buzzed by the time he gets back to his driver’s room to shower and get ready for dinner and the after party. He falls on the massage bed, pulls his phone out and calls Cass. She’s probably been waiting for him to call, the way he does after every race. And she’ll be worried about Luke as well.

“Hello?” Cass picks up the phone and he can see she’s in the studio, dressed in her ballet clothes. Her hair is all sweaty and rebellious little curls are pulling away from her tight bun, her cheeks pink. “Oh, hey! How was the race?”

He feels the information that she hadn’t watched hit him in the chest like a blow. “It was good, yeah - I got third.” He watches her face brighten as she smiles. She smiles with her whole face, her nose scrunching up and her eyes squinting, the dimples on her cheeks deepening. It’s infectious, and he smiles back at her. “That’s amazing, Max! I guess you’re going to celebrate in a big way tonight,” she laughs. She knows how the drivers get after a race all too well.

“Yeah, Daniel’s planned something I think. Oh hey - I found a place for us,” Max says, remembering. “I asked Maura to sort it out, but take a look - I think you’ll like it.” He sends the link to the Cass, and then waits expectantly. “Yeah, it’s nice,” Cass says, slightly distracted, her head turning to look at someone behind her. “Oh hey, I’ve got to go,” she says quickly, and he can hear some guy calling her name. “Love you, proud of you, bye!”

He sighs, putting his phone away. She’s always at the studio, even more now since Alexei hurt his leg and she had to put in all these rehearsal time with her new partner before the first performance. He showers and gets ready to leave, and Maura comes up and tells him that the real estate agent has come back and accepted his offer, and he just needs to sign a couple of papers to get the process moving.

Maura’s scarily good at her job, so he’s not too surprised that she managed to get the real estate agent to respond on a Sunday afternoon, so he tells her she has carte blanche to make sure the deal gets done as quickly as possible. Remembering that Cass will be super busy at work, he asks whether Maura can get someone in to clean it up and also to move over all their things. She looks at him as if she’s almost offended he has to ask.

He heads back to the hotel since he has a bit of time to kill before dinner, and plays a couple of mindless hours of FIFA before heading out. It’s him, Daniel, and a couple of Daniel’s friends. They’re surrounded by girls, as usual. Daniel’s in his single era after his breakup with his long-term girlfriend, and has definitely been very active at inviting girls to the club recently.

Max is both a lot younger and more awkward than the rest of the group, so he’s relieved when the girls give up after a few attempts at making conversation with him, finding easier prey elsewhere. Once the girls have given up he can dedicate himself to drinking and partying, much more enjoyable than having a shouted conversation over the deafening music with a random model.

—

The next morning he wakes up to a message from Maura saying the house is a done deal and that the movers will be shifting everything later in the afternoon. He doesn’t even want to think of how much money he’s just spent, so he gives Cass a call to tell her the good news instead.

“You what?” Cass is not as happy as he thought she’d be, her frazzled expression filling the screen as she frowns at him. “You bought a house? You’ve not even seen it - it could be falling apart for all we know, and you’re just hiring someone to move all our things? What if it’s awful? This is insane, Max. You should really have discussed this with me first.”

“We talked about this yesterday!” Max says, stung. She’s terrible with the phone, always distracted, and he’s annoyed that she’s making it sound like he’s the one who’s done something wrong. He’d literally found a solution to their problem so that now both of them can go back to being excellent at their jobs.

“You sent me a link to a house, and I guess now I know why the link was taken down today when I tried to look at it - how did you even buy it so quickly? It’s literally Monday morning!” Max huffs. There’s only so many times he can explain to Cass that Maura is just really, really good at her job.

“Do you have any photos that I can look at?” Cass asks after a bit of a pause. She’s sitting on a bench in Covent Garden, earphones in, and she’s just let out a huge sigh. Max is relieved because she seems to have gotten over her little fit of anger very quickly, and babbles something about asking the agent to send some over.

“You can actually move in today,” Max adds. The agent has said he’ll be available to hand over the keys whenever. Max is pleased - he’s really very efficient when he puts his mind to it. Cass scrunches her face up again. “Max, opening night is in two days. I don’t think now is the best time for me to be moving house, especially when Ben’s place is empty and really convenient - I’ll move this weekend, alright?”

“I don’t understand why you want to stay in this guy’s house, it’s really fucking weird,” Max sulks. “I just told you why, my opening night is in two days!” Cass’ voice is rising, which is unusual, and she’s stood up and is now walking. “Look, I know you’re really stressed out about opening night, but you’ll be fine,” Max says, trying to calm her down. “You’re the best ballerina in the world, it’ll be easy work for you.”

“It’s not bloody easy, thank you very much!” Cass snaps, glaring at him through the phone. “Look, it’s been a really tough week with the house and Alexei’s injury and all that, and I could really do with some support from my boyfriend. But since he’s not here, I’ll take just a tiny smidgen of peace instead, so just let me do what I have to do to get through this week!”

There’s not much Max can say in response, mainly because angry retorts are tripping over each other at the tip of his tongue. But Cass never responds well to his anger - it’s too explosive and scary for a girl who grew up in a little princess dome like she did - so he settles for pressing his lips into a flat scowl.

“Okay, I’ve got to go. My lunch break is over, not that I managed to get any food,” Cass says brusquely as she walks back into the studio. “I love you,” Max offers, quietly. “Love you too,” Cass says, just as quietly, before hanging up.

Max throws his phone into the depths of his room, lying flat on his back on the bed and glaring at the ceiling. He’s just dropped millions of pounds on a house for the two of them, and she can’t even pretend to be a little bit happy. No thank you had emerged from her lips for all his efforts in finding them a new place. And if she’d just paid attention the day before, she’d have seen how nice the place is, and would have been happier today at the news.

Because this place is nice. The link has been taken down, just as Cass said, but he can remember the rooms vividly. A nice big kitchen with a big fridge which will fit both his pre-packed meals and her groceries. A dining room so they can have friends over. A fireplace, a garden, a garage. Five bedrooms, in the end - plenty of space for her books and ballet and his trophies and racing sim, for their family to visit, for the two of them to collect things and grow roots.

A home, essentially. Her old place had been tiny and he’d felt like he’d barged into her life, displacing all her things and making a mess. This new place is for the two of them, a bright shiny canvas for them to learn to live together properly. He closes his eyes, squeezes them tight. He can already see them living there, Cass cooking something in the kitchen, him setting the table,  some music playing, and maybe a pet or two.

His eyes fly open. That’s what Cass needs, to see how lovely their new home can be. A pet.

—

“Good work today,” Madame Markova says, nodding at the two exhausted dancers. Cass is sat on the floor, Michael’s lying down with a hand thrown over his eyes. The only sound in the room is their panting breaths.

“You’ve created… an evil… ballet,” Michael wheezes. He’s nearly 40 and has been a principal dancer for longer than Cass has been at the company, so he’s allowed to take liberties that Cass would never dare. “The ballet…is trying… to kill us.”

Cass must admit that there are times when she sometimes wonders whether it’s actually possible to do the entire ballet without a lung bursting. It’s a ballet that requires extreme athleticism, and Cass wakes up every morning with so many aches and pains that she can’t really pinpoint where she starts and they end. They’d done a full dress rehearsal that morning, with a sizeable audience of staff members, and it had been fine. Then Madame Markova had insisted on another rehearsal for Michael and Cass to get used to each other, and now she feels like dying.

On top of this is the tons of press she’s been asked to do to publicise the show. Lila’s involvement means that a much wider audience is now interested in the ballet, and she’s had to speak to fashion magazines about it. And of course they’d had to ask her about her racing driver brother, since there’s not much else about her to interest the average person, and they’d asked about Ben. She’d stated categorically that they were not dating, but the lady from Vogue had given her a sly wink, so she’s not sure whether that’s landed.

Every night it’s as much as she can do to crawl back to Ben’s luxurious flat, pour herself into a hot bath, then have the five hours of sleep she’s allowed herself. She can’t think about anything other than opening night, and the thousands upon thousands of intricate steps and cues she needs to remember, that she’s trying to force her body to have complete muscle memory for. If only her muscles would stop screaming for a second.

She’s received an email with all the photos and details of the house from Max’s team assistant, and she lies in bed, eyes half closed, flicking through the photos of their new home. It’s a gorgeous place, really, and she must admit that Max has done a good job picking it out. If the photos are honest. It’s just baffling to her that he’d done it so quickly, without either of them going down to check the place out.

She’ll go down on Friday, she decides. She’ll find a - what are they called, property inspectors? - and she’ll go down and have them inspect it to make sure the ceiling won’t fall in on them when they’re asleep, and she can move in on the weekend.

She suddenly misses Max fiercely. She always misses him when he’s away, but this is really something she’d like to do with him. The whole process of finding a place together slowly, and talking about what they’re looking for - she feels like they’ve just skipped a huge part of their life together. She wishes they’d had that time to talk through such a big decision, but Max’s little racer heart never wants to spend too long contemplating. 

She pushes this to the back of her mind, reminding herself that all of this can come after opening night. There’s only one thing she should be thinking about between now and then, and it’s Folk Tales.

—

It’s opening night, finally, and the entire building is in a state of organised chaos. It’s a gala event, so Cass has to socialise with people both before and after the performance. She’s already tired of hearing her own voice, and she can’t wait for everyone to sit down, the lights to go down and for the performance to just… start.

It’s what she’s been working for, what they’ve all been working towards, for the past few months. There’s an immense amount of blood, sweat and tears - literally - that have gone into this one night. Alexei is there in his crutches with a woeful expression, wishing her good luck, and Jamie’s made it down from Paris for the night. “Proud of you, little cabbage,” he whispers into her hair. He’d started calling her that after one of his paramours had called him petite chou and she’d choked laughing.

She’s been trying to stay zen all day, but it’s the first time she’s originated a role and she’s quietly freaking out. She hasn’t got a routine, no superstitions, but when she’s in her little dressing room just before the fifteen minute bell rings she’s suddenly seized with panic. The corset that her dresser had put on her is too tight, and she scrabbles helplessly with the laces, knowing that there’s no way she’ll be able to take it off on her own.

Her vision goes blurry and she feels like she’s about to be sick. Slow breaths, she tells herself hopelessly, her breathing as quick as a hummingbird’s. Water will help. She reaches for her glass of water on the table - warm once, now just tepid - and raises it to her lips with shaking hands, her teeth clattering against the solid glass rim.

Her phone is on the table and she opens it on autopilot, calls Max, feels her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hey, kleintje, I was just going to call you - you’ll be amazing,” Max says, picking up immediately. “Are you okay? You look weird,” he adds, his voice changing into one of concern. “I think I’m having - a panic attack -” Cass half-sobs.

“Okay, okay. We got this. Lie down on the couch, close your eyes - keep the phone next to you okay? Listen to my voice.” Cass follows his instructions blindly, her breath coming in little gasps. “Okay, take a deep breath in,” Max says. She can hear him breathing in deeply on the other side of the phone, and she tries to mimic him.

“Hold your breath for four counts - one… two… three… four. Now let it go,” he makes an encouraging whooshing noise with his own breath. “For four counts… okay, and go again,” he counts for her, following along, and she can slowly feel the panic start to ebb from her mind, her vision clearing.

“Do you want to do one more?” Max asks after they’ve done a few. Cass shakes her head, curling up on the couch, leaning her head against the armrest. “I’m better now, I think,” she says. “Thank you. I just - it was just too much,” she says. Max nods, giving her a wry smile. “Yeah, I get it - I was pretty much the same before my Red Bull debut.”

Cass sighs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you then,” she says softly. She’s missed so much of Max’s racing life, and he’s missing her opening night debut, and she just feels like all of these major milestones are passing them by. They hadn’t been together during his Red Bull debut so she wouldn’t have been there anyway, but she wishes that their schedules could just coincide for once so that they could be there for each other in the big moments.

“It’s okay,” Max says peaceably. He’s not one for dwelling on the past, her Max. She figures that’s the only way he can stand being near his dad, after the frankly chilling stories she’s heard him tell without an ounce of emotion. “You’ll be there for the big one.” He’s so confident, her man. By the big one, he means when - not if - he wins his world championship. He’s so sure that he’ll get there, that they’ll be together, that she’ll be physically present when he wins. It’s one of the things she loves about him.

The bell rings, telling her there’s fifteen minutes before she needs to get on stage. She stands, checking her makeup in the mirror. “Last check,” Cass says, standing further back from the phone so her whole body can be seen and giving a twirl. Lila’s outdone herself with this peasant dress, which would be far too beautifully embroidered and made for a peasant if not for how much more ostentatious all the other costumes are. Lila’s definitely snuck some of her own money into the costume budget.

The corset is intense, whittling Cass’ waist away to almost nothing, and the skirt is a riotous blend of different shades of red tulle. She’s got a big red cape, to show she’s a modest peasant girl, and to allude to Little Red Riding Hood, and her pointe shoes are red, like in the movie The Red Shoes. Lots of references, really. The cape also helps with her quick changes, since she can run off stage, change into the next outfit, then hide it under the cape when she’s “listening” to the fairy tale before she dreams of it.

They’ve allowed her to keep her own hair rather than shove a bunch of different wigs on, because Madame Markova thinks it’s a way to show that all of the folk tale characters are essentially the peasant girl’s imagination, with herself always as the protagonist.

“It’s beautiful,” Max says, giving a cheeky wolf whistle. Or at least trying to, because whistling is not within Max’s stable of talents. “Are you sure I don’t look like a tomato? It’s an awful lot of red,” Cass frets, smoothing her hands over the waist of the corset. “No, it’s perfect. You look like a princess.”

“I’m supposed to look like a peasant girl, but thank you,” Cass laughs. “Anyway, I should probably head out to the stage. Thanks for answering the phone. I love you.”

Max wishes her well and bids her goodbye, and then it’s time to face the music. Literally.

—

It’s been going well so far. She swears she heard a gasp from the audience when she’d been dancing the Snow Maiden portion of the ballet, with its exhausting adagio movements which take every ounce of core training she’s been packing into her days, but she’s pouring all of her focus into the performance so she can’t be sure. The Twelve Princesses section is coming up and she’s mentally preparing herself for all the jumps.

She’s got her red and gold princess gown on under her cape, and she’s curled up on the cot bed whilst Anne-Marie pretends to read to her from a comically large, dusty book. Four beats of the dreaming motif - a gorgeous strum of the harp - and then the stage is turning and she is up in an instant, casting her cape off, and walking into the next section. Someone jams a tiara onto her head in the split second before the spotlight lands on her, standing imperiously with her arms crossed.

Michael is dazzling, his jumps higher than they’ve ever been in practice, embodying an arrogant prince far younger than his 40 years. He bumps into her, and then she turns, and here’s the moment of truth. She frowns, shakes her head and lifts her chin, then takes big steps to stage right so that she has the space to propel herself into the jumps, and - go.

She’s off like a dervish, leaping into the air, focusing on getting as much height as possible in the limited space available. Essentially, she needs to jump just as high as Michael, so that the audience can see that she’s the badass in-charge head princess who’s going to execute the perfect scheme to be released by the king.

It’s high chaine, low chaine, leap, and repeat, all around the stage. They’d counted, and it takes  12 leaps for her to do a full 360, slightly more than a taller person would have to do since she doesn’t move as far with each leap. After eight, she can already feel the muscles in her calves screaming, but she continues. Nine… 10… 11… She gives this last one a little more juice, bending her knees more to get more power in the leap, flying across the stage and landing triumphantly, wrists flicking out in a et voila pose.

The applause is thunderous, the normally sedate audience cheering. She can’t keep the smile off her face, knowing she’s accomplished something heroically difficult. She can’t take the huge, heaving breaths that she desperately wants, since she has to maintain her composure, not to mention the tiny waist of the corset, but this is almost as good - she’ll have adulation as her oxygen instead.

Thankfully, the rest of the scene is more sedate, with gentle pas de deux bits with all twelve pairs circling the stage, before she’s back in her cape, curling gratefully on the cot bed in her peasant house. The princesses scene is the last, so she stands again, goes on pointe to take tiny little steps towards the front of the stage, stretches into an exaggerated yawn, and then “accidentally” bumps her hand into the tiara still in her hair.

She takes the tiara off her head, staring at it in awe and turning it over in her hands. She raises it up into the light, one, two… and then the curtain comes down.

She wants to flop onto the ground, take off her pointe shoes and the corset, and sleep for five days, but first she has to take her curtain call. The rest of the dancers come out onto the stage, Michael takes her hand, and the curtain rises to the best sight in the world - a unanimous standing ovation, the entire opera house filled with the sounds of bravos! and whistles.

Michael tugs her forward, and she decides to have a little fun with it, whipping off her cape and putting the tiara back on her head so she’s back in her princess outfit. She curtsies in the classical fashion, beaming at the crowd. She drinks in the sound of cheering, and John, the stage manager, is coming up to her with countless enormous bouquets of flowers. She knows at least one of them is from Luke, probably the fiery red poppies, and she feels a pang that her dad isn’t here to see this.

The curtain comes down, and everyone is running around, ecstatic and relieved in a way that only a successful opening night can be. Then she and Michael are being pushed out to the front again, for another curtain call, and then John is leading Michael’s two daughters onto the stage to hand him an adorable posy of wildflowers. There’s an audible aww from the crowd, and Cass is touched when one of the little girls runs to her and throws her arms around her leg, drawing laughter from those present.

“You’re Gemma’s favourite,” Michael says apologetically, patting the toddler on the head. Gemma looks up at her, solemnly, and holds her arms out to be picked up. Cass laughs and obliges, balancing the little blonde girl on her hip as she carries her bouquets in the other. She and Michael do the rest of their curtain calls - four together, five more of just Cass - with his daughters, the other little girl - Nicole - refusing to be left behind since her little sister gets to go along. Nicole even does a little curtsey herself. Cass feels her heart melt.

Once the curtain has fallen definitively, Cass hands a now very sleepy Gemma back to Michael, slightly relieved. Her entire body is aching, and she can’t believe the 40 year old man hoists his two girls up into his arms with such ease after having performed the entire ballet, but he does.

There’s an air of gaiety behind the curtain, everyone milling around and congratulating each other on a drama-free opening night. Madame Markova, who had received a standing ovation herself, even gives Cass a hug, startling her. The normally stoic woman is smiling mistily, as if a fond memory has come to mind.

Mara runs over and grabs her into a hug, still in her princess outfit, dark hair glowing beautifully against her little tiara. “We’re all going to the Lamb and Hare for drinks - they said they’ll stay open later for us, you have to come!” Cass hugs her back, feeling a sense of overwhelming joy. “I’ll meet you there,” she promises, knowing she’ll have to ice her feet for a while in her dressing room if she wants to walk the next day.

Mara gives her a kiss on the cheek, before darting off to gather more troops. Cass makes her way back to her dressing room, hands already busy taking out the dozens of pins stuck into her hair, finally getting the last one out just as she reaches her dressing room door. It’s quiet and peaceful and smells beautifully of calming lavender, and she feels herself start to relax.

She’s in the process of taking off her stage makeup, feet in her ice bucket, when a knock on the door sounds. “Come in!” She says, immobilised by the ice. The door opens to reveal masses of flowers, the bouquets she hadn’t been able to carry back, with a few more added for good measure. “Oh, John - thank you, you can just put them down - I was going to go back for them later,” she says, trying to stand so she can clear space on her dressing table.

She hears a little laugh, so familiar, just as the flowers are lowered onto the table, revealing a grinning Max Verstappen behind them.

“Oh!” Cass is stunned for a second, then it’s chaos as she completely forgets about the ice bucket, tries to run towards him, and trips as ungracefully as a ballerina ever has, falling straight into Max’s arms. The ice bucket is overturned, water going everywhere, but she can’t bring herself to care as she covers Max’s face in butterfly kisses.

“You crazy man, you have so many meetings in the morning - how did you even -” her kisses taste faintly of salt, and she realizes she’s dripping tears all over him. “I couldn’t miss your opening night, kleintje,” Max says teasingly, and she lets out a little sob. “Did you see? Did you get to watch any of it?” She asks, wiping her traitorously running nose.

“Got in just before the doors closed. Cass - you were incredible.” She can hear the awe in his voice, and she loves that he’s seen what she’s been working on for months on end. She rests her head against his chest, hearing his steady, unshakeable heart beating, his resolute arms around her.

They stand like that for seconds, minutes, hours, days, just revelling in the unusual experience of being present for the triumph of a loved one. Then Max leans down, puts his lips to her ear and says, “Let’s go home.”

—

Chapter Text

“I’m home!” Cass calls out, dropping her keys into the little dish by the front door. She walks through the little corridor, the walls lined with vintage travel and Grand Prix posters, into the living room.

They’ve been in the new house for a few months, and Cass must admit it’s an upgrade over the previous one. For one thing, the hot water works consistently. The living room is also huge, and drinks in the light, so even though the sun has started setting earlier and earlier, it’s still nice and bright. Cass had splurged - a lot - on the furniture, and had even bought Max the enormous TV he’d wanted.

There’s now even space for guests, and Sophie and Victoria are scheduled to come over to stay for Christmas, where she and Max will be hosting a party for the first time. Thankfully, the absolutely enormous and well-stocked kitchen has pretty much everything a person might need to feed fifty people, let alone the more modest ten that have been invited.

But Cass’ favourite place is the living room. They’d bought a huge, wrap-around couch, upholstered in the softest wool, and Cass can be found there most days if she’s not on the cushioned nook by the bay window which makes a perfect reading spot. Luke’s housewarming present for them was paying for an arborist to come and plant some tall flowering trees in the front garden, and Cass can’t wait to see them all bloom in spring. Before that, though, there’s the working fireplace with a beautiful marble mantel above it to hang Christmas stockings come winter.

Daniel, having come by to check out the place when they’d first moved in, had taken one look at the antique furnishings that Cass had picked out and ordered a custom made oil painting of Max and Cass in a classic Renaissance style. She’s wearing a beautiful gown whilst Max is wearing what can only be described as a Red Bull racing suit made into a suit of armour. Daniel hadn’t been able to stop laughing when he’d handed it over, and Max had scowled darkly at his friend then promptly hung it up over the fireplace, pretending he doesn’t love it. Cass thinks it’s pretty cute.

Max isn’t in, but she’s gotten into the habit of telling the house when she’s come home. With the sun setting earlier and earlier, it can get slightly gloomy before all the lights are on. She heads to the kitchen and starts making a quick meal for herself. She checks her watch - she hasn’t got much time.

Since Folk Tales premiered and her Vogue article came out, she’s had endless interview requests and fashion-related invitations, especially to any Capon event. Out of a sense of loyalty to Lila, not to mention a fair amount of encouragement from the Royal Ballet PR division, she does her best to attend as many as she can.

This, together with the intense performing schedule she’s agreed to since there’s huge demand from audiences wanting to see her dancing Folk Tales, means she’s accrued a significant amount of goodwill which she’s used to barter for time off over her and Max’s 21st birthdays. Madame Lloyd had actually agreed, with the condition that she has to be back for the closing performance and in good form. She’d even wished her a happy birthday in advance, with a hint of a smile.

She finishes her meal and cleans up the kitchen, running upstairs to take a shower before grabbing the little carry-on suitcase she’d packed for her trip. She’s on the red eye flight to Sochi, scheduled to land a few hours before Max’s flight. She’d managed to convince Luke to finagle Max’s flight and hotel details out of the formidable Maura as a birthday present to her, and she’s booked a room on the same floor. She plans to surprise him when he arrives.

Of course, her flight gets delayed, so she makes it to the hotel just before Max is scheduled to, and barely manages to get into her room and chuck her bag into a corner before she hears his voice and flings open her door.

To reveal an entire host of Red Bull personnel, Max included, standing in the corridor. Of course they’d all checked in together, she laments, shaking her head. They had probably chartered a jet together, since there aren’t any direct flights between Singapore and Sochi.

She slams her door shut again, thanking the powers above that they’d all been looking in the other direction, but knowing that her plan to surprise him on arrival has been completely destroyed. She stands on her tiptoes, squinting through the peephole to make sure that everyone has gone into their respective rooms.

