Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

March 2023

Piastri Family Chat 

Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae

Nicole:
Everyone ready for the big weekend? 😍 First F1 race for our boy!

Chris:
Been counting down since the contract was signed.
Oscar, how’s Bahrain? Track walk yet?

Oscar:
Yep. Busy.

Hattie:
Speaking of big news, Mollie, did you get your letter from the University of London today??? 👀

Mollie:
…
Thanks, Hattie.

Nicole:
What letter??

Edie:
👀👀👀

Mae:
👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Mollie:
Fine. I applied for MBAs. London’s my top choice.

Chris 🛠️:
Oh thank god.
So you don’t actually think that influencer thing is a real job then?

Hattie:
Excuse me??

Edie:
Dad, she literally makes more in a month than most people do in three.

Mae:
She’s killing it at it.

Mollie:
Thanks, guys.

Chris:
It’s… fine as a side thing. But an MBA is smart. I’m just saying — it’s good to have a real plan.

Mollie: I got into a few programs, but London’s my favourite.  I also got offers from New York, Edinburgh, and Manchester.

Nicole:
Mollie! London! That’s wonderful!
You’ll be so close to Oscar!

Oscar: Right.

Mae: Wow, so much enthusiasm, Osc.

Oscar: No, it’s fine.

Hattie: That did not sound fine.

Oscar: I said it’s fine.

Edie:
Wow. Sound more thrilled, Osc.

Oscar:
Just… surprised. That’s all.

Edie:
He’s not thrilled.

Mae:
He’s scared she’ll cramp his F1 style.

Mollie:
Relax, it’s not like I’m moving to London to stalk you, Oscar.

Oscar:
Didn’t say you were.

Nicole:
Be nice to each other, please, this is an exciting time.

Hattie:
It’s exciting for me too — free London crash pad.

Mollie:
Not if you keep spilling my news, Hattie.

***

April 2023

Text Messages: Mollie Piastri & Oscar Piastri

Mollie:
Are you alright?

Oscar:
…Why?

Mollie:
Just woke up feeling gross. Not like a cold. Stomach thing. Figured maybe—

Oscar:
I’m fine.

Mollie:
You’re lying.

Oscar:
I’m literally in Azerbaijan. You’re in Melbourne. You can’t know that.

Mollie:
Oh, sorry, forgot the part where we’ve always known when the other one’s sick. 🙄

Oscar:
Mollie. Drop it.

Mollie:
…So it is your stomach.

Oscar:
I said DROP IT.

Mollie:
You’re impossible. Just take something for it, okay? Hydrate. Eat plain stuff.

Oscar:
I don’t need your medical advice from 5,000 kilometres away.

Mollie:
Fine. But when you end up in the throwing up in your helmet mid-race, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oscar:
Wow. Thank you for the pep talk. Exactly what I needed today.

Mollie:
You’re welcome.

***

June 2023

Piastri Family Chat 

Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae 

Mollie:
Found my apartment 😌🏠✨

Nicole:
Oooh, send photos!!

Hattie:
Yes, show us!!!

Edie:
Where is it??

Mollie:
Shoreditch. Close to uni, good light for filming, nice kitchen.

Chris:
And who is supposed to pay for that?!

Mollie:
…Me?

Chris:
That can’t be cheap.

Mollie:
It’s not. But I have savings. And brand contracts. And YouTube revenue.

Hattie:
And TikTok sponsorships.

Edie:
And that skincare campaign that paid you, like, stupid money.

Mae:
Didn’t you just re-sign with that jewellery brand for another year?

Mollie:
Yes. And yes. I can afford it.

Chris:
I just don’t want you getting in over your head.

Mollie:
I’ve been running my own business since I was sixteen. I think I can handle rent.

Nicole:
Well, I think it’s exciting. You’ll love London. And you and Oscar can finally spend time together again! 🥰

***

July 2023

Instagram Post: @/mollie.jane

Comments: 

@/sarah.au:
🥳🥳🥳 So proud of you queen!! Now come back to Sydney so we can celebrate properly 💕

@/glowwithgeorgia:
Congratulations babe!! The dress + gown combo is chef’s kiss 😍

@/sydneystyle:
Proof you can chase your dreams and finish your degree. Well done babe 💛

@/theglowjournal:
MBA incoming 👀 London better be ready for you 🇬🇧📚

@/skincarebyliv:
Congrats girl!! Can’t wait to see your next chapter 🥂

@/makeupwithtess:
so so proud of you 🥰 now drop the lipstick shade in pic 3 👀

@/laura_in_london:
MBA incomingggg!! Hope you’re ready for the cold 🥶😂

@/travelwithnancy:
AHHH congrats gorgeous!!! London is about to get a glow-up 😌

@/livstyles_uk:
CONGRATS!! 🎉 You’ve been killing it online and in class — literal goals.

@/makeupbylara:
The way you managed to grow your brand while doing a full degree?? Queen behaviour 👑✨

@/beautywithamanda:
From tutorials to textbooks — and now an MBA?? You’re unstoppable 😍

@/clarke_sarah:
Can’t wait to see what London holds for you! Also pls do a “grad glam” tutorial 😭

@/foryourpagebeauty:
Proof that you can have multiple dreams and chase them all 💪

@jules_wastson:
Welcome (almost) to my city! DM me for coffee recs ☕

@studiogirluk:
imagine being this accomplished AND having flawless winged eyeliner at graduation. teach us your ways.

@wanderlustwendy:
from beauty tutorials to business school 😍 next stop: running the world

***

August 2023

Mollie’s bedroom looked like a small-scale disaster zone.

Half-open suitcases on the bed. Clothes draped over the desk chair. A precarious stack of skincare bottles by the window, waiting to be bubble-wrapped like fine art.

Hattie sat cross-legged on the bed, a bowl of grapes in her lap, idly scrolling through her phone. She’d been “keeping Mollie company” all afternoon, which so far meant eating fruit, occasionally stealing her phone charger, and making the kind of observations only younger sisters could get away with.

“So,” Hattie said, popping another grape into her mouth, “you really didn’t choose London because of Oscar?”

Mollie didn’t even look up. “No. I just liked the programme.”

Hattie tilted her head. “But you’re twins.”

Mollie smirked faintly, tucking a pair of boots into the side pocket of the suitcase. “Yeah. He pretends that’s not the case.”

It was easier to joke about it than admit the truth: that whatever “twin thing” they had was a shadow of what it used to be. There had been a time when she couldn’t imagine a world where Oscar wasn’t stitched into the fabric of her everyday life — when they’d shared everything, from inside jokes to half their wardrobe.

But that was before.

Before fifteen-year-old Oscar had chosen racing — chosen Europe, chosen a future that didn’t have room for her. He’d moved halfway across the world with a single-minded focus, and somewhere in the mess of flights and time zones and early-morning karting sessions, he’d stopped trying to keep up with her life.

And maybe that was the part that still stung — not that he’d chased his dream, but that he hadn’t put in even the barest effort to know what hers were. He’d never asked about the brand deals, the late nights editing videos, the thrill of seeing something she’d created hit a million views. To him, her career was just a hobby she’d grow out of, like training wheels or glitter nail polish.

She zipped the suitcase halfway, pressing her knee into the lid to get it to close. “London’s about me,” she added finally. “It’s not about him.”

Hattie shrugged, unconvinced. “Still think it’s going to be funny when you run into each other at Tesco.”

Mollie rolled her eyes, but she didn’t answer. Because the truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if she did.

***

The taxi pulled away, leaving Mollie on the curb with two suitcases, a carry-on, and the sudden, dizzy realisation that she was here.

London.

Not for a holiday, not for a few weeks in between brand trips — but for real. For at least two years, maybe longer if she stayed after her MBA.

The building was a neat brick conversion on a quiet Shoreditch street, ivy trailing across the facade like it had been designed just for Instagram. 

Her flat — her flat — was on the second floor, a one-bedroom with white walls and tall windows that caught the light. 

For the first time in her life, she was truly away from her family. No sisters dropping in unannounced, no mum’s Sunday dinners, no dad peering over her shoulder with unsolicited advice. Even Oscar — not that he was much for dropping by — was now close enough in miles to bump into at Tesco, but far enough in every other way that it didn’t make her feel any less on her own.

She wrestled the first suitcase through the front door, then the second, muttering under her breath as the wheels caught on the threshold. Halfway up the narrow staircase, her carry-on strap slipped off her shoulder, and she was juggling all three when someone rounded the corner at speed.

The collision was inevitable.

“Whoa—” The man caught the railing to steady himself, narrowly avoiding her suitcase avalanche.

 Mollie blinked up at him, flushed from the effort of dragging her life up the stairs. He was tall, dark-haired, wearing a hoodie that looked suspiciously like it had a logo she’d seen before on Instagram.

“You alright there?” he asked, an easy grin tugging at his mouth.

“Fine,” she panted, “unless you want to carry one of these for me.”

He laughed. “I’m Max. I live upstairs.” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “Guessing you’re the new tenant?”

“Mollie,” she said, shifting her grip on the handle. “Second floor.”

“Well, Mollie-second-floor, welcome to the building.” He reached for her heavier suitcase before she could argue. “You’ll like it here. The neighbours are great. My girlfriend Pietra bakes. And—” His grin widened, just a little wicked. “We throw a decent party.”

Mollie wasn’t sure yet if that sounded like a promise or a threat.

***

It was barely an hour later when there was a knock on her half-unpacked front door.

Mollie was on her knees in the middle of the living room, untangling a mess of phone chargers and hair straightener cords, when she opened it to find a brunette with a halo of curls, holding a plate wrapped in foil.

“Hi!” the woman beamed. “I’m Pietra — I live upstairs with Max. You met him earlier?”

Mollie smiled back, already catching the faint scent of banana bread. “I did. He rescued me from certain death by staircase.”

“That sounds like him,” Pietra laughed. “I brought this as a welcome gift. And also because Max said you just moved from Australia, which is basically criminally far away, so I figured sugar might help with the culture shock.”

“That’s… really nice, thank you,” Mollie said, taking the plate.

Pietra tilted her head, studying her for a moment longer than felt casual. “Wait. Mollie?”

Mollie hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“As in Mollie Jane?”

There it was — the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the way her voice tilted like she’d just connected a mental Pinterest board to a real person.

“I watch your videos,” Pietra said, grinning. “Your eyeliner tutorial saved my life last month before a wedding. And your dewy skin series? Obsessed.”

“Oh,” Mollie said, a little flustered. She wasn’t used to being recognised in her own building, especially not in sweatpants with moving-day hair. “That’s… wow. Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” Pietra said earnestly. “Also — we should have you over sometime. Max’s friends are always around, and you’d fit right in.”

Mollie nodded politely, not knowing yet that “Max’s friends” included a certain McLaren driver whose face she’d only seen in passing on the news — and who, in a few months, would completely dismantle her plans to keep London about her.

***

Instagram Post: @/mollie.jane

Comments: 

@/beautybytash: welcome to the uk queen 👑 can’t wait for london content!!

@/glowwithnina: bad weather builds character 😅☔ you’ll smash it here

@/coffeeandconcealer: london coffee >>>> melbourne coffee. fight me.

@/graceglam: NEW CHAPTER VIBES ✨ rooting for you always 💕

@/lucy_inlondon: welcome to the neighbourhood 💛 dm me if you want recs for brunch spots!

@/lipglosslover: excited for london vlogs!! also pls drop ur moving playlist 👀

@/beautybytash: new city new glow ✨ wishing you all the best, babe!

@/flatwhitefairy: welcome to the land of grey skies and overpriced coffee ☕🇬🇧

@/makeupbyjen: your flat looks so cute already omg 🥺

@/wanderlustkate: how long until you start calling fries ‘chips’? placing bets now 🍟😂

@/theglowjournal: can’t wait to see london content!! rooting for you always 🫶

@/makeupbytash: London looks good on you already ✨ congrats on the move!!

@/flatwhiteaddict: welcome to the land of overpriced oat milk lattes ☕😂

@/beautyandbronzer: proud of you for chasing this new chapter, so inspiring 🤍

@/wanderlustkate: can’t wait to see all the london content!!! pls share every cafe 😍

@/skincarestan: oh you’re gonna hate british bread 😂 but the tea is good

@/mba_mel: MBA AND influencer queen??? literally goals

@/sydneystyle: melbournian weather is worse, trust me 😅

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Max:
u up?

Lando:
can’t sleep

Max:
nightmare?

Lando:
nah. youtube spiral.

Max:
what now, karting crashes? sim racing fails?

Lando:
…makeup tutorials

Max:
😂😂😂😂😂

Lando:
shut up

Max:
oh my god please tell me you’re finally doing my eyebrows when I visit

Lando:
no. just… idk. it’s relaxing.

Max:
mhm. “relaxing.” sure.

Lando:
…

Max:
so whose channel is it?

Lando:
mollie jane something.

Max:
wait. you’ve been falling asleep to Mollie Jane’s voice??

Lando:
you make it sound weird

Max:
it is weird. does your management know?

Lando:
pretty sure it’s not a scandal to learn how to blend foundation

Max:
depends who she is 👀

Lando:
mate, she’s just some influencer.

Max:
riiiiiight. remind me to tell you something later.

Lando:
now you’re being creepy

Max:
just saying… small world.

***

Youtube Video @/MollieJane| First Week in London ✨ Stationery Haul + Flat Decorating.

(Intro music plays — upbeat but soft, with handwritten-style title card: “First Week in London ✨ Stationery Haul + Flat Decorating.” Cut to Mollie holding her camera while walking down a leafy London street.)

Mollie (to camera):
“Hi guys! Welcome back. If you’re new here — I just moved from Melbourne to London for my MBA, and today I thought I’d bring you along for something very exciting and very on-brand: stationery shopping. Because obviously, the first step to academic success is buying pens you’ll probably be too scared to actually use.”

(Cut to montage: Mollie in Paperchase, picking up pastel notebooks, testing highlighters on a sample pad, panning over shelves of planners. A voiceover runs through it.)

