Forever and always

Chapter sixty-two

Olivia's pov:

April 2023

Time was moving faster than I could keep up with. It was already the end of April. I found myself once again alone in our Monaco apartment, the soft hum of the sea outside the balcony doors the only sound in an otherwise quiet home. Charles was away in Azerbaijan for the Grand Prix, and this time, I'd made the decision not to go with him.

It wasn't easy–missing another race, not being there to support him in person, or see Max and the rest of the paddock–but the truth was, just being around that much noise and energy lately felt overwhelming. The twins were draining every last bit of strength from me. I loved them already, but God, they were making sure I knew they were there. Every kick, every wave of exhaustion was a reminder. So, for once, I listened to my body. Rest came first.

But staying in Monaco by myself didn't feel quite right either, so I decided to go home. Back to the Netherlands. Probably for the last time before the twins arrive. I wanted to see my dad, and of course, visit Victoria, Tom, and the kids. I had missed them more than I realised.

After packing my suitcase carefully–the twins meant twice the snacks–I ordered a taxi to the airport. The ride was smooth, and before long, I was walking through Nice airport, wheeling my carry-on and wearing one of Charles' oversized Ferrari sweatshirts that somehow made me feel closer to him.

A little over an hour later, I landed in Schiphol. The familiar scent of rain on pavement greeted me as I stepped out into the arrival hall, and so did my dad–with that warm, open smile I've loved all my life.

"Hi, Dad," I said, my smile matching his as he pulled me into a hug.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured into my hair. "How was the flight?"

"Not bad at all," I replied as he took my suitcase from me without question.

"You hungry?"

"Always," I grinned, and lightly patted my stomach. "Blame them."

He laughed. "Alright, what do you feel like?"

"Ooh," I said, the memory rushing in, "What about that little café on the corner? The one Max and I used to love as teens? I can't remember the name, but–"

"Say no more," he nodded, already walking toward the car. "Let's go. Some old place, same old sandwiches."

We loaded my suitcase into the trunk and started the drive. The windows were cracked slightly, letting the cool Dutch air in. Music played quietly in the background–Fleetwood Mac, a favorite of both mine and my dad's–and we caught up like no time had passed.

At the café, the sandwiches tasted exactly like I remembered–warm, crusty bread, melty cheese, a little hint of spice–and for a second, I felt sixteen again. Max and I used to come here on our bikes, collapsing into the booth and ordering the exact same thing every time. Nostalgia sat gently in my chest.

We talked over lunch for a long time, catching up on everything. Dad and I have always been close. We tell each other everything, and today was no exception. We spoke about Charles, the babies, the nursery I was slowly building, the upcoming races, and even the silly cravings I'd been having lately. I cherished every second of that time with him.

Back at his house, his dog came bounding toward me at the door, tail wagging furiously. I crouched to give him a hug, laughing as he licked my face like I'd been gone for years.

I headed upstairs to the guest room–my old childhood bedroom–where everything still smelled like home. I unpacked a little, setting my things neatly on the bed, and then FaceTimed Charles. He wasn't racing today–it was Thursday–but I knew he'd be heading to the track soon anyway.