They stand in the corridor for far too long, especially for people who’ve just come off a long flight together, chatting and looking around. Finally, finally, they start filtering into their own rooms, and after agonising ages - probably about ten minutes in total, in real time - the corridor is empty. She waits for a beat, then opens her door as quietly as possible, walking as silently as her years of ballet training have taught her, then knocks on Max’s door.

Silence. There’s absolutely no response, and she’s getting antsy that someone will come out of their room at any moment, so she knocks harder. Still no response, and now she’s wondering if Max has gone into the shower and can’t hear her, so darts back into her room and tries to think of how to check.

With a flash of inspiration, she goes to the hotel phone and follows the procedure for calling another room. There are a couple of rings, then a groggy “Hello?”. She throws the phone down, then runs back to Max’s door - her own door closes slightly less quietly than before in her rush - and knocks again.

“Jesus, what?” Max rips open the door, an expression like thunder on his face that changes into complete surprise when he sees her standing on the other side of it. He looks up and down the corridor and, seeing no one around, pulls her into his room, slamming his door shut.

“This is why you didn’t pick up my call!” Max says accusingly, curving his hands around her jaw and tilting her chin up so he can press a kiss to her smiling mouth. “Happy birthday, old woman,” he says, bestowing kisses all over her face as she laughs helplessly. “Max, that tickles,” she says, poking him in the ribs. “And don’t be rude, I’m only four days older than you.”

“I can’t believe you’re here, in Sochi of all places,” Max marvels. “I’ve got the whole week off,” Cass says breathlessly, tiptoeing so she can wind her arms around Max’s neck - to give him better access to her own, of course.

“How did you know where I was staying? You never asked me anything,” Max asks, much later. They’re sprawled on Max’s enormous bed, the once-pristine white sheets now crumpled, and he keeps reaching out and touching her as if he can’t believe she’s real. As if on cue, he extends his arm slightly so that his pinky finger brushes against her waist ever so slightly.

“Luke may have helped…” Cass hedges. Max frowns, thinking, then his expression clears. “Ah, he sweet talked Maura. I always knew she was an Errol fan,” Max says, shaking his head. “I saw him chatting with her in Singapore, should have known something was up. I’m surprised she’s giving out our hotel room numbers to competitors, though.”

“Aww, don’t be upset,” Cass tilts her face up to look at Max. “This is a good surprise, isn’t it? I’ll be here for your birthday too - and I’ve brought your birthday present!” Max’s lips curve into a smile. “You’re not the present?” He asks, pulling her back into his arms.

“Well, consider this part one of the present, but I won’t tell you anything else,” Cass says staunchly. “Oh yeah?” Max traces his fingers along Cass’s waist and she shivers deliciously. “You sure I can’t tempt it out of you?” Cass shakes her head, confident in her ability to withstand any interrogation tactics Max might throw at her. “What if I do this?”

In a flash - those damned racing reflexes - he’s flipped them over so she’s under him, and her breath leaves her for a second, staring into his mischievous blue eyes, and then he’s tickling her mercilessly as she begs for mercy. “Tell me what my present is!” He demands, a complete child, redoubling his efforts when she refuses.

“You’ll - be - sorry if I tell you!” Cass gasps between laughs, her eyes leaking tears and her stomach muscles aching. She’s wriggling like a worm, trying to get away from his evil fingers, but Max is honestly far stronger than he looks. “I promise! You’ll want to wait for your birthday.” Max relents, releasing her.

“You promise?” Max demands, holding her wrists down so that she can’t escape, and staring down into her eyes. Cass nods quickly, eyes snagging on Max’s pouty bottom lip. She lifts her heads up and catches it between her teeth, biting down gently. Max groans, a sound that goes straight through her like molten lava.

“If you get your present and you don’t think it was worth the wait, you can have another present,” Cass promises, giving Max another kiss, her body straining to be in direct contact with his. “I like the sound of that,” Max mumbles, finally dropping down and covering her body with his, his hands buried in her hair.

She slides a hand up his back, feeling his smooth, hot skin under the Red Bull polo t-shirt that’s all he wears on racing weekends, tracing the dip in his spine and the muscles of his upper back. “I missed you so much,” she admits, her other hand curving to fit the shape of his cheek, her thumb finding the dimple in his cheek and pressing in.

The Asia stretch of the F1 calendar is a tough one, with the paddock away for nearly a whole month and no opportunities for a quick dash back to London in between races. Given Red Bull’s Thai links, Max and Daniel had flown to Bangkok and Phuket before the Singapore race to shake hands and kiss babies. After Sochi, Max will fly to Tokyo for the Suzuka race, then he finally gets a three week break.

“I missed you too,” Max says, tugging on a lock of hair. “I miss the house too. How’s my baby doing?” Cass rolls her eyes, knowing he’s talking about the nice car he’s finally bought - rather than the ones Red Bull had loaned to him - since they now have a garage where he can park it. It’s a shiny little vintage Porsche, which Cass must admit is a very beautiful car.

“Your car is fine,” she says. “Anyway, what have you got on today? Should we get some room service? I’m starving.” Max pulls out his phone, humming as he checks his schedule. “Nothing much today, since its a travel day. I was just going to stay in and play FIFA,” he says, pointing to the little travel case he lugs everywhere with his Xbox setup.

“We should go out and find something nice,” Max suggests, sitting up. Cass pouts at the loss of his warmth, sitting up as well. “It’s your birthday, after all. We could maybe get Luke to come too, if you want. You should try some authentic Russian food since you came all the way here. Maybe they can put birthday candles on pickled herring,” Max laughs at the face Cass makes.

Cass is deeply tempted, mostly because she does not want to spend her 21st birthday sitting in a hotel room eating room service, no matter how nice said room service might be. “Luke’s not here yet,” she says, reaching out absently to hold Max’s hand.

It’s her first birthday without her dad, she realises. He’d always made the effort to be there for her birthdays, whether she flew out to meet him and Luke or he flew back from whatever business trip or race circuit he’d been at, even if just for a day.

As if sensing that her thoughts have moved elsewhere, Max squeezes her hand gently. “Do you want to eat waffles?” He asks, lying back down next to her and brushing his nose against hers, like a puppy trying to get its owner’s attention. “How did you know?” She says with the slightest huff of laughter, a hand darting up to wipe away a rogue tear.

“That’s what you always eat on your birthday, right? You told me last time, that your cook always made you waffles for your breakfast when you were growing up. Waffles with chocolate sauce, and strawberries.” Cass leans in, giving Max an extra tight squeeze of a hug for remembering.

“Yeah, let’s go get some waffles.”

—

Max had searched online for “best waffles Sochi”, which had turned up a store a short walk away, on the waterfront. He pulls on a nondescript t-shirt, a pair of shorts and a hoodie, which he pulls low over his baseball cap as they walk out of the hotel, using the back way since there are fans and journalists hanging around the front. Cass has sunglasses and a hat on - not too out of place, given the warm, sunny weather.

The store is empty when they arrive, not too surprising given that it’s just before lunch. Cass slides into a booth as Max goes to the counter to order, returning a few minutes later. “Move over,” he demands, sliding into the booth next to her. “I got a couple of options.”

This turns out to be a complete understatement, because no less than five plates of waffles are dished out by an extremely bored looking teenage boy, all with different toppings. Cass pulls the one with chocolate sauce and strawberries towards her and is about to cut into it when Max stops her.

“Wait -” he says, digging in the pocket of his hoodie, emerging victorious with a slightly smushed candle, which he shoves into the top of the waffle and lights with a lighter pulled out of his other pocket. “Make a wish,” he says, giving her an impatient nudge when she doesn’t say anything.

Cass smiles at her sweet boy, squeezes her eyes tight and makes a wish, before blowing the candle out gently. “Well, what did you wish for?” He asks, because he wouldn’t be Max if he didn’t. Cass rolls her eyes. “I can’t tell you, it won’t come true,” she says patiently. There’s not an inch of space between them in the booth, so his hand has migrated to her lap, and she gives it a squeeze.

He lifts their intertwined hands up and gives the back of hers a quick kiss, before letting it go. “Here, eat before the ice cream melts,” he orders imperiously, starting to cut up the waffles into big chunks.

Cass happily obliges, tucking in to her favourite treat, humming happily around her mouthful of sugar and chocolate. “Aren’t you going to eat any?” She asks, noticing that Max is just watching her eat, rather mournfully.

“Race weight,” he says, patting his completely flat tummy. Cass gives him puppy dog eyes. “Oh, please,” she wheedles. “Just one bite.” She holds up a forkful of still-crisp waffle with some whipped cream, caramel drizzle and crushed nuts to Max’s lips. “It’s my birthday, you have to do as I say, and I don’t want to eat alone.”

Max shakes his head, laughing as he opens his mouth obligingly and takes the bite of waffle. “Only one bite,” he mumbles around the mouthful of food. “Brad is going to kill you. Oh god, this tastes so good.” Cass laughs as he picks up a fork and takes another bite, this time of the waffle with bananas and Nutella.

“You’ve got some Nutella, just here - ” Cass swipes away a smudge of hazelnut cream from the corner of Max’s mouth, before licking it off her thumb. She looks up to see Max watching her with slightly hazy eyes, before his eyes flick up and he clears his throat, recognising that he’s been caught. 

“What else do you want to do today?” Max asks, straightening up slightly. He gives her a sheepish smile, cheeks turning a little pink. He’s so cute, she thinks dreamily. “Stop staring at me,” Max laughs. “You first,” Cass retorts, staring him straight in the eyes.

Of course, Mr Competitive takes that as the start of a staring competition. They’re each so stubborn, so addicted to winning, that neither wants to be the one to blink first, even though Cass’s eyes are watering so badly that a tear has run down her cheek and Max’s left eye won’t stop twitching. Cass is having to hold in her laughter at the crazy expression Max has adopted to make sure the twitch of his eye won’t inadvertently cause him to blink.

A babble of Russian interrupts them. Max blinks first because of a tap on his shoulder which startles him, and Cass lets out a triumphant “Ha!” before turning to the bored waiter, who is gesturing that he wants to clear the table, since he doesn’t speak English and neither of them have been responding to his Russian. “Please, go ahead,” Cass beams at the teen, trying to help tidy up even as the waiter efficiently stacks everything into the crook of his arm.

“I would have won,” Max murmurs into her ear, causing a shiver to go through her. “Maybe you would have, but I did,” Cass replies, turning and giving him a smug smile. “I let you win because it’s your birthday,” Max lies unrepentantly, although his cheeks flush, his surefire tell.

“Rematch at the hotel?” Cass suggests, noticing that the street outside appears to be getting busier. Max sticks out his hand to shake hers very formally. “You’re on, Errol,” he says gravely, the little curl of the side of his mouth and the deepening of his dimples exposing his desire to laugh.

—

Cass wins the rematch, but then Max insists on best out of five, and he somehow manages to win the last three, which annoys Cass to no end. “What’s my prize?” Max sprawls out on the bed, arms tucked behind his head, the very image of a gracious winner.

Cass flops down next to him, groaning. She’s barely strung together four hours of sleep over the past two days, and she’s gotten a bit of a headache from the effort of keeping her eyes open for so long. “Whatever,” she mumbles sleepily, burying her face in Max’s side. He smells lovely and familiar, a mix of their laundry detergent, his cologne and the particular scent of his skin.

She falls asleep, and when she wakes up, blinking sleepily, Max has somehow linked his Xbox to the TV and appears to be halfway through a FIFA match, all without waking her. He’s sat up next to her in bed, leaning back against a mountain of pillows, his left arm - the one that’s wrapped around her - completely still above the wrist so as not to jostle her.

She snuggles into his side, running her hand across the warm skin of his abdomen. “Good morning, princess,” Max huffs a laugh, fiddling with the Xbox controls to score some complicated-looking goal. “What time is it?” She yawns, stretching. Max shrugs, concentration on the game.

Cass watches sleepily until Max’s game ends, the room lit only by the flickering light of the screen. He wins 4-3, and turns to her, beaming. “Do you want to get something to eat? The waffles are probably not enough, right?” Cass doesn’t really want to get out of bed, but she wants to take a shower and should probably spend her 21st birthday doing something a little more exciting, so she agrees.

She lets Max take charge of deciding what to do as she creeps back to her room down the hall. Her hair’s a mess, her clothes are crumpled beyond belief, and she’s rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she hears a door open with startling suddenness and she freezes completely.

A fully dressed, wide eyed Daniel stares at her from the doorway of his hotel room, just next to Max’s. His surprise turns into a broad grin, and she can feel him about to say something in an incredibly loud voice, so she shoves him into his room and shuts the door behind her.

As expected, Daniel’s voice is deafening. “You’re here! In Russia! For… Max’s birthday?” His smile covers half his face, his eyes crinkling up, when Cass nods. The older man is a sucker for a romantic gesture, it seems.

“Oh shit, I’ve planned a sick birthday party for him too, you should definitely come. We’re going to go after the race on Sunday, one of Daniil’s friends recommended a club nearby. All the drivers are coming - well, the cool ones, anyway. It’ll be amazing.” His enthusiasm is sweet, really, and it’s nice for Cass to see that his and Max’s on-track drama doesn’t seem to have dimmed any of his affection for her boyfriend.

“What are you guys up to tonight? Want to grab dinner or something?” Daniel asks. He’s dressed to go out, in a loud printed shirt and trousers. “Oh, Max and I were going to go out… it’s, um. It’s my birthday today,” Cass says, seeing Daniel’s face turn disappointed and wanting to reassure him that it’s not personal.

Daniel’s grin returns full wattage, and she’s relieved. “Holy shit, are you turning 21 too? God you kids these days are growing so fast. Well damn, sheriff, we got a big celebration waiting for us, don’t we? Oh and - it’s a surprise party, so don’t say anything to ol’ Maxie boy.” He gives Cass an unexpected hug, startling her, and shoos her out of his room. “Go on, don’t want to keep lover boy waiting, do we?” He tips her a wink before heading to the lifts with a bounce in his step, whistling a vaguely familiar tune.

Cass watches him leave, before heading back to her own room further down the corridor. She takes a long, hot shower - it has been an incredibly long day - and tries her best to tame her hair, but the humidity of the seaside city has rendered it absolutely unmanageable. She puts on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, as well as a denim jacket that Lila had given her from Capon’s latest season.

They sneak out the back door of the hotel - now that more drivers have arrived, fans have started gathering outside the front door - and get into a chauffeur driven black SUV. “This feels very mafia-like,” Cass observes, tapping on the black-tinted windows. Max rolls his window down, showing her the width of the glass. “Bulletproof,” he drawls, giving her a wink. “That’s how they do it here.”

Max - or rather, Maura - has booked a table in the wine cellar of a restaurant a short drive away from the hotel, in quite a posh residential neighbourhood. The glimpse she catches of the dining room before they’re whisked into their private room is of older, affluent-looking people, speaking in low voices. Lots of blondes.

There’s no pickled herring on the menu, thankfully, but Max does order a huge amount of caviar, which he takes a bite of and makes the most disgusted face she’s ever seen. The rest of the things they’ve ordered aren’t too out of their comfort zone - grilled mushrooms, some sort of beef stew, a cherry pie for Cass - and they have a lovely dinner, the little basement wine cellar feeling like an alternate world from the bustling restaurant.

Max holds her hand above the table, fiddling absently with the sparkling bracelet on her wrist - the present he’d given her months ago. They’re sat on opposite sides of the table, which is so tiny that there’s scarcely enough room for their plates. Despite it being race weekend, she and Max have split the better part of a bottle of wine, and she’s feeling rather dreamy and relaxed.

“This is a nice birthday,” she says, squeezing Max’s hand. He brings her wrist up to give it a kiss, smiling back at her. “I’m happy you came out here,” he replies, or something along those lines - the sensation of his thumb stroking a regular rhythm down the bones of her wrist has made the world go a bit fuzzy.

It’s so lovely, this little room for the two of them, the universe shrunk down to just them two. That’s why it’s a bit of a surprise when the door opens to reveal a large cake covered in pink frosting and what looks like twenty one candles, accompanied by a troupe of singing waitstaff. She sits up straight, pulling her hand back, as the cake is placed ceremoniously on the table in front of her.

“We take photo!” The maitre’d beams, waving for her and Max to sit closer. She’s about to say thanks but no thanks when Max darts around the table and wraps his arms around her, leaning in to give her a smacking great kiss on the cheek. The maitre’d snaps a photo, the flash blinding her for a second, which is printed out immediately from the camera and handed over to them.

The waitstaff finish singing and file out, leaving a faint ringing in Cass’ ears, and a smile that stretches between each of Max’s. “Make a wish, kleintje, ” Max says, leaning down and giving her a kiss. She smiles up at him. He’s so proud of himself for pulling everything together in such a short amount of time. “Already granted,” she replies, drawing a happy smile from Max, but she still closes her eyes and blows out the candles.

—

“You need to read this,” Vicky, his press officer, shoves her phone into his hand. Max is walking as quickly as possible through the paddock so that he doesn’t have to answer any questions or take photos, as he always does. She’s practically jogging to keep up with him, but something has got a bee in her bonnet, her expression like thunder.

Since the start of the season, the press have been all over him and Daniel and publishing endless articles about how they’ve fallen out. It’s nothing Max hasn’t seen before, and he’ll probably see hundreds of them in the future, but Vicky will not be appeased so he heaves a childish sigh and takes a look at the screen.

Then he stops dead and lets out a few choice swearwords in Dutch, German and French for good measure. He shoves the phone back to Vicky and just straight up runs to his driver’s room.

The second he gets in, he slams and locks the door, pulls out his phone and calls Cass.

“Cass, have you seen this?” He interrupts her cheery hello and slight rambling about what she’s up to - walking around Sochi, presumably - with a brusque opener, before realising that she definitely has not, because if she had, she would be absolutely freaking out. “Cass, there are photos of us. At the restaurant. It’s out.”

Max’s brain whirs with the possible repercussions. He’ll have to manage his dad, who will be fuming - he hates the Errols, thinks Mr Errol looked down on him and that Luke’s a woke arsehole, not to mention the fact that Jos is a racist bastard. Christian won’t be bothered, Helmut will probably be annoyed that Max isn’t sticking to the purely celibate racing-focused life that he’d prefer all drivers to have. His mum will be over the moon, because she absolutely loves Cass, and doesn’t really understand why their relationship has to be so secretive.

But for Cass… she’s intensely private, hates for people to know anything about her that doesn’t have to do with ballet, gets annoyed whenever someone introduces her as Luke’s sister - as if she isn’t an incredible person all on her own. And he gets it, because he’d always wanted to prove himself beyond being Jos Verstappen’s son, even as he wishes sometimes that he could show Cass off to the world, because he thinks she’s the best thing ever.

“Cass? Are you there? Talk to me,” he urges, when Cass’ silence has gone on for a beat too long. “Wait - I’m just - I’m just looking at the news articles,” her voice comes faintly through the phone. “How did they even get the photo of us with the cake? The restaurant printed out the photo for us and gave it to us straight away,” she sounds puzzled rather than upset, which is a plus.

“I don’t know,” he says, looking up as someone bangs on his door. “Kleintje, are you okay? I need to go but - is this okay? We can’t go back to being secret anymore, so I guess… we’re just public now?” He stands up and unlocks his door, waving Brad in. He needs to start his warmups before qualifying begins. 

He can hear Cass humming in thought on the other end of the line, as Brad shoots him a curious glance. Normally Max is immediately in race mode when he’s at the paddock, raring to get into the car as quickly as possible, so it’s rare for him to not be ready for warm ups. He holds a finger up to indicate he just needs a minute, as he waits for Cass to respond.

“Yeah,” Max lets a whoosh of air out, feeling as if he’s been filled with helium instead. “For real? We’re public now? So… you can come to the track? I’ll get Maura to sort the passes - fuck this is amazing. Do you want to come now? Maura can get a car to pick you up, wherever you are.” He’s been zapped with lightning, just at the thought of Cass coming to watch him race, wearing his Red Bull paddock pass - maybe even his Red Bull jacket, it’s quite windy here.

“Not today, love,” Cass says, tentatively. “I think I need some time to process this… is that okay? I’m heading back to the hotel now, I’ll meet you here after your session and we can talk about… everything.”

Max deflates again, although he figures this is still more progress than he thought they’d make. He’s distracted throughout qualifying, only managing to place 11th, dying to get back to the hotel and reassure Cass that everything’s going to be fine. His phone is buzzing nonstop with messages from his family and friends, but he ignores it as he goes through the post-session debrief with the team, speed walks out of the paddock and gets into his blessedly silent car back to the hotel.

No one at Red Bull had asked him about Cass, although that was partly due to him hiding from Vicky whenever he wasn’t in the car or in a meeting. She’s definitely going to grill him about the relationship, since it’s her job to make sure she knows everything, but for now he’s had a reprieve.

He’s a fast moving machine all the way up to the door of their hotel room, when he pauses, hand in his pocket on the room key. He’s been sleepwalking through the entire day, and now it’s finally time to have the conversation he’s been waiting to have for - well, probably since the beginning of their relationship.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door. He doesn’t know what he was expecting to see on the other side of it, but it was not Cass surrounded by racks and racks of clothes, looking completely terrified.

“What’s all this?” He asks, taking a tentative step into the room. There’s so much… stuff. Cass looks up with an expression of despair.

“Oh my god, Max - this lady came by, Vicky? And she - she called Francesca, and Francesca called Lila - I don’t even know how she knows Lila - and they just sent over all of… this,” she waves madly at the completely full hotel room. “Look, there’s a book too,” she runs over to the bed and brings back a book filled with photos of clothes. “Lila said I have to learn how to match all the clothes together, but until then…”

Max looks around, still confused. “Why do you need to learn all of this?” He asks. As far as he’s concerned, Cass looks great all the time, and she never complains about her clothes being uncomfortable or being too cold or hot. The only clothes she’s really particular about are the ones she wears to work, and even then it’s mostly performance related.

“Well… they said I should dress up, if I’m going to be… you know. Your WAG.” Cass looks up at him uncertainly. “That’s what they’re called right? The driver’s wives and girlfriends?” Max raises his eyebrows, twisting his mouth to the side slightly. “Do you mind… being called that?” He asks, wrapping his arms around her.

“Well, I am your girlfriend, that’s just factual,” Cass says, propping her chin on his chest. He hopes he’s not too sweaty - he’d skipped his usual shower in favour of returning earlier. “And you don’t mind, you know. Going to the race with me?” He shoots her a grin, hoping she can’t feel his heart beating like a hummingbird in his chest. 

Cass heaves a sigh, taking a look at all the things in the room, and Max knows he’s got a bit more convincing to do. “It could be my birthday present? Please?” He says hopefully, giving her begging eyes. “I already got you a birthday present, idiot,” Cass rolls her eyes at him, and that’s when he knows he’s won.

“Well, only if you help me pick out what I’m going to wear,” Cass says, shoving the book into his chest. “I couldn’t care less, honestly.” She disappears into the bathroom, shoving her hair into a messy ponytail, and Max’s mouth runs dry at the flash of the smooth, pale skin of her neck. He clears his throat and looks back down at the book, flipping through some pages.

“What, no orange?” Max calls out to Cass, flopping onto the couch in the living room. He doesn’t know where to start with all the outfits - they all look pretty decent, to his untrained eye. He tosses the book onto the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes. He’s got a decent amount of overtaking to do tomorrow from his qualifying position, but if Cass is going to be there, he’s determined to get as far ahead as possible.

“Here.” Max’s eyes fly open and he manages to catch the gift wrapped parcel that Cass tosses his way just before it hits him in the chest. “What’s this?” He asks, delighted, already ripping off the paper. Max loves gifts.

Cass curls up on the couch next to him, looking over his shoulder as he puts the wrapping paper carefully to one side. “I wonder what’s in here,” Max says, laughing. The gift bag that’s inside the paper is very obviously backpack shaped, but he still opens it up and pretends a bit to be surprised, because that makes Cass happy.