Mollie (voiceover):
“I told myself I’d be practical. But then I saw rose-gold clips. And matching sticky notes. And this planner that literally whispered ‘buy me’ when I walked past.”

(Cut back to her at home, unpacking a Paperchase bag on her desk.)

Mollie:
“Okay, mini stationery haul. We have: one neutral-toned planner, three pastel notebooks, way too many gel pens, and— yes — the rose-gold clips. No regrets.”

(Jump cut — now she’s decorating her flat. Fairy lights over the bookshelf, Polaroids taped above her desk, candles arranged neatly.)

Mollie (voiceover):
“Flat’s slowly coming together. I wanted it to feel cozy, like a mix of Melbourne warmth and London edge. Mostly it’s just fairy lights, because fairy lights solve everything.”

(She sets up her desk: laptop, candle, stack of new notebooks. Close-up of her writing “MBA — Term 1” in neat handwriting on the first page.)

Mollie (to camera):
“Honestly, I’m kind of excited to start classes. Ask me again in three weeks and I’ll probably be crying into this notebook, but for now… new city, new flat, new stationery. Feels good.”

Mollie (voiceover, laughing):
“And if anyone tries to tell me I bought too many pens… mind your business.”

(Cut to evening. Mollie sits cross-legged on her couch, fairy lights glowing behind her. She’s sipping tea, looking tired but happy.)

Mollie (to camera):
“Alright, that’s it for today. Thanks for keeping me company on my little London errands and flat decorating. Next time, maybe you’ll get a study vlog — if I survive week one of this MBA.” (laughs) “Don’t forget to like and subscribe, and I’ll see you soon. Byeee!”

(Outro music plays. Screen fades to her new channel end card: “Thanks for watching ✨ Subscribe for more!” with a soft shot of her fairy-lit desk in the background.)

(Outro music fades out.)

****

Piastri Family Chat 

Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae

Oscar:
before you see it online: yes that was me in the wall 🙃

Hattie:
OSCAR WHAT THE HELL
I literally just opened twitter and saw you in the barrier

Edie:
you broke the car AGAIN?

Oscar:
I didn’t break the car, the barrier broke it

Chris:
mate you’ve been in F1 five minutes and you’ve already invented new ways to stress us out

Nicole:
Are you okay??? That’s all I care about right now.

Oscar:
I’m fine. car is not. ego is bruised.

Hattie:
and Ricciardo broke his WRIST???
because of YOU???

Oscar:
…technically because of the barrier
but yes he crashed avoiding me

Edie:
so you’re telling me you took out our Aussie national treasure and broke him??
nice one

Oscar:
not helping eds

Hattie:
I’m going to tell everyone at work you ruined Daniel Ricciardo’s comeback.

Oscar:
please don’t.

Edie:
screenshotting this for blackmail purposes.

Oscar:
…remind me why I am still in this chat

Nicole:
Because we love each other. Even if certain children use it for bullying.

Hattie:
love is subjective 😇

***

Text Messages: Mollie Piastri & Oscar Piastri

Mollie:
You’ve got a headache right now.

Oscar:
…what?

Mollie:
Don’t “what” me. I can feel it. Behind your eyes, right side worse than the left.

Mollie:
Don’t play dumb. You binned it in FP2, Daniel’s out with a broken wrist, and I can feel it. You’re rattled and your head hurts.

Oscar:
You’re not psychic, Mollie.

Mollie:
I don’t have to be psychic. You’re my twin. That’s how this works.

Oscar:
No. How this works is I crash, I get the media storm, I deal with the fallout. You sit in London buying highlighters for your MBA.

Mollie:
…wow.

Oscar:
Sorry if that sounds harsh, but I don’t need long-distance vibes from you on top of everything else.

Mollie:
I’m not trying to pile on. I just wanted you to know I can tell when you’re not okay.

Oscar:
And I’m telling you it’s in your head. We’re not… whatever. We don’t have a connection. I’ve got enough to manage without you pretending you can feel what I feel.

Mollie:
Pretending. Right.

Oscar:
Look, I’ve got a debrief. Don’t text me about this stuff again.

***

September 2023

It was a Wednesday evening, the September rain doing its usual lazy drizzle against the kitchen window, when there was another knock on Mollie’s door. She was halfway through unpacking a box labelled “Candles + Misc” — the “misc” being a mess of tangled earrings and at least three lip glosses — when she opened it to find Pietra leaning casually against the frame, a glass of red wine in hand.

“Hey, neighbour,” Pietra said, grin wide. “Question — how do you feel about meeting new people?”

Mollie arched an eyebrow. “Define ‘new people.’”

“The fun kind,” Pietra said immediately. “Max and I are throwing a party on Friday. Nothing too crazy — just friends, music, food. Some people from around the building, a few of Max’s mates from work… ish.”

Mollie smirked. “Work-ish?”

Pietra waved a hand, as if the details were unimportant. “You’ll see. Anyway, you should come. It’ll be a perfect way to celebrate settling in — plus, I make an excellent espresso martini.”

“I don’t know…” Mollie hesitated. The idea of walking into a flat full of strangers, especially after weeks of packing and flying and trying to remember where she’d put her shampoo, was daunting.

Pietra seemed to read her mind. “Look, I promise you won’t be stranded in a corner talking about the weather. I’ll introduce you around. You’ll love it. And honestly, Max’s friends are—” she paused, eyes flickering with amusement— “memorable.”

Mollie tilted her head. “That’s either reassuring or deeply alarming.”

“Reassuring,” Pietra said, with the practiced conviction of someone who knew she was only half telling the truth. “Come by around eight. Bring your game face.”

As Pietra turned to head back upstairs, Mollie called after her, “What exactly counts as a game face?”

“You’ll find out,” Pietra said over her shoulder.

Mollie wasn’t sure yet whether that was a promise or a warning.

***

Lando hadn’t really planned on coming.

He’d just got back from the triple-header, still half in a fog of jet lag, and the idea of being wedged into Max’s flat with twenty-odd people shouting over music didn’t exactly scream “recovery.” But Max had been relentless, and Pietra had texted him a winking emoji that felt like a dare, so here he was — leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, trying to remember how to make small talk.

It was somewhere between the second and third half-hearted conversation that Pietra breezed in, dragging someone behind her.

“Lando, this is Mollie,” she said, like she’d just introduced him to any other person in Shoreditch. “Mollie, Lando.”

He turned, ready with a polite smile — and then his brain promptly short-circuited.

He knew that face.

Not in the way you “know” a stranger from Instagram. Not like meeting another influencer at an event. No, this was the face that had been filling his phone screen at 1 a.m., softly explaining the difference between warm and cool undertones while he lay in bed and tried to trick his brain into switching off.

Mollie Jane.

She was exactly the same and completely different in person — no camera frame, no carefully lit backdrop. Her hair was swept into a loose knot, a gold hoop glinting when she tilted her head, and she was looking right at him with the polite, faintly curious expression of someone meeting a complete stranger. Which, technically, she was.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

He swallowed, hoping to God he didn’t look like the human embodiment of a buffering icon. “Hi.”

“Beer?” Pietra offered, already halfway to the fridge for another round.

“Uh—yeah,” he managed, eyes still on Mollie. She was saying something about just moving in, about the boxes still stacked in her living room, and he was nodding along like a normal person while the back of his mind was screaming you’ve literally fallen asleep to her voice.

She laughed at something Max called out from the balcony, and the sound was so familiar it was almost disorienting.

“So,” she said, turning back to him, “what do you do?”

Lando blinked. For a split second, he considered telling her the truth — that he drove race cars for a living and also, incidentally, could recite half her “10-Minute Glow” script from memory.

Instead, he just smiled. “Bit of this, bit of that.”

***

Max and Pietra’s friends were funny, slightly chaotic, and the sort of people who could make a crowded Shoreditch flat feel like a living room.

But the one she kept gravitating back to was Lando.

Not on purpose, exactly. It was just… every time she turned around, he seemed to be there — in the kitchen refilling drinks, leaning on the balcony railing, ducking into the hallway when she’d stepped away from the noise for a moment. And somehow, their conversations never felt like small talk.

They started with the easy questions — where she was from, how she was settling in, the polite curiosity of new acquaintances — but it kept spiralling into side tangents. About the best coffee in London. About how she couldn’t get used to the lack of proper beaches here. About her theory that people’s personalities could be guessed by their choice of candle scent.

He’d laughed, actually laughed, when she told him hers was “warm vanilla, obviously, because I have impeccable taste.”

Somewhere between debating the superiority of flat whites versus cappuccinos and discovering they both had a mutual hatred of coriander, she realised she’d been smiling more in the last hour than she had in days.

At one point, Max had called him over to meet someone, and Lando had lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, like he didn’t want the conversation to end. She noticed.

Later, when the crowd had thinned and music had dropped to a background hum, she was sitting on the arm of the couch, chatting with Pietra, when Lando reappeared.

“You said you were still figuring out where to get good coffee around here,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I know a place. Best flat white in Shoreditch. I could… show you sometime?”

It wasn’t the most elaborate line in the world, but the way he said it — easy, almost shy — made her smile.

“Sure,” she said.

He pulled out his phone, handing it over without hesitation. She typed in her number, added her name, and for some reason threw in the coffee cup emoji. When she handed it back, he glanced at the screen, grinned, and slid it into his pocket.

And that was it. No fanfare, no big moment. Just a quiet, warm sort of knowing that she’d see him again — and, maybe, that she wanted to.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Lando:
mate.

Max:
👀

Lando:
got her number.

Max:
…her??

Lando:
MOLLIE. your neighbour. the girl from the party.

Max:
NO WAY.

Lando:
yes way. we’re getting coffee next week.

Max:
i can’t believe you’ve actually pulled this off.

Lando:
also— YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME you know the girl i’ve been watching on youtube for MONTHS to fall asleep.

Max:
nah.

Lando:
nah???

Max:
this was way funnier. watching you realise in real time.

Lando:
you’re a terrible friend.

Max:
and yet… the best entertainer.

Lando:
i hate you.

Max:
no you don’t. now don’t screw this up, romeo.

***

Lando had picked the coffee place on purpose — quiet enough that they could actually talk, but with just enough street noise to fill any awkward silences. Not that there’d been many with Mollie so far.

She was already there when he arrived, tucked into a corner table, a paperback open in one hand and a cappuccino in the other. No cameras, no lighting, no glossed-up feed version of herself — just Mollie, looking up with that easy, unbothered smile when he walked in.

“You’re late,” she teased, even though it had only been a minute past the agreed time.

“Fashionably,” he countered, sliding into the chair opposite her.

They fell into conversation the way they had at the party — the kind where you barely notice time passing. She told him about her MBA coursework, the culture shock of London supermarkets (“Why is bread like this here?”), and the fact that her landlord had promised “period features” which turned out to be a single crooked skirting board.

Somewhere between his second flat white and her third, she tilted her head and said, “So what do you actually do?”

He froze for half a beat. “Do?”

“For work,” she clarified, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

He blinked. “Uh… bit of this, bit of that.”

Her mouth curved. “That’s not an answer. Everyone has a day job, Lando.”

And that’s when it hit him.

She didn’t know.

Not just didn’t know details — she genuinely had no idea who he was or what he did. No flicker of recognition, no guarded tone like she was humouring a famous person. Just… a guy she’d met at a party who liked good coffee and hated coriander.

He felt something in his chest loosen, like taking off a weight he hadn’t realised he was carrying.

“I travel a lot,” he said finally. “Work with a team. Can’t always talk about it in detail.”

She raised an eyebrow, mock-suspicious. “Very mysterious.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning into his coffee. “I’m basically a spy.”

She laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Well, 007, next time you’re back from your… missions, you can pick the place.”

And for the rest of the date, he let her keep the mystery.

***

Text Messages: Mollie Piastri & Hattie Piastri

Mollie:
So… I met this guy.

Hattie:
👀👀👀
Name. Now.

Mollie:
Lando.

Hattie:
WHAT.

Mollie:
…what?

Hattie:
YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS RIGHT???

Mollie:
…?

Hattie:
THAT’S OSCAR’S BLOODY TEAMMATE.

Mollie:
…what?

Hattie:
FORMULA ONE. MCLAREN. LITTLE BRITISH ACCENT. DRIVES THE ORANGE CAR NEXT TO OUR BROTHER.

Mollie:
Are you sure?

Hattie:
Oh my god, Molls. Do you live under a rock??

Mollie:
I live under brand contracts and MBA coursework.

Hattie:
And apparently under the knowledge that you’re dating someone Oscar literally sees every race weekend.

Mollie:
We’ve only been for coffee once. That’s not dating.

Hattie:
Yet.

Mollie:
🙄

Hattie:
No, seriously. This is insane. Oscar’s going to die.

Mollie:
Or he just… won’t know.

***

Thread Title: Mollie Jane – anyone know who her family is?

 Posted in InfluencerWatchUK – September 2023

lipglosslover99:
So I’ve been following Mollie Jane for like 2 years now — makeup tutorials, brand collabs, all that — but she’s super private about her personal life. Anyone know who her family is?

britbeautytea:
Same, she never tags anyone who could be related to her. No “mum” or “dad” birthday posts, no siblings popping up. Just her and sometimes friends/roommates.

flatwhiteaddict:
That’s probably on purpose? Some influencers keep family offline because people get weird.

mirrorpalace:
Okay but I swear she’s from Melbourne originally, right?

shampooqueen:
Yes! She said in a GRWM last year that her sisters sent her TimTams. Plural. SISTERS.

wingedliner94:
Also she’s got to be from money. MBA in London + Shoreditch apartment? That’s not cheap, babes.

honeyglazedtea:
Or she’s just really good at influencing. She’s had some big contracts — remember the Glossier thing? And the Dior campaign?

highlighterhoarder:
Has she ever said her surname? Like her real one, not “Jane”?

spicedchai7:
Nope. I’ve been trying to figure it out forever and she never slips up. It’s like she’s intentionally making sure people can’t connect her to her family.

softmattequeen:
Honestly respect to her for that. The internet is feral and will harass your nan if they get half a chance.

serumjunkie:
Still… I’m nosy. Who ARE they??

