Days turned into weeks as Max and Brielle adjusted to their demanding schedules, each consumed by their respective worlds. Max’s focus was split between the high-pressure environment of Formula 1 and the adrenaline of the racetrack, first in Baku and then in Miami. Meanwhile, Brielle's tour had her zigzagging across Europe, performing to sold-out arenas and basking in the adoration of her fans.
Despite their busy lives, they made time for each other—short calls between Max's practice laps or late-night texts after Brielle’s encore performances.
---
“Hey,” Brielle's voice was soft, tinged with exhaustion yet warm. “How was qualifying?”
Max leaned back in his hotel room chair, smiling at the sound of her voice. “P2. Could’ve been better, but I’ll take it. How about you? Another packed arena tonight?”
“Yep,” she said with a light laugh. “You’d think I’d get used to it, but the nerves still creep in sometimes. Especially during the acoustic sets.”
“I doubt anyone notices,” Max said. “From what I’ve seen, you look like you own the stage.”
Brielle smiled on her end, biting her lip. “You’re too kind, Verstappen.”
“I’m just being honest, Jung,” he teased back.
---
Late one evening in Baku, Max texted her a photo of his view overlooking the city lights.
Max: Not as nice as Whitsundays, but it’ll do. Miss the quiet, though.
Brielle responded with a selfie of herself curled up in her dressing room, her guitar balanced on her lap.
Brielle: Miss the ocean too. And the company.
---
When Max finally landed in Miami, he dialed her number, knowing the time difference might catch her just before bed.
“Hello, Mr. P2,” she answered groggily, clearly half-asleep.
Max chuckled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbled, her voice soft and muffled by her pillow. “Nice to hear your voice before I crash.”
“You sound exhausted,” Max said, his tone gentle.
“I am. But worth it,” she said, a small yawn escaping. “You should get some sleep too. Big race tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I’m glad I caught you,” he admitted.
.
.
Max sat in his Miami hotel room, the soft hum of the city buzzing in the background as he cradled his phone against his ear. Brielle’s voice on the other end felt like a tether to something steady amidst the chaos of his race weekend.
“I’m in your hometown while you’re across the world in Miami,” Brielle began, her tone light but teasing.
Max chuckled. “How are you finding Amsterdam?”
“It’s beautiful. The canals, the energy—it’s charming,” Brielle said. “But, more importantly, I met your sister. She’s adorable.”
“You met Vicky?” Max asked, his surprise evident.
“Yeah. You mentioned she was a fan, so I had Maya get her backstage after the show. I met her and her husband—they’re a lovely couple.”
Max hesitated. “She didn’t embarrass me, did she? Too much excitement, maybe?”
Brielle laughed softly. “It was fine, Max. Just a sweet fan moment. I signed an album for her and took a couple of pictures. She’s very kind, and your nephews are adorable—they look just like you, by the way.”
“She showed you pictures of the boys?” Max asked, an amused grin forming on his face.
“Well, they were her wallpaper, so I asked about them. She clearly adores them,” Brielle said warmly.
“She really does. I mean, those two are her whole world.”
There was a brief pause, both of them basking in the comfort of the conversation.
“She mentioned how much she loves your music when I told her I’d met you,” Max added. “She wasn’t kidding when she said she’d never miss a show if she had the chance.”
“That’s sweet,” Brielle said, her voice softening. “She mentioned you. She seemed proud.”
Max’s chest tightened at the thought. “She’s always been my biggest cheerleader. Guess that runs in the family, huh?”
Brielle smiled to herself, imagining the close-knit bond Max shared with his sister. “Well, if she’s anything to go by, you’ve got a great sister”
“And you’ve got a great voice,” Max said, the compliment slipping out easily.
“Smooth,” Brielle teased, though the slight warmth in her tone gave her away.
“I try,” Max said with a grin, his heart lighter after the call.
Brielle sat cross-legged on the plush sofa of her suite, her notebook balanced on her knee, jotting down lyric ideas while the soft hum of Milan’s afternoon cityscape filled the room. Her phone buzzed, lighting up with a familiar name.
“Say, Brielle, you’re in Milan?” Max’s voice came through, light and casual.
“Yes, just reached this morning. The show’s in two days, so I’m here writing,” Brielle replied, leaning back into the cushions.
“Where are you staying?”
“The Bulgari Hotel,” she said, scribbling absentmindedly in her notebook.
“Room number?” Max asked, his tone playful.
She giggled. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Well, send you flowers, of course. I know a lot of people in Milan, so I’ve got to send you something special,” Max said smoothly.
“You don’t have to,” Brielle protested lightly.
“But I do. So, what’s the number?” he pressed.
Sighing with amusement, she relented and shared her room details.
---
A couple of hours later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, a knock echoed through her suite. Startled, Brielle placed her notebook aside and walked to the door, expecting hotel staff or maybe the flowers Max had promised.
When she opened it, her jaw dropped. Standing there, with a casual smile and a bouquet in hand, was Max himself.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Getting you flowers,” he said, holding out the bouquet with a grin.
Brielle blinked. “Don’t you have a race this weekend?”
“Imola’s flooded. The race got canceled. Nothing until Monaco weekend,” he explained, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“And you drove here?” she asked incredulously.
“Aston Martin Valkyries are quite fast,” Max replied with a mischievous smirk.
She shook her head, laughing as she stepped aside to let him in. “Come in, you lunatic.”
He walked in, glancing around the luxurious suite before setting the flowers on the table. “Nice place. Looks like you’re settling in well.”
“Better now that you’re here,” Brielle admitted, closing the door behind him.
“Smooth,” Max teased, mimicking her words from their last call.
“I try,” she quipped, her cheeks warming as she led him toward the sitting area.
YOU ARE READING
Into You, Max Verstappen.
Fanfiction"He was meant to be a one-time flirt, but somehow he turned into my lifelong muse." . . . "I can't decide if I should be flattered or charge her royalties." Brielle Jung was many things, but a love song writing girlfriend? Absolutely not-men hadn't...
