System Failure - Chapter 96: Monaco - Part 2
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.
Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff, Mercedes’ notoriously brilliant, emotionally unavailable lead systems engineer and Toto Wolff’s eldest daughter, is not handling it well. Because Max isn’t just a potential signing, he’s the man she’s been sleeping with in secret for nearly a decade.
And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.
Warnings and Notes: GEORGE RUSSELL BASHING. I am warning in ALL CAPS because if you are a fan of him, DO NOT come into my inbox and complain to me about me being mean to this fictional version of him. REAL LIFE GEORGE RUSSELL WOULD OBVIOUSLY NEVER ACT LIKE THAT. Also, this chapter contains mentions of Death Threats and some vague mentions of sexual assault and threats of the same. For Housekeeping Reasons, this is fiction. I don't know any of these people in real life. The world portrayed in this story is obviously not real life, and I am sure that none of the people mentioned are anything like I portray them in this piece of fiction. (Apparently, this needs to be said for some of the people in my inbox.)
(Also I obviously have no clue how GT3 customer teams are run so...if its wrong, don't come for me)
Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it! As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble.
Maison Étoiles, Monaco - 14 October 2025
Max knew Ana was thinking about tomorrow because she had reorganised the same stack of papers three times.
Not obviously.
Ana did very few things obviously when she was unsettled.
Max lay propped against the headboard with his injured leg elevated, one hand resting over his ribs and the television playing silently across the room. He had not absorbed a second of it.
Sassy occupied the space beside his good hip.
Jimmy sat on the rug, watching Ana with the grave attention of a cat who had concluded that she was the most likely person in the room to do something interesting.
Ana lifted the first page.
Placed it on top of the second.
Paused.
Then returned it to its original position.
Max watched her. “You know Jos is going to be there tomorrow.”
Ana did not look up. “He has mentioned it several times.”
“He says he is waiting outside.”
“Yes.”
“He is not going to wait outside.”
Ana considered that. “He may initially wait outside.”
“That is not reassuring.” Max shifted against the pillows. “I am worried he is going to murder Gerhard.”
Her pen stopped. Ana looked over at him. “Perhaps worry about yourself first.”
“I am worried about myself.”
“No. You are worrying about managing your father’s emotional reaction to something that happened to you.”
Max frowned. “He is angry.”
“So are you.”
“Yes, but I am injured.”
“That has not historically prevented you from making poor decisions.”
Max stared at her. “That was rude.”
“It was accurate.”
Max studied the straight line of her shoulders.
There was a particular kind of calm in them that made him suspicious.
Not frightened-calm. Not masking-calm. Planning-calm.
Usually, he liked planning-calm. It meant Ana had found a problem and was preparing to remove it from existence.
Tonight, he was not entirely sure Gerhard Berger would appreciate the distinction. “Nastya.”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t going to kill Gerhard, are you?”
Ana looked up slowly.
Max continued before she could answer. “I don’t need to worry about you doing something?”
Her expression became faintly offended. “I will not physically harm Gerhard Berger.”
Max went still. “Physically.”
“Yes.”
“So mentally harming him is on the table?”
Ana considered the wording with far too much seriousness. “I would not describe it that way.”
“How would you describe it?”
“Establishing consequences.”
The words settled into the room.
Max looked at her. Something low in his stomach tightened. “That sounds worse.”
“It is more precise.”
“It sounds like you have already planned consequences.”
“I have considered contingencies.”
“What contingencies?”
“If he attempts to manipulate you, rewrite Baku, pressure you into forgiveness, publicly imply that reconciliation has occurred, or use the meeting to rehabilitate Red Bull’s image without your consent, I will respond… appropriately.”
Max stared. “What does appropriately mean in that context?”
“That depends on the offence.”
There was no drama in Ana’s voice. No attempt to sound threatening. Ana simply said it as if she were discussing tolerances in a system.