***
It happened on their third coffee meet-up — the one that had started with let’s grab a quick latte and somehow turned into wandering Shoreditch for hours, ducking into little vintage shops and sharing a bag of hot chips on a park bench.

Mollie had been mulling it over since the moment she’d googled him after Hattie’s all-caps text. She wasn’t mad exactly — more amused by how neatly he’d sidestepped the truth. But the longer she kept her own last name to herself, the more it felt like they were both playing the same game without admitting it.

They ended up back at her flat, a half-hearted excuse about needing to drop off her shopping bags. He was leaning against her kitchen counter, flipping absently through the stack of postcards she kept on the fridge.

“So,” she said, leaning on the opposite counter, “I did some… light research.”

He glanced up, brows drawing together. “Research?”

“On you.” She let the words hang for a beat. “Turns out you’re not a spy after all. Just a F1 driver.”

Something flickered across his face — surprise, then something sheepish. “You looked me up?”

She shrugged. “Well, my sister basically screamed your résumé at me over text, so…”

He laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Right. So, uh… guess I’m caught.”

Mollie took a step closer. “Guess so. Which means it’s only fair I tell you something in return.”

His eyes searched hers, curious.

“My full name’s Mollie Jane Piastri.”

It was almost comical, the way his mouth fell open. “Wait—Piastri, as in—”

“Oscar’s my twin,” she finished for him, smiling just a little at the shock on his face. “You’ve been having coffee dates with his sister.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other — the mutual realisation settling in, the quiet buzz of so that’s what we’ve been doing.

Then Lando grinned, slow and a little dangerous. “That’s… insane.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

And maybe it was the adrenaline of the confession, or maybe it was just the fact that she’d been thinking about it since the night they met, but when he leaned in, she didn’t hesitate.

The kiss was warm and a little clumsy, both of them smiling into it like they couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Your brother’s going to kill me.”

She laughed softly. “Only if he finds out.”

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Lando:
mate.

Max:
what did you do now

Lando:
mollie told me something last night

Max:
…sounds ominous

Lando:
she’s oscar’s twin sister

Max:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no she’s not

Lando:
I’m serious

Max:
🤣🤣🤣 you’re telling me you’ve been sneaking around with YOUR TEAMMATE’S SISTER and didn’t even KNOW?

Lando:
yes. exactly that.

Max:
THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

Lando:
max. focus. what do I do??

Max:
marry her. obviously.

Lando:
not helping

Max:
no but seriously… does oscar know?

Lando:
no.

Max:
oh my god. this is amazing.

Lando:
this is TERRIFYING.

Max:
mate… I can’t wait to watch you die when he finds out. front row seats. popcorn.

Lando:
you’re the worst.

Max:
and yet… the most entertained.

***

Oscar had been around Lando long enough to know when something was off.

Not “off” like a bad setup or a rough quali lap — more like distracted, edges not quite sharp. The kind of thing you’d only notice if you spent hours together every week, in debriefs and drivers’ parades and endless travel lounges.

They were in the McLaren motorhome, post-media day, going over notes before FP1. Lando was half-listening, half-scrolling on his phone under the table. Normally Oscar would’ve ignored it — Lando had a talent for catching every important detail even when it looked like he wasn’t paying attention — but every so often he’d smirk at the screen in a way that made Oscar raise a brow.

“What?” Oscar asked finally.

“What, what?” Lando replied, way too casual.

“You keep… grinning. Like you’ve just read something you shouldn’t have.”

Lando shook his head, eyes fixed on his phone. “Just a message.”

Oscar frowned, leaning back in his chair. “From who?”

There was the tiniest hesitation — not long enough to be suspicious to most people, but to Oscar, it might as well have been a neon sign.

“Friend,” Lando said. “Met her in London.”

Her.

Oscar’s mind flickered briefly to Hattie’s last chaotic family group chat update — something about Mollie moving to London, starting her MBA. He shoved the thought aside. Lando had a wide social circle; it didn’t mean anything.

Still, when they got up to leave for the garage, Oscar caught Lando smiling at his phone again — the same lopsided, private smile he’d never seen him aim at anyone on the paddock.

It was probably nothing. Probably.

***

It was one of those long, boring sponsor dinners where the food was nice but the conversation was dragging, so when Oscar finally sat down next to him with a glass of water, Lando decided to poke at something that had been buzzing in the back of his head for weeks.

He started light. “Your sisters ever text you during race weekends? Mine always send me the dumbest memes before quali.”

Oscar smirked faintly. “Yeah, Hattie does sometimes. She’s the cheeky one. Edie’s more practical — she’s usually asking if I’ve eaten, or reminding me about Mum’s birthday. Mae’s still in school, so she’s… you know. Busy being fifteen.”

Lando nodded, sipping his drink, waiting for the obvious fourth name. But Oscar didn’t say it. Didn’t even hesitate, like he thought his list was complete.

It was jarring. Because Lando knew better.

He knew about Mollie.
He’d spent late nights listening to her talk softly through a laptop screen. He’d sat in her kitchen, made her laugh, seen the way her nose scrunched when she was teasing him. He’d held her hand, kissed her, memorised the rhythm of her breathing when she fell asleep on his chest.

And yet here was Oscar, his twin brother, talking about siblings like Mollie had never even existed.

Lando tried, carefully. “You’ve got four sisters, right?”

Oscar shrugged. “Yeah. Edie, Hattie, Mae. They keep me on my toes.”

“Four,” Lando repeated.

Oscar’s brow furrowed faintly, then smoothed like nothing had been amiss. “Right. Three younger.”

That was it. Conversation closed.

Lando forced a laugh at something one of the sponsors said across the table, but the knot in his stomach didn’t go away. It was one thing for Oscar to be private. But this? Pretending Mollie wasn’t even there?

Later, when Oscar drifted off to another conversation, Lando sat back, quiet. He’d never say it aloud, but in that moment he wanted to protect her even more fiercely — to be the person who did see her, when her own brother couldn’t.

***

It was one of those lazy London Sundays — grey sky, drizzle streaking the window, and the smell of coffee drifting from Mollie’s kitchen. Lando was perched on the edge of her counter, watching her wrestle with the world’s most overcomplicated French press.

They’d been talking about their families — or rather, he’d been telling her about his mum’s obsessive Christmas decorating, and she’d been laughing about the time Hattie had tried to bake a cake in an air fryer.

“Yeah, Hattie’s a menace in the kitchen,” she said, shaking her head. “Edie’s better — she’s got the patience for baking. And Mae just… eats whatever’s left.”

Lando chuckled, but something snagged at the back of his mind. “Y’know, Oscar’s mentioned them before. Hattie, Edie, Mae. Pretty sure I’ve heard a story about the air fryer cake, actually.”

Mollie glanced up, amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He talks about them sometimes,” Lando said, taking a sip of his coffee. Then he frowned. “But… he’s never mentioned you.”

The words hung there for a moment, soft but heavy.

Mollie didn’t look surprised — if anything, she looked like she’d been expecting it. She set the French press down a little harder than necessary, then leaned back against the counter opposite him.

“That’s because he doesn’t,” she said simply.

“Why not?”

Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Because it’s easier that way. For him, I guess.”

Lando tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, eyes fixed on the coffee mug in her hands. “We used to be close. Really close. And then he left for Europe when we were fifteen, and… we didn’t keep it up. He’s got his world, I’ve got mine. Pretending we’re not twins probably just makes it simpler.”

Lando studied her, wanting to ask more but sensing that this wasn’t something you pried open with blunt questions. Still, it didn’t sit right — the idea of someone never mentioning his own sister.

He reached out, fingers brushing hers where she held the mug. “For what it’s worth, I think that’s his loss.”

Mollie’s eyes flicked up to meet his, something unreadable in them. “Maybe.”

And then she smiled — small, but real — and changed the subject.

***

Chapter Text

October  2023

Mollie had always thought of Formula 1 as Oscar’s thing.
Something noisy and distant, a blur on TV screens back home that she only half-registered while scrolling on her phone. She’d avoided it deliberately, really — one more reminder of the twin who’d left, one more thing that belonged to him.

But now it was Lando’s world too. And the truth was… she wanted to understand.

So she found herself on her sofa one grey Saturday afternoon, laptop balanced on her knees, watching a replay of a race from earlier in the season. She was about ten minutes in, trying to figure out why the cars were weaving around on the formation lap, when the front door opened.

Lando padded in, hoodie pulled up, hair messy from the drizzle. He spotted the screen instantly and froze.

“Wait. You’re watching F1?”

Mollie looked up, a little sheepish. “Maybe.”

He grinned, boyish and delighted. “Because of me?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” he said, dropping down beside her. “Move over.”

Before she could protest, he’d taken the laptop, settled it on the coffee table, and stretched out next to her, arm brushing against hers.

“Alright,” he said, hitting rewind. “Let’s do this properly. Ask me anything.”

She arched a brow. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he promised.

So she did.

Why do the tyres have different colours? (Softs, mediums, hards — and yes, the red ones wear faster but are quicker.)

Why do the cars wiggle before the start? (Warming up tyres, weaving for grip, and maybe a bit of nerves too.)

Why are the pit stops so fast? (Practice, precision, and a little bit of magic, he joked.)

Every answer came with his hands moving in little gestures, tracing lines in the air, miming gear shifts. She found herself watching his face as much as the screen — the way his eyes lit up, how his voice softened when he got technical, like he was letting her in on secrets no one else knew.

At one point, she asked something about DRS zones, and he actually paused the video, tugged a notebook off her desk, and started sketching little diagrams.

“Look,” he said, leaning close enough that his shoulder pressed against hers. “Here’s the straight. This flap opens— see? More speed. But only in certain zones.”

Mollie laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he shot back, grinning.

And the truth was, she did. Not just the sport — though it was starting to click, piece by piece — but the way he wanted her to know it. The way he didn’t make her feel stupid for asking. The way he let her into his world like it was the most natural thing in the world.

By the time the chequered flag fell on the replay, she was leaning into his side, her head against his shoulder.

“So,” he said softly, “what do you think?”

She tilted her head, smiling. “I think… maybe I get why you love it.”

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head, smug and tender all at once. “That’s all I need.”

***

Piastri Family Chat 

(Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae)

Nicole:
Great quali today, Oscar! 🏎️💨 P6!

Chris:
Solid start for tomorrow. Keep it clean into turn one.

Mae:
Proud of you! 🧡

Mollie:
Yeah, especially with that sector two split. Looked like you were struggling a bit in the slow corners though — was that understeer or just the track temps?

Oscar:
…what?

Hattie:
Wait. Since when do you know what a sector split is?

Mollie:
Since forever?

Edie:
This is news.

Mollie:
I grew up with you all glued to race replays every weekend. Some of it sticks.

Oscar:
You’ve literally never mentioned anything F1-related in your life.

Mollie:
Doesn’t mean I don’t follow it.

Chris:
…you follow it?

Mollie:
Yeah. I don’t watch every session live, but I read up on quali results, strategies, tyre choices… y’know.

Oscar:
Tyre choices??

Mae:
Oh my god. She’s been lurking this whole time.

Hattie:
She’s an undercover F1 nerd.

Mollie:
It’s not undercover, it’s just not relevant to most conversations.

Oscar:
Except apparently this one.

Mollie:
Well, you looked good in sector one.

Oscar:
…Thanks?

Hattie:
This is the funniest thing I’ve read all week.

***

Oscar was sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed, laptop balanced on his knees while Lily sprawled across the other half, idly scrolling through her phone.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “you should make plans with Mollie while you’re both in London over the break.” Lily gave him a look. “You could… I don’t know… go and see her? You’re in London half the year.”

He snorted. “Mollie couldn’t be less interested.”

“That’s not true,” Lily said.

“Yes, it is,” he countered. “We barely talk. She does her influencer thing, I do my racing thing. We’re fine like that.”

“Fine like that,” Lily repeated, incredulous. “You’re twins, Oscar.”

“Yeah, twins who’ve lived separate lives for almost a decade,” he said, eyes still on the screen. “She’s never shown the slightest interest in coming to a race or meeting the team. Why would I force it?”

“Maybe she’s waiting for you to make the first move,” Lily suggested.

He shook his head. “No. If she wanted me in her life, she’d have said something by now.”

Lily sighed, leaning back on her hands. “Or maybe she’s waiting to see if you want her in yours.”

. “She’s… Mollie. She’s got her influencer thing, her MBA, her… whatever else she does. She’s not sitting around thinking about how to hang out with me.”

“That’s not the point,” Lily said, sitting up against the headboard. “The point is you’re not exactly making it easy for her either. You act like she’s some distant cousin you met once at a wedding.”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lils, she’s been doing her own thing for years. We don’t talk. It’s not… awkward, it’s just not there anymore.”

“Then maybe you should try to make it there again,” Lily said gently. “You might be surprised.”

He gave her a look that was equal parts sceptical and tired. “Or I might waste both our time.”

Lily didn’t answer right away, just smiled faintly like she knew something he didn’t. “Or,” she said finally, “you might remember that you actually like her.”

Oscar went back to his laptop, muttering something about her being overly optimistic, but the truth was… the thought stuck.

***

Mollie hadn’t been sure what to expect.
The idea of a double date felt like something out of a sitcom — one of those contrived setups where the waiter rolls their eyes at four people talking over each other. But then again, Pietra had been the one to suggest it, and Mollie trusted Pietra’s brand of chaos more than most.

So here she was, sliding into a booth at a Shoreditch restaurant with fairy lights strung across the ceiling, Lando pressed warm against her side.

Max was already there, looking smug, and Pietra had claimed the seat opposite Mollie with the ease of someone who knew she’d dominate the conversation.

“Cheers,” Pietra said once the wine had arrived, raising her glass with a grin. “To excellent taste — in food, in friends, and in men.”

Mollie laughed, clinking her glass gently against hers. “Two out of three, maybe.”

Lando gave her a mock-wounded look. “Hey.”

“You’re fine,” she teased, patting his hand. “Work in progress.”