“Did you pick an outfit yet?” Cass asked, poking the book with a finger as if it’s about to bite her. Max flips it open to a random page and points. “This one.”

—

Max walks into the paddock on his 21st birthday with a big, shit-eating grin on his face, his new backpack around his shoulders, and his girlfriend’s hand in his. Christian has arranged some weird fucking song and dance thing to welcome him in, and Cass immediately tries to let go the moment she sees all the cameras trained on him, but he holds on tight.

They walk through the paddock, smiling awkwardly, as a full marching band plays the birthday song, and some mimes walk around them, and there are a bunch of ladies in traditional Russian dress. The crowd of performers around them actually helps prevent the media from shouting questions at Cass, so Max doesn’t particularly mind.

They get to the front of the Red Bull motorhome and the team are all waiting in front with a big cake in the shape of Max’s helmet - and oddly, a couple of Russian dolls. Max finally has to let go of Cass’ hand, and she immediately darts to the back of the crowd, next to Daniel, as Max cuts into the cake. He shoots her a look, but she just gives him a look a vague amused panic and disappears into the motorhome.

He hands out some cake, takes the rest and heads to his driver’s room, where Cass is waiting. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?” He asks, putting the cake on the table. Cass is looking around his room, pretending not to snoop, which he finds incredibly cute. “Paddock walk, check. Next thing is for you to stand in the garage, they can film you acting like you care about racing when I do an overtake. Then it’ll be over, and they’ll stop caring so much. It’s the first time that’s the worst.”

He’s just repeating what a stern Vicky had told them earlier that day when she’d come to the hotel to give them a rundown of the expected sequence of events. Vicky had given her stamp of approval on the outfit Max had picked for Cass - Max, rather unfairly, is wearing his Red Bull polo and skinny jeans as per usual - before letting them loose.

Cass looks up from where she’s been leafing through the box of things he needs to sign. “Don’t worry about me, love, I’ll be fine,” she gives him a confident smile, which has a tinge of bravado in it.

Brad bustles into the room, and Max starts getting ready for the race. He has to admit he’s showing off a bit for Cass, doing everything slightly faster and better than he normally does. Vicky pokes her head in a bit later, looking around. “Everyone trundling along?” She asks, somewhat frantically. “Francesca asked me to give you this, dear, and she said you can go by at any time,” Vicky says, handing a Ferrari VIP pass to Cass.

Max scowls, momentarily distracted from his neck exercises. “She’s going to watch from my garage,” he snaps. Vicky raises her hands. “Just the messenger, Max. Don’t shoot me.” She’s used to Max’s moods, because she’s the first person who has to deal with him after his race ends, whether its a win or a DNF, and she’s tough as nails. “Anyway, you’ve got five before media and the driver’s parade. Cass, sweetheart, you don’t have to hide in the room - you could get a bite to eat if you want.”

She disappears as quickly as she came. “Are you going to be okay while I’m gone? I’ll be back after drivers’ parade,” Max asks Cass, resuming his neck exercise when Brad prods him sternly in the shoulder. “I might… go to the Ferrari garage for a bit,” Cass says tentatively. “I mean, I know everyone there, and Seb’s wife is here as well and she’s really nice.” Fucking Daniel, Max thinks to himself. If Daniel had a girlfriend to keep Cass company, maybe she’d stay in the Red Bull garage.

“Yeah, sure, but you’ll be back before the race right?” Max frowns. Maybe race day wasn’t the best day for Cass to be here for the first time, he’s got basically no time to himself and of course she doesn’t want to stand around by herself. It’s too bad Sochi isn’t really one of the races where people go, not like Monaco or even Belgium where his mum would have been.

Max had been dreading media but it hadn’t been too bad, actually. The news couldn’t have come out on a better day, because the journalists can’t decide whether to ask him about his birthday, whether he’s going to improve from 11th, or about Cass. There’s only one fuckwit who asks about whether Christian’s worried about secrets spilling between Ferrari and Red Bull, and Vicky gives him such a hard look that Max swears he sees the guy’s legs tremble. He’d just given a one-word answer: no.

—

“Cassandra, ciao! You are dark horse, eh?” Is the first thing Cass hears when she enters the Ferrari motorhome. She’d kept her head down and walked quickly, and still she’d been followed by a bunch of cameras - no one asking any questions, just lots of cameras clicking and whirring, just the creepiest experience of all time.

The person speaking to her is Maurizio Arrivabene, the team principal of Ferrari and Luke’s boss, and Cass feels a wave of panic that Maurizio remembers her name, let alone knows who she’s dating. Luke’s by her side in a second, giving her a tight hug. “You okay, kiddo?” He asks, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze when she nods.

“What’s with the outfit?” Luke gives her new clothes a scrutinising glance up and down and Cass feels immensely self conscious. She’s wearing something from the book, basically Lila’s living doll for whatever she thinks an F1 WAG should be wearing, which today means a stiff silvery leather mini-skirt, some sort of complicated top that she’d needed Max’s help to get into, and a pair of extremely high heels. She’d been praying not to trip the entire walk over. “You look nice, but it’s not very you is it?”

“Ugh, leave me alone,” Cass rolls her eyes at her disapproving older brother. “Anyway, is Hanna here? And don’t you have to get to media? That’s where Max has gone.” It’s a bit of a thrill saying Max’s name out loud here, after staying secret for so long. Their entry into the paddock had been chaotic, and she’s already exhausted from the effort of pasting a neutral smile on her face. Now all she wants to do is sit down somewhere with a person she actually knows, away from all the nosy questions.

As if on cue, Francesca comes over to shoo Luke over to fulfil media duties, and she’s pointed in the direction of the dining area. Hanna’s there with her and Seb’s two kids, along with a brunette woman who is introduced as Kelly, Daniil’s girlfriend. Hanna’s got her hands full with her two girls running absolute riot, and Cass is happy for the distraction in helping Hanna in trying to get the girls to eat a decent lunch as she chats with the two women.

“How are you doing?” Hanna asks, giving her a look of sympathy. Hanna’s intensely private, and Ferrari have catered for this by having a little separate space in the dining room for her and the kids whenever she comes to a race, which Cass really appreciates right now. “I’m fine, really,” Cass insists. She hates having people fuss over her, as if she’s too fragile, even if she does feel slightly disconcerted by the attention.

“Why wouldn’t you be fine?” Kelly asks, curiously. Her eyes are a very piercing sea glass green, and Cass feels like she’s under a microscope when Kelly turns her gaze on her. Cass struggles to explain why she is completely fine performing and giving interviews about her actual job but hates media attention otherwise, and she thinks her long-winded explanation makes her sound rather self-obsessed, and Kelly seems to have stopped paying attention, so she gives up.

“Well, I’ve known Max for a long time and you’re a lucky girl,” Kelly says, giving her a vague smile. Cass smiles back, whole-heartedly agreeing. “And your outfit, it’s from Capon’s latest season, no?” Kelly reaches out and pinches the hem of Cass’ skirt with two fingers, feeling the material. “Hm, nice.” She flips her long, dark hair - Cass is deeply envious of how smooth and straight it is - over her shoulder and leans back, distracted by something she’s seen outside.

Cass and Hanna’s eyes meet over the table, Hanna’s eyes dancing with mischief. She’s not spent that much time with Hanna, but she knows a kindred spirit when she meets one. They’d sat together at the FIA awards and had made whispered jokes about the long-winded speeches and the ridiculous glitz and glamour. She has a feeling Kelly would very much enjoy all of that.

Hanna changes the subject to tell them a story about her problems renovating their house in Switzerland, and Kelly heads off to look for Daniil, who has more free time since he’s the reserve driver. “So, really, you doing okay?” Hanna asks once Kelly’s left. Cass shrugs, and thankfully Hanna seems to understand. “It’s worse these days because of the camera phones and people taking pictures all the time, but people will get over it, just give it some time,” Hanna gives a reassuring smile.

Cass nods, grateful for Hanna’s advice. The older woman seems perfectly settled and happy, slipping under the radar at races, staying out of the public eye at home, and it gives her hope that she and Max have a similar future ahead of them.

“Ah - excuse me, please, I’ve got to take this.” Hanna gives her a relaxed wave, and Cass walks a short distance away to answer her phone. “CASS!” Jamie screams into her ear, excited as anything. “I turned on the TV and there you were, looking amazing, and Max is looking kinda cute too,” he babbles into the phone. “And then they showed this smoking hot guy, so maybe I’ll keep watching? But how are you doing, that entrance was crazy.”

Cass’ feet have led her to Luke’s driver’s room, and she shuts the door behind her as she takes her aching feet out of the shoes and wriggles her toes. She’d obviously told her friends about the media leak, and their group chat has been blowing up ever since, with Mara and Jamie following all the twists and turns of the day. They’d loved her outfit as well, which had been the reassurance Cass had needed since neither she nor Max is particularly fashion forward.

“I’m at the Ferrari side now, hiding,” Cass whispers, leaning against the w. all. The only downside of the Ferrari hospitality suite is that the walls are extremely thin, and she can hear everything going on outside. “Hmm, that’s fine, but you’re going to get back to the Red Bull one before it starts right? You need to stand by ya man,” Jamie puts on an exaggerated American accent for the last sentence, making Cass giggle.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go back,” Cass says, to a happy cheer from Jamie. “I’m so happy you guys are FINALLY public, it’s been way too long and now I can finally flex that I know an F1 driver. Did you know F1 is actually popular with guys?”

Jamie regales her with tales of men he’s dated who try to talk to him about sport for a while, before gasping and alerting her that the F1 drivers’ parade is about to end. “You better hustle back to the Red Bull place, the race will start soon!” Cass snorts with laughter at the odd scenario of Jamie being her F1 schedule coordinator, but agrees to hang up.

She steps into her high heels slightly gingerly, the blisters on her feet protesting, and is about to leave when she hears someone speaking in the next room. “Yeah, flat as a pancake. No, really! She could be wearing cling wrap and they wouldn’t be able to find a curve. Capon’s genius but they have nothing to work with, not with that body. Like a little boy.” A nasty laugh.

Cass’ cheeks are burning as she looks down at her outfit, one that she’d been so proud of just moments before. She knows she’s not got the most voluptuous body, far from it, but she’d thought the clothes had been nice at least. It’s crushing to hear someone’s honest opinion, since neither Max nor any of her friends would have told her that to her face.

Swallowing back tears, she slips quietly out of the Ferrari garage, pulling a pair of sunglasses over her eyes as she walks quickly back to the Red Bull garage. Luckily, most of the media seem to have moved over to the actual drivers rather than people in the paddock, so her walk back is pretty solitary, and she makes it back before Max.

She says hello to a few people she knows - Christian gives her a brief pat on the shoulder before dashing out to his seat in the little control booth outside - and then Max walks in, surrounded by cameras and microphones, and beelines towards her.

She knows that all of this makes him really happy - her being in his side of the garage, supporting him publicly - and the big smile on his face smooths away some of the weirdness of the situation. Plus, he looks incredibly cute in his little racing suit with a big smile on his face and his dimples showing. It almost makes it worth it to deal with all the shit that comes with it, even the awful comments about her body she’d overheard at the Ferrari suite.

“You got your headset and everything, yeah? Vicky will show you how to tune into my radio, or you can listen to the commentators. Did you see my helmet?” He holds out his helmet as if it’s show and tell, and Cass takes hold of the helmet so she can take a better look. “It’s really heavy,” she says, turning it over. Max is stroking her arm like she’s a skittish horse, using his body to block her from the intrusive cameras protectively.

“Can I have a kiss for good luck?” Max asks quietly, leaning in. “Since when have you asked for permission?” Cass laughs, lifting her face to Max’s. Max tilts his head, eyes darting towards the cameras and raising his eyebrows. Cass shakes her head slightly, indicating that she’s not too bothered, and raises her free hand to cup Max’s warm, smooth cheek, tracing the curve of his cheekbone as she tiptoes to kiss him.

“Good luck, birthday boy,” she murmurs, and she can feel his smile against her lips.

—

Max gets into the car, feeling invincible. He reaches up and squeezes his medal three times, then flips the visor of his helmet down.

“Radio check?” He says, fiddling with his steering wheel as they start the formation lap.

“Loud and clear, Max,” GP’s calm voice comes through his earphones.

“Just want to give a shoutout to … my girlfriend, who’s listening,” Max says, a grin on his face. He would normally never say that, but he can’t help himself - he’s been filled with this sense of unreality the whole day that Cass is actually there, and that he can actually call her his girlfriend on his recorded and broadcasted radio link. GP responds with a small laugh.

“She didn’t hear that, she’s listening to Errol’s radio,” GP says, but Max knows that’s a joke because Cass wouldn’t do that to him.

Then it’s time to focus and line up on the grid, all the way in 11th. He can hear his own breathing, quiet and regular, just another day at the office. A day at the office with Cass watching.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink… Blink.

He has a shit start, dropping back two spots immediately, but he isn’t going to spend his 21st birthday breathing in dirty air so he grits his teeth and sets his sights on the yellow rear wing of Hulkenberg’s Renault, overtaking it on the second lap, then taking on Sainz a couple of turns later. He focuses on taking each car one by one, and gets up to third place within 14 laps.

Then Hamilton pits, then Seb, and Max is running in clear air on the 19th lap, ahead of the pack. He knows it won’t be forever, because he still needs to pit, but fuck it feels good to be leading a race on his 21st fucking birthday, in a solid car, his girl watching, the sun shining. He wants to stay out for as long as possible - fuck it, maybe he won’t pit at all, and just eat the penalty. It’d be sick to cross the chequered flag first, fuck the consequences.

“Box, box,” the dreaded call comes with 10 laps to go, and Max regretfully pulls into the pit lane, knowing he’ll come out behind a couple of cars. It was fun while it lasted, but he can’t build up the gap he needs for a free pitstop with this car. Maybe next time.

“Errol in front, gap is six seconds, Daniel is behind,” GP updates him when he rejoins the track. He drives as quickly as he can, but he can’t make up the space between himself and Luke and he finishes fifth, not too shabby since he’d started 11th. “You put on a good show today, Max,” GP says as he drives up to parc ferme. They both know why.

He’s impatient as he gets weighed, and a couple of the other drivers are discussing the fairly controversial team orders that Mercedes had implemented, forcing Valtteri to give up a race win for Lewis.

Max listens with half an ear, not particularly interested since it has nothing to do with him and he just wants to get the post-race shit done so he can get out of here and finally celebrate his birthday. Unfortunately, everyone wants to hear his opinion on the team orders, or about his plans for his birthday, or slightly better, talk about his overtakes, and he’s in media for even longer than usual. 

He speeds through all his responses, before heading straight back to the garage and looking for Cass. She’s leaning against a wall, arms crossed and with a neutral smile on her face, with Christian nattering away to her excitedly. Max can see the boredom in her eyes, even from where he’s standing. Max walks up and slips an arm around her waist, leaning down and giving her a kiss, as Christian gives him a congratulations. “About as well as we could have wished for it to go, after yesterday’s qualification,” Christian says, balanced as always.

“What did you think?” Max asks Cass, who gives him a wry smile. “Your ego doesn’t need any feeding,” she says, tilting her face up for another kiss. “Ah come on, it’s my birthday,” Max wheedles. “You were brilliant, my love,” Cass says, finally, and Max beams. “Did you hear me saying hello on the radio?” He asks, and Cass laughs. He’s relieved she’s not upset, given it’s probably brought a bit more attention onto her. Whoever hadn’t been aware that he has a girlfriend will definitely know now.

“The whole world heard you say that, Max,” Christian butts in, and Max gives his boss a smile whilst inwardly wondering what the quickest way to leave would be. Christian seems to sense his impatience and waves him away, wishing him a happy birthday before leaving to speak to someone else he’s spotted.

“I’ve got another present for you back at the hotel,” Cass whispers to Max, who needs no more encouragement to return to his driver’s room, shower and change into his normal clothes, and get into the waiting car as speedily as he can.

Back at the hotel, Cass makes him put on a blindfold - extremely cool, and he’s definitely not scared of the dark - and sit on the bed. All he can hear as he’s waiting is some rustling noises, and after what feels like far too long, he can feel Cass’ cool fingers resting against the side of his face as she slides the blindfold gently off.

“Holy. Fuck.” Max breathes as he takes in what’s in front of him.

“Do you like it?”

Cass is wearing… well, not much other than a skimpy pair of knickers and a big red bow across her chest. Max thinks he might have blacked out for a second, because suddenly Cass has her hand on his elbow, and is looking slightly concerned.

“I love it,” he says, coming back to life, tugging on one end of the ribbon and feeling very gratified when the silky material immediately starts slithering out of the knot. “If I ever forget to tell you this - you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, and the only present I’ll ever need.”

—

Chapter Text

Cass has held Max’s heart in her hands from the moment he met her, her little six year old fists firmly on her hips as she unapologetically trespassed in his go-karting tent, flitting over the spare parts and oil cans as if they were props on her grand stage.

Since the moment he’d stepped through the flaps of the tent, slumped over like a dog that knows he’s about to be kicked, only to see this… girl, moving with such joy in the normally gloomy tent, he’s known he would do anything she asked of him.

For once, he’s woken up earlier than Cass. She looks so peaceful, a little smile curving her lips as she breathes deeply and evenly. She’s stolen all of the blankets, as usual, but it’s fine because he runs hot at night. They’d spent the whole of the day before painting the guest bedroom green - Cass’s choice, one that Max is only too happy to leave to her since above all he wants her to like this house - and it had been a lot more work than either of them had expected.

He’s pretty sure he’ll be finding smudges of green paint in unexpected places for the next few days. Neither of them is particularly good at anything truly useful. Sure, Cass can cook and Max can do laundry and iron his shirts, but neither of them is going to start their own renovation business any time soon.

It’s nice to have a quiet weekend to themselves, though. They’d counted the number of weekends where neither of them had to work, and it added up to about six the whole year. Far too few, in Max’s opinion, but with the FIA adding more and more races to the calendar it wasn’t looking likely to increase any time soon.

Cass must be having a dream, because she opens her mouth and says something unintelligible, followed very clearly by the word kangaroo. Max watches in amusement, deciding to lean in to the whole lazy lie-in concept, even though every ounce of his Jos trained body is telling him he should get up and head to the sim in the spare room or go for a run. One day without the sim is acceptable, two in a row is not.

But Cass is here, all warm and nice-smelling, and Max lies back down and snuggles surreptitiously closer to his girlfriend, wrapping his arm around her, carefully, so as to not wake her up. But he’s either too rough or the callouses on his fingers scrape her skin or something, because she wakes up with a start.

“Mmm? Wha- oh, Max,” she mumbles, turning around and burying her face in his chest. He sleeps in just a pair of boxers, so he feels the touch of her lips to his bare sternum deep, the familiar bolt of lust and love shooting through him. She noses at his bare skin, the feel of her warm breath against his skin electrifying. 

“What time is it?”

Max twists his head to check the clock on the nightstand - it’s shaped like a globe, a birthday present from Victoria - and groans. “Too early,” he says, pulling Cass towards him and covering her eyes with one hand. “Go back to sleep,” he orders, smiling when his imperious attitude gives her the giggles.

“I’m properly awake now,” Cass protests through her giggles. “I want to see how the room’s turned out.”

So this is how Max finds himself, seven in the morning on a bloody Saturday, inspecting the frankly terrible paint job that’s decorating the walls of their spare room. Because he would do literally anything Cass wanted. If she asked him to jump off a cliff he’d probably ask if she’d like him to do a swan dive or somersault.

“Do you think we should redo this bit?” Cass is crouched in a corner, flashlight in hand, staring intently at the wall. “I think we should pay someone to come and redo the whole thing,” Max says with a smirk. Cass turns and rolls her eyes at him dramatically.

Cass has been obsessed with the idea of the decorating the house by themselves, but the two of them are absolutely terrible at it. The money she’s spent on materials is probably about as much as it’d cost to pay a professional to do it.

“It’s fine, kleintje, just don’t look at it with that big light,” Max says, pulling Cass away from where she’s started stroking the paint, as if that’ll make it smoother. “We can’t have your mum stay in a room with patchy paint!” Cass protests, although she allows him to pull her up to her feet.

“It doesn’t matter,” Max says, snorting. His mum is one of the least fussy women he knows, and she definitely won’t notice a bit of chunky paint on the wall. “She’ll be more interested in the garden, anyway.”

“What’s wrong with the garden?!”

Max groans as Cass gives him a reproachful look and heads down the stairs, probably to try and get the grass to grow quicker with the power of her stare or something. They’ll never be done with all the fixes Cass wants to do to get the place perfect at this rate, but he can’t seem to bring himself to mind.

—

The sun sets early these days, and Cass and Max are arguing over how to get a fire going in the fireplace even though it’s not nearly cold enough. Cass thinks the warm orange glow might make Max enjoy winter sunsets a bit more. Max just wants to light things on fire. “Look, you have to build a little structure like this -” Max says, shuffling the little logs they’d bought online into a little triangle.

“Yeah, if you want half of it to never catch,” Cass rolls her eyes, reaching out and moving them to that they are in a vaguely overlapping shape. “Look, just try it my way and see if it works. Don’t be such a big baby,” she laughs when Max pouts.

“Fine, fine,” he concedes, handing her the matches and fire-lighter. She proudly sets it on fire and tosses it onto the pile of sticks, beaming when they quickly catch and turn into a nicely blazing flame and turning to Max with a big grin on her face.

“Okay, you were right,” Max admits. He doesn’t hate losing as much when it’s to Cass, although he still thinks his way would have worked. He can’t be too upset when he sees how happy she is that she’s won. His girl is just as competitive as he is, maybe more.

“Yay,” she says, wriggling a little like a puppy that’s been given a treat. The fire does look good, making a nice crackling noise and letting off little sparks every now and then. It smells good, too. He wonders if they can melt those little fluffy things in here, the ones that melt onto biscuits. That would be pretty cool. Or they might set their house on fire.

It’s nice sitting in their living room with the fire going, he thinks to himself. As always, there’s music playing somewhere in the house. He recognises this song, at least - a slow, jazzy ballad from one of Cass’s favourite artists. The room has gotten a lot warmer, but Cass has put this nice fluffy blanket over them, and he can’t stop rubbing his thumb against the material. They’re sat on their super comfortable couch, he’s kind of sinking into the back of it and Cass has her head on his shoulder, looking at the fire with a dreamy expression.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks curiously. Cass blinks as if she’s coming back from another planet before her eyes focus on him again. “Mm, lots of things. The gala, Christmas…” Her final performance of Folk Tales is on Saturday, a matinee, with a gala dinner afterwards. One of the upsides of them being public now is that he can attend as her date, but he’s pretty nervous about what he’s going to talk to the fancy ballet supporters about. Also, he’ll have to put on a tux.

He’s watched Folk Tales a couple of times now, whenever she’s performing and he’s in London, and every single time he can’t believe how easy she makes it look. As someone with absolutely no dance ability, he marvels at how Cass seems to float, barely tethered to gravity as she spins and leaps across the stage, and manages to act out the story at the same time. In his completely biased opinion, she’s the best ballet dancer in the whole world, ever.

“Did they tell you who is sitting at our table?” Max silently hopes for Mara, or even Alexei - someone he’s actually met before - but he knows the chances are slim. No, they’ll be sat with some mega donor to the ballet, someone deeply, deeply obsessed with his girlfriend. They’ll talk about ballet all night, and he’ll be completely lost. He’ll sit silently the whole night and people will think he’s an asshole, because he has nothing to say.

“Madame Lloyd, Madame Markova, Lila, Michael, couple of donors, and, um… Ben,” Cass shoots him an apologetic look as Max scrunches up his face. “What’s he doing there?” Max has nothing against the guy, really, but he seems a little too helpful for someone who allegedly views Cass as a friend.

“He’s Lila’s date since he’s the new face of the men’s Capon, and there’ll be some fashion press there,” Cass says. “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be busy mingling and won’t have time for us. It’ll be you, me and all the lovely ballet fans,” she beams at him as he groans theatrically, pulling the fuzzy blanket over his face.