That made it much worse. Or better. Max had not yet decided.
He pushed himself slightly higher against the pillows.
Ana’s eyes dropped to his ribs. “Do not sit like that.”
“Please do not threaten the new Red Bull team principal.”
“I have not threatened him.”
“You just said his punishment depends on the offence.”
“I said my response would.”
“That is punishment.”
“I have several abilities to make his life a living hell so to speak.”
Max looked at her for a long moment.
She looked composed.
Elegant even, in a soft sweater and loose trousers, her hair falling over one shoulder because she had taken it down before coming upstairs.
And yet she was calmly outlining the circumstances under which she might make Gerhard Berger’s life professionally unbearable.
The contrast did something extremely unhelpful to him. “Nastya.”
“Yes?”
“What exactly are these other abilities?”
Ana folded her hands over the packet. “Several.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer you are receiving.”
“You sound like Toto.”
“That is unsurprising.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am preparing.”
“That little look says otherwise.”
“I do not have a look.”
“You do.”
“What look?”
“The one where you already know how to ruin somebody and are deciding whether they deserve it.”
Ana’s mouth moved. Barely. There.
Max felt a sharp curl of heat through him. He should probably have been more concerned about the fact that he found his fiancee threatening to ruin people’s lives attractive. Instead he found himself thinking that Ana was terrifying and brilliant and very much his.
“I am going to listen tomorrow,” she said.
“To Gerhard.”
“Yes.”
“And decide whether he means it.”
“Yes.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I will know.”
Max believed her.
Of course he did.
Ana could hear dishonesty in sentence structure. She noticed when people used passive language to avoid naming responsibility. She knew the difference between mistakes were made and I failed you.
Gerhard would not be able to hide inside corporate phrasing with Ana in the room.
The thought should have reassured him.
It did.
It also made him want her. Quite badly.
“I am going to spend the rest of my life making sure people deserve your forgiveness,” Ana said flatly.
The words hit him directly in the chest. Max looked at her. Ana held his gaze.
“I will never decide for you,” she continued. “Forgiveness is yours. I will respect whatever you choose. But I will not allow people to treat your forgiveness as something they are owed.”
Her voice remained quiet. Steady. Absolute.
“I will not stand beside you silently while someone apologises only because they want access to you again. Or because they want the public to believe you have absolved them. Or because your kindness makes their professional life easier.”
Max swallowed.
Ana’s eyes dropped briefly toward his brace.
Then to the bruising still visible above the collar of his shirt.
When she looked back at his face, there was something cold and devoted in her expression. “Nobody crosses the people I love.”
That did it.
The sentence moved through him like a spark dropped into fuel. Max shifted again before remembering his ribs.
Ana immediately stood. “What are you doing?”
“Come here.”
“You are injured.”
“Yes. Come here anyway.”
Ana stared at him. Max held out one hand. Her gaze dropped to it. Then returned to his face. “We are discussing tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“You were worried about Jos murdering Gerhard.”
“I am less worried now.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently you are going to destroy him with administrative precision.”
Ana looked faintly offended. “It would not necessarily be administrative.”
Max’s breath caught on something dangerously close to a laugh. “Come here.”
Ana crossed the room slowly. Suspiciously. She stopped beside the bed rather than sitting.
Max took her hand. “You are not allowed to ruin Red Bull before I drive the Mercedes.”
“I have no current intention of ruining Red Bull.”
“Current.”
Max tugged lightly on her hand.
Ana resisted. “You cannot pull me onto you.”
“I know.”
“You will hurt your ribs.”
“I know.”
“You are currently on strong medication.”
“I am not unconscious.”
“That was not my concern.”
“What was?”
Ana looked at him. Then at his mouth.
Max saw the exact moment she realized where the conversation had gone.
Her eyes narrowed. “You are attempting to distract me.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I am also very attracted to you.”
Ana’s expression flickered. “Because I threatened a sixty-six-year-old man?”