Max snorted, nearly choking on his drink. “Finally, someone’s saying it to his face.”

“Traitor,” Lando muttered, but his hand found Mollie’s under the table anyway, fingers brushing hers until she laced them together.

Dinner was noisy in the best way — Max telling stories about their junior racing days, Pietra interrupting every few sentences with corrections that were twice as funny, Lando leaning close to whisper his own commentary in Mollie’s ear. She found herself laughing more than eating, cheeks aching in a way she hadn’t realised she’d missed.

At one point, Pietra leaned across the table, eyes glinting. “So, Mollie. How’d he win you over? Please tell me it wasn’t by talking about tyre compounds.”

Mollie grinned, glancing at Lando. “Actually… it was coffee. And maybe a little bit of me not realising who he was.”

Pietra gasped dramatically. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope.” Mollie sipped her wine, smug. “Thought he was just… Lando.”

Lando squeezed her hand under the table, and when she looked at him, his smile was softer than she’d ever seen.

By the time dessert arrived, Pietra was already plotting the next outing (“bowling, obviously”), Max was trying to argue about who’d win, and Lando was stealing bites of Mollie’s tiramisu like it was his divine right.

And for once, Mollie didn’t feel like the odd one out, or a secret, or someone balancing two separate worlds. She just felt like part of something — messy, ridiculous, but hers.

***

Instagram Post: @/mollie.jane

Comments: 

@/makeupbyhannah: love this vibe 🥂✨ so happy you’re settling in!!

@/glowwithnina: the aesthetic >>>> 😍

@/sydneystyle: london looks GOOD on you babe 💕

@/skincarewithlana: new friends 👀 do we get an intro??

@/fashiongirlieee: okay but who’s the mystery hand in pic 4 👀👀👀

@/beautybytash: not her soft-launching someone lmaooo

@/user18374: THE HAND. THE HAND. THE HAND.

@/poppyglam: girlie you can’t drop a carousel like this and not expect us to notice pic 4 💅

@/chaoticgrid: petition for mollie’s next video to just be “new friends reveal” 😂

@/graceglam: this is so wholesome 🥺 london looks good on you!!

@/skincarewithlana: love the vibes!! fairy lights + wine = perfect night 💕

@/londoninspo: so glad you’re settling in 

***

Lando had thought he was getting to know Mollie when they’d exchanged numbers, when they’d started hanging out. But that was only the surface — her laugh at his bad jokes, her obsession with coffee, the quick smile she got when she was in the middle of explaining a makeup technique to him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The real discoveries came slower.

Like the night she’d pulled him onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn and announced that, if he wanted to date her, he had to “understand the classics.” He’d assumed she meant Star Wars. Instead, she queued up Downton Abbey.

And Pride and Prejudice.

And Emma.

“Jane Austen is essential culture,” she’d declared, halfway through explaining why Mr. Darcy was misunderstood.

By the time they’d made it through six seasons of upstairs-downstairs melodrama and a frankly overwhelming amount of corsets, Lando was starting to think he could probably hold his own in a pub quiz about Regency-era society.

But the thing that really surprised him came one rainy Sunday afternoon, when he wandered into her living room and found her curled up on the sofa, tea in one hand, a battered children’s book in the other.

He frowned. “What are you reading?”

She looked up, cheeks flushing just slightly. “Beatrix Potter.”

“As in… Peter Rabbit Beatrix Potter?”

“Mm-hm.” Mollie hugged the book a little closer, defensive. “It’s… comfort reading. I know it’s weird. Most people think it’s silly.”

Lando sat down beside her, plucking the book gently from her hands to glance at the cover. Jemima Puddle-Duck stared up at him in faded colours, exactly like the ones he remembered from his own childhood bookshelf.

“It’s not weird,” he said softly, handing it back. “I used to have all of these. My mum read them to me before bed.”

Her eyes widened, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. Cisca was obsessed with Jemima Puddle-Duck. I think Flo liked Squirrel Nutkin.” He chuckled. “I was a Peter Rabbit kid, though. Classic.”

She relaxed, smiling as she opened the book again. “See? Not that weird.”

“Not weird at all,” Lando said, softer now. “It’s… actually kind of adorable. You, tucked up with kids’ books.”

Mollie rolled her eyes, but the fondness in his tone made her heart squeeze. “Don’t make it weird.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Too late. It’s my new favourite thing about you.”

She shook her head, but when she turned the page and he stayed right there, chin resting lightly against her shoulder, she couldn’t help but think it was one of her favourite things too.

“I like that you don’t think it’s strange,” she murmured.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I like that you let me find out.”

And in that quiet, drizzly London afternoon, with children’s books scattered across the coffee table and Jane Austen DVDs still stacked by the TV, Lando realised he was learning her not in grand revelations, but in all the little quirks she let him see.

And he liked every single one of them.

***

Youtube Video @/MollieJane | Yes, I’m a Beauty Influencer… And Yes, I Have Opinions on Period Dramas

(Intro music plays — same pastel graphics, but instead of sitting at her vanity, Mollie is curled on her sofa with tea, her hair loose, a blanket thrown over her lap. Books and DVDs are stacked on the coffee table in front of her.)

Mollie:
“Hi guys! Welcome back to the channel. So, today’s video is a little different. Normally, we talk skincare, makeup, lifestyle, MBA chaos… but if you’ve been around here long enough, you know I also love TV shows. Specifically, historical ones. Period dramas, costume dramas, anything with ridiculous wigs and questionable accents.

So I thought it would be fun to rank my favourites, because apparently I have Opinions™ and you lot on Instagram wanted to hear them. Let’s get into it.”

(Cut to Mollie holding up a DVD case of The Crown.)

Mollie:
“Okay, starting with The Crown. Gorgeous cinematography, incredible performances, and costumes that make me want to Google every fabric under the sun. But — and this is controversial — I prefer the earlier seasons. Still, solid top five.”

(She switches to Downton Abbey.)

Mollie:
“Next: Downton Abbey. Classic. Comfort watch. The drama is ridiculous, the one-liners are iconic, and Maggie Smith basically carries the entire show on her shoulders. Also, I still want half of Lady Mary’s wardrobe.”

(She flips to Poldark.)

Mollie:
“Okay, Poldark. This is… pure chaos. I love it. Cornwall looks beautiful, the drama is over the top, and yes, Aidan Turner scything shirtless is exactly as meme-worthy as you think. Guilty pleasure, no regrets.”

(She holds up Call the Midwife.)

Mollie:
“This one surprised me — Call the Midwife. It’s tender, heartbreaking, hopeful, all at once. The writing is brilliant, and I cry literally every other episode. Highly recommend tissues.”

(Cut to Wolf Hall.)

Mollie:
“And finally, Wolf Hall. Slow burn, beautifully written, understated but so powerful. Historical accuracy? Chef’s kiss. Plus, Mark Rylance is phenomenal. If you like your history more cerebral, this is the one.”

(Back to Mollie on the sofa, smiling at the camera.)

Mollie:
“So, that’s my list. I know it’s not my usual content, but it makes me so happy to share the things I’m passionate about — even if it’s just me rambling about period dramas.

Let me know in the comments what your favourite historical shows are, or if you want me to do more book/TV content in between the usual beauty and lifestyle videos.

Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and all that good stuff. Thanks for hanging out, and I’ll see you next time. Bye!”

(Outro music plays. End screen shows “Thanks for watching ✨ Subscribe for more!” with a soft shot of Mollie’s fairy-lit shelf stacked with DVDs and books.)

***

Oxford Street was already heaving, the kind of Saturday crowd that made Mollie glad she’d at least worn comfortable shoes. She and Pietra wove between people, shopping bags bumping against their legs, the glow of Christmas lights strung overhead.

Pietra tugged her toward a boutique window, pressing a hand dramatically to the glass. “Okay, those boots? Life-changing. I don’t even care if they cost a month’s rent.”

Mollie laughed, sipping her takeaway coffee. “You and Max don’t pay rent.”

“Details,” Pietra said breezily, pulling her inside anyway.

They drifted through racks of clothes, Pietra holding up a sequined dress with a devilish grin. “This screams New Year’s Eve.”

“It screams regret,” Mollie countered, grinning.

They ended up in the accessories section, Mollie distracted by a display of oversized earrings when Pietra spoke again, more casually this time. “So, Max mentioned the whole… Oscar thing.”

Mollie didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up from the earrings she was inspecting. “Mm.”

“He didn’t go into detail,” Pietra added quickly. “Just… that you’re his twin.”

“Yeah,” Mollie said simply, slipping the earrings back onto the display. “I’m his twin.”

Pietra tilted her head, studying her. “You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

Mollie shrugged, moving on to a rack of scarves. “He’s living his life. I’m living mine. We haven’t really overlapped in years.”

There was no bite in her voice, no drama. Just a fact stated plainly, like she’d said it to herself a hundred times before.

Pietra hummed thoughtfully, looping a scarf around her neck. “Fair enough. Still— I think it’s kind of badass that you’ve built all this without anyone knowing. Like, your whole brand, your degree… you did it without the Piastri name.”

Mollie smiled faintly, adjusting a scarf in the mirror. “That’s the point.”

Pietra caught her gaze in the reflection, eyes glinting. “Well, for what it’s worth… Max thinks it’s cool. And I think it’s even cooler.”

Mollie rolled her eyes, but warmth bloomed quietly in her chest. “Thanks, Pietra.”

“Now,” Pietra said, yanking the sequined dress off the rack again, “try this on before I lose my mind.”

Mollie groaned, but she was laughing as Pietra dragged her toward the fitting rooms.

***

Text Messages: Mollie Piastri & Hattie Piastri

Hattie: okay soooo
how’s “the thing” with lando going 👀

Mollie:
🙄 subtle.

Hattie:
don’t dodge the question
i’m invested!!

Mollie:
it’s… going.

Hattie:
…going as in “eh, whatever” or going as in “omg he’s the one”

Mollie:
definitely not “eh, whatever.”

Hattie:
😏 so??

Mollie:
…I think I’m in love with him.

Hattie:
EXCUSE ME???

Mollie:
you asked.

Hattie:
no i was expecting like “yeah he’s nice” or “we kissed again” NOT A FULL BLOWN LOVE CONFESSION

Mollie:
what do you want me to say? it’s true.

Hattie:
i want DETAILS. how do you know?? when did this happen??

Mollie:
I don’t know when. Just… every time he looks at me, it feels like I’ve already found home.

Hattie:
…ugh. disgusting. i love it.

Mollie:
don’t tell the others.

Hattie:
obviously not. your secret’s safe. (but i am 100% calling dibs on maid of honor someday, just saying)

Mollie:
Hattie 😑

***

November  2023

It was late, the kind of late where London was quiet and the only light in Mollie’s flat came from the fairy lights strung across her bookshelf. She was curled up on the sofa, Lando stretched out beside her with his head tipped back, one hand absently tracing patterns on her knee.

They’d fallen into one of those hazy, comfortable silences when Lando spoke, voice low and almost shy.

“Okay, don’t laugh,” he said.

Mollie tilted her head, suspicious. “That’s never a good start.”

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly restless. “I used to watch your videos. Before I even met you.”

She blinked. “You… what?”

“Yeah.” He winced, rushing the words out. “Like, not in a creepy way. Just— I couldn’t sleep sometimes. Too much noise in my head after race weekends. And your videos… they helped. The way you talked. Calmer than everything else. I liked your accent. It—” He trailed off, shoulders tense. “It made it easier to switch off.”

Mollie just stared at him, caught somewhere between incredulous and touched. “You watched my tutorials… to fall asleep.”

His ears went pink. “Pretty much, yeah.”

She tried — she really tried — to keep a straight face, but the giggle broke free anyway. “So all those nights you were learning about warm undertones and dewy finishes…”

“Don’t.” He covered his face with his hands, groaning. “I regret everything.”

“No, no,” she teased, tugging his hands down. “I think it’s sweet. And also hilarious. You realise you could probably pass a quiz on my ‘ten-minute glow’ routine?”

He groaned again, burying his face against her shoulder this time. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

Mollie smiled, brushing her fingers through his messy curls. “Not a chance.”

And underneath the laughter, warmth bloomed in her chest — because of all the ways he could have said he liked her, this might have been the most unguarded of them all.

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Mollie Piastri

Oscar:
Take a bloody pill.

Mollie:
…excuse me?

Oscar:
You’re in pain. I can feel it. It’s distracting.

Oscar:
It’s like a vice around my ribs and lower back. I can’t concentrate on the track like this.

Mollie:
Sorry my uterus is inconveniencing your race prep 🙄

Oscar:
Just… fix it.

Mollie:
Fix it??

Oscar:
Yes. Take Nurofen, Panadol, whatever. Just make it stop.

Mollie:
Maybe try “please” the first time instead of ordering me around like a pit wall engineer.

Oscar:
Just take something for it so I can focus.

Mollie:
Wow, such brotherly concern. Truly warms the heart.

Oscar:
Pill. Now.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Mollie Piastri

Lando:
Hey, Pietra said you weren’t feeling great today.

Mollie:
Just cramps. I’ll live.

Lando:
Ah. The evil kind or the mildly-annoying kind?

Mollie:
The evil kind.

Lando:
Okay. So: blanket, hot water bottle, terrible TV, and I’m ordering you something comforting for dinner.

Mollie:
You’re in another country.

Lando:
The internet exists, Mollie. What’s your Deliveroo password?

Mollie:
You don’t need to—

Lando:
I want to.

Mollie:
…Chicken soup and garlic bread.

Lando:
Done. And I’ll throw in dessert because you’re too polite to ask.

Mollie:
I’m not that polite.

Lando:
Then I’ll throw in dessert because you deserve it.

Mollie:
…You’re much nicer about this than your teammate.

Lando:
Yeah, well. I’m not trying to win a world championship in “Least Sympathetic Twin.”

Mollie:
😂

Lando:
Seriously though — rest. And text me if you need anything, even if it’s just a distraction.

Mollie:
Thanks, Lando.

Lando:
Anytime.

