💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ💍
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ
ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛ
ᴍᴏɴᴀᴄᴏ ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ, ᴄᴏ-ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ
ʜɪᴊᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ʙʟɪɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ… ʙʏ ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ
ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ, ᴏɴᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴅᴇꜱꜱᴇʀᴛ
The Verstappen wedding had been flawless.
Every element had fallen into place, the sun-drenched ceremony, the candlelit reception, the midnight fireworks painting the sky over Provence.
For (Y/n), it had been a triumph, not just professionally, but personally too. She’d held her composure from start to finish, even when Lando helped her with the floral disaster.
They’d had that small conversation, charged, unfinished, and then the night had swept on.
She’d barely seen him after the first dance.
Now, weeks later, life at Maison de Lys had returned to its usual whirlwind pace.
New clients. New projects. New deadlines.
But some days, she still caught herself thinking back.
To Lando’s words. To the look in his eyes. To the fact that, somehow, their paths kept crossing no matter how much time passed.
Late June sunlight poured through the studio windows as (Y/n) worked through her latest set of mockups, lace-edged invitations, mood boards in pale blue and silver.
A knock sounded at the door.
Before she could answer, Celeste breezed in from the front reception, grinning. “You’ll want to come out here.”
She followed her co-planner to the main sitting area, and stopped short.
There stood Kelly, radiant even in casual clothes, with Max at her side—one arm cradling a tiny bundle in pink.
Penelope skipped along in front, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers.
“(Y/n)!” Kelly beamed. “We wanted to stop by, and introduce someone.”
(Y/n)’s heart swelled as she approached.
“Meet Lily Verstappen,” Kelly said softly, eyes shining. “You didn’t get to meet her before because we didn’t want to stress her out, being moved from place to place during the wedding. But now that everything’s settled, we brought her so you could finally meet her.” (Y/n) gasped, her smile breaking wide. “She’s beautiful.”
Kelly laughed. “Thanks to her dad’s genes.”
Max rolled his eyes affectionately. “She was right, (Y/n), the wedding was perfect. We can’t thank you enough.”
“You two made it easy,” (Y/n) replied, her voice warm. “And congratulations, truly.”
She gently touched Lily’s tiny hand, marveling at the softness.
Penelope offered her bouquet shyly. “For you.”
“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” (Y/n) said, heart melting.
Celeste slipped away to grab coffee for the couple, leaving them chatting.
“We’re settling back into life with the baby,” Kelly said. “But Max had to come thank you in person. He’s still telling everyone about the fireworks.”
“They were his one request,” (Y/n) teased.
As they laughed together, she felt a deep sense of contentment. Weddings came and went, but moments like this stayed with her.
That afternoon, as the Verstappens left, offering hugs and promises to return with baby updates, (Y/n) was quickly pulled back to reality.
Her newest clients, an heiress couple from Paris, were proving... difficult.
Every decision came with last-minute changes. Every color palette sparked debate. Every menu item got revised again and again.
Even her most patient vendors were reaching their limits.
And (Y/n)? She was nearing exhaustion.
Celeste noticed, of course.
“You need a break,” her co-planner said bluntly one afternoon, watching (Y/n) rub her temples. “A real one. Not just a quick coffee.”
(Y/n) sighed. “There’s too much going on—”
“That’s exactly why,” Celeste insisted. “That couple is going to drive you into the ground. You need to shake it off before they do.”
(Y/n) smiled tiredly. “And how do you suggest I do that?”
Celeste’s grin turned sly.
“Easy,” she said. “Blind date.”
(Y/n)’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Celeste said. “One of my friends set it up. He’s normal, charming, single, not a client or vendor. Just... trust me.”
“No arguments,” her friend said firmly. “You need a night that’s not about table linens or cake tiers. The place is booked. I’ll text you the address. Wear something nice. Go.”
Before (Y/n) could protest further, Celeste walked off, victorious.
That Friday night, against her better judgment, (Y/n) found herself standing in front of Le Jardin Noir, one of Monaco’s trendiest new restaurants.
The early summer air was warm. The scent of jasmine drifted through the cobbled streets.
She wore a soft silk dress in emerald green, nothing too flashy, but elegant enough for the setting.
Her nerves hummed. She hadn’t done this in so long.
As she stood waiting, checking her phone for any updates, her breath caught.
A familiar engine purr echoed up the street.
Moments later, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.
(Y/n)’s heart nearly stopped.
He looked equally shocked when he spotted her, pausing mid-step, eyes wide.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then, after a beat, he crossed the pavement toward her.
"(Y/n)," he said slowly. "What are you doing here?"