“You threatened him very politely. Consequences. Contingencies. Several abilities.” Max smiled. “That is doing it for me.”
Ana stared. “That is an inappropriate response.”
He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “You are sitting there talking about destroying people who hurt me.”
“I did not use the word destroy.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied correction.”
“Even better.”
“Max.”
“Nastya.”
“You need to rest.”
“I have been resting for weeks.”
Ana tried to pull her hand away.
Max held on. Not hard. Just enough to ask.
Her gaze moved to their joined hands. Then back to him. “You are impossible.”
“You love me.”
“Yes.”
“Very much?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to kiss me?”
Ana’s eyes narrowed again. “You already know the answer.”
“I want you to demonstrate it.”
Ana looked at him for several seconds. Then she sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
She placed one hand against his chest, above the bruising, checking where she could safely put her weight.
Max’s smile softened. Even now.
Even when he had successfully distracted her. Even when heat had begun building between them. She still mapped his injuries before touching him. He caught her wrist and moved her hand slightly higher, over his heart.
“Nastya.”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
Ana leaned down.
The first kiss was careful.
Far too careful.
Her mouth brushed his once, soft and brief, before she started to pull back.
Max followed as far as his ribs allowed. “No.”
Ana blinked. “No?”
“That was a goodnight kiss.”
“It is evening.”
“I don’t want a goodnight kiss.”
“What kind do you want?”
Max looked at her. Ana understood. Color rose slowly along her throat. He loved that she could calmly threaten professional devastation and still blush when he looked at her for too long.
“That kind,” he said.
Ana kissed him again.
This time, she stayed.
Her mouth moved against his slowly at first, still conscious of his ribs, his shoulder, his leg, every damaged piece of him.
Max slid his hand into her hair.
The neat order she had imposed on herself all day was gone now. Her hair was soft between his fingers, warm where it rested against her neck.
He deepened the kiss.
Ana made a quiet sound against his mouth.
That sound erased Gerhard Berger completely from his mind. For several seconds there was no Red Bull. No Baku. No meeting. No George.
Only Ana’s lips and the hand she kept pressed over his heartbeat.
Max kissed her until careful began to soften into hungry.
Ana shifted closer, one knee braced on the mattress beside his good hip, her body angled so she did not touch his injured leg.
He loved her for being careful.
He wanted her to stop being careful for five minutes. His hand tightened gently at the back of her neck.
Ana kissed him harder. There. That was what he wanted.
Her composure slipping.
The precise woman who made folders of consequences and sat across from powerful men without blinking now breathing unevenly against his mouth because of him.
Max felt absurdly pleased with himself.
Ana pulled back first. Barely. Their foreheads remained together. “You are smiling.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You are scary.”
“That is not usually considered romantic.”
“It is when you’re scary because you love me.”
“I do not think that is how attraction should work.”
“It works for me.”
“That is concerning.”
Max brushed his nose against hers. “You said you would make his life hell.”
“I said I possess abilities.”
“Very hot.”
Ana closed her eyes. “You have painkiller brain.”
“No. I have always liked you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you could ruin someone’s entire week before breakfast.”
“I could ruin more than a week.”
Max stared at her.
Ana opened her eyes. She realized what she had said.
Max’s grin widened. “That.”
“Do not.”
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“You could ruin his month?”
“No.”
“Career?”
“Max.”
“Life?”
Ana covered his mouth with her hand.
Max kissed her palm.
Her expression betrayed her. She was trying not to smile.
He moved her hand aside. “See?”
“You are ridiculous.”
“And you like me.”
“Yes.”
“Make out with me again.”
“That was your entire strategy? You began a serious conversation about tomorrow so that you could talk me into kissing you.”
“No. You made threats. Then I wanted to kiss you.”
Ana kissed him again to stop him speaking.
It was an effective strategy. Max approved.
This kiss was less cautious from the beginning.