***

It was late, the kind of late where the city outside had finally gone quiet, and Mollie was curled up on the sofa with her legs draped across Lando’s lap. He was scrolling idly on his phone, one hand tracing lazy circles against her calf, when she broke the silence.

“Can I tell you something weird?”

Lando looked up instantly, phone forgotten. “Always.”

She hesitated, chewing her lip. “It’s about Oscar.”

His eyebrows shot up, curious. “Okay…”

“It’s just—” She sighed, tugging at the hem of her jumper. “We’ve always had this… thing. Ever since we were kids. Like, I can tell when something’s wrong with him. Even if I don’t know what. Headaches, stomach bugs, whatever — I feel it too. And sometimes he gets it with me.”

Lando blinked, wide-eyed. “Like… actual twin telepathy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not in a sci-fi way. It’s not like we’re reading each other’s minds or finishing sentences. But it’s there. This… pull. I just know.”

“That’s…” He tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Actually really cool.”

“Or creepy,” Mollie muttered.

“Cool,” Lando insisted. “Definitely cool. Like— special. Not everyone has that.”

She laughed softly. “Oscar hates it. Pretends it doesn’t exist. He gets annoyed when I text him about it.”

“Sounds like denial.”

“Sounds like Oscar,” she corrected, but her smile was tinged with something sad. “It makes me feel… stupid sometimes. Like I’m holding onto something he grew out of years ago.”

Lando shifted, setting his phone aside and tugging her closer until she was half leaning against his chest. “Or maybe it makes you the one who didn’t forget. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong. Just means you care.”

Mollie blinked up at him, throat tightening unexpectedly. “You really think it’s not silly?”

“Not silly at all,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “It’s kind of beautiful, actually. You’ve got this invisible thread connecting you. Even if he doesn’t admit it, it’s still there. And—” he smirked a little, “—it explains why you always text me right when I’m about to order food. You’ve got practice.”

She laughed, shoving him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re connected,” he said simply, holding her closer.

For the first time in a long time, Mollie let herself believe it wasn’t just a weakness.

***

December 2023

[Transcript – Mollie Jane YouTube| Easy Christmas Makeup | Uploaded December 2023]

(Intro music plays — sparkly, holiday-themed graphics. Cut to Mollie in her Shoreditch flat, fairy lights twinkling in the background, a mini Christmas tree on the shelf. Pietra sits beside her, grinning at the camera, bare-faced but radiant.)

Mollie:
“Hi guys! Welcome back to the channel. Today we’re doing something fun and festive because it’s December, and I promised you a holiday look that works for both Christmas parties and, y’know, last-minute Zoom calls with your boss.

And because I know you get sick of my face, I brought in a very special guest. This is Pietra!”

Pietra:
“Hi!” (waves) “I feel like I’ve just been ambushed into this, but here we are.”

Mollie:
“You were not ambushed. You volunteered when I said I needed a face that isn’t mine.”

Pietra:
(mock serious) “Volunteered under duress.”

Mollie:
“Anyway. Pietra’s going to be my model today, and we’re creating a classic holiday look — glowy skin, soft smoky eye, red lip. Simple, chic, and not too heavy because we want her to still look like herself.”

(She pulls Pietra’s hair back with a festive reindeer headband. Pietra makes a face at the camera, earning a laugh from Mollie.)

Mollie:
“Step one: skin prep. Always, always prep. Pietra has great skin, so we’re just using a hydrating serum and lightweight moisturiser.”

Pietra:
(deadpan) “Translation: I’m drinking three litres of water a day just so Mollie can brag about it on camera.”

Mollie:
“See, this is why I brought her — free comedy.”

(They both laugh. Mollie works quickly, explaining techniques in her usual soft, chatty style while Pietra pulls silly faces at the camera whenever Mollie looks away.)

Mollie:
“Okay, we’re doing a soft bronze shadow to add depth. Look down for me— thank you. Perfect. And here’s the thing: holiday looks don’t have to mean glitter everywhere. Unless you want glitter everywhere. Which… fair. But this is the elegant version.”

Pietra:
(whispers to the camera) “She definitely has a glitter version and she’s hiding it from you.”

Mollie:
(laughing) “Stop exposing me on my own channel!”

(Fast-forward montage — blending eyeshadow, applying liner, adding mascara, all while Christmas music plays faintly in the background. Pietra wiggles her eyebrows dramatically mid-mascara and Mollie swats at her with the brush.)

Mollie:
“Alright, time for the star of the show — the red lip. Pietra, do not talk while I do this.”

Pietra:
(grinning) “No promises.”

(Close-up as Mollie applies a deep, classic red. Pietra makes kissy faces at the camera once she’s done.)

Mollie:
“And there we have it — holiday glam that’s quick, chic, and Pietra-approved. What do you think?”

Pietra:
(examining herself in the camera monitor) “I look like I should be in a Christmas romcom where the girl gets whisked away to New York.”

Mollie:
“That’s exactly the vibe.”

(They laugh together. Mollie leans toward the camera.)

Mollie:
“Thanks for hanging out with us today. Huge thanks to Pietra for lending me her gorgeous face — I’ll link all the products below as always. Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe, and let me know if you want to see more guest models.

Happy holidays, guys! See you next time.”

(Outro music plays, screen fades to a thumbnail of Pietra pulling a dramatic pout and Mollie laughing beside her, with text: “HOLIDAY GLAM LOOK 🎄✨ ft. Pietra!”)

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/glamfan22:
WEIRD CROSSOVER BUT YAY?? Mollie Jane just dropped a holiday makeup tutorial and her model is PIETRA PILAO (aka Max Fewtrell’s gf)?? Worlds colliding omg 💄✨🎄

@/makeupjunkie99:
not me opening a cozy makeup vid and suddenly seeing a whole F1 wag?? 😭 unexpected but I love it

@/f1teaaccount:
soooo Mollie Jane & Pietra are apparently neighbours/friends in London 👀 imagine the parties in that building

@/blushandbronzer:
Mollie: “no glitter this time”
Pietra: exposes her to 1m people immediately
queen behaviour 💅

@/mclarengirl44:
hold on. if mollie knows pietra… pietra dates max fewtrell… max is literally besties with lando…
I smell a connection 👀👀👀

@/softglowskincare:
never thought I’d see my fave YouTuber and someone from the F1 paddock in the same vid but honestly?? iconic crossover

@/holidaybeatlover:
petition for Pietra to be in EVERY holiday video from now on. she’s hilarious pls

@/f1anon:
this is giving “the influencers know more about the grid than we do” energy

@/eyelinerqueen:
ngl the red lip looked AMAZING on Pietra. mollie jane is out here building the ultimate wag glam squad without even telling us 😭

@/glowupupdates:
uhhh why is Pietra Pilão (Max Fewtrell’s gf) casually in Mollie Jane’s new makeup video???? 😭 WEIRD CROSSOVER BUT YAY

@/formulaonefanfics:
hold on… influencer mollie jane x f1 wags universe collab just dropped?? this is not on my 2023 bingo card

@/eyelinerenthusiast:
she looks AMAZING in that red lip omg. mollie jane is a wizard.

@/mclarensoup:
someone explain to me why my f1 girlies (pietra) and my makeup girlies (mollie) are COLLIDING IN MY SUBSCRIPTIONS

@/f1rumours:
lowkey obsessed with this crossover ngl. mollie seems v down to earth, pietra is hilarious, the banter >>>

@/beautybytash:
petition for mollie to start a whole series of “influencer does my makeup” w/ random paddock people 👀

@/landon4rris:
imagine if she gets lily muni he (i would actually die)

@/theglowjournal:
the real question is… HOW do they know each other 👀

@/softmattequeen:
weird crossover energy but honestly? iconic.

***

Piastri Family Chat 

(Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae)

Oscar: …Mollie.

Mollie: ?

Oscar: HOW do you know Pietra Pilão???

Mollie: she’s my neighbour.

Oscar: …Your neighbour.

Mollie: yes?

Oscar: And you just casually… put her in a YouTube video??

Mollie: yes??

Hattie: this is the best day of my life 😭😭😭

Edie: omg I KNEW I recognised that girl!! she’s max’s girlfriend right??

Mae: wait like max FEWTRELL max???

Oscar: YES.

Mollie: oh calm down. she lives upstairs. we shop together. it’s not a big deal.

Oscar: not a big deal?? she’s literally—

Mollie: Oscar. She’s my friend. Not everything is about you.

Nicole: girls, language. but also… Mollie, you could have told us?!

Mollie: why? I don’t give you daily neighbour updates when someone borrows my kettle either.

Hattie: except this neighbour is connected to half the grid, apparently 😂

Edie: mollie’s secret life >>>>> oscar’s boring driver life

Oscar: HEY.

Mae: I’m living for this reveal tbh.

Chris: Can someone PLEASE just tell me who this Pietra person is??

Oscar: Dad—

Mollie: don’t worry about it.

Hattie: LOLLLLL

***

The December heat in Melbourne hit different after months of London drizzle. The air smelled like eucalyptus and sunscreen, the kind of Christmas atmosphere that made Mollie feel like she’d never left — except she had, and the last four months had changed more than she realised.

Her mother’s house was full, as usual: Chris in the kitchen pretending to be in charge of the roast, Nicole supervising the pavlova toppings, Hattie, Edie, and Mae arguing over which Christmas playlist to put on. And then there was Oscar, leaning against the doorframe in shorts and a T-shirt, his girlfriend Lily tucked comfortably at his side.

Mollie liked Lily. She was warm without being overbearing, quick with a joke, and had a knack for making herself useful without looking like she was trying. But Mollie could also tell, within about an hour of them arriving, that Lily was… watching her. Not in a bad way — just with the kind of quiet calculation that made Mollie feel like she was about to be volunteered for something.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Lily appeared at her elbow during the post-lunch lull, holding two glasses of iced tea.

“Hey,” Lily said, passing one over. “I was just telling Oscar you two should go grab some last-minute dessert stuff from the shop. You know, stretch your legs.”

Mollie blinked. “We have dessert.”

“Not enough strawberries,” Lily said smoothly. “And Nicole likes the ones from the place down the road.”

Mollie narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

Lily just smiled, the picture of innocence. “Go on. You could catch up on the way.”

Across the room, Oscar looked up from where Mae was showing him something on her phone. “Catch up?” he repeated, wary.

“Yes,” Lily said, her tone light but her eyes saying don’t argue. “You’re both here, you might as well actually talk.”

Mollie could feel the weight of the whole family’s ears perking up — the dangerous territory where a casual suggestion could turn into a scene. She drained half the iced tea in one go, mostly to stall.

“Fine,” she said finally. “Let’s go get your strawberries.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath, but he followed her out to the car.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Mollie glanced back to see Lily watching from the porch, one satisfied hand raised in a little wave. It was the expression of a woman who’d just set a plan in motion.

The air in the car felt heavier than the December sun outside.
Mollie adjusted the A/C vents toward her face and focused on fastening her seatbelt, while Oscar fiddled with the radio like it might save him from actual conversation.

“So,” he said eventually, the word landing in the middle of the silence like a stone in a pond. “How’s… London?”

“Good,” she said. “Busy.”

He nodded, eyes on the road. “MBA going alright?”

“Mm-hmm. Finished first term last week.”

Another pause.

Silence. Mollie sighed, shifting against the seatbelt. “You know you’re allowed to ask me something that isn’t academic small talk.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched. “Fine. How do you know Pietra?”

There it was.

Mollie didn’t miss a beat. She turned her head, deadpan. “Oh, you know. We met at an underground influencer–F1 WAG mixer. She introduced me to my secret lover, Lewis Hamilton. It’s very serious.”

Oscar’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “What—”

“I’m kidding,” she said flatly, sipping her iced tea. “She’s my neighbour, Oscar. She lives literally upstairs.”

He blinked, clearly torn between disbelief and irritation. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. You can stop acting like I’ve infiltrated MI6.”

He muttered something under his breath, but his grip on the steering wheel loosened. Mollie smirked faintly, satisfied.

When they stopped at a red light, Oscar finally exhaled. “You’re impossible.”

“Twin thing,” she shot back, the corner of her mouth curving despite herself.

And for the first time in a long while, the silence between them didn’t feel quite so jagged.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Mollie Piastri

Lando:
Merry Christmas 🎄 hope the Aussie sun hasn’t melted you yet

Mollie:
Merry Christmas ☀️ I’m surviving. It’s weird not being in London though.

Lando:
Bet the beach is nicer than rain and mud here.

Mollie:
True. But you don’t get good pavlova in London.

Lando:
Touché. Anyway— I sent you something. Check under your tree.

Mollie:
…You didn’t.

Lando:
I did. Max helped. Don’t give me grief, just open it.

(a photo arrives from Mollie: her holding up a vintage Polaroid camera with a bow on it)

Mollie:
You got me a Polaroid??

Lando:
Yeah. You said you wished you could take photos without worrying about lighting or editing. Thought this way you could keep some just for yourself.

Mollie:
That’s… actually perfect. Wow. Thank you.

Lando:
Glad you like it 😅

Mollie:
I like it more than like. It’s… personal.

Lando:
Your turn.

Mollie:
Check your email.

Lando:
…I’m scared.

Mollie: Just do it.

(pause)

Lando:
…Did you really just send me a Spotify playlist called “Calm the hell down, Norris”?

Mollie: Yep. It’s me reading every Beatrix Potter book. You know, so you don’t need watch my videos to fall asleep anymore. I made you a playlist.

Lando: You… made me a playlist.

Mollie: Don’t sound so shocked.

Lando: No one’s ever done that for me before.

Mollie: Then you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people.

(pause)

Lando: You realise this means I have to kiss you again when I see you.

Mollie: Pretty sure you were planning that anyway.

Lando: …Maybe. Merry Christmas, Mollie.