She blinked, trying to recover. “I... have a blind date.”
His expression darkened faintly.
He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "Yeah. I know."
That caught her off guard. "What?"
Lando looked pained. “The guy you were supposed to meet? He’s on my PR team. When I found out the name, (Y/n) (L/n), I locked him in meetings the rest of the night.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. "You what?"
He spread his hands. "I’m sorry. But... I couldn’t let it happen."
A flush rose to her cheeks, part anger, part confusion.
She gathered her purse, ready to leave. “Then I’ll go.”
But Lando stepped into her path gently, voice soft. "Please. Stay. Just... have dinner. With me."
She hesitated, heart pounding.
"You don’t owe me anything," he added quickly. "But if you walk away now... I think we’ll both regret it."
(Y/n) studied him for a long moment.
Part of her wanted to flee, to run from whatever this was.
But another part, the part that remembered their almost-conversations, the way he’d helped her at the wedding, the look in his eyes, held her still.
Finally, with a quiet breath, she nodded.
"Okay," she said. "Dinner. Just dinner."
Relief flickered across his face.
He offered his arm, an old habit. And to her surprise... she took it.
They settled into a private booth near the back, soft lighting casting shadows over dark wood and velvet.
The tension between them was palpable, but not hostile.
They ordered wine. Small plates.
For a while, they made awkward small talk, safe topics. Travel. Work. Racing.
But as the meal unfolded, one glass of wine turning into two, the walls began to lower.
Lando leaned back, watching her with a thoughtful gaze.
"You’ve changed," he said softly.
She tilted her head. "You said that once before."
"I meant it," he replied. "You’re... stronger. More sure of yourself."
"You too," she admitted. "You’re not... the same either."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "I stopped trying to prove something."
(Y/n) sipped her wine. "The tabloids would disagree. ‘Lando Norris and new mystery girl’—they still print that weekly."
He huffed a laugh. "Not like it used to be. The flings were... noise. A distraction."
He glanced at her, eyes steady. "None of them meant anything."
"You change," he added, voice lower now, "into people that love something like that."
Her breath caught faintly.
They stared at each other, words unspoken hanging between them.
Finally, she whispered, “So what are you trying to prove now?”
He gave a slow smile, soft, genuine.
"That I’m not the guy you ran from anymore."
But before she could respond, the waiter appeared with dessert menus, breaking the moment.
She glanced down, trying to steady her racing pulse.
This was dangerous territory.
And yet, something inside her didn’t want the night to end.
As they left the restaurant hours later, the night air cooler now, Lando walked her to her car.
They paused beside it, lingering.
"I’m glad you stayed," he said quietly.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then, softly, Lando added: "Maybe... we could do it again sometime. No blind dates. Just us."
She met his gaze, saw the sincerity there.
And after a long pause... she smiled.
She slipped into her car, closing the door.
But as she drove off into the Monaco night, her heart was lighter than it had been in months.
Maybe... just maybe... this wasn’t coincidence anymore.
💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6: ᴛᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ💍
📝 Note from the Author:
Hi again, my dearest Alarwynnites, yes, still me. Third post of the day, and I swear this one’s the last before I go touch grass or eat a nata de coco or something.
Now… on to tonight’s episode of “(Y/n)’s Life is a Rom-Com She Didn’t Sign Up For.” We had:
✅ surprise Verstappen baby drop-off
✅ a planner bestie casually throwing her to the wolves
✅ hijacked blind date courtesy of one curly-haired F1 driver
✅ and two emotionally constipated people trying so hard to act normal over wine and tiramisu
At this point, I’m not even writing. I’m just the vessel. These characters are driving the car while I scream directions from the back seat.
And before anyone grabs pitchforks or sliding into my inbox with “UM, THIS FEELS FAMILIAR”, yes. This book is proudly inspired by everlovingdeer and her brilliant one-shot Love and All Things Fake. You can visit her on Wattpad and read it there, it’s gorgeous, vulnerable, and stunning in all the right ways.
If this gives “plagiarism” energy to you, please just say it. I’m not here to fight. I’ll delete everything, wave a tiny white flag, and start a new story about dragons or baristas or dramatic cowboys in the snow. It’s that easy.
But if you’re still here reading? If you’re still here rooting for this sunshine-and-sass duo? Thank you. Truly. You, my beloved Alarwynnites, are the reason I keep hitting “post” again and again.
@taebearyoongs, @mimisweetz, @belpsbelps, @lemon-stvrrr, @annisassintchaska, @barcelonaloverf1life, @landofotographyy, @ganana, @f1fantasys, @h34rts4maisey