“Did Lila get in touch about the tux?” Max nods in confirmation. He’s worn the same tux for about four years, ever since he stopped growing taller, and it’s done the job. For this occasion though, Lila has offered to “dress” him, as if he isn’t an adult who can dress himself. Apparently he’s matching Cass - not that either outfit has been completed yet - so he doesn’t mind too much.

He’d been mercilessly mocked by Daniel at the Japan Grand Prix when Lila had sent someone direct to the Paddock to get his measurements, the tailor somehow managing to get all the way into the Red Bull motorhome, but he can admit it was worth it.

“What are you thinking about for Christmas?” Max shuffles over slightly so that he can put his head on Cass’s lap when she sits up. She absent-mindedly cards her fingers through his short hair and the gentle stroking of his scalp feels so nice that he almost purrs.

“Do you think everyone will get along?” Cass has an unusually high fear of conflict, in Max’s opinion. They’re having a bunch of egotistical race car drivers over, not to mention his teenage sister - there’s going to be sulking, and probably lots of it, at a minimum. They’ll probably be on good behaviour in front of his mum, so physical violence isn’t likely, but if there is they can always take it to the garden. The Verstappens are no strangers to brawls over dinner.

“It’ll be fine, just get everyone drunk and put on the fire, we’ll all fall asleep after dinner, probably right here,” Max laughs. He likes the idea of a fun, chaotic Christmas, especially after how terrible the previous Christmas had been. He’ll be Cass’s sous chef, Luke can be in charge of drinks, Victoria can do the music - it’ll be perfect.

There’s still loads of time before Christmas, anyway. There are only four races left on the calendar, but he thinks he has a good chance of podiums at all of them if he continues the way he has been. And if he’s up on that step, there’s no reason for his dad to nag at him to focus on driving and break up with Cass.

It’s maybe a simplification of things to say that Jos doesn’t like Cass. He doesn’t know her - at all, really, never having had a conversation with her. His mum’s approval means nothing to Jos, who only cares about what Cass represents - distraction. Any time there’s negative press coverage on Cass and his relationship, Max knows his dad will be in his messages, stirring the pot.

You race like shit when she’s there.

You’re distracted.

Stop fucking your girlfriend and get back on the sim.

Max knows his dad just wants what’s best for him, in his own way, so he ignores what he can and focuses on proving that he’s still all in on racing. He might not have been on the podium in Russia, but he’d made up for that with a pretty brilliant drive at Suzuka, and he’s been pouring every spare minute into training.

Except for the ones that he’s spent painting the bedrooms, going on walks in the park, lying on the couch…

Brad tells him its good to have some recovery time, that it helps build mental fortitude.

He tries to remember that as he soaks in the bath Cass ran for him when he said his back hurt. He refuses to call it a bubble bath - there might be bubbles, but that’s besides the point. It’s all about recovery. It also smells incredible - basically exactly what Cass smells like every night, flowery and fresh. She says the smells are part of the healing process.

He’d never really had baths growing up, and he’s confused as to what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s just sitting in some hot water, staring at the wall - how does Cass spend so much time in here every day? He can’t even check his phone because its across the room by the sink, and anyway, his hands are all wet.

“I’m bored!” He shouts through the door, knowing that Cass is doing her stretches on the other side. True enough, he can hear her laughter, followed by the sounds of her footsteps getting closer, then the door opens.

“You just can’t relax, can you?” Cass walks in, carrying a pair of pointe shoes, just so that she can roll her eyes in front of him. Max pouts in what he hopes is a charming way, and asks her to keep him company.

“Fine, but only because I put a lot of expensive bath oils in there and you need to sit in there for at least 20 minutes,” Cass relents, disappearing for a second then returning, dragging a little chair behind her.

She sets up camp next to the bath and resumes sewing ribbons onto her pointe shoes. It’s crazy to Max that the dancers have to do this - he can’t imagine being able to fiddle with any aspect of his race gear, let alone smash it to pieces and rebuild it the way Cass does her pointe shoes. Surely there’s some way of making the shoes right the first time.

“What does the shoe maker do with all those measurements of your feet, then?” Max demands. He has a sneaking suspicion this shoe guy has some sort of foot fetish, if he goes to the extent of making plaster casts of the dancers’ feet but still can’t make shoes that fit.

“They fit, all of this is just so they move the way I like,” Cass explains patiently for the hundredth time. She’s propped her feet up on the side of the tub so that she can balance the pointe shoe in her lap as she rummages for a pair of scissors in her sewing bag.

You can never tell a great racing driver just by looking at them - Max is pretty sure he looks like every other Dutch guy his age, maybe a little shorter - but you can definitely tell a ballet dancer from their feet. Cass has always been really self-conscious about her feet - they’re constantly battered, sometimes bleeding, always covered with bits of tape. Max thinks of all of these as her battle scars.

“Are you sure you want to drive tomorrow? There’ll be quite a lot of drinking, and I don’t want you to fill like you’re missing out,” Cass frowns. “Yeah, it’s fine,” Max shrugs. He knows Cass is still pretty nervous about being driven by strangers, after her dad and Luke’s accident. She’s improved significantly - there’s not much choice, really - but he doesn’t want her to worry about another thing on the day of the gala.

He’s growing to like the bath, if he’s honest with himself. It might be purely psychological, but he thinks the hot water might actually be doing something to his muscles. He feels like he’s about to fall asleep.

After the requisite 20 minutes, Cass puts her sewing away and tells Max he can leave the bath. He pretends to be relieved, but he’s growing to like the bath, if he’s honest with himself. It might be purely psychological, but he thinks the hot water might actually be doing something to his muscles. He feels like he’s about to fall asleep.

He has the best sleep he’s ever had in his life that night, and immediately goes online to buy his own supply of Cass’s expensive bath oil. For mental fortitude.

—

“This has got to be a joke,” Max says, staring at his outfit in disbelief. He’d expected to be wearing a plain black tux to the gala, and instead he’s got… this.

A puffy white shirt, a pale green waistcoat with flowers and shit embroidered across it, and a dark green jacket and trousers. He’ll look like he’s going to the hills with Heidi in this outfit.

Cass comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and curling, all fresh faced and pink cheeked after scrubbing off all the Folk Tales makeup. They have about an hour to get ready before they need to leave for the gala, and Max had been tasked with unzipping the garment bags their outfits had been delivered in that morning.

“Oh, they’re gorgeous!” She walks over and rubs the material of her dress between her fingers, then holding it out to Max to feel. Max grudgingly admits that the material of her dress feels nice, some sort of silky thing. Cass’s dress is a full sized version of the waistcoat, a pale green dress with flowers all over it.

“They’re so sweet, we’ll be matching,” Cass beams at Max and basically that’s how he finds himself in a flowery suit, standing in a ballroom with Cass on his arm, saying hello to people who have no idea who he is - which suits him just fine - and listening to people heap deserved praise on his beautiful girlfriend. Praying that Jos doesn’t see any of the thousands of photos that have been taken of him.

He looks like a sheep farmer in this outfit, but Cass looks incredible. The straps of her dress look like tiny green vines, and against her pale skin and with her red hair curling over them - well, he hasn’t been able to stop staring at her, and he can tell she’s getting embarrassed.

She still blushes any time someone says something nice about her, so she’s basically red as a a fire hydrant the entire duration of the cocktail hour, because people keep coming up to them and gushing about her performances in Folk Tales. She’d done a total of 15 performances over the run - pretty unheard of, since most principals do about three or four - and some people had watched every single one.

“You’re a star, my dear.” Lila can’t sneak up on them despite her diminutive size because her shoes make her about seven inches taller, and have heels shaped like flowered vines, similar to the pattern of their outfits. Cass beams at the woman and throws her arms around her, giving her a tight hug.

“Thank you for these beautiful clothes,” Cass says warmly, squeezing Max’s hand. “Yes, thank you,” he echoes lamely. He is not thankful for the clothes. Lila turns to him, her eyes dissecting him from top to toe. He suddenly wishes he’d found time to get a haircut before coming here, and suppresses the urge to scratch the itch that’s formed on the back of his neck.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome couple,” Lila says finally, giving him a smile and a little nod. Max smiles back, feeling somewhat shy. “Now, I must pull our lovely Cassandra away for a moment to meet some of my favourite people,” Lila shoots him another dazzling smile, and before he knows it he’s standing by himself in the middle of a ballroom of ballet fans without even a beer in hand because he’s driving them home.

“Oh - um, hey.”

“Er, hello,” Max replies, looking up at the man next to him. A very tall, skinny guy who’s wearing a similarly flowery suit, except his is jet black with the pattern picked out in black velvet, Max notices jealously.

“I’m, er - I’m Ben, I think we’re at the same table.” Ben offers his hand, which Max eyes distrustfully. The guy clearly has no idea who Max is, but Max is very aware of who he is - Ben, lead singer of a mega popular band, person with a really nice apartment and who liked Cass enough to let her stay there indefinitely. She’d described him as “just a friend”.

“I’m Max,” he finally says, turning to grab a glass of water from a passing waiter. Ben finally drops the hand that’s been outstretched for an awkward amount of time, seeming to realise that Max isn’t going to shake it.

Thankfully, someone comes by to speak to Ben and Max is relieved of his company. Max quickly downs his glass of water and heads to the toilet, where he hides until Cass texts him that it’s time to be seated for dinner.

—

At the table, he has a nice conversation about Monaco with the person next to him, whose name he forgot immediately after they were introduced. The people here are very different from the glitzy crowd that turn up at F1 events, although they do all still have something in common - incredible amounts of bling.

Ben is across from him, droning on about his current tour of America. He, Max and Cass are the only people at this table under the age of 50 - minimum - and to Max’s great enjoyment, no one has heard of Ben’s band.

“And you play… rock and roll music?” Madame Lloyd, Cass’s boss, asks politely but in a voice that makes it very clear she is not a fan. Ben swallows then nods, wind taken out of his sails.

“Ben’s band is very popular, Madame Lloyd - Bullet Theory’s album debuted at number one, didn’t it?”

Max glowers at Cass, who doesn’t see it because she’s too busy giving Ben Fuckface a sympathetic look. Her interjection has limited impact on Madame Lloyd, who still looks fairly unimpressed, but an elderly man has apparently heard of Bullet Theory and starts talking to Ben about his musical influences.

“Ah, the Muses!” The elderly man mishears Ben’s reference to the band Muse and goes into a tangent about the Muses, and this, apparently, is a topic where everyone else at the table has lots to say.

“… but of course, we have our own Terpsichore here, don’t we?” The elderly man beams at Max, who looks blankly back at him, before he realises that the man is actually looking at Cass. Who has, of course, turned beet red.

Apparently everyone else knows what the old man is talking about, because they launch into an animated conversation, this time about the development of the ballet, which develops into a discussion about the costumes, where Lila goes into a tangent about the way the ribbons wave or flow or something like that.

Max looks across the table and inadvertently meets Ben’s eyes, and in a flash he can see that Ben is just as out of place here as he is. He gives the other man a little nod of acknowledgement, but Ben just slides his eyes away. Max frowns, following his eyes to see that he’s staring at Cass.

Max wraps his arm around the back of Cass’s chair, tugging on one of her curls possessively. She’d been listening to the conversation intently, although she hadn’t said anything yet,  but at this she turns and looks at him inquiringly.

He gives her a smile and kisses her cheek, and she smiles back and squeezes his hand. Max leans back slowly, turning his head back to face the opposite side of the table, managing to catch a glimpse of Ben looking absolutely devastated before the other man manages to control his expression into a pleasantly neutral one.

Just friends, my ass.

—

There are endless speeches, and in the lull between the mains and desserts, Ben gets up with a shy smile. “Duty calls,” he says, gesturing to the stage. Max watches with disgust as he strolls up the stairs and someone brings out a guitar, which he starts strumming.

“Jesus, these musicians will do anything -” Max whispers under his breath to Cass, who shushes him quickly, looking completely absorbed in what’s going on in front of her. Hmph, Max sulks. If they had a race track, he’d show them what real excitement looked like. Ben was basically that annoying guy who took out his guitar at every party to sing Wonderwall.

“… and since I’m here, at a gala celebrating the ballet, and without my band, I thought I could od a cover for you guys. I hope you know it.”

Ballerina girl

You are so lovely

With you standing there

I’m so aware

Of how much I care for you

Max looks up from his sulk, begrudgingly acknowledging that Ben has quite a nice voice, actually, before he clocks that the fucker is looking longingly at Cass, who is now busily studying the menu that’s on the table.

Fuck that. He reaches over to grab her hand, pulling her attention to him, and kisses it. She looks up at him, and smiles.

“You wanna get out of here?” He whispers, leaning in close. Cass gives him a stern look. “You promised to stay for the entire thing,” she says, her whisper a breath of wind on his ear. “That’s before this guy started… singing at you,” he huffs back.

“Ben’s just a friend, and he’s not singing at me - there are at least fifty ballerinas here,” Cass straightens up, looking annoyed… and guilty. Max straightens up as well, taking his hand out of Cass’s and crossing his arms across his chest.

He’s doggedly silent through the remainder of the song, and even claps politely when Ben finally stops his wailing. The shaggy haired bastard returns to the table, still with that simpering little smile, and basks in admiration as people come up to compliment his singing.

He’s silent through dessert, but no one’s really trying to talk to him anyway. Cass’s attention is pulled in a hundred different directions, with sponsors and fans wanting to talk to her all night. She hardly notices his sulk, which makes him even sulkier.

He can’t eat the dessert anyway, but the moment Cass takes the last bite of chocolate fondant he stands, folding his napkin neatly and placing it next to his untouched plate. “Let’s go,” he says, standing and turning to leave the ballroom. He hears Cass bidding goodbye to the rest of the table as he walks towards the exit.

She catches up with him as he’s passing his ticket to the valet. His vintage Porsche is parked right in front of the hotel, and he doesn’t want anyone else to drive it, so he just takes his keys from the valet and heads to the car.

“Wait for me -” Cass protests as she stumbles in her high heels over the gravel driveway towards the car. He rolls his eyes petulantly but holds out his arm to help her balance, and they make the rest of the way to the car together.

Max slams Cass’s door harder than he normally would, and he can tell that Cass knows he’s upset. Good. He gets into his side of the car and buckles his seatbelt.

“What’s gotten into -” the rest of Cass’s words are drowned out as he revs the engine unnecessarily, before peeling out down the driveway.

—

“Are you going to tell me why you’re acting like you used the wrong leg to get out of bed?”

Max is still annoyed at Cass so he doesn’t smile at her use of her favourite Dutch saying even though he must admit she’s finally used it in the correct way for once.

He puts the car in park, shuts off the engine and slams his door shut, not bothering to open hers for once. “Max!” He hears her protest, before slamming her own door.

He’s halfway up the stairs before she makes it to the front door, and she finally catches up to him when he’s sat on their bed, cursing as he tries to undo the tiny pearl buttons of his waistcoat.

“What is your problem?” Cass blows into their room like a whirlwind, her hair frizzing around her head, her expression like thunder. Max looks up and she shuts up immediately.

“What is your relationship with Ben, exactly.” It’s a statement rather than a question, said with deadly calm that he’s somehow managed to find despite feeling like he’s about to explode. “We -” Cass starts.

“And if you say you’re just friends, I’ll put a fucking hole through that wall.” He points at their bedroom wall, which has some fancy handprinted wallpaper on it. She loves that wall.

Cass sighs, her shoulders slumping. “We went on a couple of dates, that’s it,” she admits.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You stayed at your ex-boyfriend’s house when we were living together? Are you really telling me that right now?” Max rages, standing up and taking a step towards Cass. He’s filled with feelings he can’t name, except that he knows if they had a colour it’d be the deepest, darkest black.

“Max, seriously, we only went on a few dates, he’s hardly my ex-boyfriend,” Cass protests, looking startled. Max wants to put his fist through the wall anyway, so he does. Cass cringes away at the sound, but the wall is harder than the ones in his old place and all he manages to do is really hurt his hand.

“Fuck,” he swears, shaking his hand out. The bloody expensive wallpaper doesn’t even have a dent.

He looks up to see Cass glaring at him, and he feels as if the tables have turned when she turns on her heel and stomps out of the room. “Cass -” he starts, groaning when he hears the door to the guest room slamming behind her.

With his pent up rage draining out of him, he feels like a colossal fool. He flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Cass has always known he has a bad temper, he tells himself. She’ll know he just got triggered and that it doesn’t mean anything. Anyway, she should have told him what her real relationship with Ben was.

—

He wakes up the next morning, still in the waistcoat, slightly disoriented.

Cass has been in the room - she moves so quietly, it’s almost freaky - because her dress from the night before is hanging from a hanger on the outside of their wardrobe and the room smells faintly of her shampoo.

He lies in bed feeling sorry for himself for a while. He’s headed to America for the Austin-Mexico-Brazil triple header that afternoon, which doesn’t give him much time to make up with Cass.

At this point he doesn’t really care who was wrong, he just wants to know she’s not mad at him anymore. She’s got the day off today, he knows, so she should still be home. He finds her in the living room, poking at some sticks that she’s trying to set on fire in the fireplace.

“Someone really smart told me you need to make sure they’re touching each other for the whole thing to catch fire,” he says. Cass stiffens up, then resumes her fiddling with the sticks. Max doesn’t know what to say, since his olive branch has clearly been rejected, so he just stands there like an idiot.

The room isn’t even cold enough for a fire, but he’s wise enough to know Cass doesn’t want to hear that right now. She finally gets the fire going and stands up, brushing nonexistent dust off her trousers.

“If you ever punch that wallpaper again, I’m kicking you out,” she informs him sternly, but her tone is even and the eyes she turns to him are green and open like a calm sea, so he takes a few quick steps towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her up, her legs automatically wrapping around his hips in an attempt to stabilise herself.

“I’m serious Max, that was £80 per panel.” She smiles, despite herself. “I’ll punch myself before I punch the wall, promise,” Max says, shifting so that he has a free hand to draw a solemn cross in the air. “You don’t need to go that far, just go to the boxing bag or something. But you need to learn how to calm down,” Cass sighs, her palm hugging the side of his jaw. 

“Look, last night was an important night for me and you threw a tantrum in front of everyone I work with.  You can’t do that, okay?”

Max nods quickly, eager for her forgiveness. He only has a few hours with her before he leaves for nearly a month. He’d say anything to make her stop being mad at him. “Never again,” he promises sincerely.

He lets Cass down and she pulls him to the couch, their favourite place to laze about. “You looked very nice yesterday,” he says, carding his fingers through her hair. “Well, you look very nice as well,” Cass mumbles against his sternum, which is how he remembers he’s still mostly dressed in his goat herder outfit.

“I couldn’t get the buttons off,” Max pouts, fiddling with the tiny pearl fastenings. Cass reaches for them and undoes them in about half a second. He breathes a sigh of relief, wriggling out of the stiff material and his shirt as quickly as possible. “Thank God, I thought I was going to have to be buried in that shit,” Max flops back down on the couch, throwing his discarded clothes as far away as possible.

“You’re so dramatic, you would have gotten it off eventually,” Cass rolls her eyes. “I can’t ever do one of those things without drinking,” Max complains. “You need to learn how to drive, seriously. How did you grow up in the countryside and not know how to drive?”

“I was hardly on the farm with a tractor,” Cass says dryly. “Anyway, I moved to London when I was 12. Nobody drives here.” Max shakes his head, disbelieving. “Anyway, you need to learn. That’s what we’re going to do this winter break, I’m going to teach you how to drive.”

“And then I can drive your Porsche?” Cass asks mischievously. Max shoots her a look. “We’ll get a second car,” he says firmly.

—

Chapter Text

Cass watches as Max’s car drives away.

The house immediately seems emptier whenever he’s gone. When Max is here, he provides a constant stream of observations, wisecracks and jokes, all delivered completely deadpan - and then followed by an immediate beaming smile. She can’t blame him - if she could make jokes in Dutch, she’d be pretty proud of herself too.

Now he’s off for nearly a month for the triple-header that goes from America to Mexico to Brazil, and she can start to feel herself getting lonely. It’s just so quiet in this big house. Her old flat had been full of noises - creaking water pipes, the slamming of her neighbour’s door, the muffled sound of conversation coming up from the street below.

This house is in a residential area, and is newly (or properly) built so that it doesn’t make a sound. The windows are triple glazed, and once they’re closed it’s like she’s in a hermetically sealed coffin. She has literally watched ambulances speed by with their lights flashing crazily and not heard a sound.

She’s rarely home, so it shouldn’t bother her like it does, but the chaos and camaraderie of work offers such a stark difference to the still silence of the house. She can’t wait for the end of season when Max will finally be here for long enough for the house to feel properly like a home that they share.

She lights some candles to drive away the October gloom. The sun has set already, so she decides to get some dinner ready. She turns on the TV so that there’s some noise in the house, then starts taking out all the things to make chicken soup.

Max must have been watching the racing channels again, because the TV blares out the now-familiar light-speed voice of the Dutch F1 commentator. Max pays extra - and, Cass suspects, somewhat illegally - for Dutch channels to get streamed to their house, claiming they remind him of home. Cass thinks he just prefers listening to the very Max-friendly commentary rather than the pro-English commentary that’s on Sky.

She’s been trying to learn a little bit of Dutch, although she finds it difficult to get her tongue around the decidedly different way of speaking. She’s never been good with languages, and is deeply jealous of Max’s ability to speak several different ones fluently.

She can catch a couple of words here and there, but the speed at which the commentator is speaking makes it almost impossible to understand. Unfortunately, Dutch people don’t speak any slower in their day to day conversations. Max is constantly having rapid phone conversations in Dutch with his family, his manager and his friends that she can’t understand at all.

Ingredients prepped, she tips them all into the pot of bubbling water on the stove and sets a lid on the top for it to boil for a while. She then heads to the living room to switch the channel to something more manageable. Dutch cartoons.

She’d never even watched English cartoons as a child, but now she’s well versed with a Dutch children’s programme about a family of ducks. She sits on the couch for a bit, then stands up restlessly to grab her foam roller. She’s never been one to be still for long.

“Spitter, spetter, spater, lekker in het water,” she repeats dutifully after the duck on screen. She’s not quite sure whether any of those words will be helpful in crossing the communication barrier she has with Max’s family, but she files away the words in the hope that she’ll someday see Sophie or Victoria at the beach or something.

Tiring quickly of the incomprehensible cartoon, she puts on a random Spotify playlist instead of the TV to accompany her stretching. The TV is logged into Max’s Spotify account, and she thinks that her constant use of it has confused the algorithm completely. Max’s recommended songs are a mish-mash of the classical tunes that she uses for practice, Max’s preferred 80s hits, and the indie pop music she puts on as background noise every now and then.

She’d woken up with a list of things to do, but she can’t quite remember what they are. Stretches done, she heads to the kitchen to save her pot of soup from the stove. She sits at the dining table meant for 10, facing into the lovely garden, and drinks her soup disconsolately.

She’s not received any comments about leaving the gala early, but she knows better than to think her behaviour has gone unnoticed. In an environment as hierarchical as the Royal Ballet, the correct thing to do would have been to ask Madame Lloyd if she could leave rather than dashing out mid-way through dessert.

If only Max could understand that she has absolutely no interest in Ben. She doesn’t know why circumstances keep throwing her together with the musician, but it’s certainly not her choice. She may have gone on a few dates with him, but there’s no one in the world who makes her feel the way Max does - like she’s come home.

She wallows in the silence of Max’s absence as she washes the dishes, all the way til it’s time to get ready for bed. Max is still on the plane to Austin - it’s a chunky, nearly 11 hour flight - and she won’t be able to speak to him until the next morning. She’s also got rehearsals scheduled all day, as she needs to catch up on all the rehearsals she’s missed as a by-product of performing Folk Tales so many times.

A brief smile passes across her face as she thinks of Folk Tales. While she’ll be glad to be rid of the stifling corsets - Lila had not been joking about wanting her to have the tiniest possible waist - she’d performed it so many times that she feels as if it’s a part of her DNA. She can feel the confidence of the princess in the way she lifts her chin, the cheekiness of the peasant girl in the way her walk has an added sway to the hips.