Mollie: Merry Christmas, Lando. 🎄💛

***

Instagram Post: @/mollie.jane

Comments: 

@beautybytash: aussie christmas >>>> snowy christmas, fight me ☀️🎄

@graceglam: hope you had the best day 💕

@glowwithnina: meanwhile i’m stuck in -3°C and snow up to my knees 😭 send me some sunshine pls

@eyelinerqueen: merry christmas mollie! 💄🎄 thanks for being the coziest part of my 2023 feed

@/theglowjournal: melbourne girlies doing christmas RIGHT 🎄✨

@/softglowskincare: ugh this looks like a christmas romcom but sunny 🌞

Chapter Text

January 2024

Mollie had braced herself for this.

Meeting the family.

She’d faced brand meetings with Sephora execs, speaking panels at uni, even the terrifying moment of hitting “publish” on her very first YouTube video — but walking up the path to the Norris family home with Lando at her side felt like an entirely different kind of pressure.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lando murmured, brushing his fingers against hers as he rang the doorbell.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered back. “It’s not your entire personality on the internet.”

Before he could reply, the door swung open, and a whirlwind named Cisca pulled Lando into a hug. “You’re late,” she scolded, though she was smiling. Then her gaze landed on Mollie.

“Hi,” Mollie said quickly, sticking out a hand. “Mollie.”

Cisca blinked — once, twice — and then her face lit up in recognition. “Wait a minute. You’re Mollie Jane.”

Mollie felt her stomach drop. “Um—”

“I knew I recognised you!” Cisca said, delighted. “Your eyeliner tutorial literally saved my birthday party look last year. And the Glossier campaign? Obsessed.”

Lando groaned. “Oh, here we go…”

And then Flo appeared in the hallway, brushing crumbs off her jumper. “What’s going on—” She stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. “No way. Mollie Jane? As in, the Mollie Jane?”

Mollie managed a polite smile, cheeks hot. “That’s me. I think.”

Flo practically squealed. “I watch all your videos. All of them. I literally bought that serum you raved about — the one with the impossible-to-pronounce name — and it actually worked. Oh my god, Cisca, Lando’s dating an actual icon.”

Lando threw his hands up. “Can we not—”

“—She’s so much cooler than you,” Flo cut in, grinning.

Cisca nodded firmly. “Agreed.”

Mollie laughed despite herself, the nervous knot in her chest loosening. “I promise I’m not that interesting in real life.”

“Yes, you are,” Flo said, absolutely certain. “And don’t even try to be humble about it.”

By the time Cisca appeared from the kitchen to hug her hello and offer tea, Mollie realised something: she hadn’t needed to brace herself after all. Lando’s family was loud, chaotic, maybe a little too honest — but they were warm. And as she sat at their table, listening to Flo and Cisca argue about whether her contour video was better than her skincare one, she felt something she hadn’t expected: at home.

Lando caught her eye across the table and mouthed, told you so.

She rolled her eyes at him, but her smile gave her away.

***

By the time she followed Lando into the kitchen, she’d already been ambushed by Flo and Cisca with a dozen questions about beauty products and brand deals. It was disarming, their enthusiasm — she wasn’t used to people treating her career like something to be celebrated instead of dismissed.

“Mollie, this is Mum,” Lando said, gesturing toward a warm-eyed woman in a soft cashmere jumper.

“Cisca,” his mother said, immediately pulling her into a hug like she’d known her for years. “Welcome, dear. We’ve heard so much.”

“I bet you have,” Mollie managed, laughing nervously.

“And Dad,” Lando added, as a tall man with kind eyes came over from the stove, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

“Adam,” he said, offering a firm handshake. “Lovely to meet you. We were wondering who finally managed to pin him down.”

Mollie flushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“And Oliver,” Lando continued, dragging his older brother away from the fridge raid.

Oliver gave her a quick grin. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said back, a little relieved that he seemed more interested in snacks than interrogating her.

The kitchen settled into a hum of activity — Adam stirring something on the stove, Cisca setting plates, Flo and Cisca-the-younger still buzzing about Mollie’s content.

“So, Mollie,” Cisca-the-mum said kindly, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Tell us a little about your family. Do they all live in Melbourne?”

There it was.

Mollie could feel Lando tense beside her, like he already knew she was about to jump off a cliff.

“My sisters are still there,” Mollie said carefully. “Hattie, Edie, Mae. They’re younger. And my parents are in Melbourne too.”

Cisca nodded, smiling. “And you mentioned a brother?”

Mollie inhaled. “Yeah. Oscar.”

Flo’s head snapped up. “Wait. Oscar?”

Mollie forced a smile. “Oscar Piastri. He’s… my twin brother.”

For a beat, the table went silent.

Adam blinked. “As in… Oscar Piastri, Lando’s teammate?”

Lando ran a hand over his face. “Yep.”

Cisca’s brows rose in surprise. “Well, isn’t that something.”

Oliver let out a low whistle. “You kept that quiet.”

Mollie shrugged, suddenly very aware of every eye on her. “I use our mum’s maiden name for work. Keeps things separate.” She swallowed, then added, “And… he has no idea about me and Lando. I’d like to keep it that way for now.”

The silence stretched for another beat — and then Cisca burst out laughing.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Oscar’s going to lose his mind.”

“Please don’t,” Mollie said quickly. “Not yet. I just… want this to be mine for a little while longer. Without the chaos.”

Cisca reached across the table and squeezed her hand, eyes kind. “Don’t worry, love. Your secret’s safe here.”

Mollie exhaled, tension she hadn’t realised she was holding finally easing. Across the table, Lando gave her a little grin — equal parts reassurance and told you they’d love you.

And to her surprise, they did. Even knowing who she was.

Maybe especially knowing.

“This is better than Netflix,” Flo said drily.

Lando groaned into his hands. “Oh my god.”

And Mollie, despite the weight in her chest, found herself laughing too. Because somehow, impossibly, the Norris family didn’t make it feel like a scandal — just another layer of chaos to fold into their warmth.

****

February 2024

Transcript – Mollie Jane YouTube Q&A | Uploaded February 2024

(Intro music plays — upbeat, pastel graphics. Mollie sits cross-legged on her Shoreditch flat sofa, hair loose, minimal makeup, a mug of tea in hand.)

Mollie:
“Hi guys! Welcome back to my channel — today we’re doing another Q&A because it’s been a minute. I asked you on Instagram to send in your questions, and wow… there were a lot. Some of them very chaotic. Some of them very nosy. So, let’s get into it.”

(She scrolls on her phone, grinning.)

Mollie:
“Okay, first question — ‘What’s your favourite London coffee spot so far?’ Easy. There’s a tiny café near Brick Lane that makes the best flat whites, and I’m obsessed. I will gatekeep the name though because I actually like being able to get a table.”

(She sips her tea, dramatic pause.)

Mollie:
“‘What’s the hardest thing about your MBA?’ Honestly? Group projects. I love working with people, but half the time it feels like herding cats. At least in brand partnerships I get to choose who I work with!”

Mollie:
“What’s been the hardest part of moving from Melbourne to London?’ Honestly… the weather. I love London, don’t get me wrong, but I did not realise how much I’d miss actual sunshine. Also, navigating groceries. Why is bread like this here? Someone explain.”

(She scrolls again, expression shifts as she reads the next question.)

Mollie:
“Okay… wow, a lot of you asked this one. Like, a lot. ‘Are you single?’”

(She laughs nervously, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.)

Mollie:
“No. I’m not single. I do have a boyfriend.”

(She lets the silence sit for a second, smiling at the camera.)

Mollie:
“I know I don’t post much about that side of my life — and that’s on purpose.

Mollie:
“He’s… really wonderful. Very supportive. He makes me laugh constantly, sometimes when I least want to, which is annoying in the best way. He’s also very… grounding? Like, my world is always on my phone or my laptop or at events, and he’s the opposite of that. He reminds me to actually live instead of just… document.”

(shrugs, still smiling)

Mollie:
“I’m not going to name names, because I’ve learned that keeping some parts of my life private is really important for my sanity. But yes, there is a boyfriend. Yes, he’s real. And no, he’s not secretly a cardboard cut-out in the corner of my room.”

(laughs at her own joke, sips tea again)

Mollie:
“He’s great. He makes me laugh, he gets my weird coffee orders right every time, and he’s… very supportive. Like, ridiculously supportive. He’ll listen to me rant about my MBA coursework even when he doesn’t understand a word of it, which is honestly all I could ask for. Oh, and yes — he’s British. Which means he’s teaching me the difference between chips, crisps, fries, whatever… and I’m teaching him that TimTams are the superior chocolate snack. It’s cultural exchange.”

(She giggles, flipping to the next question.)

Mollie:
“Okay, moving on before I say too much… Someone else asked, ‘What’s the best gift anybody has ever given you?’ And honestly? A Polaroid camera. Which sounds random, but I’d been saying for ages that I wanted photos just for me, ones I didn’t have to post. My boyfriend remembered that. And now I have this little wall in my flat of Polaroids of… moments. Things no one else sees. It’s kind of perfect.”

(a softer smile now, almost to herself before she looks back at the camera)

Mollie:
“So, yeah. That’s all you’re getting on that subject for now. But thanks for the interest. He’s making me very happy.”

(She moves on to the next question about skincare routines, cheeks still a little pinker than usual. The video cuts to a montage of her answering lighter questions — skincare routine, favourite coffee shop in Shoreditch, upcoming projects. Then fades out with her usual outro.)

Mollie:
“Alright, that’s all for today’s Q&A! Thank you so much for sending in your questions. Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe, and I’ll see you in the next one. Byeee!”

(Outro music plays, screen fades to black with her channel logo.)

***

Piastri Family Chat 

(Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae)

Edie:
excuse me WHAT.

Nicole:
You have a boyfriend?! Why didn’t you TELL us??

Chris:
Is this serious or influencer “boyfriend reveal” for views?

Mollie:
…Hi to you too. Yes, it’s serious. Yes, he’s real. No, not for views.

Hattie:
called it 😏

Edie:
YOU KNEW??

Mae:
betrayal.

Oscar:
Hold on. You actually have a boyfriend??

Mollie:
…Yes, Oscar. That’s what I just said.

Oscar:
Who is he?

Mollie:
Not telling you.

Oscar:
Why not?

Mollie:
Because I don’t want him chased by my family like he’s in an interrogation room.

Oscar:
Are you sure he’s not dating you because of me?

Mollie:
…Wow.

Nicole:
Oscar.

Oscar:
What?? It’s a valid question. You’re suddenly in London, everyone knows you’re my twin—

Mollie:
Everyone does not know. And for the record, the world doesn’t revolve around you.

Oscar:
I’m just saying, people will use you to get to me.

Mollie:
…Wow.

Hattie:
OSCAR. WHAT.

Edie:
that’s… harsh.

Mae:
really harsh.

Nicole:
Oscar, that’s not fair.

Mollie:
Or maybe people just… like me? Ever considered that?

Hattie:
🔥🔥🔥

Edie:
awkward turtle 🐢

Mae:
you two fighting like you’re 12 again is my favourite entertainment.

Mollie:
I’m not doing this. Enjoy your paranoia, Oscar. I’ll be over here, being happy.

***

Oscar tossed his phone onto the hotel bed with a little more force than necessary. The screen went dark, but the echo of Mollie’s last message stuck in his head like a punch he hadn’t seen coming.

I’m done having this conversation.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a tight circle around the room. It wasn’t like he’d meant to sound so— what? Cruel? Distrustful? He’d only wanted to protect her. To make sure she wasn’t… what, taken advantage of?

But the truth was uglier. The truth was that he hadn’t known. His own twin sister had been dating someone for months, and he hadn’t had the faintest clue until she announced it on YouTube. Everyone else had looked surprised — except Hattie, of course, who’d known all along.

Everyone except him.

The door opened and Lily stepped in, still in her trainers from the gym. She took one look at his expression and sighed. “What did you do?”

Oscar flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Nothing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Try again.”

“Mollie got a boyfriend.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I just… asked if she was sure he wasn’t dating her because of me.”

Lily’s silence was worse than her words. When he finally glanced over, her arms were crossed, expression flat.

“Oscar,” she said evenly, “that was a terrible thing to say.”

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it?” she pressed. “Because from the outside, it sounds like you don’t trust her to know her own life.”

“She’s private,” he argued. “She hides things. I didn’t even know she watched races, Lily. Now suddenly she has a boyfriend, and I’m supposed to just… accept it?”

“Yes,” Lily said simply. “You are.”

He sat up, frustration tight in his chest. “You don’t get it. I’m her twin. I’m supposed to know these things.”

Lily’s expression softened, but her voice stayed firm. “Maybe that’s the problem. You think being her twin means you automatically know her. But you haven’t really been in her life for years, Oscar. That’s not her fault. That’s not yours either. But it does mean you have to earn that trust back — not demand it.”

Her words landed heavier than any debrief note ever had. He swallowed, staring at his hands..

“You’ve got work to do,” Lily said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “And step one? Don’t tear her down when she finally lets you see a part of her life. Step two? Apologise.”

Oscar nodded, though the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. Apologising had never been his strong suit. But the thought of Mollie cutting him out even further — that was worse.

***

London was quiet that evening, the kind of quiet she usually loved — streetlights glowing against wet pavement, the hum of the city softened by drizzle — but tonight it felt heavy. Mollie curled on her sofa with a blanket, her phone face-down on the coffee table. Muted notifications still pulsed through her head anyway, like phantom vibrations.

She hated how sharp Oscar’s words had been. Hated more how easily they’d sunk in. Are you sure he’s not dating you because of me? It had been cruel, and worse, it was the kind of thing she knew he might actually believe.

The knock on her door startled her.

She padded over, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and opened it to find Lando standing there, hood up, holding a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like hot chocolate.

“Thought you might need this,” he said simply.

She blinked. “Did you psychic my Deliveroo order?”

“No,” he said, lips twitching. “I just know you. Hot chocolate, extra marshmallows. Comfort in a cup.”

Mollie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her mouth as she stepped aside to let him in.

They settled on the couch, mugs in hand, steam curling between them. Lando didn’t push. He didn’t ask what had happened. He just sat, sipping quietly, until she finally muttered, “Oscar’s an idiot.”

“Not news,” Lando said lightly.

