"They thought it'd be funny," Lewis says dryly. "You know." He waves a hand, loose at the wrist, and his ring shines on his left hand in the morning sun. "The guy who breaks Michael's records marrying his kid? Hysterical. Good telly."
"I told you it wouldn't be forgiven." Fernando is rolling his eyes a few seats down. "This is why you always read the fine print."
Lewis shrugs. "I suppose."
"Well," George says, cheerfully, and claps his hands once. Mick doesn't even blink from where he has ducked behind his phone. His shoulders are hunched up to his ears. His ring sits on the end of his leather necklace, untucked from under his jumper. "At least you're a good-looking couple."
Alex gives him a sideways look. George grimaces out of the corner of his mouth back at him.
"This is truly a nepotism sport," Lewis is saying to Fernando, ignoring George. "Literally the definition of keeping it in the family!"
"I think that's enough for today," Will says, frantically waving his hand at the Netflix cameraman.
fran baby my beloved you don't need to tell me it's you i always know <333 i love you soooo much honestly, i am so happy every time we get to talk, i love our motogp talks so much (we should continue omg) and i love how patiently u explain everything to me !!! i always think of you when i see pink things or parrots and im always wishing nothing but the best for u and one day we're really gonna go on that cute picnic and have so much fun <33
Lewis flops down into the seat beside him, legs spread wide, jeans artfully worn at the knees. He’s got another nose stud put in over the break and it’s working for him.
“Daniel is fucking men who look like you,” he says, looking at him.
Valtteri sucks at his straw. His water has gone a little room temperature warm and he struggles not to make a face.
“Yes,” Valtteri says.
He’s never tried to lie to Lewis and he’s not going to start now, even if he wishes he was somewhere else.
“He gets all embarrassed when you or one of us run into him when he’s with your lookalikes.”
“Yes,” Valtteri says.
“So embarrassed that he nearly walked into a glass door at Charles’s birthday party last weekend.”
“Yes,” Valtteri says.
“The two of you still haven’t talked since Australia, where he,” Lewis grins here, slow and heated. “Tried your gin.”
Valtteri doesn’t like what Lewis is trying to imply. Tasting Valtteri’s gin was all that happened in Melbourne. He narrows his eyes.