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.
***