She snorted despite herself. “He basically implied you’d only be dating me because of him. Like I couldn’t possibly be worth it on my own.”

Lando’s brows knit. “That’s… harsh.”

“Tell me about it.”

He set his mug down, turning fully toward her. “For the record, Mollie — I like you because you’re you. Not because of your brother. Not because of YouTube or Instagram or whatever. You make me laugh when I don’t want to. You make London feel… lighter. That’s why.”

Her throat tightened unexpectedly, and she looked away before he could see too much written on her face. “You’re annoyingly good at saying the right thing, you know that?”

“It’s a gift,” he said solemnly. Then, after a beat, he grabbed one of the mini marshmallows from her mug and popped it into his mouth.

“Hey!” she protested, swatting at him.

He grinned, triumphant. “See? Smiling again.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling — really smiling this time — and for the first time all day, the knot in her chest loosened.

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Mollie Piastri

Oscar: Hey.

Mollie: …Hi.

Oscar: About what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean it like that.

Mollie: You said exactly what you meant.

Oscar: No, I didn’t. I was just— I don’t know. Protective, maybe.

Mollie: Protective would’ve been “I hope he treats you well” or “I trust you to know what’s good for you.” Not “are you sure he’s not dating you because of me.”

Oscar: I was out of line, okay?

Mollie: That’s one way to put it.

Oscar: Mollie—

Mollie: Do you have any idea what it feels like, having your own twin suggest you’re not worth loving unless someone’s using you to get closer to him?

Oscar: That’s not what I meant.

Mollie: It’s what you said. And it’s what you’ve been saying for years without saying it — that my life, my career, everything I do, is somehow smaller or less important than yours.

Oscar: That’s not fair.

Mollie: Isn’t it? You never ask about my work. You never show up. You didn’t even think I kept up with F1 until I basically had to prove it to you. And the second I let you in on something real, you cut me down.

Oscar: I didn’t cut you down.

Mollie: You did. You just don’t like hearing it.

Oscar: You’re twisting this.

Mollie: No, I’m not. I’m done, Oscar. I don’t need you to approve of my relationship. And I definitely don’t need you making me feel like I’m less just because you can’t figure out how to be my brother anymore.

***

Instagram Post: @/mollie.jane

Comments: 

@/beautybytash: STOP this is adorable !!! 🥹

@/glowwithnina: soft launch era continues and i support it ✅

@/makeupjunkie99: we don’t need his face we can FEEL the love 😭

@/sydneystyle: the polaroid aesthetic??? chef’s kiss 📸✨

@/lipglosslover: mystery man’s curls tho 👀

@/graceglam: so happy for youuuuu 💕

@/softglowskincare: protect your peace queen!! cuteness overload 💖

@/londonlatte: i love a back-of-head reveal 😂

@/blushandbronzer: not me zooming to enhance like CSI. still no idea who he is. congrats bestie!!

@/beautybytash: OHHH MY GODDD he’s real 😭😭😭

@/makeupjunkie99: okay but this is the CUTEST soft launch i’ve ever seen 🥺

@/theglowjournal: mollie jane being iconic as always ✨

@/lipglosslover: this is giving romance novel vibes omg 😭

@/skincarewithlana: whoever he is, treat our girl right!!!

@/softmattequeen: obsessed with the fact that he’s just a mystery hoodie man. we stan privacy.

March 2024

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Mollie Piastri

Oscar:
For god’s sake, take a bloody pill.

Mollie:
…Wow, hello to you too.

Oscar:
I can’t concentrate on racing like this.

Mollie:
Like this?

Oscar:
You doubled over in pain. I can feel it. It’s distracting.

Mollie:
Sorry my uterus is inconveniencing your practice session 🙃

Oscar:
I’m serious, Mollie. Take something. Do something.

Mollie:
I already did. Pills don’t always magic it away.

Oscar:
Then go see a doctor or something. It shouldn’t be this bad every month.

Mollie:
…Thanks, Doctor Piastri. Really appreciate the bedside manner.

Oscar:
I’m not joking. I can’t keep dealing with this every time you’re in pain.

Mollie:
You can’t keep dealing with it? Are you hearing yourself?

Oscar:
I just meant— it’s too much. You shouldn’t be suffering like this.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Mollie Piastri

Mollie:
Ugh. It’s so bad this month.

Lando:
Cramps again?

Mollie:
Yep. Like someone is wringing my insides out with barbed wire.

Lando:
Ouch 😣 I’m so sorry, love.

Mollie:
Don’t apologise. Just… hate it.

Lando:
Wish I was there to bring you tea and keep the hot water bottle warm.

Mollie:
You’d just steal the hot water bottle for yourself.

Lando:
Maybe. But I’d give it back whenever you needed it.

Mollie:
…That’s actually kind of sweet.

Lando:
You know what helps me when I’m hurting? Distractions. Want me to FaceTime and do my stupid impression of Zak ordering lunch?

Mollie:
…Yes.

Lando:
Done. Give me five minutes, I’ll call. And until then: blanket, Netflix, and text me what you want for dinner, because I’m sending you Deliveroo.

Mollie:
You don’t have to—

Lando:
Shhh. I want to. Soup? Pizza? Chocolate cake? All three?

Mollie:
…All three.

Lando:
That’s my girl.

***

It wasn’t unusual for Oscar to keep to himself during a race weekend — quiet in the motorhome, polite but clipped with his answers, eyes always a little too sharp. But this was different.

Lando noticed it during the post-practice debrief. Oscar was pale, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, jaw tight like he was gritting through something. His notes were neat, precise as ever, but his hand shook just slightly when he reached for his water bottle.

Lando frowned, leaning back in his own chair, half listening to Andrea. The image of Mollie flashed through his head unbidden — her texts from last night, complaining about cramps so bad she felt like her insides were being torn apart.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Twin thing.

He’d laughed when she’d told him about it once, how she could “feel” when Oscar was sick or hurting. But watching Oscar now, visibly suffering while pretending everything was fine, Lando felt that same knot twist in his chest. If he could see it this clearly, what the hell was Mollie feeling right now?

Oscar didn’t mention it once. Didn’t excuse himself, didn’t admit he was in pain. Just powered through like his body wasn’t betraying him.

It made Lando’s skin crawl. Because if the telepathy was real — and at this point, he couldn’t see how it wasn’t — then Mollie was across the globe doubled over too, and Oscar was acting like it was nothing.

After the meeting broke up, Lando lingered a second, watching Oscar pack his notes. “You alright, mate?” he asked casually.

Oscar glanced up, expression blank. “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

And that was it. Shut down, door slammed.

Lando bit back the urge to push. He couldn’t exactly say your twin sister feels everything you’re feeling and she’s probably at home hurting like hell — by the way, she’s my girlfriend.

Instead, he just nodded and let him go, jaw tight.

Oscar could deny it all he wanted. But Lando had seen it with his own eyes. And for the first time, the whole “twin telepathy” thing didn’t feel like some cute quirk. It felt like something raw, something that tied Mollie and Oscar together whether they admitted it or not.

And what really freaked him out was the implication: if Oscar looked this bad, how bad was Mollie right now?

***

Mollie had always told herself she could handle it. Cramps were just part of the deal, and she’d been living with them for years. Hot water bottles, painkillers, tea — she’d learned the routine. But this… this was different.

By the time Lando let himself into the flat, she was curled on the sofa, sweat dampening her hairline, clutching her stomach so hard her nails dug into her own skin. Every movement sent a white-hot bolt of pain through her side.

“Molls?” His voice came from the doorway — light at first, then sharp when he saw her face. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

She tried to answer, but the sound that came out was a choked whimper.

He was at her side in seconds, crouched down, panic flickering in his eyes. “Is it cramps? No, it’s worse than that, isn’t it?”

“It—hurts—” was all she could get out, gasping between words.

“Okay. No more guessing,” he said firmly, already reaching for his phone. “We’re going to the hospital. Right now.”

She wanted to protest — wanted to tell him it would pass, that he didn’t need to overreact — but another wave of pain slammed through her, leaving her trembling and nauseous. She couldn’t even sit up on her own.

“Don’t move,” Lando said, sliding an arm under her shoulders, another under her knees. He lifted her carefully, like she might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

By the time they reached A&E, she was barely coherent. The triage nurse asked questions she couldn’t answer, and Lando’s voice filled the gaps: “Lower abdomen. Sudden onset. She can’t stand. No, not pregnant.”

Everything blurred — fluorescent lights, the squeak of shoes on linoleum, the cold slap of a gurney rail against her arm.

And then, the word that cut through everything:

“Ruptured ovarian cyst. We need to prep her for surgery.”

Her heart thudded. Surgery? Surgery?

She looked for Lando, panicked, but he was right there, his hand wrapped tight around hers.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers like he could anchor her to the world by sheer will. “I’m right here. They’re going to fix it. You’ll be okay.”

Tears prickled hot at her eyes, more from fear than pain. She hated feeling this helpless, hated that her body had betrayed her — but when the nurse pried her hand free, Lando leaned down, kissed her damp forehead, and whispered, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

The waiting room felt like purgatory. Too-bright lights, the stink of antiseptic, the low hum of vending machines. Lando had been pacing the same stretch of tile for half an hour, every muscle in his body thrumming with nervous energy he couldn’t burn off.

He hated waiting. He hated not knowing. And most of all, he hated that Mollie was behind those doors, in surgery, while he was stuck out here doing nothing.

Nothing, except one thing.

He stared at his phone for a long time before thumbing to Oscar’s number. His stomach turned even as he hit call.

The line clicked, and Oscar’s voice came through, groggy and sharp all at once. “Lando? Why the hell are you calling me?”

Lando swallowed. “She’s in hospital.”

A pause. “Who?”

“Mollie.”

Dead silence.

Then: “How do you even know that name?”

Lando pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because she’s my girlfriend, Oscar. And she’s in surgery right now with a ruptured ovarian cyst.”

“What—” Oscar’s voice cracked, incredulous. “Back up. Girlfriend? Surgery? And how the hell do you even know she’s my sister?”

Lando sat heavily in one of the plastic chairs, raking a hand through his hair. “Because she told me. Months ago. She didn’t want to… make it a whole thing. But right now none of that matters. She’s under the knife, and you deserve to know.”

The silence on the other end was different now — jagged, uneven.

“She’s—” Oscar broke off, his breath audible. “She’s in surgery. And you’re there. And she didn’t tell me. I…”

Lando clenched his jaw. “Look, I get it, you’re confused. I don’t care about that right now. What matters is she’s going to be okay, but I thought you should hear it from me. Because you’re her brother. Her twin.”

Oscar exhaled hard, like the weight of the words had just hit him. “Christ. She didn’t even—”

“Yeah, well,” Lando muttered, softer now, “maybe if you’d asked more about her life, you’d know this already.”

Another silence. Then, quieter: “Is she… is she going to be alright?”

Lando leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the double doors to theatre. “Yeah. She’s strong.

***

Oscar had felt it all day — a nagging pull in his chest, like a thread tugging somewhere just out of reach. It wasn’t pain, exactly. More like a heaviness he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried to drown it in sim laps and sponsor calls.

By evening, he’d given up pretending. He sat on the edge of his flat’s sofa in London, staring at his phone like it might explain what was wrong. Lily had been watching him carefully from the armchair, one eyebrow raised.

“Something’s off,” he muttered.

“You’ve been saying that since breakfast,” Lily said gently. “What kind of ‘off’?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Mollie. It feels like— I don’t know. Just off.”

Before Lily could answer, his phone lit up. Lando Norris.

Oscar frowned. “Why is he—” He answered. “Lando? Why the hell are you calling me?”

The words that followed knocked the air right out of him. Mollie. Hospital. Surgery.

When the line went dead, Oscar just sat there, the phone slack in his hand.

Lily’s voice cut through the fog. “Oscar?”

“She’s—” He swallowed hard. “She’s in surgery. Ruptured ovarian cyst. Emergency.” His own voice sounded strange, raw in his throat.

Lily was on her feet instantly, practical as ever. “Where?”

“St Thomas’, I think. Lando’s with her.”

“Lando,” Lily repeated, narrowing her eyes. “As in your teammate, Lando. Who somehow knows your sister’s in hospital before you do.”

Oscar pressed a hand to his temple. “He said—she told him. He’s… her boyfriend. Apparently.”

Lily’s eyes widened, then softened. She stepped close, taking his free hand. “We’ll unpack that later. Right now, we’re going.”

He hesitated only for a moment, then nodded. The twin-sense tugged harder now, an urgent throb in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “We’re going.”

***

The waiting room was too bright, too sterile, too full of sounds that grated on Lando’s nerves. Every shuffle of shoes, every beep from some distant monitor, every cough made him twitch. He’d never hated sitting still more in his life.

He was bouncing his leg restlessly when the automatic doors slid open. He looked up — and froze.

Oscar.

Still in his McLaren jacket, Lily at his side. His face was tight, pale, the same sort of look he got right before lights out, except this wasn’t adrenaline. This was fear.

For a moment, Oscar just stared at him, like he was seeing something that didn’t make sense. And then his voice cut across the room, sharp with confusion.

“You.”

Lando stood, guilt and defensiveness tangling in his chest. “Me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He glanced toward the double doors to surgery. “Waiting. For Mollie.”

Oscar blinked once, twice, his mouth working before the words came. “She told you?”

“She told me,” Lando confirmed. “Months ago.”

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “And you didn’t think maybe I should know?”

Lando’s jaw clenched. He’d been ready for this, but not here, not with Mollie under anaesthetic a few walls away. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. She didn’t want you to know. She wasn’t ready.”

“That’s my sister,” Oscar snapped.

“And she’s my girlfriend,” Lando shot back before he could stop himself. His voice echoed, drawing a few glances from nurses. He lowered it quickly, but the words hung between them like a flare in the dark. “And she’s in surgery. That’s what matters right now. Not which one of us found out first.”

For a long moment, Oscar just stared at him, chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted straight from the track. Then his eyes flicked to the doors, and some of the fight bled out of his shoulders.

Lily touched his arm gently, grounding him.