Ana’s fingers moved into his hair. Max kept one arm around her waist, holding her close without pulling her weight against his ribs.
His body still hurt.
Every breath reminded him of the crash.
Every attempt to move reminded him of what had been done to him.
But Ana’s mouth was warm. Her hand was steady against him. And for several precious minutes, his body felt like his again.
Not evidence. Not recovery. Not something doctors and security teams discussed around him.
His.
Ana finally drew back, breathing harder now.
Max followed her mouth for one more kiss. Then another.
She let him.
“You need to stop,” she murmured.
“Why?”
“Because you are injured.”
“I know.”
“And your breathing is changing.”
“That is not because of my ribs.”
Ana’s face went pink.
Max felt unbearably fond of her.
“And because,” she continued with dignity, “we still need to discuss tomorrow.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
“I think we resolved it.”
“We did not.”
“Jos waits outside.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t physically harm Gerhard.”
“Correct.”
“You professionally traumatize him only if necessary.”
“I did not agree to that wording.”
“Close enough.”
Ana went still.
Max noticed.
His eyes narrowed. The memory arrived abruptly.
George Russell’s Instagram account. The unexplained breach. The posting about the brands that weren’t his sponsors.
Toto looking at Ana across a dinner table and asking, if she had done it.
And Ana replying “I didn’t touch George’s Instagram. Honestly, I haven’t hacked anything in years.”
Max had found it funny at the time.
Now he looked at her more carefully.
“Nastya.”
“Yes?”
“You are not going to hack anything, are you?”
She blinked. Slowly.
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The face you make when the answer is technically complicated.”
“I have no such face.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Toto thought you hacked George’s Instagram.”
“Papa thinks many things.”
Max stared at her. “Ana.”
She leaned closer, mouth brushing the corner of his.
“Believe me,” she said softly, “if I ever hack anything, you will not catch me.”
The words went straight through him. Again.
He should have reacted with alarm. Instead his hand tightened at her waist.
Ana felt it.
Her brows drew together. “Max.”
“That was also hot.”
“That should not be hot.”
“It is.”
He kissed her before she could continue.
Ana resisted for perhaps half a second. Then she kissed him back. Harder than before.
Max smiled against her mouth. She bit his lower lip lightly in retaliation.
His breath caught.
Ana immediately pulled back.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Your breathing—”
“Still not my ribs.”
She stared at him. Then understood.
“Oh.”
Max laughed. That one did hurt. He winced.
Ana immediately placed her hand against his side.
“I told you.”
“I know.”
“You have no self-preservation.”
Her expression softened despite herself.
Max caught her hand and pressed it against his chest again.
Beneath her palm, his heart beat faster now. Her eyes dropped to it. “Tomorrow may be difficult.”
“Yes.”
“I may dislike him.”
“I expect you to.”
“I may ask questions that are uncomfortable.”
“Good.”
“I will not interfere with whatever you decide.”
“I know.”
“But if he attempts to use you—”
“I know.”
Ana looked at him.
“No,” she said. “I need you to understand.”
Max waited.
“If he crosses you, there will be consequences.”
Her voice was low. Certain.
Possessive in the way only Ana could be possessive—not ownership, but protection.
A promise that she had identified him as something precious and would build walls, systems, traps and entire contingency plans around keeping him safe.
It made something warm and sharp coil inside him again.
Max pulled her closer. “Nastya.”
“What?”
“You cannot say things like that and expect me not to kiss you.”
“That is not a reasonable causal relationship.”
“It is.”
He kissed her. Ana made an exasperated sound against his mouth. But she did not move away.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Daniel Ricciardo
Max:I am meeting Gerhard Berger tomorrow.
Daniel:Okay. That message has the energy of a hostage note.
Max:He wants to apologise.
Daniel:Long overdue.
Max:My dad is coming.
Daniel:Oh no.
Max:He says he will wait outside.
