Faking it || Lando Norris LN

37

Olivia Reyes

Saturday. Monaco Grand Prix.

I read the last sentence so many times I could recite them by heart. All of the words were ringing inside my brain like the echoes of a tower bell, one after the other. A mixture of emotions messed around inside my stomach as I stood in the middle of the garage with my jaw hanging open and my cheeks slightly burning.

"Norris is the unapologetic boldness to Reyes' insatiable compassion, the earnest reminder that she doesn't have to set herself on fire to keep everyone around her warm. Reyes is the magnetic field that unearths the childlike grace to Norris' shielded innocence."

My body was burning with embarrassment at how seen I felt by the author; how she'd managed to describe in strikingly accurate detail my fidgeting hands and jitteriness, the reflective moment I'd had when talking about Lando, and all of the subtle moments in our conversation.

"It is impossible not to feel, in Norris' presence, that he is still recovering from something. Perhaps the careless actions that previously seemed to make up who he was weren't all joyful pleasure, but a subtle cry for help that destiny would later answer by leading him to where he is now."

My brain was in an endless battle of racing thoughts as I stared at the pictures of both of us taking up several pages in the issue. In one of them, we were sat together on a couch with Lando's arms around me, laughing in another one, and many other pictures —all of them a masterpiece of colors and composition—, but the one that worked as the main attention grabber was the first photograph taken: the one where we stared at each other's eyes at the beginning of the photoshoot.

"At this early point in our conversation, what amazes me the most isn't only how surprisingly old Norris' eyes seem under his boyish good looks, but the way they rekindle back to youthfulness at the first mention of Olivia Reyes."

My heart was racing. I felt as seen as ever, exposed until embarrassment. Despite the relationship being fake, the tale the article told was true; how much I admired him, the nervousness that took over me, the profound adoration I had for the small moments in which Lando smiled like nothing mattered, all of it was true.

Then there were the things Lando said.

The things he'd said. God.

The article could've been an entire magazine long and yet, I would still be staring at the very same paragraph, over and over again.

"She's like letting out an exhale after holding your breath for too long," he tells me, and even though he'd just told me how there are a million words in the English language but feels like none of them would really capture her as a whole, he finds them. "She's warm and smart, and caring and she squeezes my hand tighter every time we're about to cross a street. She dodges sidewalk cracks and knocks on wood and packs more books than clothes anywhere she goes. She's kind in moments when no one else is and always ready to be strong whenever anyone needs a safe place. She's just... I'm just, so hopelessly and profoundly overwhelmed by her existence. She shines in color hues I never before knew existed."

The words echoed so strongly inside my head that I could swear they could jump out from the pages like a 3D movie at any moment. My body began burning a little more. She shines in color hues I never before knew existed. The drawing. The article. Everything stood before me as clear as day, and yet as confusing as ever. What was this?

"This is EXACTLY what we wanted!"

"Yeah?" I blurted out with furrowed brows before snapping my head up to find Gianna. "OH! Yeah!" I quickly corrected myself and smiled.