She contemplates the other ways the ballet has changed her. The intense repetition of jumps she’s had to do for each performance has bulked up her calf muscles, and she flexes her feet in the bath as she makes a mental note to add in more stretching to lean out her leg. She’s playing distraught waif after waif from now til the end of the season - Manon in a month, then Giselle, and then finally La Syphilde. Mara had joked that the Royal Ballet artistic team must have been in a fit of depression when they’d chosen the season’s repertoire.

Manon is a fairly straight-forward tragic ballet. Manon is a beautiful girl who catches the eye of a nasty, rich old man but is in love with a penniless student. Through a series of highly predictable but deeply unfortunate events, she and her lover try to run away together, are alternately jailed and she gets deported to America where she dies in a swamp, in her lover’s arms.

Cass has been given a light schedule later on in the run, only doing a few performances, but she still needs to learn and practice every movement as if she’s performing every night. She’s familiar with Manon and Giselle, since they’re staples in the Royal Ballet repertoire, but she’s never danced La Syphilde.

It’ll be an incredible season, one which she can feel will put her firmly on the map as one of the best ballerinas of her generation. Every single ballet they’re doing is iconic, and she’s determined to build off the success of Folk Tales to show that she’s got the range to play tragic roles just as well as she does the spirited ones.

A lot of the articles about Folk Tales had mentioned her relative youth - mostly in a positive way, but she worries she might be written off as a one trick pony if she doesn’t show off her dramatic side soon. She’s ready to put in the work, and she knows that it’ll pay off. Ballet has always rewarded her for diligence.

And then, once the season’s over, she’ll have a long summer break. She’s already decided that she’ll attend every race she can during her summer break, but she hasn’t figured out whether she wants to surprise Max at the first one or if it’d be more fun for them to discuss it so they can make plans and travel together.

She spends way too long looking up the F1 calendar for the next year and trying to figure out which races she can go to, eventually falling asleep with her laptop in front of her some time past midnight. She wakes up later than expected and has to hustle to get to rehearsal on time.

Thankfully, her friends have saved her a spot at their usual barre. Madame Lloyd is running the rehearsal for some reason. With memories of Madame Lloyd’s hatred of tardiness and her sharp tongue ringing in Cass’s mind, Cass quickly stows her bag away and gears up for an intense morning class.

Cass loves morning class. The prescribed set of movements has followed her throughout her life and she finds that no matter what’s going on in her life, once she’s locked in on the flow of motion there’s a stillness and peace that can be found.

That’s why it’s such a shock when she lifts her heels to balance en pointe as she’s done a million times before and finds herself crashing to the ground.

—

“Cass, are you okay? Cass, can you hear me?”

There’s a panicked voice floating somewhere to the left of her head, but Cass can’t seem to catch it. Her brain tells her fuzzily that voices can’t be caught, but the thought flits away before she can hold on to it.

It’s dark and quiet here, and she can feel her body being grounded to the floor - her spine pressing in to the earth, just like her Pilates teacher always tells her to do. Then, suddenly, she’s being lifted in the air as if she’s a paving stone being hoisted by a crane, her spine bowing around the arms of the crane as her head and legs search for gravity.

“Watch her neck -”

“Hold the door!”

“Beep. Beep.”

Cass frowns at the discordant sounds that disturb the stillness she’d been looking for within, the sense of rightness that she gets when she’s done every movement as perfectly as she can, the stillness she’d had in the dark just a second ago.

Then, blessed silence.

—

Her feet are freezing.

Cass tries to rub her feet together to warm them up, only to be stopped by a sharp needle of pain in her right leg. She frowns and tries to sit up to see what’s wrong, but her eyes feel like they’re glued shut and the pain in her leg is too strong for her to move around too much.

She fights down the panic that is bubbling up inside her and tries to collect herself. She’s lying on a flat cushioned surface - a bed of some sort, she decides. She’s covered in a scratchy material, and if she’s in an unfamiliar bed with a scratchy blanket on her, she is most likely in the nurse’s office at the Opera House.

The smoke alarm batteries have run out again, because it keeps beeping - that must have been the annoying, constant beep that she’d heard earlier. Her arms and left leg are fine, so she must have hurt her right leg somehow and been brought to the sick bay to rest for a while before she can go back to practice.

She slowly peels her eyes open, wincing at the effort. She must have been asleep for an hour at least, for her eyelashes to have dried to her skin.

She blinks a few times to clear her vision, and as it clears her carefully constructed mental image of where she is tumbles into dust.

She’s not in the nurse’s office, with it’s familiar popcorn ceilings and grey-blue walls. This is most definitely a hospital room, and she’s hooked up to a shit ton of machines, and most importantly, her leg is in traction.

She’d only had a little fall, hadn’t she? What on earth could have happened to her leg that has made the doctors choose to hoist it up like this?

There’s no one in the room, so she presses the little call button to request for assistance. A blue-suited nurse comes in shortly after.

“Ah, you’re up! That’s perfect timing, we wanted to bring you in for an x-ray actually,” the nurse burbles away as he starts unhooking her from her medical equipment.

“What’s -” Cass’s voice is hoarse, so she swallows and tries again. “What’s happened to…?” She tilts her chin slightly at her leg, not wanting to say the words.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you hadn’t been told. You tore your meniscus, and badly too, love, you’ll be going in for surgery as soon as the doctor is available. Shouldn’t be more than a few days,” the nurse smiles in what he must think is an encouraging way as Cass’s hopes for the season crumble away from her.

As a dancer, she’s well versed in all the forms of injury that can happen in a ballerina’s career. She’s no stranger to sprains, bruises and bumps, and she’s witnessed her fair share of breaks and tears over the years. But other than breaking her arm as a kid, she’s never spent more than a couple of hours in a hospital bed. She’d almost thought of it as something that happened to other people, not to her.

“Can I have my phone, please?” She asks faintly. She needs to talk to Luke, to get his surgeon to operate on her - Luke’s surgeon is a miracle worker, she’d put him back together from all his tiny little pieces, she’ll definitely know what to do with Cass’s tiny little torn meniscus. It’ll be easy work for her.

“Of course, love - here’s your bag, one of your friends brought it along. You grab your phone and we’ll make our way to the X-ray theatre, shall we?”

Cass nods as she stares at the time flashing on her phone. It’s just past seven in the evening - she’d been out for the whole day. She has loads of unread messages that she ignores as she looks for Luke’s number.

He thankfully picks up after a couple of rings. “Cass! What’s up?”

His cheerful voice quickly becomes serious as she tearfully explains her situation. Luke’s terrific in high pressure situations, though, and before they’ve reached the X-ray theatre he’s already started on the arrangements for his doctor to come and review her case.

“You hang in there, okay? She’s the best of the best, you’ll be back in your ballet shoes in no time. Ask the hospital to give me a call, I’ll link them up with the hospital in Monaco.” Cass agrees, and ends the call.

Her head flops onto the thin hospital pillow. She’s suddenly exhausted, and she hands over her phone to the nurse without complaint when he holds his hand out for it. She winces against the blinding lights of the machine she’s been wheeled into, hot tears leaking out the sides of her tightly shut eyes.

Without even speaking to a doctor, she knows in her heart that this will change everything.

She’s never been prone to injury. It’s been a point of pride for her, that she’s always ready to perform. Being fit has given her so many opportunities to step up when others fall short.

But now, she’s the one in the hospital bed.

Someone else will get the chance to die tragically in a Louisiana swamp, someone else will enchant and devastate a faithless prince. She knows all too well that being the star ballerina isn’t a permanent position, she just hadn’t thought it’d last for one day after Folk Tales ended.

Her head is pounding, the LED glare seeping through her tightly closed eyelids.

—

Luke has either seriously charmed the Monagesque doctor or chucked half his bank account at her hospital, because when she next wakes up the doctor is by her bedside.

“Ah, you’re up! Can you remember…” The doctor babbles some medical terminology in her general direction and Cass nods uncomprehendingly. Apparently she also had a concussion when she’d fallen to the ground, and although she can’t remember she’s apparently been going in and out of consciousness. She feels like her head’s wrapped in cotton wool. Her eyes are all sticky and sore, as if she’d stayed up all night crying.

Slowly her brain processes what the doctor - Dr Duval, she remembers now - is saying. She hadn’t eaten all day so they can take her to surgery now, if she’s ready. A routine, tiny, baby surgery, Dr Duval seems to be saying. Of course, Dr Duval is used to patients with much more life-threatening injuries, but Cass isn’t really in a state of mind to have a sense of perspective.

“How long before I can dance again?” She croaks out when Dr Duval’s done explaining the process.

“If everything goes well, you can go home tomorrow, but you should keep your leg elevated for at least two days. it’ll be just six to nine months before you can return to normal activity, although we’d suggest taking it easy for a while.”

Six to nine months. So she’d miss the complete rest of the season.

Dr Duval has diplomatically busied herself with looking at Cass’s medical chart, so Cass clears her throat to get the doctor’s attention.

“Would you mind - do you know where my phone is? The nurse from earlier took it when I went into the… machine.” She finds she can’t remember the names of the tests she’s done. Maybe she hit her head when she fell, that would really be the cherry on top of a shit sundae, wouldn’t it?

Dr Duval frowns, then presses a button at her bedside which summons the friendly nurse from earlier. “Do you know where Ms Errol’s phone is?”

She has a thousand unread messages. That’s not even an exaggeration, she literally has a thousand unread messages.

Quite a few are from her friends, asking how she is. Luke has barraged her with information - he’s clearly in touch with Dr Duval, and seems to have received a fair amount of her medical information. Dr Duval is definitely in love with him or something.

And then, maybe a hundred from Max.

She’s been uncontactable the whole day, so she shouldn’t be surprised. Max is constantly on his phone, something that she never used to understand until they started dating. Max has so many friends. He’s in a zillion group chats, several of which blow up every time the Netherlands plays football.

She’s got the normal amount of friends, Cass thinks. She’s in some work chats, but since they’re expected to basically turn up at the theatre every day there’s not really much going on in there. And apart from Jamie, she sees her friends every day. Luke’s not great with texts, and her dad used to call her every morning to catch up, so they never really texted much.

But Max is surgically attached to his phone because everyone he knows is all over the world. Maybe it’s because he’s been travelling his whole life, his childhood as some sort of itinerant journeyman racing driver letting him meet people from all sorts of backgrounds.

He’s also incredibly famous, so obviously there are always people randomly hitting him up out of nowhere to ask for race tickets, interviews, favours of all sorts. Cass doesn’t know how he takes it - she’d probably just chuck her phone out the window if that became her life.

So, anyway. A hundred texts from Max, not to mention the missed calls.

“I need to make a call, could you give me a second?”

Dr Duval checks the very classy watch on her wrist, then nods, before leaving the room with the nurse in tow. It’s a brief but effective reminder to Cass that the good doctor has left her normal hospital - left her country - to come and treat Cass. A very polite way of saying, time’s ticking.

Cass calls Max. Belatedly, she tries to remember the time difference between here and - Texas, she thinks he’s in? It’s before six in the morning where he is, she realises guiltily, and she’s about to hang up when he picks up.

“Where are you?”

No hello, no sweet niceties. He sounds upset. Of course he’s upset, she’s gone AWOL for the whole day.

“Max, I’m in the hospital - don’t worry, I’m fine, I just -” Cass chokes on the words. She’s not fine. She’s basically unemployed for the rest of this year. Her leg is in agony, and her boyfriend has just left for a three week work trip.

“No - which - oh, excuse me -” his voice goes all muffled for a while, and Cass scrunches her face up in concentration as she tries to figure out what’s going on.

“Okay - thank you -” she hears him say, before the door to her hospital room slams open.

“Max?” She can’t believe her eyes, wonders whether she’s been given some sort of psychedelic experimental pain killer - but no, her leg is still a bright red lava stone of throbbing pain, so she can’t have been given anything good.

“But - you’re supposed to be in Austin, aren’t you? What day is it? Don’t you have to do some weird cowboy filming thing?” Max is by her bedside, running a hand over her forehead, smoothing back her hair. It’s heavenly. She forces herself not to be distracted.

“I flew here when Luke told me - why didn’t you call me? But never mind, I’m here now. Are you okay? What did the doctors say? Luke said you have to get surgery?”

“They said I’ve got a concussion, and they’re going to take me for surgery - but Max, what are you doing here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

Max shakes his head. “Nah, I told Christian and he said as long as I’m back by Thursday afternoon Austin time I should be fine - so I have two days. They’re going to rearrange my media so I get the latest slots. He was quite nice about it, actually.”

Cass’s brow furrows. All this special treatment is rather different from her own experience with the Royal Ballet but she supposes that’s what happens when you have one star driver instead of over 10 principal dancers. Christian’s put all his chips on Max’s future, and the power dynamic has shifted in that direction - now that they’ve kicked Daniel to the curb, they can hardly piss Max off.

She can’t complain - this is all to her benefit. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, squeezing his hand. She feels better about the surgery knowing that he’ll be here in case anything goes wrong.

“Is the doctor outside the one who’s going to do the surgery?” He asks, pulling a chair to the side of the bed. He’s not got anything with him, not even a backpack.

“Yeah, she says - she said that they can do the surgery any time now,” Cass frowns. Having surgery on a leg is every dancer’s worst nightmare. She’s heard far too many tales of botched repairs to be completely comfortable with the idea of being sliced up and put together, even if Dr Duval’s clearly competent.

“Did she say how long it’d take to recover?” Max listens quietly as Cass tells him everything she can remember from her conversation with the doctor. “That’s really long. That sucks, kleintje.” Max delivers this with his typical bluntness, his nose scrunching up in sympathy.

“Physiotherapy will help, and there are some other aftercare procedures that we can talk about after the surgery.” Dr Duval had clearly gotten bored of waiting outside, as she sweeps into the room and picks up the clipboard containing Cass’s information. “But we’d advise absolutely no dancing for at least six months after - ballet puts an incredible amount of stress on the body.”

She hasn’t gone six months without dancing since she was three years old, but Dr Duval’s expression doesn’t welcome any protest. “The theatre is ready - we’ll just get you prepped and then you can have the surgery. It’ll take about two to three hours,” Dr Duval says, flipping the pages quickly as a few nurses enter the room and start unclipping Cass from the various machines she’s attached to.

She looks at Max, and he can probably see the panic in her eyes because he crouches down next to her bed, ignoring the nurses who are trying to roll the whole thing out of the room. “It’ll be okay, Cass,” he says, stroking her hair. She clutches on to his hand desperately. “You’ll be okay, everything’s okay, you’ll go in and when you come out I’ll be here, okay?”

He keeps up a soothing stream of reassurances as she finally lets go of his hand and the nurses seize the opportunity to start wheeling her out. “You’ll be great! I love you!” He calls down the hall, attracting stares, and she twists her head around to catch a last glimpse of him waving to her just before the swinging doors shut behind her.

—

When she wakes up, she’s back in the now-familiar hospital room, a nurse standing next to her with a clipboard in hand. “Surgery went well, lovey - we’ll keep you overnight for observation, and then you can go home.” The nurse gives her a kind smile and leaves the room.

Her leg is numb. Her whole body is pretty numb, actually, which is a marked improvement over the agonising pain she’d been in earlier.

“How are you feeling?” Max is by her side, running a hand over her hair, his thumb tracing her eyebrows. “I’m fine,” Cass says automatically, turning to face him. She smiles at him. “You look like an angel,” she says. The sun is setting behind him and the rare English sunshine is haloing his head.

“What drugs are you on?” Max asks, laughing slightly. “Oh, kleintje - you scared me for a second. When I found out from Luke - I told him you’re out of surgery, by the way. Jesus fucking Christ.” He buries his head in hands for a second, then shakes himself out like a dog.

“Anyway, you’re fine now. I spoke to Dr Duval, she said you can move around and stuff, but it’s wheelchair for a week and then crutches after that until you feel able to put weight on the leg. She gave me the name of some good physios, but Brad says he can also help with like the day to day stuff.” He’s so organised that Cass almost misses what he says.

“What do you mean Brad will do day to day? Won’t he be with you?” She asks fuzzily.

“No,” Max looks at her with his brow furrowed. “You can’t stay by yourself in the house - how are you going to climb the stairs to the room? You have to come with me, of course. Dr Duval’s going to come with us, so you don’t have to worry about coming back for a check-up. Luke was due for his check-up too, anyway, so he’s invited her out.”

Cass’s brain is far too hopped up on pain medication to process this in any meaningful way. “Explain to me like I’m five years old,” she instructs Max.

“Well - the Red Bull jet is at the airfield, about half an hour away. We can fly straight to Austin - Dr Duval will follow in a couple of days, she has to get some stuff sorted back in Monaco. She says we can leave tomorrow morning after doctors rounds, which are at eight - so we’ll be back in Austin around noon their time, they’re six hours behind. So we can check you in to the hotel, get you settled in, Brad will watch you when I’m doing interviews, which is only a couple of hours, and then I’ll be back and we can get dinner.”

Cass leans back against the flat hospital pillows, staring at her absolutely mad boyfriend. “I’ll have to speak to Madame Lloyd,” she says, but Max is already shaking his head. “I spoke to her today - she says it’s all fine, take time to rest and come back when you’re better.”

Cass genuinely can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You - you spoke to Madame Lloyd?” She repeats faintly. Max shrugs as if he hasn’t just tilted her world off its axis. Cass can’t believe he’s just casually called up Madame Lloyd, a figure from her nightmares, and told her that Cass is going to be flying off to America with him. And that Madame Lloyd had just said it was fine.

She has nothing more to say, no more protests to raise, so she just shrugs her shoulders. “Mara brought a bag of stuff for you to wear,” he says, pointing at a suitcase she hadn’t noticed in the corner. “I’d love to wash my face,” Cass said longingly.

Max brings the suitcase over and opens it - and thank Mara, there’s a fully stocked toiletries kit. In fact, there’s stuff that she doesn’t remember buying for herself. Mara, who has become something of an influencer-slash-rockstar girlfriend and now gets free things sent to her, seems to have dumped an entire beauty counter’s worth of travel-sized beauty products into the bag.

Max rings for the nurse, who helps Cass get up and go to the bathroom. Her leg is bandaged from thigh to calf, so she can’t really see much, and the nurse shows her how to take a shower without getting the bandages wet.

It takes forever, and Cass acknowledges to herself that she’d never have been able to stay in the house by herself. She can’t jostle her leg too much, and she needs someone to help her get up and sit back down. Their house, although lovely, was not constructed with the infirm in mind - there are stairs everywhere.

Max has some kind of pallet by the side of her bed, which looks absolutely miserable. “Nah, once I lost a race in Italy and my dad made me sleep in the back of the van when we stopped for the night, and he wouldn’t turn on the heating - this is nice, actually.”

Cass shoots him a look. Tales of his childhood are few and far between, but every time she does hear something about it, it’s either extremely heart warming or actual child abuse. She manages to shift herself to one side, her good leg - God, now she has a good leg, as if she’s 80 - pressing against the plastic side of the bed.

“Come here,” she orders, patting the empty space left behind her. There’s miles of space next to her - there are definitely perks to being in the VIP ward. The pallet can’t have been too comfortable, because Max doesn’t even try to protest, but gets up and gingerly wedges himself into the space.

“It’s okay, I can’t feel anything,” Cass reassures him, although the words send a pang of panic into her heart that she shoves deep, deep below. Max lays next to her, holding her hand. Cass feels a wave of love for her impossible, steadfast boy. He’s flown ten hours to be with her, skipping out on his work commitments, and to be honest - she can’t imagine how she’d have coped without him.

She turns to tell him how much she appreciates him, how grateful she is to have him in her life - but the poor man has finally succumbed to exhaustion and is fast asleep.

“I love you,” she says instead, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.

—

Chapter Text

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Cass lifts her head off his chest and squints her eyes at him. The painkillers have made her a bit loopy and she looks like she’s having trouble focusing on his face. Her words are punctuated with big, slow blinks that make her look like some sort of cute baby animal. He can’t remember the name, but it was in a cartoon he watched a while back. 

“We’re going to land soon,” Max says, looking out of the window at the blue, blue sky. “Oh dear,” Cass says in fuzzy dismay, looking down at her blanket-covered body. “I’m not quite ready to go, my love.” Max would laugh if she didn’t sound so upset - he’ll have to wait until she’s recovered to tell her that she becomes extra English when she’s on drugs, almost like she’s in Downton Abbey . 

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Max says. He gets up and helps her out of the bed, half-carrying her into one of the seats in the front section of the plane, before going back and tidying up the bedroom. The plane was a God-send, letting him skip long layovers on the way to London and making it super easy for Cass to travel straight out of surgery. He’ll have to thank Christian. 

Luke has been texting him non-stop, having made arrangements for a sprinter van to pick them up from the airport so that Cass can keep her leg elevated. The flight was pretty uneventful, except for the fact that Cass had been talking in her sleep - something she only does when she’s especially exhausted, or apparently, on drugs. 

All very innocuous, mostly muttering French words that he half-recognises as dance moves. Every now and then a couple of names made it into the mix - his, Luke, Mara, her other friends from the ballet company. And then some gibberish that made him laugh. No, he hadn’t slept at all during the flight, but he’d been pretty well entertained. 

He gets back to the front of the plane just as the pilot announces they’re about to start their landing procedure, and he buckles himself into the seat next to Cass, who has fallen back asleep. 

He closes his eyes, running through his schedule for the next few days. It’s going to be insane, magnitudes worse than his normal race weekend because he’s had to promise to do ridiculous amounts of media on the Friday, when he should be focusing on free practice. He hasn’t picked up any of his dad’s calls since he’d left the Red Bull camp abruptly two days ago, knowing Jos must be somewhere in the Netherlands raging after one of his spies tipped him off. 

And then, Cass - it would probably have been better for her to stay at the hospital for a week than to get on a plane and fly to Austin,  but Max is a selfish man. He wants her close , to see her with his own eyes every day, preferably multiple times a day. 

Thank God Luke agrees, because he’s shelled out untold hundreds of thousands on flying that specialist doctor from Monaco to follow Cass around. Even with his pretty big contract and sponsorships he’d never be able to spend that kind of money. 

The dollar signs keep ticking up in Max’s head when they land and two nurses come on the plane to help Cass get off the plane and into a supremely luxurious van. They introduce themselves as Rob and Carol with strong Texas accents, and Luke has apparently arranged for them to be on call for the entire time Cass is in Austin. Oh, and they’ll be staying right next door to him in a suite paid for by Luke. 

The man himself is waiting at the hotel when they arrive, conspicuous as ever in his bright red Ferrari polo t-shirt, peering anxiously into the blacked out windows of the van. Cass is still pretty out of it and needs help getting out of the van and into the wheelchair that Rob whips out of nowhere. 

There are a couple of teams staying at the hotel, so there’s a pretty big crowd of fans angling to take photos of and with their favourite drivers. Luke’s eye-catching red and huge fan base hasn’t made it any easier. There are Ferrari fans everywhere , screaming Luke’s name, and that more than anything shocks Cass into full wakefulness. 

“Wha- Max? Luke? Can we get out of here?” She touches a hand to her hair and then to her lips, giving Max the exact same look that Luke had been giving the van, all big green eyes and anxiety. 

With a word, Luke sends Rob and Carol rushing into the hotel with the wheelchair, and another look to the concierge has a group of burly security appearing out of nowhere and pushing fans aside, clearing a path for their group. 

“You’re in Room 2102,” Luke hands Max a key as they wait at the lifts, the cool, quiet hotel lobby a welcome respite from the pandemonium outside. As they head into the lifts, a hand shoots in to stop the doors and a familiar grinning face appears. 

“How’s the patient?” Daniel beams at the group of them, sliding into the lift. “You’re looking fresh as a daisy, Miss Errol,” he ruffles Cass’s hair, smile barely flickering when his hands get caught in the tangles. She gives Daniel a big smile, and he hesitates, looking closer. “Jesus, they’ve got you on the good stuff, don’t they? You’re high as a kite!” 