Daniel:Mate if I know Jos at all, he will not wait outside.
Max:I know.
Max:Ana is also coming.
Daniel:Good, one adult is there.
Max:Maybe.
Daniel:Why maybe?
Max:She said she will not physically harm Gerhard.
Daniel:…your girl is terrifying.
Daniel:What else did she say?
Max:Something about consequences.
Daniel:Oh my God.
Max:And making sure people deserve my forgiveness.
Daniel:That is terrifyingly romantic.
Max:I know.
Daniel:You sound pleased.
Max:It is very hot.
Daniel:Of course you think it is hot.
Max:She said there are other ways she can make his life hell.
Daniel:I am crying.
Max:I asked if she was going to hack anything.
Daniel:Reasonable follow-up.
Max:She said if she ever hacks something, I will not catch her.
Daniel:HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Daniel:Mate.
Daniel:You are marrying a criminal mastermind.
Max:Maybe.
Daniel:And you’re into it.
Max:Very.
Daniel:I cannot believe this is your life.
Max:You caused it. Your terrible pick-up lines worked on her.
Daniel:You’re welcome.
Max:Also the wedding is in December.
Daniel:WHAT.
Max:Scotland.
Daniel:Say less. I’ll be there.
Max:Good.
Daniel:Do I get details or am I just arriving somewhere cold in formalwear?
Max:Both.
Daniel:Perfect.
Max:You need to come.
Daniel:Obviously.
Max:There cannot be a wedding without the best man.
Daniel:Mate.
Daniel:Are you asking me to be your best man by text?
Max:Yes.
Daniel:You absolute robot.
Max:Is that a no?
Daniel:It is obviously a yes.
Daniel:Jesus. Of course I’ll be your best man.
Max:Good.
Daniel:I thought you were going to ask your sister.
Max:Victoria would be better organised.
Daniel:True.
Max:But your bad pick-up lines worked on Ana.
Daniel:So I’m being rewarded for historic service.
Max:Yes.
Daniel:I accept.
Daniel:Do I have to give a speech?
Max:Unfortunately.
Daniel:Oh this is going to be incredible.
Max:No stories from 2016.
Daniel:Absolutely stories from 2016.
Max:No Monaco stories.
Daniel:Especially Monaco stories.
Max:Ana will destroy you.
Daniel:Apparently you’ll find that hot.
Max:Probably.
Daniel:I cannot wait for this wedding.Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate.
***
Maison Étoiles, Monaco - 15 October 2025
The kitchen windows were pale with early autumn light, the garden beyond them still silvered with rain.
The house was quiet.
No voices upstairs. No security team moving through the hall. No lawyers, meetings or carefully worded statements.
Only the low hum of the coffee machine and Jimmy winding himself around Ana’s ankles with calculated desperation.
“You are attempting to manipulate me,” she told him.
Jimmy stared up at her.
“I am resistant.”
He purred louder and pressed his entire body against her shin.
Ana looked down. “Moderately resistant.”
“You’re losing.” Max’s voice came from the doorway.
Ana turned.
He was wearing grey sweatpants and a soft black T-shirt, his hair pointing in several directions, his crutches tucked beneath his arms. He looked tired, slightly rumpled and unfairly appealing.
“Jimmy has not yet achieved his objective,” she said.
“He will.”
“That remains unproven.”
Jimmy meowed.
Max smiled. “He sounds confident.”
“He is overestimating his position.”
Max crossed the kitchen carefully and leaned down to kiss the side of her head before lowering himself onto one of the stools.
“Morning.”
“Good morning.”
Ana placed a mug of coffee in front of him.
His smile deepened. “You already made mine.”
“You always want coffee first.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
There was something wonderfully uncomplicated about mornings before everyone else woke.
Max drank his coffee. Ana lost the will to fight against Jimmy’s humongous eyes and gave him the treats he wanted.