Lando sank back into the chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, you can hate me later if you want. Right now, just… sit. Wait with me.”

Oscar hesitated, then dropped into the chair across from him. He didn’t speak again, but his knee was bouncing just like Lando’s.

And in that tense silence, for the first time, Lando realised how alike they really were — two people wired to worry about Mollie until it ate them alive.

***

Piastri Family Chat 

(Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae)

Oscar:
Mollie’s in hospital. She had emergency surgery for a ruptured ovarian cyst. She’s stable, but still in recovery.

Nicole:
Oh my god, is she okay???

Chris:
Emergency surgery?? Why didn’t anyone call us sooner??

Mae:
wait wait wait. She’s okay though?

Oscar:
She’s okay. I’m at the hospital now with Lily.

Edie:
Jesus Christ, Oscar. That’s terrifying. Poor Mollie.

Nicole:
Do we know how long she’ll be in? Does she need us to fly up?

Oscar:
She’ll need a few days at least.

Chris:
I can book a flight tonight.

Oscar:
Hold on. There’s something else.

Edie:
…what do you mean “something else”??

Oscar:
Lando Norris is here.

Mae:
…as in your teammate??

Oscar:
Yes. He’s her boyfriend.

Hattie:
…so you found out.

Oscar:
What do you mean “so you found out”???

Edie:
HATTIE.

Mae:
EXCUSE ME???

Nicole:
WHAT.

Chris:
Are you kidding me.

Oscar:
You knew??

Hattie:
She told me ages ago. She made me swear not to tell you guys.

Edie:
WHY WOULD SHE TELL YOU AND NOT US??

Mae:
oh my god oh my GOD. mollie. and lando.

Nicole:
HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON??

Oscar:
MONTHS, APPARENTLY.

Chris:
This is unbelievable.

Mae:
THIS IS INSANE.

Edie:
How do you date your brother’s teammate and NOT say anything?!

Hattie:
…probably because you’re all proving her point right now.

Oscar:
Hattie. Not. Helping.

Nicole:
I cannot believe this.

Mae:
I cannot BELIEVE THIS.

Edie:
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

***

The first thing Mollie noticed was the light — too white, too sharp, stabbing at the back of her eyelids even before she managed to open them.

The second thing was the beeping. Steady, insistent, like it was reminding her she was still here.

And then the ache hit — dull but deep, dragging through her abdomen like an anchor chained to her insides.

She groaned. The sound scraped out of her throat and startled her enough that she forced her eyes open.

Hospital. Definitely hospital.

She blinked until the blur resolved into shapes — two of them, sitting side by side in hideous vinyl chairs.

Oscar. Arms crossed, face pinched, like he’d been holding himself together with string and stubbornness.

And Lando. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it nonstop.

They both straightened at once when they realised she was awake.

“Hey,” Lando said softly, already on his feet, hovering over her like he wasn’t sure if touching her would break her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like death. But… softer,” she mumbled, her voice thick and slurred. God, whatever they’d pumped into her veins was strong. “Did they give me horse tranquiliser?”

Lando laughed — shaky, relieved. “Morphine. Close enough.”

Her gaze shifted, bleary, to the other figure at her bedside. “You,” she said, squinting. “What are you doing here?”

Oscar looked like he’d been slapped. “You’re in hospital, Mollie. Where else would I be?”

She blinked at him for a long moment. “Dunno. Bahrain? Media day? Pretending I don’t exist?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, fuzzy and unfiltered. She saw Oscar flinch, just barely, and then Lando’s hand slipped into hers, warm and steady.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Lando murmured, squeezing gently. “You’re through surgery. You’re okay. That’s what matters.”

Mollie let her head sink back against the pillow, lids drooping again. Her free hand drifted weakly toward Oscar, not quite a reach, more like a truce. He hesitated, then covered it with his own.

“Get used to this, Osc,” she muttered, slurring the word twin like it tasted foreign. “You don’t get rid of me that easy.”

And then, before either of them could answer, the painkillers tugged her back under.

***

Oscar sat rigid in the awful vinyl chair, Mollie’s limp hand still in his. The steady rhythm of her breathing was the only sound in the room besides the machines. He should’ve felt relieved — she was through the surgery, she was alive, she was safe — but instead, all he felt was hollow, like someone had scooped him out from the inside.

Because his twin sister had nearly bled out from something he hadn’t even known she suffered with.
Because Lando Norris, of all people, was the one who’d been there.

Across the bed, Lando hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. He was slouched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he could burn a hole through the linoleum. His hand was still wrapped firmly around Mollie’s other one, thumb brushing unconsciously over her knuckles every so often.

Finally, Oscar cleared his throat. “You’ve been with her the whole time.”

Lando looked up, startled, then nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. “Since she collapsed. I… I carried her to the car. They said if we’d waited much longer…” He trailed off, jaw tightening.

Oscar’s stomach lurched. “And she didn’t call me.”

It wasn’t an accusation — or maybe it was, because the words came out sharper than he intended.

Lando met his gaze, steady. “She didn’t think you’d come.”

The silence after that felt like a slap.

Oscar opened his mouth, shut it again. His grip on Mollie’s hand tightened. “She’s my sister.”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Lando countered, just as firm. Not angry, not cocky — just stating it like fact. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Oscar sat back, blinking at him. Of all the things he’d expected from this night, a declaration from Lando Norris hadn’t been one of them.

The tension stretched until finally Oscar sighed, pressing his thumb against the back of Mollie’s hand. “She makes you happy?”

Lando’s face softened, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. More than I’ve ever been, actually.”

Oscar stared at him for a long moment. Then, quietly: “If you hurt her…”

Lando leaned back in his chair, nodding once. “I won’t.”

And for the first time in years, Oscar almost believed someone else could keep that promise better than he could.

***

When Mollie woke the second time, the world was softer. The stabbing ache in her side had dulled into something heavy and bearable, cushioned by painkillers. The light wasn’t so harsh now, the beeping had faded into background noise.

What hadn’t changed was the weight of hands holding hers.

She blinked blearily, turning her head just enough to see — Lando, slumped half asleep in the chair, still curled forward like he refused to let go of her. His hair was a mess, hoodie rumpled, exhaustion etched into the curve of his shoulders. He must’ve been here all night.

On her other side, Oscar. Wide awake, stiff as ever, but still there. Still holding her hand, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go either.

“You’re awake,” Oscar said quietly, as though he was afraid to break something fragile.

Mollie’s throat felt dry, her voice raspy. “Still here, unfortunately.”

Lando stirred at that, instantly alert, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning closer. “Don’t even joke. You scared the hell out of me.”

Her heart squeezed, equal parts guilt and gratitude. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Lando muttered, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles. “Just… don’t do it again.”

She turned her head to Oscar then, ready for the usual clipped remark, the irritation, the distance. But he wasn’t looking at her like that. Not this time.

Instead, he looked… shaken. And oddly young, in a way she hadn’t seen since they were kids.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said softly. Not accusing, just… hurt.

Her chest tightened. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

“I care,” he said, the words rough like they were dragged out of him. He tightened his grip on her hand. “More than you think. I’m just… bad at showing it.”

Mollie blinked, heat stinging her eyes. Morphine, she told herself. Just the morphine.

For a moment, the room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of the monitors, the three of them tethered together by the thin line of her heartbeat.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other, twin,” she whispered, squeezing his hand back.

Oscar gave the faintest huff of a laugh, shaky but real. “Yeah. Guess we are.”

Lando looked between them, relief flickering across his face, and Mollie realised — for the first time in a long while — that maybe, just maybe, things could start to shift.

Oscar still hadn’t let go. His grip was too tight, too desperate, like he was afraid that if he did, she’d slip away again. Mollie wanted to tease him, to roll her eyes and call him dramatic, but the truth was she didn’t mind.

It had been years since she’d felt him hold onto her like that.

“You’re still an ass,” she murmured, because if she said anything softer, she might actually start crying.

Oscar gave a faint, watery laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

“You’re really bad at apologies.”

“I know that too.” His mouth twitched, a shadow of a smile. “But I’m trying. I’ll… do better.”

The words hung there, raw and unfamiliar. For once, Mollie didn’t shove them away. She just nodded, eyes fluttering shut briefly. “About time.”

On her other side, Lando let out a breath, the kind that sounded like he’d been holding it in all night. He leaned down and brushed a kiss against her temple, light and careful. “You two are exhausting,” he muttered, but his voice was thick with relief.

Mollie cracked an eye open at him. “You love it.”

He grinned despite himself. “Maybe.”

Oscar shifted slightly, watching the exchange, his expression complicated. Not angry, though. Not anymore. Just… resigned. Curious. Like he was piecing together something new in front of him.

“So it’s serious then?” he asked quietly.

Mollie’s lips curved, tired but certain. “Yeah. It is.”

Oscar glanced at Lando, and for a heartbeat it looked like he might argue, demand, lecture. Instead, he just nodded once, sharp and deliberate. “Then… take care of her.”

“I already do,” Lando said, steady as a promise.

Something in Oscar’s shoulders loosened, and Mollie felt the shift ripple through the room — a truce, fragile but real.

For the first time in years, she had her brother on one side and someone she loved on the other, both holding on to her.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel like she was caught between them.

She just felt… held.

***

Piastri Family Chat 

(Members: Chris, Nicole, Oscar, Mollie, Hattie, Edie, Mae)

Oscar: Mollie’s awake.

Nicole: THANK GOD 😭😭😭 how is she??

Chris: Finally. What did the doctors say?

Oscar: Pain’s under control. Surgery went fine. They’ll keep her a few days.

Mae: OH THANK GOD I WAS ACTUALLY CRYING

Edie: Same. My flatmate thinks someone died the way I screamed when you texted.

Hattie: Told you she’d pull through.

Chris: That’s not the point, Hattie. She shouldn’t have been in this situation at all.

Nicole: Chris. Please. Not now.

Mae: Can we focus on the fact that OUR SISTER IS ALIVE 😭😭

Edie: YES.

Hattie: I mean also on the fact that Oscar found out about Lando.

Oscar: Hattie.

Hattie: Honestly iconic of her.

Mae: I cannot believe this.

Edie: I CAN. Mollie’s always been cooler than the rest of us.

Oscar: She could’ve mentioned it BEFORE she ended up in surgery.

Mae: Or maybe you could’ve noticed she was dating someone, twin powers and all.

Oscar: Not helping.

Nicole: We will unpack this later. For now, tell her we love her.

Edie: And that we’re all coming to visit.

Mae: WITH BALLOONS.

Hattie: And snacks.

Oscar: She just got out of surgery. Don’t scare her back into unconsciousness.

Edie: No promises.

***

The room was still and hushed, the steady rhythm of monitors filling the gaps where words hadn’t yet landed. Lando had gone to hunt down coffee, leaving her alone with Oscar for the first time since the surgery.

Mollie shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing at the pull in her side. Oscar was perched on the edge of the awful vinyl chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles had gone white. He looked like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“Spit it out,” she murmured, her voice rasped by painkillers and exhaustion. “Whatever’s chewing you up.”

He startled a little, then gave a breathless laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “You always did know.”

“Twin thing.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “I owe you an explanation.”

She blinked at him, skeptical. “For what? Forgetting I exist? Or pretending I do?”

That landed like a stone in water. He swallowed hard. “Both.”

Silence pressed at them. Oscar leaned back, staring up at the too-bright hospital ceiling. “When I left home at fifteen, everything felt like—like I was being torn in half. I wanted racing so badly. Needed it. But talking to you, hearing about your day, your classes, your friends… it felt like cutting off my own arm every time I hung up. Like I’d chosen the track over you.”

Mollie’s throat tightened. He’d never said it out loud before.

“So I stopped calling,” he went on, his voice rough. “Because it hurt less to ignore it than to keep reopening that wound. I thought… if I made the gap wider, maybe I wouldn’t feel it so much.” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “But I was wrong. I just lost you. And that’s on me.”

She stared at him, blinking past the sting in her eyes. “You could’ve tried, Oscar. Even once.”

“I know.” His gaze finally met hers, raw and unguarded. “I failed you. And I hate that. I’m sorry, Mollie. Truly.”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Just watched him, her twin, the boy who’d shared a womb and a childhood but not the last decade of her life. He looked older, smaller, more human than she’d let herself remember.

Finally, she let out a shaky breath. “Took you long enough.”

His lips twitched, half a smile, half a grimace. “Better late than never?”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go when he reached for her hand. His palm was clammy, his grip hesitant. Still, it was a start.

For the first time in years, it felt like maybe the thread between them hadn’t snapped entirely.

***

Oscar wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — Mollie’s small hand in his, the monitor humming, the sterile quiet of the hospital stretching around them. His chest still ached with everything he hadn’t said, everything he was only now forcing out into the open.

But eventually, he exhaled, rubbed his face, and muttered, “Lando. Really?”

Mollie tilted her head on the pillow, lips quirking despite the pallor in her face. “What’s wrong with Lando?”

“He’s my teammate.” Oscar threw his free hand up. “He’s in the garage with me every weekend. Do you have any idea what kind of nightmare this is?”

She smirked faintly, the same smirk she used to give him when they were kids and she’d stolen the last TimTam. “Hey, at least it’s not Lewis Hamilton.”

Oscar blinked, stunned into silence. Then his face twisted, horrified. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Mollie gave a sleepy little shrug. “Could’ve been worse.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Twin thing,” she murmured, the words slurred by painkillers, but the grin still there.

Oscar sat back in the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, but despite himself, his lips tugged into a reluctant smile. Trust her to turn his entire world upside down and then tease him about it in the same breath.

“Lando,” he muttered again, shaking his head. “My bloody teammate.”

Mollie’s smile widened, tired but sure. “My bloody boyfriend.”

And for the first time, Oscar couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to strangle Lando or thank him. Maybe both.

But when he glanced at her, she was already drifting, eyelids heavy, the faintest ghost of a smile still playing at her mouth. And in that moment, for all the chaos and shock, Oscar couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Not really.

Because she was here. She was alive. And he wasn’t about to waste that.