Thankfully they reach their floor before Luke can start worrying too much, and Max can feel his shoulders relax when they get to their room. The nurses are hyper efficient, helping Cass to move from the wheelchair to the couch, putting things away and getting her water. 

“Christian told me to ask you to check your phone if I saw you,” Daniel says to Max, patting him on the shoulder before disappearing out the door. 

Fuck . 

In the hours since they’d landed he’d been too busy making sure Cass is okay to check his phone - he has only the vaguest idea of what time it is and hopes he hasn’t missed anything that’s been scheduled. 

The bags arrive just then, and he gratefully accepts the porter’s offer to unpack for them. He pulls his Red Bull gear out of his bag, changes into it quickly, drops a kiss on the top of Cass’s head and makes his way out of the door.

–

It’s dark when Cass wakes up. 

She feels a sense of complete confusion, then a quickly growing panic. She can’t see anything, but she can tell she’s not in the same clothes and pants she was in before she went to sleep, and she’s not in her own bed. 

She swings her legs over the side of the bed - or tries too, before blinding pain reminds her that she’s just had surgery. Her cry of pain must alert someone outside, as the light switches on, bright and fluorescent, blinding her for a second.

“That’s all right now, miss, are you try’na get out of bed?” A strange man walks into the room and comes to the side of the bed, taking her elbow. 

“Who - who are you?” She snatches her elbow back, holding it close to her side. 

“I’m Rob, one of the members of your nursing staff,” the man says cheerfully. “This here is Caroline, she’s the other member. We’re here to help you with whatever you need.” A woman walks in, pushing a wheelchair. 

“Where’s Max?” Cass asks, eyeing them both distrustfully. One doesn’t grow up the daughter of a multi-billionaire without many, many lessons about stranger danger. The two nurses exchange a glance, and Rob pulls out his phone. 

“Why don’t we give your brother a call, and he can come explain everythin’ to ya, alright?” Rob says soothingly as he taps his screen a few times. Cass observes through bleary eyes as he lifts the phone up and shows it to her just as Luke’s face appears on the screen. 

“Everything alright, Rob?” He asks, his worried expression changing to one of happy surprise when he sees Cass. “Ah, you’re up! I’ll come over now.” Luke hangs up. 

“So, you’re going to be my nurses?” Cass asks, relaxing slightly. They look like a friendly pair, both big, burly and blonde. Rob in particular looks like he could lift her with one arm without really troubling his head-size bicep.

Small talk is interrupted by the doorbell ringing, which is quickly answered by Caroline. Luke bounds in, all endless energy, and just stops himself from jumping on the bed. “You look absolutely frightful ,” he says cheerfully. 

“Piss off,” Cass says grumpily. Her leg is still in agony, and the ever-alert nurses notice her wince, because a painkiller is in her hand a moment later, a glass of ice-cold water following. “Anyway, Max had to go to the track, so I’m on nanny duty. He’ll be back after all his media stuff,” Luke reaches for a leather-bound folder on the bedside table and starts flipping through it.

“What do you guys want to eat for dinner? I’m thinking of chicken salad and roast potatoes for myself,” he says, handing the room service menu to Cass. She doesn’t feel hungry at all, the pain making her queasy, but she knows she should probably eat something - she can’t remember the last thing she ate. 

“Spaghetti bolognaise, please,” she sighs. If she has to eat something, it might as well be something delicious and comforting. Rob and Caroline place their orders as well, and then bring her to the bathroom to replace her bandages as Luke orders for the group. 

It’s a uniquely embarrassing and infantilising experience to have someone lift you and put you on the toilet, and Cass is sure her face is going to burn right off as Caroline wraps her bandages in cling-film whilst she stands stark naked so that she can take a shower without getting them wet. 

The shower itself is heavenly, though - her hair is an absolute bird’s nest, and she can’t tell if she smells like hospital, aeroplane or a dismal mix of the two, but it’s a blessed relief to replace it with the gorgeous, fresh smell of the hotel soap and shampoo. 

She’s hyper-aware of not getting her bandages wet so it takes ages to get ready, and by the time she’s out the food has arrived. Somehow, the act of bathing has restored her appetite - that, and the miraculous painkiller she’d taken - and she devours the plate of pasta with gusto. 

Max still hasn’t returned, so she puts on an old movie and Rob and Caroline depart for their rooms. “We should get ice cream,” she says to Luke, feeling like she’s a child again, having one of her rare nights in with her perpetually busy and travelling older brother. 

Luke laughs, loudly. “Casio, I’m just at race weight, I can’t eat anything out of the plan. I’ll order some for you, though,” he says, grabbing the hotel tablet from the bedside table. “Look, they’ve made it so easy - you can order anything at any time,” he says, flicking through the options. “Ooh, they’ve got apple pie, you should get that too.” He taps efficiently, and then a message pops up saying that their food will arrive in 30 minutes or less. 

“How’s the leg doing?” He asks, swinging his own over the side of the armchair he’s perched in. Cass has hers stretched out on the L-shaped couch - the suite is truly enormous - and she wriggles a toe experimentally. “Can’t feel a thing,” she says, smiling ruefully. 

“Did you hear from work? I suppose things like this happen all the time,” Luke muses. “I haven’t checked, really - it’s been such a spin, honestly.” Cass feels like her brain is still catching up with the events of the past few days, which might be why she doesn’t feel too badly about being unable to dance for that long yet. 

“I bet your phone isn’t even charged,” Luke rolls his eyes, and Cass has to admit that she also can’t remember the last time she charged her phone. He gets up to find it for her in her bag, and plugs it into the wall. “You’ve got about a million messages, by the way,” he comments, putting the phone down on the side table so it can charge. 

“I’ll look at it later,” Cass says sleepily, watching the movie on the screen. It’s The Way We Were , one of her favourites, and she mumbles along to some of the more iconic lines. By the time the movie is over and the ice cream and apple pie long tidied away by the efficient housekeepers, Max is still not back and Luke is yawning. 

“Go back to your own room, I’ll be fine here,” Cass says, shooing Luke away. He’s definitely broken his own normal, highly regulated race weekend schedule, staying here and lying on the couch with her - he’d even eaten a few bites of apple pie, although he’d made her promise not to tell his trainer. 

Cass lays on the couch after Luke leaves, queuing up another old movie. She feels her eyes getting heavier, jet lag getting to her, and although she tries to fight it, she feels herself drifting off to sleep. 

–

The next time she wakes, the lights are on and she’s being placed gently on the bed. “Hey, you’re awake,” Max’s face hovers over hers and he gives her a goofy smile. “I’m just going to wash up and then I’ll turn off the lights, yeah?” 

He presses a kiss to her forehead then disappears. Cass levers herself up and hops to the bathroom, holding on to the wall to balance. “I have to brush my teeth,” she mumbles, hopping to the sink. Max is already in the shower, the hot water steaming up the room. 

Cass catches a glimpse of his water-slicked skin in between the puffs of steam as she swishes toothpaste around her mouth, and gives a cheeky whistle. “ Kleintje , how much drugs did they give you?” Max laughs, rinsing his hair out. 

“Mm, just enough,” Cass says, leaning against the marble wall with her toothbrush hanging out her mouth. “Give us a twirl, love,” she teases, laughing when Max does just that, before stepping out and wrapping a towel around his hips. 

“It’s nice to have you here when I come back,” Max remarks, pulling out his own toothbrush as Cass rinses and spits. “I had a nice day too, with Luke… and Rob and Caroline,” Cass says, handing him another towel so he can dry his hair. 

“Don’t you think they look like they should be like, the Swedish shot put team or something?” Max says earnestly, making Cass laugh. “You’re so right, Rob looks like he could lift me up with one finger with those huge biceps he has.” 

“Should I be worried about leaving you with Rob’s giant biceps?” Max teases as he pulls a pair of boxer shorts out of the closet and tugs them on with quick, efficient movements. Cass hops back to the bed, and tucks herself back in. 

“That all depends,” Cass says sleepily. “You’ll be gone all day, and I’ll just be here in bed, with Rob just over there… you’ll have to give me something to remember you by.” 

That draws an amused laugh from Max, who climbs into bed and leans over, giving her a deep kiss. “Is that good enough to keep you loyal for one day?” He says, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear gently. Cass hums thoughtfully. “Hardly, but it’ll have to do whilst I have this gammy leg,” she sighs. 

“Alright, as long as you don’t go getting ideas about Rob,” Max snorts, snuggling into the bed and pulling Cass gently towards him so that he can press his cheek against her hair. “Night, my love,” Cass murmurs, reaching a hand up to pat his face. 

–

The next two days pass agonisingly slowly, with Cass staying close to bed, kept company mostly by Rob and Caroline. Luke and Max are out pretty much all day, every day, at the track. It’s boring enough that Cass actually accepts when Max asks off-handedly on the Saturday night if she wants to watch the race the next day. 

Before she can change her mind, Max has already arranged for passes for her and her two nurses, and once the nurses start gushing about how excited they are she can’t really turn back. 

So that’s how she finds herself being wheeled out of the hotel in a wheelchair, into a sprinter van, and up to the accessible entrance of the track - thankfully one that’s hidden quite out of sight, unlike the driver’s entrance which Max has to use and which is constantly besieged by fans. 

Max chances upon them halfway to the Red Bull garage, Cass already having gotten thoroughly sick of all the stares, whispers and camera flashes that have followed her since she entered. Max’s presence intensifies that all a hundred-fold, and she finds herself wishing for a pair of sunglasses. 

“I’m starting to think I should have dressed better for this,” Cass murmurs to Max, looking down at her sensible but boring outfit - a navy blue shift dress that doesn’t quite cover the huge bandage on her leg, and a pair of white sneakers. “You look great,” Max says automatically, reaching down to squeeze her hand. 

“Anyway, I’ve got to go for the driver briefing, and then I’ll come meet you at the garage, okay?” His driver room doesn’t have enough space for her wheelchair and the two nurses, so she’s going to be camped out in the viewing area of the garage for the whole day. 

Once she’s settled in, she tells the nurses to go off and explore. “Go, get me some food and take lots of pictures,” she waves off their half hearted protests, and then finally - some peace and quiet. She puts on her noise cancelling headphones and takes out the book she’d been reading, a rather peaceful novel from the perspective of a cat. 

At least for a few minutes, until a bag plops down on the counter in front of her and a smoky voice interrupts her reverie. “Hello, is this seat taken?” Cass looks up to see a vaguely familiar-looking brunette with startling green eyes standing next to her.

“Oh um - no, please, have a seat.” Cass can’t think of a polite way to turn away the woman, considering she’s in a public place. She pretends to be watching the screens above the counter, wracking her brain as to how she knows her. 

“I’m surprised you’re not in Max’s driver’s room,” the woman says, taking her phone out of her bag. So, knows who Cass is, Cass surmises. It’s a fairly male dominated sport, and if she was employed by any of the teams she’d be wearing team gear at the moment, so Cass guesses she must be the partner of someone in the sport. 

Cass gestures to her bandaged leg and explains about her injury and the size of the wheelchair. “Ah, that makes sense. Max’s driver’s room isn’t too bad though, they upgraded it since Daniil was in there,” the woman says, and a lightbulb clicks on in Cass’s brain. This is Kelly, the girlfriend of one of the drivers in the Red Bull stable. And her brother is friends with Max in some capacity, if her memory serves. 

Cass asks a few questions about her life and finds out that the woman is a model, but the conversation quickly lags into silence. The two of them don’t have much in common apart from being girlfriends of F1 drivers - Kelly is intimidatingly glamorous, wearing bright red lipstick and a skin tight dress, and Cass notices with some jealousy that she seems to have mastered the art of applying eyeliner all around her eye without looking like a raccoon. Cass, in her plain outfit and plimsolls, feels like a little kid in comparison. 

“Are you going to the next two races?” Cass asks after an awkward break in the conversation. Kelly nods and smiles. “Of course, Brazil is my home race! My father, Nelson Piquet, is basically a Brazilian hero, we get such a good reception in the paddock,” she says eagerly, frowning when that doesn’t get much of a reaction from Cass. 

“Oh, which part of Brazil do you live in?” Cass asks, trying to change the subject. She doesn’t know whether Kelly will be offended if she admits she has no idea who Kelly’s father is, or whether that’d be viewed as a massive faux pas in the racing world. She doesn’t want to put Max in an awkward spot, especially since F1 is filled with petty, power-hungry men. If he’s someone important enough to make Max’s life difficult, she doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. 

Kelly launches into a description of her very European upbringing, and Cass is impressed to learn she speaks five languages. “Gosh, I feel so provincial only knowing one. Well, I know a bit of French as well, I suppose, but Max always says my French is horrendous.” Cass smiles fondly at the memory of Max helping her translate things at the hospital in Monaco. 

Kelly gives a slight smile, but Cass senses a bit of condescension in it. Kelly gives off a cool girl vibe, with her glamorous looks and tales of travelling the world. Cass wishes Mara and Jamie were here - they’d know what to say, and Kelly might actually be impressed by Jamie’s French-ness. 

“So, what have you been up to in Austin? Have you been anywhere cool?” Cass asks somewhat desperately. Her lovely quiet respite has turned into an awkward social encounter, and Kelly shows no signs of noticing or leaving. 

Thankfully this turns out to be exactly what Kelly wants to talk about, and it turns out she’s visited pretty much every nice store in Austin. Cass starts wondering whether she should be writing things down and actually rummages in her bag to bring out her phone just when Kelly runs out of descriptions of shops she’s been to and things she’s bought. 

“Anyway, I should probably find Daniil,” Kelly sighs in satisfaction, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder and getting up from her seat with feline grace. “Bye.” She walks off towards the back of the garage, leaving behind a faint trace of her perfume.

Cass watches her leave with a bemused expression on her face. Kelly had sat with her for over an hour, talking nonstop and then she’d just… left. She’d not asked Cass a single question about herself and Cass can’t really understand why the older woman even wanted to spend time with her. Pure boredom, probably. Tagging along with the F1 circuit year after year without actually being involved in the racing sounds like the most boring thing in the world to Cass. 

Her concentration has been broken and she can’t focus on her book, so she watches the people around her instead. There’s constant noise, whirring of machinery and people shouting over it, and laid over that is a sense of excitement and tension. Everyone is moving with a sense of purpose, much like backstage before a performance. 

She’s musing about the similarities between her job and Max’s when the man himself appears. “Where did Rob and Caroline go?” He asks, frowning, as he realizes she’s all by herself. “Oh, they were dying to explore so I asked them to do a walkabout and get me something to eat,” Cass says, lifting her face for Max to give her a kiss. 

He’s dressed in his fireproofs and race suit already, a special American one that looks a bit like a cowboy outfit, and he’s looking very cute indeed, of which she promptly informs him. “Yeah? You like this?” He looks down at his suit, blushing slightly. “Extra cute when you blush,” Cass says, reaching up and pinching his pink cheek. 

He gives her a big smile and is about to say something when he glances up and notices a camera pointing straight at them. “Fucking Netflix,” he says under his breath, straightening up. “Anyway, if those two aren’t here, maybe we can figure out how to get you into the driver’s room. Brad and I were about to do warm-ups.” 

He ends up carrying her up the stairs to the second floor where his driver’s room is, Brad folding up the wheelchair and leaving it neatly at the base of the staircase. Cass feels like a helpless Victorian damsel, clinging on to Max, but she also doesn’t really want to stay downstairs when she could be spending time with Max. 

She sits on the little bed, watching as Max goes through his pre-race routine. There’s a bit of time still, so he puts on a MotoGP race that’s going on and he and Brad shoot the breeze as they run through a series of stretches. 

The conversation soon turns to the Netflix cameras which follow the drivers absolutely everywhere. “I heard some of the drivers have allowed them to film them at home,” Brad comments, laughing when Max scrunches his face up with disgust. 

“Can you imagine them in our house?” He asks Cass, who shakes her head decisively. “I don’t think anyone really wants to see that,” she says, thinking of how boring they are. Their day to day life consists of housework, working out, and lounging on the couch. Hardly riveting watching. 

“You’d be surprised,” Brad raises his eyebrows. “F1 fans want to know everything about Max’s life. What he eats, his favourite colour, what brand of pants he wears…” He twists his mouth into a grimace to show what he thinks of that. 

“Oh shut up,” Max grumbles. It is something Cass has noticed before, though. Max is sort of a global niche superstar - there are F1 fans all over the world who are rabidly, passionately devoted to the sport. He’s practically a deity in the Netherlands. 

Max is now juggling tennis balls with astonishing dexterity. “He’s showing off for you,” Brad whispers loudly to Cass, bursting into laughter when Max mistimes his juggling and the balls tumble to the floor. “Am not” Max says good naturedly, kicking a ball in Brad’s direction. Max’s phone lights up and the sense of lightness in the room vanishes immediately as the three of them see who’s calling. Jos . 

“I’m going to get some air,” Cass stands, ready to hop all the way out of the garage on one leg if she has to, to get away from the malevolent spirit of Jos Verstappen. “Yeah, I’ll come with,” Brad says quickly with a glance at Max. Brad helps Cass down the stairs and into the wheelchair, and they make their way to the little beverage refill station at the back of the garage. 

“It’s good that you’re here,” Brad says as he refills Max’s water bottle. “Makes Max get off his phone a bit more. I’ve been telling him it’s bad for his eyesight to be staring at his phone as much as he does, but does he listen to me?” Brad natters on as they walk back to the room. 

Even though both of them had an unspoken agreement to take their time getting water so as to give Max some privacy, he’s still on the phone with Jos when they return. From what they can hear from Max, it’s not a pleasant conversation. 

He’s sitting on the bed in the room, absentmindedly swinging his legs whilst chewing at one of his hangnails. Cass is instantly reminded of him as a little boy. 

“ Ja, ja, papa. Dan kom ik wel naar Amsterdam. Maak je geen zorgen. Ja. Oké, doei, ” Max says, heaving a sigh once the call has safely ended. “Okay, should we finish warmups?” He stands from the bed, tossing his phone on the table and helping lift Cass onto the bed in his place. “Shall I throw tennis balls at you?” She offers, hoping to lighten Max’s mood. 

“You can help me sign these caps,” Max pushes a cardboard box towards her. “That’s forgery, my love,” Cass laughs, pushing it back to him. Max hates everything to do with marketing and advertising, but unfortunately for him, so does Cass. 

“Nobody will know,” Max pushes it back towards her with a hopeful smile. “I purposely made my signature look really simple, see?” Cass has nothing else to do, so she rolls her eyes and opens the box, starting by looking at Max’s signature from all angles. 

She’s signed nearly fifty caps by the time Max is finished with his warmups, and she’s getting quite good at copying his signature if she does say so herself. “Thanks kleintje ,” Max drops a kiss on her cheek. “Brad, can you give us a second?” 

Max waits for the door to close behind Brad before clearing his throat. “So, the next race is in two weeks,” he begins, methodically pulling caps out of the box and signing them, before chucking them into a pile on the side of the bed. 

Cass nods, cautiously. She’s not sure why Brad had to leave the room for that particular bombshell. “And I need to fly to Amsterdam tomorrow. Do you want to come?” 

Ah .

“I thought we were going to go back to the house,” Cass says, brow crinkling in confusion. Max doesn’t usually have sudden changes in his schedule - he’s the most overscheduled person she knows, apart from Luke. Every sponsor event, factory visit and media day is put in the diary months in advance. 

Max runs out of caps to sign, frowns at the empty box, and pushes it to the floor. “Do you remember… your dad’s memorial service?” He asks hesitantly. As well he might, because Cass remembers it vividly. And how Max had completely bailed on it. She nods, once. 

“Well - I was with my mum in Brussels about to come back to London that day, when I got a call from my dad,” Max fiddles with the marker, before putting it down, taking a breath and finally looking Cass in the eyes. 

“He was in jail - he got in a fight with his girlfriend, and some stuff happened, and their neighbour called the police, and then he punched his neighbour in front of the police. So I flew to Amsterdam to bail him out because his girlfriend wouldn’t, and he doesn’t really have a good relationship with my grandparents, and now his court date is coming up and I’m one of his character witnesses, so I have to go back to Amsterdam.” 

Cass is silent for a while. “Why didn’t you tell me that’s why you didn’t go to my dad’s memorial service?” She asks, finally. She’s not completely surprised Jos is in some sort of legal trouble, the man’s a walking anger management problem, but she hates that Max is the one that has to pick up the pieces for him. 

Max shrugs, and the silence that follows suggests she’s not going to get much more out of him today. “Come here,” Cass says, holding her arms out to Max. He steps into the circle of her arms and she gives him a tight hug. “Your dad sucks, you know that right? Are you going to tell the court that?” 

That draws a short laugh from Max, who relaxes infinitesimally. “Yeah, I don’t know what to say. I’m kind of nervous, honestly. The last time I had to go to court was when they were doing the custody arguments for my parents’ divorce.” 

“Well, you’ll have to swear on a Bible or something that you’re not going to lie, so you’ll have to get creative if you want to say your dad’s a nice guy,” Cass leans her forehead against Max’s shoulder. “And obviously I’ll have to try my best not to laugh. That’ll be a dead giveaway to the judge that you’re lying.” 

“You’ll come? Really? To court, too?” Max beams at her. “Well, I can hardly get around the house in my wheelchair, so I think you’re stuck with me until my leg is better,” Cass smiles back. The last place she wants to go is anywhere Jos is, but she can’t let Max go to court with just his criminal father there for emotional support. 

“Mate, time for national anthem,” Brad calls through the door, before sticking his head in. “GP wants a word before you head out. I’ll help Cass find a spot to watch if you want to head off.” In a blink of an eye Max is fully suited up, helmet in hand and ready to go racing. 

“Wait -” Cass heaves herself into standing position and gives Max a kiss. “Good luck,” she smiles, cupping his face, pressing her thumbs into his dimples. He pulls out the St Christopher’s medal from where it’s hidden by the high neck of his fireproofs and presses it to his lips, and then hers. “That’s a proper good luck,” he says solemnly, before walking briskly out of the room.  

Cass and Brad follow slowly behind, making it to the viewing area where Rob and Caroline are waiting just as the national anthem starts up. Once the anthem is over, the drivers and engineers pour back down the track towards the cars, and she gives Max a little wave before he pulls on his helmet and gets into the car. She’s grateful for the noise cancelling headset, particularly once the engines up and down the pit lane all turn on at the same time. 

The race is chaotic . Cass can feel her heart beating double time in her chest from the very start, when Luke gets tagged by Danny and spins, dropping him down the rankings massively. Max had started from really far back on the grid at 18th, having had a penalty for a gearbox change, and he’s in fine fighting form, making it all the way up to P2 and then defending incredibly aggressively lap after lap against Hamilton. 

Honestly… she hates it. After Luke gets tapped, every time one car comes close to another car, she gets so stressed she feels like she’s going to pass out. There’s a camera trained on her at all times - not even the Netflix camera, it’s the F1 camera which shows a really up close reaction whenever Max does something on track, and she absolutely hates seeing the slow zoom in on her face and keeps having to stop herself from self-consciously fixing her hair. 

“We have to get to the podium!” Brad insists, bundling her, wheelchair and all, onto a golf cart which speeds down the pit lane to a prime spot in front of parc ferme. Max is just pulling up in his car, slotting neatly in front of the P2 sign, as Red Bull mechanics around them cheer jubilantly. Cass feels like she’s taking up far too much space with the wheelchair, and she’s slightly self conscious about the ring of Brad, Rob and Caroline forming a protective circle around her, but Max’s beaming face when he sees her wipes away all of that. 

He leans down and gives her a tight hug, half lifting her from the wheelchair, and she wrinkles her nose at the gritty dirt that’s speckling his helmet but gives it a kiss anyway, for posterity. “You did fantastically well!” She shouts over the noise. “You managed to see through your fingers?” Max laughs, before he’s called away to give an interview. 

“ Max, you managed to fight your way up from P18 to P2, and kept P2 despite Hamilton harrying you the whole way - how does it feel?” The speaker system booms with the sound of the interviewer’s voice, echoing most impressively. 