For several minutes, neither of them mentioned Gerhard Berger, George Russell, Baku or the fact that Max still winced when he thought she was not looking.
It was almost peaceful.
Then Max unlocked his phone and became suspiciously intent upon it.
Ana approached from behind. “What are you doing?”
He startled hard enough that the phone nearly slipped from his hand.
“For fuck’s sake.”
“You knew I was in the room.”
“I did not know you were directly behind me.”
“I was not attempting to conceal myself.”
“You walk too quietly.” Max locked the screen.
Ana stopped beside him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You closed it.”
“Yes.”
“That indicates it was something.”
“It’s a birthday present.”
Her attention sharpened.
“For whom?”
“Victoria.”
“When is her birthday?”
“Next week.”
Ana stared at him. “You have not purchased a gift for your sister yet?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“What is with you and last minute gifts?” Ana asked him drily. “First GP, now Victoria?” She glanced at the phone. “What does she want?”
Max unlocked it again and turned the screen toward her. A photograph of a structured black leather handbag filled the display.
Ana looked at it. Then at him. “A Birkin.”
“Yes.”
“You are aware that Hermès is stupid.”
Max blinked.
“The company?”
“The purchasing structure.”
“Okay.”
“The artificial scarcity is deliberately manufactured. Hermes uses that artificial scarcity to create an irrational hierarchy in which customers are expected to purchase unrelated products for the opportunity to potentially be offered the item they actually want. The client hierarchy is opaque, the access system rewards repeated unnecessary consumption, and the resale market inflates prices for an object that is functionally less efficient than many bags available at one-tenth of the cost.”
Max stared at her.
Ana continued. “The closure of that handbag is also impractical if you need frequent access.”
“I don’t care if the brand is stupid. Victoria wants it. So she gets it.”
There was something very Max about the answer.
He was not impressed by the brand. He was not interested in the exclusivity. He did not care about the market value or waiting lists or whether someone else considered the purchase excessive.
Victoria wanted it. Therefore Max intended to obtain it.
Ana folded her arms.
Max returned his attention to the phone. “I just need to find the right one.”
“What specifications?”
He looked up. “What?”
“What did she request?”
“She requested nothing. She said she wanted a Birkin and then said that she just said something unnecessarily expensive as a joke, but I know my sister. If Vic mentioned it, then she mentioned it because she actually wants it.”
“Do you know which colour? Which leather? Size? Hardware?
Max stared at her like she was insane.
“Do you want a new one? Or is excellent condition fine?” Ana continued. “Full set?”
Max looked blank.
“Box, dust bag, raincoat, receipt if available?”
“Why does a bag have a raincoat?”
“Because Hermès is stupid.”
He accepted that silently.
Ana returned the phone. ”I’ll take care of it if you want me to.”
Max’s head came up. “What?”
“I’ll find one.”
“How?”
Ana walked toward the coffee machine. “Several ways.”
Max turned on the stool to follow her. “You just spent two minutes explaining why Hermès is stupid.”
“It is.”
“And now you can get one?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Ana placed a cup beneath the machine. “I have dealer contacts.”
There was a pause. “You have what?”
“Dealer contacts.”
“For Hermès bags.”
“Among other things.”
Max stared at the back of her head. Ana pressed the button. Coffee began pouring. “When did this happen?”
“It did not happen at one specific moment.”
“Nastya.”
“Yes?”
“Why do you have Hermès dealer contacts?”
Ana collected her cup and turned around. “I have been looking for a scarf.”
Max waited.
She did not elaborate.
“What scarf?”
“The Formule Chic Double Face 90.”
He blinked.
“The what?”
“It’s a Hermès silk scarf.”
“You want a Hermès scarf.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you looking for one?”
“For Susie’s birthday.”
Max’s expression changed. “Oh.”
Ana returned to the island and sat beside him. “It is an older design,” she said. “Formule Chic. It features a modern Formula One cockpit on one side, and a 1950s Formula One cockpit on the other. The design is reversible.”
Max looked at her carefully. “And you want it for Susie’s birthday? When is that?”
“December 6th. I have been searching for 18 months. She saw it when it was available a few years ago and didn’t buy it. She mentioned regretting that ever since. I haven’t yet found one in good enough condition.”
“You have been searching for a scarf for a birthday for 18 months?!”
“Yes. I have auctions alerts on it.”
Max was silent for a moment.
Ana sipped her coffee.
He looked almost confused. Not by the scarf. By her. “You stalk auctions.”
“I monitor auction alerts.”
“That is stalking auctions.”
“The platforms send notifications voluntarily.”
“And dealers.”
“Yes.”
“And resale sites.”
“Yes.”
“And you know about leather and hardware and full sets.”
“I research things before purchasing them.”
“You research everything.”
“That is sensible.”
Max’s mouth curved. “I had no idea you cared about fashion.”
Ana considered this. “I do not care about fashion in the way you mean.”
“What way do I mean?”
“As personal expression governed by trend cycles.”
“Okay.”
“I care about objects. Construction. History. Symbolism. Whether something suits the person receiving it.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup. “Gifts are important.”
The humour left Max’s face.
Ana looked down at the dark surface of her coffee.
She had always thought gifts were a form of evidence.
Evidence that someone had listened. That they had remembered. That they had noticed what another person touched in a shop window or paused beside in a museum or mentioned once in a conversation three years earlier.
A gift did not have to be expensive, but it had to be specific.
Specificity meant attention. Attention meant care.
For most of Ana’s childhood, presents had been obligations wrapped in paper.
Objects chosen to reflect what a child like her was supposed to want.
Things a daughter was meant to like. Things a girl was meant to want.
“Gifts are important,” she repeated.
Max’s expression softened. “I know.”
“No, you think gifts are things people ask for.”
“That is important too.”
“Yes.”
“Victoria asked for the bag. So I get the bag.”
Ana looked at him.
He shrugged. “She is my sister. She wants it. I can afford it. There is no problem.”
“There are several problems with Hermès as an institution.”
“No problem that matters.”
Ana’s mouth twitched. “You are very stubborn.”
“You’re going to find it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“So we agree.”
“We do not agree about Hermès.”
“I don’t care about Hermès.”
“I know.”
“I care about Victoria.”
Ana studied him for a moment. Then nodded. “I’ll locate one today.”
“How much is it going to cost?”
“That depends on condition and year.”
“Just buy whatever you think will suit her best.”
“You should establish a ceiling.”
“No.”
“That is poor procurement practice.”
“It is my sister’s birthday.”
“That does not negate the usefulness of a ceiling.”
“Get her the bag, please.”
Ana sighed. “Fine.”
Max smiled, pleased with himself. Then said, “I asked Daniel to be my best man.”
Ana stopped typing. “When?”
“Last night.”
“By telephone?”
“Text.”
Her eyes lifted slowly.
“You asked your best man by text.”
Max shrugged. “He said yes.”
“That is not surprising.”
Max looked pleased. “I told him the wedding is in December.”
“Did he know before?”
“No.”
“Max.”
“He knows now.”
“You should perhaps tell important people about our wedding before assigning them roles in it.”
“I did both at once. Efficient.”
Ana could not dispute the outcome, which was irritating.
“Who else?” she asked.
“For what?”
“Groomsmen.”
“Oh.” Max thought about it. “GP.”
Ana nodded immediately. “That is logical.”
“What about you?”
“Xia will be my matron of honour. She may refuse the title though.”
“Why?”
“She dislikes the word matron.”
“Then maid of honour.”
“She is married.”
“I don’t think anyone cares.”
“Xia will care.”
“She can pick her own title.”
Ana nodded. “That is probably safest.”
Max reached for his coffee and finally took a sip.
It had gone cold.
His face twisted.