“ Great! ” Max replies, with characteristic brevity. He must remember his extensive media training, because he then launches into a detailed description of his race. 

“ And what kept you focused when you were defending against Hamilton? ” The interviewer asks. Cass feels a slight twinge of foreboding when Max’s head turns in her direction, which is validated when he responds. “ Well, my girlfriend is here this weekend so I wanted to show her a good time, you know ?” 

Cass can imagine his cheeky grin under the helmet, and she rolls her eyes in his direction as the crowd laughs. Thankfully, the interview ends there, because they have to interview the winner, a very pleased Bottas. 

She cheers loudly when Max gets his trophy, gets splattered with some champagne, and then returns to the garage to wait for Max with the rest of the group. He appears, trailed by a harried looking woman who introduces herself to Cass quickly as Christian’s assistant and then rattles off Max’s schedule for the night - everyone wants a piece of the comeback kid.

“Love, I’ll head back to the hotel,” Cass says, getting the sense that there’s no way Max is going to be back in the hotel any time soon. “We can talk about the flights to Amsterdam tomorrow, okay?” Max gives her a long suffering nod and she departs, relieved to be heading back to her cool, quiet hotel room after the insanity of the day. 

Jos, Amsterdam, a court case. She’s never actually spent much time with Max’s father, but she can clearly remember his cold, shark-like stare. Even as a child she’d sensed instinctively that Jos was a man with a deep well of violence within him. She’d kept herself as far away from him as she could, but as her life becomes ever more intertwined with Max’s, it was inevitable that she’d have to deal with the man who is such a huge part of Max’s life. 

One thing she knows - Jos does not like her. She wants to know more about the case, what Jos has been accused of, how Max is feeling about it. What is Max supposed to do to get his dad out of this mess, particularly since she’s got a sneaking suspicion that Jos is in the wrong? 

Chapter Text

It takes all of one day in Amsterdam for Cass to want to strangle Jos Verstappen with her bare hands. Preferably to death.

Dr Duval had done a flying visit to Austin to check on her patient and Cass is now the proud bearer of a much smaller bandage that’s easily removable and a booklet of light exercises she needs to do every day, preferably in an anti-gravity environment.

All this means that she and Max stay at a hotel with a pool, and after breakfast, when Max heads off to the lawyers’ offices to get briefed for court, Cass heads down with the intention of completing every single last one of those exercises.

An hour later, she’s barely managed to get through half of the exercises - walking from end to end of the pool ten times has wrecked her - and she’s both mentally and physically exhausted. Just two weeks ago she’d been performing two hour long ballets almost every night, and now she can’t even walk in a pool.

Maybe, she has to admit to herself, performing two hour long ballets almost every night is part of why she can’t walk in a pool. She fears she’s overstretched herself, ruined her career for a blaze of glory. Oh, she’ll be remembered for the dozens of performances in a single season of Folk Tales, but… what else?

She has to tell herself that she’s only had a minor injury compared to the absolute devastation that Luke’s body’s been through, and he’s back to winning races but - Luke pilots a machine, albeit one which takes strength and endurance. Cass has no aids on the stage, no gears or hydraulics to help her - all she has is her body.

It’s with these dire thoughts and grey mood that she returns to the suite, the beauty of which does nothing to lift her mood. Doubling down on the misery she is now determined to wallow in, she finds a recording of a live performance of Giselle on YouTube and leaves it on as she gets ready for the rest of the day.

She’d had grand plans for wandering around the narrow streets bracketing the famous canals of Amsterdam on her crutches - Max isn’t around to stop her, after all - but she finds herself too tired to fathom actually leaving the building. She compromises by hobbling to the restaurant that opens up into the garden of the hotel, so she’s at least partly outside.

It’s a peaceful way to the spend the morning, a cup of tea on the painted white wrought iron table and a book, but she finds the words can’t hold her attention the way they usually do. She orders a slice of strawberry cake and deconstructs it piece by piece, savoring the sweet cream and delicate crumb.

She doesn’t normally eat sweets because of the sugar crash she gets immediately after, but she figures there’s nothing for her to power through for today - when Max gets back they might go for dinner, but the day stretches out endlessly in front of her otherwise.
The garden is also good for people watching, with disparate groups drifting in and out over the course of the day. Tourists populate the restaurant throughout the morning, then men in suits and groups of well dressed friends coming in for lunch. The afternoon brings young families coming for tea, with children running freely in the manicured garden.

She’s watching one family in particular, their three or four year old son running very close to the pond in the garden, when there’s a sudden buzz of whispers in the restaurant. She turns to look at the source of the noise and sees Max walking towards her.

He’s wearing the same thing he wore that morning when he left, a navy jumper over a white shirt and a pair of charcoal grey trousers, and he’s squinting against the sunlight that’s turning his hair golden as he scans the garden. He doesn’t take any notice of the people staring and pointing, and Cass realizes he must be beyond used to it, especially in the Netherlands.

She raises a hand to wave, and he spots her, his face brightening with a grin. She smiles back, raising her face for a kiss when he approaches. “There you are,” he says, dropping into the seat next to her.

Max tells her about his day, which somehow sounds both deadly boring and incredibly stressful at the same time. The trial is in two days, and the lawyers had spent the morning going over what he’d be expected to say about Jos’s character in his defence, and then he’d stayed whilst they’d discussed other parts of the strategy.

It’s not the first time Jos has been in trouble with the law, and Max seems pretty relaxed. “What do the lawyers think will happen?” She asks, just as the little boy she’d been watching earlier falls straight into the pond.

Max is immediately out of his chair and has reached the pond by the time Cass manages to struggle to her feet and grab her crutches. The pond is surprisingly big and must be quite deep, because Max jumps straight into it and disappears. There’s a huge commotion, mostly in Dutch, which turns into relieved laughter and applause when Max resurfaces, the little boy screaming in his arms.

By the time Max has handed the child to his parents and climbed out of the pond, there are multiple waiters with towels standing by to dry off the hero of the hour. Max pulls off his navy jumper, leaving behind the now completely transparent white shirt, and Cass swears she hears multiple gasps of appreciation, including one coming from a starstruck male waiter who quickly grabs the wet jumper.

It’s all over in less than five minutes, but it’s all over the newspapers the next day.

Cass is in bed, trying to motivate herself to go down to the pool and go through her exercises, when the doorbell rings. Max is in the shower, so Cass gets up and grabs her crutches, making her way to the door. By the time she reaches it, the bell has rung about fifteen more times and she’s fairly sure she knows who is on the other side of the door.

“Hello, Jos,” she says politely to the hulking man, who pushes past her and into the living room of their suite. “Max!” Jos shouts, just as he emerges from the bathroom, towel tied around his waist.

“Papa? Wat doe je hier? Ik dacht dat we elkaar bij de advocaat zouden ontmoeten?” Max asks, brow crinkling in confusion. Jos tosses a newspaper in Max’s direction, which he catches and reads. “Is dit erg?” He puts the newspaper on the back of the sofa, and Cass sees that there’s a big photo of him, dripping wet, just as he’d gotten out of the pond the day before, on the front page.

Jos is speaking in Dutch, and Cass can’t tell if he’s angry or happy, and Max has the usual poker face he usually has whenever his dad is around. He’s nodding and just saying, “Ja, papa,” and then Jos just turns and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

“What was that all about?” Cass asks, bemused. Jos hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. Max shrugs, still in just a towel. “He’s just told me to lay low, he doesn’t want people asking too many questions about why I’m here. Too much publicity around the court case.”

“Sorry, would he rather you let that little boy drown?” Cass stares at Max, mouth agape. Max refuses to see anything wrong with the way Jos acts, including towards him, but Cass has absolutely no love for the older man. Her own upbringing, although dysfunctional in its own way, had not prepared her at all for how horrible a father could be to his own son. And Max is probably Jos’s favourite child, so she doesn’t know how much worse he is to his other kids.

Max has disappeared to get dressed, avoiding her question. “Wait, so what does lay low mean? Do we have to stay inside or something?” After much pestering, Max had agreed to go with her to the Van Gogh Museum, and she’d been quite excited to snag a last minute guided tour on fairly short notice.

“Yeah, might not be the best idea - we could go look at some windmills or tulips or something?” Max reappears, looking so stressed that Cass decides against roasting him for suggesting they go to look at tulips in November. “Sorry, kleintje, I know you had a day planned, it’s just…” He trails off, looking conflicted.

“I suppose we could do something low-key instead,” Cass sighs. Which is how Cass gets Max to watch several hours of YouTube clips of her favourite ballet performances - and to his credit, he doesn’t complain once. Although, about halfway through a video of a full-length performance of Giselle, he does remember that she hasn’t done her exercises yet, and she tries not to think it’s because he can’t bear to watch another dance of the wilis.

“You have to do your exercises every day, that’s why we’re staying in this hotel,” Max lectures as she puts on her swimsuit begrudgingly. The lecture continues all the way to the swimming pool, where Cass realizes to her dread that Max is intending on staying and watching her do the bloody exercises.

“Go on,” he says encouragingly as she slowly lowers herself into the pool. “First one, walk laps up and down the pool to warm up.” Max settles into one of the deck chairs that line the indoor pool, her exercise book in hand.

She manages two laps before she starts feeling a deep ache in her leg. How quickly the muscles of her leg have atrophied! She hadn’t even finished the exercises yesterday before giving up, but somehow she doubts Max will let her get away with that. Just five minutes into the routine she already feels like a nice, long nap.

“Keep going!” Max calls from the other end of the pool, where he’s been calling out the exercises as she goes. “I - I’m getting quite tired,” she finally admits after struggling through two thirds of the exercises.

“Did the doctor say whether you were supposed to do all of these straight away?” Max asks, frowning. “It is quite a lot to go from doing absolutely nothing to all of this.” Cass agrees in relief, and makes some noises about listening to her body, and thankfully Max seems to accept this because he holds out a towel for her to climb into when she’s out of the pool.

“Okay, dinner I think? We could probably stick with the reservation, it’s in a private room anyway,” Max suggests, looking at his watch. Max had made a reservation at a restaurant his manager had brought him to before, and which he thought Cass would like the vibe of. He’d also spoken very glowingly about a chocolate mousse which Cass has been dreaming about, so she is more than happy to get dressed and go out.

“By the way, what are you wearing to court tomorrow?” Max asks as they get dressed. It’s very unlike him to ask about clothes, but he can’t hide the flicker of relief that crosses his face when she gestures to the black dress that she has hanging up in the closet.

“Why do you want to know?” She questions, suspicious. Max uhms and ahs but eventually admits that one of the things Jos had said in the morning was to make sure she dressed nicely for court. “He actually said that?” Cass asks in disbelief. Of all the things to care about the day before his trial - her clothes?!

“Well, he actually said that I should make sure you look less homeless,” Max says, brutally honest to a fault. Cass rolls her eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, I’d just woken up when I answered the door,” she complains.

“Ah, it’s not like you care about what you wear anyway.” Cass scowls at Max, who shrugs in response. “What? You wear jeans and a t-shirt every day. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not wearing jeans and a t-shirt now,” Cass says, stung. She’s actually wearing a very nice dress, thank you very much. “Yeah, that’s because Mara packed your bag and she didn’t pack any jeans,” Max points out stubbornly.

Cass scowls darkly at him, not wanting to concede the point. Yes, Mara had definitely packed very differently from how she would have, and her choices had leaned heavily towards the pretty togs Cass had been given by Lila and Capon rather than her usual casual things, but the clothes had still come from her closet. Apart from the rather scandalous slips and night things Mara had chucked in from her own things, Cass’s big t-shirts and boxers not having made the cut.

She’s still in a sulk as they get into the blacked out car that picks them up from the hotel’s basement carpark, which gets worse when they make a stop at another hotel and Jos of all people gets in the car.

She shoots a look at Max, who looks studiously down at his phone. When they get to the restaurant and Cass gets out of the car, Jos actually looks her up and down and gives Max an approving nod - as if she’s some sort of doll that Max has dressed up.

They are led through some secretive, circuitous path to a steep set of stairs which Cass takes ages to get up with her crutches, conscious the entire time of Max and Jos waiting patiently and impatiently respectively behind her, and then finally to the tiny private room which would have been perfect for a romantic dinner for the two of them and is slightly cramped with Jos and the later addition of Max’s manager, Raymond.

Cass actually likes Raymond, and she likes him even more as he manfully carries the conversation despite Cass’s very icy silence and Jos’s terse, snappy responses. “Have you seen much of Amsterdam?” He asks Cass, which is absolutely the wrong question.

“I haven’t left the hotel except for this dinner,” she says, glaring at Jos. Max audibly sighs. “Can’t go anywhere, can you? Leg like that,” Jos grunts. Cass is about to let fly a sharp retort when she feels a gentle pressure on her elbow that makes her turn and look at Max, who gives her a pleading look.

Raymond is clearly an old hand at handling awkward situations, because he quickly changes the subject to something racing related and Jos perks up and starts bitching about some one or the other in the Red Bull team.

Cass lapses back into silence, and is silent all the way back to the hotel. Max is just a completely different person around Jos, and she had already known that, but she’d thankfully been spared from spending much time with the repulsive older man.

“Did you like the chocolate mousse?” Max ventures from the bedroom as she’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth. It hadn’t even been on the menu, but apparently Max - or Raymond - had called ahead to ask for it to be made specially.

“Yes.” She rinses her mouth then gets into the shower, not saying anything else. The chocolate mousse had been just as excellent as Max had promised, but ruined somewhat by Jos making a comment about it being fattening - a comment that could have been directed at either of the high performance athletes across the table, given Max also had a pretty strict diet, but Cass feels it was definitely aimed at her.

After the shower, she puts on her nightclothes - unfortunately a fairly seductive lacy camisole and tap shorts, courtesy of Mara - and gets into bed, shutting her eyes obstinately. She hears the sounds of Max washing up and then the rustle of the bed sheets as he gets into bed, followed by the click of the light switch and sudden darkness.

She breathes quietly and slowly, mimicking sleep. Max breathes in once, deeply, and then she feels a slight touch against her hand, under the sheets. “Cassie?” He whispers, and he sounds so forlorn that she forgives him immediately, chiefly of the crime of having a horrible father.

She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” she says. Prolonged exposure to Jos on top of her frustrating lack of progress with her recovery has made her snappy and irritable, and she’s definitely not providing the steadfast support Max needs for the trial.

In response, Max shifts so he’s right next to her, pulling her towards his chest and burying his face in her shoulder. “No,” he says, his voice muffled by her arm. “I want you here.” He pulls her closer to him and wraps his arms around her, half smothering her.

“Sorry I was such a bitch,” she says repentantly. Max sighs, his minty breath misting her hair. “Don’t,” he says tiredly, which catches Cass off guard. She knows she hasn’t made it any easier on him this trip, with him having to cater to her injury and also her intense dislike of his father, but she thought he’d laugh and accept her apology, not reject it with a tone of resignation.

It’s late, Max has to give testimony in court early the next morning, and she’s experienced a rollercoaster of emotions that day, so she bites her tongue and closes her eyes, doing her best to fall asleep.

–

The next morning, she wakes up disoriented - the sun is streaming through the curtains in the living room, which they’d forgotten to close - in Max’s arms. She snuggles closer, her eyes still drifting closed, half awake and half asleep.

Max’s alarm sounds, and he sits up as if he’s been shot. Without saying a word, he gets out of bed and heads straight into the bathroom, and she hears the sound of running water within seconds.

Sighing, she gets out of bed as well, and heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She pulls on the dress that she’d planned to wear, frowning in the mirror as she sees that the bottom of her bandage is visible just below the hem. She pulls on a pair of thick, black tights, wincing as she eases it gently over the bandage. The pair get ready in relative silence, and Cass has just finished her makeup when room service arrives with breakfast.

“Oh, you got pancakes!” Cass exclaims when she emerges from the dressing room. “And… bacon, and eggs, and French toast…” The dining table is completely covered with food, as if Max had ordered an all you can eat breakfast buffet to the room. He’s halfway through eating an enormous bite of pancakes and chokes when he tries to respond.

“Max! You’re such a baby…” Cass hurries over as quickly as she can, handing him a glass of water so he can wash down the bite. She takes the seat next to him, and forks up a bite of eggs. “What’s with all the food?”

This time, Max carefully chews and swallows his next bite before trying to speak. “Just wanted to fill up in case we’re at court through lunch - you know, don’t want to have my stomach rumbling when I’m on the stand.” He takes another bite, a mishmash of French toast, sausage and whipped cream that would make Brad and his nutritionist faint, and Cass realizes that Max is really, really nervous.

“Good idea,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder. His shoulders are so tense - she hasn’t seen him this stressed out since the first time he met her dad. “Hey, you’ll be fine,” Cass soothes, stroking his shoulder gently until he relaxes. “You know what you’re going to say, right? The lawyers went through all the questions that you’ll be asked. And anyway, you’re just a character witness. There’ll be lots of other stuff going on.”

Max shoots Cass a sidelong look, looking slightly like a guilty puppy. “My dad thinks… my dad thinks if I give a good enough character testimony, the judge will let him off. Because apparently the lawyers found out the judge is a pretty big fan.” Cass absorbs this silently.

No wonder Max has been summoned when no one else from Jos’s family has been around, as far as she can tell. Jos intends to use Max’s insane celebrity in the Netherlands to get himself out of a pretty clear case of criminal battery, and has laid it on Max’s shoulders to be “good enough” - wherever that means - to sway the judge. She has no doubt that Jos has indicated to Max that if he was to be found guilty, he’ll blame Max.

“You know your dad punched someone in front of the police, right? That’s what the judge will care about. I mean, you’re an adult man, what can you possibly say to keep him out of jail? It’s not like you need him to take care of you.”

Max has an immensely pained expression on his face, and Cass remembers belatedly that he’s already nervous about going to court and backs off. “Okay, okay. Just remember, none of this is on you. You’re just here to say nice things about your dad, everything else is because of something he did.” She leans over and gives him a tight hug, leaving a sticky, maple syrupy kiss on his cheek.

–

When they arrive at the court house, Max is whisked away by the lawyers, presumably to wherever Jos is. Cass slowly makes her way through security and finds the court room, taking a seat in the back. The room is fairly empty, Jos’s lawyers having wrangled an “in camera” - i.e. not public - trial, probably because they’d told the court that Max would be here and it’d be a media circus, except for the prosecution team who are setting up on the other side of the aisle.

After a while, Max enters the court room and gestures for her to come over. “This is Jori, he’s going to help you translate what’s going on,” Max says, introducing her to an extremely tall, skinny young man who appears to be the most junior person on Jos’s legal team.

Jori directs her into a seat two rows behind the lawyer’s desks, one row behind Max. Under the fluorescent lights, everyone looks tired and sallow, and there’s a strong smell of disinfectant. It’s her first time in a court room, and she just hadn’t expected it to feel so much like the waiting room of a hospital.

Jos had given her a look up and down when he’d walked in, flanked by lawyers, his dead fish eyes not giving away whether he approved of her outfit or not. She twists the bracelet Max had given her absent mindedly as the court goes through the practical administrative bits of court, reading out the case name and confirming the identities of the relevant parties.

It’s all in Dutch, and Jori is a fairly terrible translator, being more focused on the trial itself. It’s also very quiet, and his attempts to maintain court etiquette by whispering his translations means that Cass can’t hear very much at all. Fortunately, the prosecution has brought several large, poster sized photos of the altercation and even plays a video from the police officer’s bodycam.

It all looks very bad for Jos, very bad indeed, and Cass can’t really see how anything Max says would get him out of this mess. There are a couple of witnesses, the police officer and his partner, the neighbour, and then a very heavily pregnant woman.

“Who is that?” Cass asks Jori, not recognising her from the video. “Jos’s girlfriend,” Jori mumbles, which shocks Cass so entirely that she loses the ability to speak. The woman looks about her age, dark hair and striking features, and looks about ready to give birth on the stand. Max is going to have another sibling? He’s already got two sisters, Victoria and another one who’s about four years old whom she’s never met.

Max is listening intently to the court proceedings, and she doesn’t want to break him out of his focus by asking him a question, but she wonders whether he knew about the pregnancy. He’s not shown any visible signs of surprise, which suggests that he’d known - but why hadn’t he said anything to her? And why hadn’t Jos’s girlfriend joined them for dinner the night before?

“Is she still together with Jos?” She asks Jori, who nods absently, before translating the woman’s testimony. She denies that she’d been arguing with Jos, and says that the neighbour had called the police because he doesn’t like Jos, which as far as Cass is aware is completely false. She alternates between rubbing and holding her baby bump the entire time, looking angelic, as she lies her socks off. Once her testimony is over, she returns to her seat in the back of the room, where Cass had missed her completely.

Then it’s time for Max’s testimony, and she can actually tell that the judge loves Max. The judge’s stern expression turns into one that’s almost smiling, and he welcomes Max to the stand - something he hadn’t done for the other witnesses. Jos’s lawyers ask a couple of questions, then Max rattles off his statement.

The judge is smiling and nodding throughout it all, and Jori just says that Max is talking about his childhood and early years in F1 and how Jos supported him. He tells some funny stories that has the judge laughing. Then Max is excused from the stand, the prosecution not having any questions for him, and he slips into the seat next to Cass, sliding his hand into hers and squeezing it.

“Good job,” she whispers to him, and he gives her a little smile of relief.

Then, Jos is called to the stand.

Immediately, the tone of the room shifts from the more light-hearted mood to one of tension, Jos glaring hard at the prosecution and the police officer in particular. His answers to the prosecution are curt and harshly said, each word bitten off abruptly. It appears that even the threat of jail can’t get Jos to behave himself.

All this makes it even more baffling to Cass that Jos has somehow managed to get a young, attractive and well spoken girlfriend to overlook his many and very evident flaws, and perjure herself for him. She wonders if he has another, charming persona that he uses on his girlfriends, or if there’s something with the women he dates (or marries) that attracts them to his horrible self.

Finally, a recess is called so that the judge can consider the evidence presented, and Max suggests the two of them go grab a drink at the courthouse cafe. Jos barks something at Max as they leave the courtroom, but Max just waves his hand at his father in acknowledgement, and continues heading out.

They order their drinks and collect them, easily finding a seat as the cafe is pretty empty. Max whooshes out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad that’s over,” he says, shaking his head. “Fuck, that was weird. And my dad… he’s so bad at hiding how he feels, he basically looked like he was going to punch that police guy all over again.”

Cass nods, taking a sip of her tea. “You were great,” she says encouragingly. “Jori said you hit all the points you were supposed to, and the judge was - well, honestly, the judge was kind of unprofessional, don’t you think? He was like, laughing at what you were saying. Isn’t he supposed to be impartial?”

Max shrugs. He doesn’t care if the judge is biased - that’s the whole reason why he’s here anyway. Cass wonders whether Luke would do the same - he’s got a strong moral code, but for their dad… Either of them would have done anything. It’s just that their dad would never have been in this sort of situation.

“Are you excited to become a big brother again?” Cass asks, to which Max shrugs again. “I don’t even know her name, actually. Jos’s girlfriend - have you met her before? When’s the baby due?”

Max leans back in his chair, forehead creasing with a frown. “I feel like I’m being interrogated again,” he says, half-jokingly but half not. Cass sits back as well, unsettled by his response. When it comes to his family, Max is so… weird. He’s normally honest to a fault, willing to talk about anything and everything - except his family.

To be fair to him, they’re a complicated bunch. He’s got all sorts of hang ups and guilt about his parents’ relationship, blaming his dad taking him on the road to all his races for their divorce - in her opinion, the angelically cute baby Max is probably a big reason why they miraculously stayed together long enough to have two kids.

He never says a bad word about Jos, not even when Cass literally sits next to him and can hear Jos berating him over the phone - over a bad race, not landing a particular sponsor, or even just because. “My dad sacrificed everything for me,” she can already hear him say before she even asks. He’s an endless pit of guilt and love and anxiety when it comes to Jos.

They sip their hot drinks in silence, Max sighing every now and then. “Hey,” he says suddenly. “We should probably start planning for Christmas, no? It’ll be our first big party in the house. Daniel says he’ll handle the booze.”