Ana pushed her fresh cup toward him. He accepted it without asking and drank from hers. She watched him.
Then looked back at her phone.
There was another thought sitting at the edge of her mind.
A possibility she had not allowed herself to examine too closely because it felt unexpectedly fragile. “If you want Daniel and GP…Does that mean I can steal Victoria?”
Max lowered the cup. “What?”
“For the wedding party.”
He stared at her.
She disliked having to explain emotional decisions after making them aloud. “Xia will be my matron of honour,” she said. “But there are usually other women.”
“Bridesmaids.”
“Yes.”
“You want Victoria to be your bridesmaid?”
“If she wants to.”
Max’s face changed so quickly that Ana regretted speaking.
Not because he looked unhappy. Because he looked unbearably pleased.
“What?” she asked.
He smiled. “You want my sister.”
“For the wedding party.”
Max’s smile widened. “You want to ask Victoria.”
“Yes.”
“That’s cute.”
“It is not cute.”
“It is very cute.”
“It is a practical question.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“She has experience with large family events.”
“Nastya.”
“She understands your family.”
“Nastya.”
“She will know which Verstappens cannot be placed near each other.”
“You already made my dad do that.”
“He is an unreliable source.”
Max laughed. “Why Victoria?”
The question was gentle now.
Ana looked at the kitchen window. The sky beyond it was beginning to lighten. “I do not have the best experience with sisters.”
Max said nothing, but his face softened.
“But Victoria… Victoria was always nice to me,” she said.
Max’s expression softened further. “She likes you.”
“She has been kind without requiring me to earn it first.”
Max watched her. “She’ll say yes.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I can.”
“She may prefer to be on your side.”
“There are no sides.”
“There are physically different positions during the ceremony.”
Max rolled his eyes. “You can have her.”
“I am not acquiring her.”
“You said steal.”
“That was figurative.”
“I know.”
Ana looked at him. “Would you mind?”
“No.” His answer was immediate. Then his smile returned. “I love it.”
Ana’s fingers tightened around her phone. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you want her there with you.”
“That is the purpose of asking.”
“And because she will lose her mind.”
“Negatively?”
“No. She’ll probably cry.”
Ana looked alarmed. “Why?”
“Because she likes you.”
“That does not explain crying.”
“It does for Victoria. Vic is going to cry so much.”
“That is not my objective.”
“It will happen anyway.”
Ana sighed.
Max reached across the island and took her hand.
His thumb moved over the sapphire.
“You know she already thinks of you as family.”
Ana went very still.
The kitchen seemed quieter around them.
“That is premature.”
“We’re getting married in two months.”
“Two months and 5 days.”
“Exactly.”
“That does not automatically determine how your sister sees me.”
“No.”
Max squeezed her fingers.
“But she does.”
Ana looked down at their hands.
Family was still a word she approached carefully.
It had too many conditions attached to it.
Too many ways it had been used as an excuse for pain.
But Max said it as if it were simple.
As if there were no examination she had to pass.
No behaviour she had to maintain.
No version of herself she had to become.
She looked at him. “Then I will ask her.”
“Properly.”
“Yes.”
“And not in a spreadsheet.”
“I was not going to use a spreadsheet.”
“A formal letter?”
“No.”
“A forty-two-page briefing pack?”
“That was for the GT3 programme.”
Max smiled.
Ana looked at him.
He looked back.
The early light caught the bruising along his jaw and the tiredness beneath his eyes, but he was smiling.
Not the public smile. Not the one he gave cameras or sponsors. Hers.
Ana leaned down and kissed his forehead.
Max caught her wrist before she could move away. “What was that for?”
“Nothing.”
“That was something.”
She looked toward the coffee machine. “Gifts are important.”
Max’s expression softened. “So are sisters,” he said.
Ana looked back at him. “Yes,” she said quietly. “They are.”
***
❤️❤️❤️❤️