And that’s the end of any questions about Jos and his young, growing family. They’re discussing the Christmas tree when Jori comes to tell them that the recess has ended and they’re expected back in the courtroom.

Max holds on to Cass’s hand tightly as the judge reads out the charges once more, and then renders his verdict. “Not guilty,” he whispers to Cass, beaming, which is good because neither Jos nor any of his lawyers crack a smile or have any sort of reaction to the decision.

The lead prosecutor stands up and rattles off some curt, formal sounding words, and then the judge stands which means everyone stands, and then it’s all over. “The prosecutor’s going to appeal, but at least we won this round,” Max says before leaning over the divider and giving his dad a pat on the back, which Jos acknowledges with a nod.

Cass turns to look at the back of the room, where Jos’s girlfriend is sitting, and whilst Max is engaged in conversation with Jos and his legal team, decides to go have a chat with the young woman.

The girl gets loads of notice as Cass thumps down the aisle in her crutches, and she doesn’t run away, so Cass decides that she probably wants to talk to her as well. “Hello, mijn naam is Cass,” she says, sticking her hand out. “Sorry, I - er, ik kan geen Nederlands spreken, do you speak English?”

The woman gives her a wan smile. “Yes, I do speak English. Most people in the Netherlands can speak English, actually. But your Dutch is not that bad. You are Max’s girlfriend?” Cass blushes, caught off guard by the typical Dutch bluntness.

“Yes, yes I am - and you’re Jos’s girlfriend? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier…”

She introduces herself as Lisa, just turned 24, born and raised in Amsterdam and due in December. “A Christmas baby,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “Do you know whether you’re having a boy or girl?” Cass asks. Max only has sisters, and Cass wonders whether Jos would try and create Max 2.0 if he had another little boy.

Before Lisa can answer, Cass feels a tap on her shoulder. Max is finally ready to leave. “Hallo, Lisa,” he says easily. So they’ve met before. Cass bids the woman goodbye, and her last glimpse of Lisa is of the woman with her head down, looking at her phone, waiting for Jos.

–

“Oh, finally,” Cass says as Max unlocks the front door and the familiar smell of home enters her nose. She hobbles into the living room and collapses on the couch, groaning extravagantly. “I’ll just bring in all the bags, like a servant,” Max calls from the front door, sounding amused.

“And start the laundry too, please - thank you, Jeeves,” Cass shouts back, laughing. Max grumbles half heartedly, but she can barely walk so she knows he doesn’t expect her to lift anything heavy.

She contributes by starting a fire in the fireplace and turning the music on before slowly making her way up the stairs to take a shower. She takes so long that Max manages to do one load of laundry, take a shower in the spare bathroom and get dressed in the same amount of time, so she finds him rummaging in the kitchen fridge by the time she comes down.

“There’s not much in here - or at least, nothing we should be eating,” he says, pulling out some expired food and dropping it into the trash. Pretty much everything in the fridge is expired, so Max finally pulls his head out and gives her a hopeful look. “Should we order in?”

“Ooh, yes - can we get - oh, I can’t even choose, everything looks so delicious,” Cass already has her phone out and the delivery app open. She’s usually on a fairly strict diet - she has to hit certain nutritional targets every day to keep fit enough for ballet - but she’s definitely let loose since her injury. Max, on the other hand, has a race in a week.

“We deserve a cheat meal, don’t we?” Max grins. Cass smiles back. Oh yes they do.

That’s how they find themselves eating greasy, cheesy burgers on the floor of the living room, dipping chunky fries into Max’s favourite fries sauce and washing it down with crispy cold beers - just about the only thing in their fridge that was still safe for consumption.

“This show is so fake,” Cass comments, waving a fry in the direction of the TV and the contestants of Love Island. “They’re never going to fall in love this way, like what - they just look at the person and decide they’re in love? That’s crazy.”

Max looks at her oddly. “What’s so crazy about that? I mean, it’s just love at first sight, right?” Cass rolls her eyes. “Exactly, what are the odds that they meet someone on television and they’re just, like - bam! - in love? Like out of everyone in the world, they just happened to meet the love of their life?”

“That’s not very romantic of you,” Max shakes his head, sort of laughing. “You’re so suspicious - maybe they join the show because they’re ready to fall in love, and it’s the right time and right place, you know?” Cass leans over and kisses Max’s forehead.

“Aw, is that how you felt about me when you met me?” She teases. “We were children when we met,” Max points out, and Cass nods. “That’s true, we were just little babies - you appeared out of nowhere in that tent, all sweaty and dirty, the grumpiest expression on your face.” His grouchy face hasn’t changed much since those days, all furrowed blond brows and pouty lips, and she tells him so.

She takes a last bite of her burger and sprawls on the couch, shifting around so her head is in Max’s lap. “Ugh, I’m so full,” she complains, stretching like a cat. “Look at my food baby.” Max, who’s on his third beer, groans in agreement.

The fire is burning, they’re both full and a little tipsy, and maybe that’s what makes Max say what he says next.

“Maybe we should have a baby.”

—

Chapter Text

Cass has what might be the worst reaction she could have had.

She laughs.

They end up having the worst fight they’ve ever had as a couple. Max won’t listen to Cass’s explanations as to why, exactly, they shouldn’t be having a baby and accuses her of looking down on his family.

Cass gets frustrated that Max keeps cutting her off - and honestly, it is crazy that he wants to have a baby. She, funnily enough, actually believes that people shouldn’t have kids if they’re not going to be around for most of their childhoods, and just cannot understand why Max doesn’t seem to understand that.

When Max leaves for Mexico the next day, Cass doesn’t go with him.

Sure, it’s difficult going up and down the stairs but at least she’s in her own home and not stuck in a hotel room waiting for Max to return so they can continue the already multi-day argument. Max’s temper has always run hot anyway, so maybe it’ll be better when he returns the week after.

Max’s suggestion must plant something in her subconscious because she seems to see babies everywhere after that. They’re all over the hospital her physiotherapist’s clinic is in, splashing around in the public pool she goes to do her exercises, and there seems to always be a baby being shown proudly by a returning parent backstage at the Royal Ballet.

Time passes faster than it might have otherwise because at least she can go back to work, in some sense. Even though she can’t dance - she can’t even try to dance, or else her injury won’t heal properly, says Dr Duvall - she can help out with choreography, classes for the more junior dances, and a million little tasks that need doing.

She’s also finally got the time to answer all her mail properly, responding to requests for collaborations and interviews. She even responds to fan mail, or at least the correspondence from young aspiring dancers - there are always a few creeper adults out there that shouldn’t be encouraged.

Still, despite filling her days, the house feels empty when she goes home. She puts on music and the television, but despite her being pretty used to being home alone most of the time, there’s an added loneliness that comes from Max not texting and calling like he usually does.

He’s sulking. It’s a thing he does, that he’s always done, but always to other people - not her. He might pout, and they argue of course, but he’s never straight up ignored her like this. It’s an unsettling position to be in - usually Max is the one telling her off for not replying to his messages quickly enough.

On Friday night, she finally gets through to Max on the phone.

“How’s Mexico?” He’s been so blatantly dodging her calls that she almost feels like she’s approaching a skittish colt, one wrong word away from him running away forever.

“Fine.” She can hear the sound of cartoon cheering faintly in the background, a sound that has become familiar to her over the past year - Max is playing FIFA, clearly not paying attention to the call.

“How are you feeling about qualifying?” She persists, and she can hear Max pause the game with a sigh. She hates feeling like a burden, and the feeling only intensifies as Max describes his performance in free practice in a monotone.

There’s silence on the line once he finishes, quite unlike the easy, calm silences they have in the evenings after dinner at home seated on the living room couch. Silence over the phone is different, more fraught.

“Max…” She trails off, uncertainly. She doesn’t know what to say. Should she bring up the argument, or will that throw him off his game the night before qualifying? They are both so quiet that she can hear his breathing on the other end of the line.

“I love you,” she says finally. Hopefully. There’s a pause, then another sigh.

“I love you too.”

–

Curled up on the couch after, she thinks back to their argument. To be honest, she hadn’t been fully listening to Max, because they’d both been shouting at each other at the same time. He’d mentioned his family a few times, but her mind keeps coming back to one particular sentence he’d said.

Can’t you imagine our kids?

The problem is, she can. She’s always been able to, little chubby blonde babies with Max’s big smile and her green eyes. Thinking about the argument brings a picture of them to her mind, and all of a sudden she misses Max terribly.

She should have gone to Mexico. There’s no way they’ll be able to resolve their argument half the world apart - neither of them are any good at conflict resolution, especially not when they’re not face to face.

She has a mad idea. It’s quite late, but a quick Google search tells her there’s a flight to Mexico City in two hours from Heathrow, and she’d just be able to make it if she left in the next 10 minutes.

She books a taxi to the airport and throws a bunch of clothes into a bag whilst waiting for it, then books a seat on the plane whilst in the taxi. A kind soul at the airport check-in calls for a golf cart to take her to the plane, and then 12 hours later she’s in Mexico.

It’s still early in the morning, Mexico being seven hours behind London. She’ll be able to catch Max at his hotel before he goes to the track for qualifying.

Her stomach is filled with butterflies in the taxi on the way to the hotel. She’s never done anything this spontaneous in her life, and she can think of all the ways this could go wrong. What if Max isn’t happy to see her? What if he wants space?

She knows Max’s room number - their shared calendar has all the details, helpfully input by the Red Bull travel assistant - and she is slightly concerned at how easy it is for her to get to his door and knock.

“Cass?” Max is sleep rumpled, in a crumpled white t-shirt she knows he would have pulled on hastily as he usually sleeps just in his boxers. “What - what are you doing here?”

He takes her bag and moves so she can enter the room. When she turns around to give him a proper answer, he grabs her face and gives her a deep, unexpected kiss, kicking the door closed behind him.

“I missed you, so fucking much,” he gasps into her mouth like a man starved of oxygen. She winds her arms around his neck and he lifts her up, pulling her good leg around his hip to steady her.

Her body moulds to his like putty, and they melt together on to the bed. “I missed you too,” she murmurs, pulling his t-shirt over his head and running the tips of her fingers over the defined muscles of his back.

His hands are everywhere, spidering over her ribs and stroking her skin, rough, desperate. “You can’t show up and expect me to have any self control, kleintje,” he hisses as her hand dips under the waistband of his boxers and strokes him gently.

“Good. Don’t,” she teases, pulling Max down to drink a kiss from his lips. His thumbs drag over her nipples, wringing a moan out of her, pulling, pinching. She bites his lip in retaliation, and he laughs lowly. “Patience,” he pants, cradling her hips in his hands and pushing her baggy joggers down her legs.

“You’re one to preach patience,” she snaps, which turns into a groan as he pushes in. She digs her nails into his back, hips meeting his stroke for stroke, until she can’t think beyond the sparks barrelling up her spine, whiting out her eyes.

“Max,” she says, and his hand travels to her back, to pull her closer to his chest as he buries himself deep inside her as he finishes, pulsing. He holds her like that, tight, for a few seconds, their hearts beating furiously inside their chests.

“Fuck, your leg,” Max says suddenly, pushing himself away. Cass is still panting, head thrown back, eyes closed. “The leg is fine,” she says drowsily, suddenly feeling a wave of tiredness. She turns her head to look at him, reaching out one hand to cup his cheek.

“Cass?” He says, sounding uncertain, in a way that is very unlike him. “Yes, my love?” Cass turns over properly, craning her head forward to press her nose to his neck and breathe in the Max scent that she loves so much.

“You’re here,” he says, smiling faintly. Their eyes meet and unspoken words pass between them. His smile fades and he gets a serious look on his face. He reaches out and takes her hand and her heart stutters.

“I don’t know what came over me with the baby thing, it was crazy - it is crazy. We can’t have a baby, who would look after it? Let’s just forget the whole thing.” Cass knows better than to laugh, this time, so she nods seriously, filled with relief.

Only now, her fickle heart feels sad that they can’t talk about the future together without all of the drama. Max is so in the now, where if something isn’t happening immediately then it’s not even on his radar. Cass knows herself to be far more anxious, endlessly planning for things that might or might not happen.

“I wish we could stay here all day,” Max groans into the pillow, one hand absently stroking Cass’s hip. “But I have to get to the track. Do you want to come by later? I’ll have them arrange a pass for you.”

“Don’t you have to get ready first?” Cass nods to his clothes, crumpled at the end of the bed. Max surveys the pile seriously, then turns and gives her his most mischievous smile. “Well, I could be persuaded to be a little bit late if you want to take some time in the shower…”

–

Max is long gone by the time Cass wakes up, the room silent and dark. She can still smell the scent of his aftershave, though, and the faint whiff of coffee.

It’s past noon, and past time for her to get ready to go to the track. She stares down at the mishmash of clothes she’d thrown into her bag the night before and groans. If Jos had thought her outfits dismal before, he’d definitely have thoughts about what she can put together from this selection.

She pulls on a basic white tank top and pair of pale blue boyfriend jeans, then rifles through Max’s clothes for a Red Bull windbreaker. She hadn’t thought to bring any makeup, so she just gives her face a proper wash and brushes her teeth again, subduing her wild hair into a ponytail.

It’s not in any way glamorous, but it’ll have to do. Max has arranged for a car authorised to drive right up to the paddock to pick her up, so all she has to do is message the driver and she’s on her way within minutes.

Qualifying has already started by the time she arrives, and she slips quietly into the Red Bull garage to watch. Max has finished his Q1 laps and is out of the car, speaking earnestly to some of the engineers.

He spots her and his face lights up. “Kleintje, you’re wearing my jacket!” He exclaims, pointing it out to the engineers who cheer. “We knew you’d finally come around,” one of them - Cass thinks his name is Jack - says, giving her a high five. “We’re way cooler than Ferrari, eh?” Another one grins.

Cass thinks that Ferrari probably is the coolest team on the grid, but she’s diplomatic enough to hold her tongue. Max updates her on how all the drivers she knows are doing in qualifying, then has to get back into the car for the next round.

Max is absolutely flying around the track, and Brad tells her that he’s favoured to get pole. He tops Q2, and then is back, beaming. “We need to tweak the balance a bit, give me a sec,” he says, popping his helmet off and giving her a kiss on the cheek before heading off to speak to the engineers again.

This is maybe the best Max has ever done at qualifying when she’s been there - he’s set track records twice already and they’re only in Q2 - and she can’t help but feel buoyed by the mood of the garage.

She actually finds herself biting her nails as Max heads out for Q3. The cars are going faster than ever, all on some extra soft tyre, and Max gets on provisional pole… just to be beaten by Daniel by two hundredths of a second.

He’s raging when he comes back. “That was crap, the rear kept locking and the fucking engine braking wasn’t working,” he scowls at his car, stalking off to do his media duties. Cass watches him go, an amused smile on her face. He’s such a drama queen when he doesn’t get what he wants - but then again, so is she.

Also, she finds it hilarious that he’s picking up some of her phrasing - he’d never have described something as crap a year ago. But all of this makes it even clearer to her that there’s no way they could have a baby, because they are babies.

Which makes it all the more stunning later, when she’s having dinner with Luke - Max has dinner with Christian and Helmut, which she’d happily bowed out of - and Luke tells her that he’s having a baby.

“With who?” Cass is absolutely flabbergasted. Luke has never mentioned any serious girlfriend to her, ever.

The tips of Luke’s ears turn pink. “Lisa Duvall,” he mumbles. Cass blinks, trying to remember if she’s ever met someone named - “Wait, Dr Duvall?!”

Apparently, Luke and Dr Duvall have been seeing each other ever since he recovered from the car crash, although Luke does admit he’d been attracted to her since they first met. Dr Duvall had been very strict on not dating him as a patient.

“No wonder she came all the way to Austin just to check my stitches!” Cass laughs, punching Luke in the arm. “I thought you’d paid her an ungodly amount, I didn’t realise it was in kind.” The blush spreads from the tips of Luke’s ears over his face and down his neck and he changes the subject hastily.

The baby is due in the middle of March, near their dad’s birthday. Dr Duvall - Lisa - will continue living in Monaco, but she and Luke will look for a bigger apartment to move into together over Christmas break before flying to London for Christmas.

“Can she come to your Christmas party as well?” Luke asks. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he’d told Cass the news, and Cass feels her heart melting at the sight of her big brother so happy whilst at the same time wondering where they’re going to fit all the people who have been invited.

When she gets back to the hotel, Max is already back, lying in bed and watching TV. The siblings’ dinner had lasted a lot later into the night and they had drunk much more champagne than advisable considering Luke is racing the next morning, and Cass is both jetlagged and tipsy.

“Maxie!” She bursts into the room - as much as she can, on her crutches - and flops onto the bed. “You’ll never guess what Luke wanted to tell me. Go on, guess.” She looks expectantly at Max, who looks back at her with amusement.

“He’s retiring?” Max suggests, pausing the TV. Cass shakes her head then nudges him with his nose to indicate he should guess again. Max tilts his head back, closing his eyes and scrunching up his nose, thinking hard.
“He’s gay?” Cass rolls her eyes at Max, shoving him in the arm. It’s not the first time Max has guessed this. “Opposite - he’s having a baby! With Dr Duvall!”

Max is gratifyingly shocked, sitting up immediately and taking off the blue light glasses Cass had bought him after seeing him go basically cross eyed whilst sim racing. “Your doctor? The one from Monaco?”

Cass nods, eyes wide. “They’re having a little girl in March, and he asked if they can come for Christmas dinner - him and Dr Duvall. I said yes, of course, but it’s going to be kind of weird, don’t you think?”

She updates him on everything else Luke had told her about his and Lisa’s relationship. “But at least now she can do my three month check up for me at our house without flying out specially, right? Anyway, I was thinking, since we’ll have more people, should we get a bigger turkey?”

Max is quiet for a second, looking almost guilty. “What? No to turkey?” Max shakes his head, then takes her hand. She has the feeling something is terribly wrong.

“You know how my mum and sister are coming for Christmas?” He fiddles with the slender silver ring on her pointer finger. “Can - can my dad come too?”

Cass’s expression betrays her before she can respond, an almost instinctive scrunching up of her face in disgust. “Isn’t he expecting a baby too?” She asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, he and his girlfriend have broken up and she doesn’t want him around, so he’s asked if he can spend Christmas with me and Victoria… My mum says she doesn’t care, so if you’re fine with it then… he can come, I guess?”

Cass frowns at him. He’s clearly done a bit of planning behind her back with his family, but she can’t really turn his dad away on Christmas of all days. Not when she’s just unilaterally invited her brother’s girlfriend-slash-baby-mama-slash-her doctor.

“Fine, but he can sit at the far end of the table and he is not staying with us,” she grumps. She’s rewarded by a big smile and kiss from Max, which partly but not wholly manages to dispel her anxiety about the human embodiment of negativity, Jos Verstappen, disrupting the peace and safety her and Max’s home.

–

“... and Max Verstappen wins the Mexican Grand Prix!” Cass is up and cheering with the rest of the garage, the crew pouring out onto the pit lane to hang from the fences. There’s a general sense of happiness in the paddock, as Lewis has just won the championship.

“The parties tonight are going to be wild,” Brad comments to Cass as they make their way to parc ferme, the Red Bull crew graciously letting her through to the front. Max has just parked his car and hops out, racing over to them and jumping so high into the crowd that he’s nearly body surfing.

After a lot of pats on his back, he’s placed back on the ground again, a conquering hero presenting his helmeted head to Cass to kiss. She presses her lips gently to the frankly disgusting outside of his helmet, covered in gritty dirt and more than a few splattered bugs, reveling in Max’s laughter when he sees her grossed out expression.

“Congratulations, my love,” she says, squeezing his hand, before he gets pulled away to be weighed and interviewed.

She almost goes deaf from the volume of cheering when the announcer calls Max’s name to receive his first place trophy and Max emerges, beaming and waving to the crowd. He climbs the top step and stands, hands behind his back and head high as the Dutch anthem blares.

She’s immeasurably proud of him and her heart feels like it’s about to burst in her chest when he smiles down at her and winks cheekily. It’s been an absolutely insane weekend, from sitting at home in a funk less than 48 hours ago to finding out that Luke’s expecting a baby (!) and now getting to watch Max win a race in dominating fashion.

She could almost get used to the overwhelming attention from press and fans if it means seeing her man this happy.

–

Two weeks later, in Brazil, the mood is decidedly not happy. Max had been leading the race after a number of incredible maneuvers when Esteban Ocon, trying to unlap himself, had somehow collided with him.

Even though Max ends up second, he’s absolutely seething with rage at the French driver. He jumps out of his car and gives a terse post-race interview on parc ferme before heading to the queue of drivers waiting to be weighed where he unfortunately finds Ocon.

Cass watches in horror as Max and Ocon exchange words, followed swiftly by Max shoving Ocon hard. “Fuuuuckin’ hell,” Brad groans, already envisaging the punishment Max is going to get for being openly violent, no matter how justified people might think his anger is.

Cass ends up waiting for Max in his driver’s room for a long time, as Max gets summoned to the stewards for his conduct. When he finally returns, expression blacker than tar, she doesn’t really know what to say.

“I need a drink - no, I need a series of drinks, quickly,” Max growls as he strips off his clothes in short, angry movements. “We could go out tonight? I’m sure there’ll be parties,” Cass suggests tentatively. She and Max had skipped the afterparties in Mexico to reacquaint themselves, but she feels like staying in today will only make him think about the situation even more.

Is it bad that she thinks he looks kinda extra hot when he’s like this? He’s still all sweaty from the race, his hair sticking up like crazy where he’s run his hands through it in frustration, cheeks flushed pink from either anger or exertion. His eyes have never looked more sharply blue, and his jaw is clenched tight.

It’s probably not the right time to kiss him. He’s still muttering about murdering Ocon, after all. His focus is entirely on being cheated out of the race win. Still, she can’t help but inch closer to him, drawn by his magnetic energy.

He looks up from where he’s towelling off his hair and catches her eye. “What?” His voice is still roughened by anger, but his face softens when he looks at her. Cass shakes her head, trying to hide her smile, but Max raises his eyebrows and asks again. “What? Tell me.”

“Do you know I have the biggest crush on you?” Cass says, batting her eyelashes at him. “You’re so handsome, and you’re so fast, and you have such -” she squeals as Max uses some of that speed to move over and grab her in the blink of an eye.

“Kleintje,” he says, looking amused. “Are you trying to distract me so I don’t kill that idiot?” His arms wind around her waist, pulling her close to him. She can feel the residual heat from his overexerted body surrounding her, warming her up.

“Not on purpose,” she admits. “You just look… hot right now. Very hot.” Cass looks up into Max’s blue, blue eyes, staring intently into hers. His pouty lips curl into a wicked smile that makes him look slightly like a crocodile about to devour its prey. Cass says as much.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to do,” Max says, laughing, before kissing her so thoroughly that she forgets where she is.

The buzzing of Max’s phone interrupts them. Max pulls away reluctantly, his breathing rough. “Probably the stewards calling me back,” he says, before checking his phone. His expression is one of surprise, then resignation.

“Ja, papa,” he answers the call, pulling away from Cass. Her body mourns the loss of his heat immediately. Cass rolls her eyes and leans back, her head bumping against the wall with an audible thump.

Jos is even more incensed by Ocon’s antics than Max was, and Cass has serious concerns about Ocon’s long term health - especially knowing what Jos is like.

Max ends the call by telling Jos he’s invited for Christmas, and hangs up.

“Hey, you okay?” Cass asks, wrapping her arms around Max and pulling him into a hug. Max gives a short laugh, shaking his head like a dog out of water. “Damn, any time my dad says that I’ve done exactly the right thing, I know I’ve fucked up,” he says ruefully.

“It’s not too late to apologise,” Cass suggests. “I will never apologise to that idiot, but maybe I’ll go tell the stewards I regret my actions or something like that. You okay to wait for me? Then we can go out after?”

Cass agrees and watches him go, shamelessly checking him out. Angry Max is very hot, sure, but maybe Mature Max could be… even hotter?