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The chandeliers overhead cast a golden haze, their crystal tears dripping light like honey onto the heavy cream linens draped meticulously over each table. A soft melody drifted from a glossy black grand piano nestled on a raised platform in the corner, its notes folding seamlessly into the gentle chime of cutlery, the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional effervescent sparkle of laughter.
Waiters in tailored black suits moved like shadows, refilling glasses before they were ever truly empty. The air smelt faintly of salted butter and warm bread. Elegant centrepieces—tall crystal vases brimming with carefully arranged blooms in full, fragrant blossom—caught the light and scattered it like tiny stars across the room.
The scene was staged so perfectly, which made the scowl on George's face reflected by the flawlessly polished silver spoon all the more jarring.
George sat with his back rigid like a board and ate the lemon and thyme marinated lamb in front of him, with mechanical, precise cuts. His mouth was firmly set in a straight line with no sound passing, as he looked everywhere but the man sitting opposite to him.
Max huffed out a breath at his boyfriend, determined to not let him continue to ignore him.
"Schat, I already told you that I was sorry, but you can't just sit there in silence the whole time."
George sniffed and turned his head to the side, pretending to investigate the floral waterfalls cascading down the walls. "I just wanted to relieve you of bothering with conversation given I'm so high maintenance."
Max sighed, the echoes of his previous remark haunting him. It had passed when he had been chatting to Lando earlier that morning, who had teasingly enquired about how Max had been putting up with George over the summer break. Max had laughed and admitted he'd become closer to some of George's high maintenance habits with no racing to distract them. Between the excessive skin care, influx of clothes to their wardrobe and new dietary products flooding their kitchen, Max's flat was slowly transforming. Max did not realise when George returned from his run and overheard his conversation.
This led to the awkward lunch that they found themselves in now. "George, I did not mean it like that, come on."
George daintily placed his knife and fork next to each other on his empty plate edged with gold before taking a final slow sip of his Cabernet, his carefully manicured nails curling around the thin stem of the glass. "Then what did you mean? Because if you think I'm bad now, I can show you just how high maintenance I can be."
Before he could stop himself, Max snorted and raised an eyebrow. "I don't really think that's possible, Schat."
Silence descended on the table again, as George drew back, somehow impossibly straighter and his lips pursed, tension lining his form. Their waiter chose that moment to move to their table and enquired if they would want dessert.
George turned his head, before allowing a wide, mischievous smile to grace across his face and started his order. "Yes, I will have the summer fruit millefeuille and what dessert wine would you recommend with that?"
The waiter stayed fixed on George for a moment too long before rebooting. "We have a Château Rieussec from 2001 that would pair excellently, sir."
George snapped the leather-bound menu shut, before handing it over. "Excellent, I'll have that as well then."
Max glared at the waiter as he moved away and quickly returned, before his gaze turned bemused towards George. "Dessert wine? That's new."
George thanked the waiter before picking up the small crystal glass filled with sweet amber liquid. Raising it to his lips, the tart fruity taste spilled across his tongue as he peered over the top of the rim at the man opposite him. "Well, considering you're paying, I might as well. Given I'm so high maintenance."
Max leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Oh, am I? Well I wouldn't want you to leave hungry, George. I couldn't ever leave you wanting." A darker edge slipped into Max's tone, voice purring like velvet, as he locked his eyes on George, before they flickered down to a stray bead of honeyed liquid that rested on his lower lip. George dipped his spoon into the pastry and brought it to his mouth. Max's smile grew as he watched George's tongue curl around the cream on the spoon.
The moment was once again interrupted by the flushed waiter approaching their table with the cheque and placed it neatly between the two men. George pushed the cheque in Max's direction before reclining in his chair. Max inwardly smiled as he immediately tossed his card on top without looking at the total, his eyes still fixed on George.
"Was that good?"
"Delicious."
The waiter came back and Max paid before rising from his seat and circling round the table, pulling out George's chair. George looked up at him with confusion. "No tip?"
Max felt his previously quelled jealousy rise again. Though George didn't notice the effect he had on others, Max did and felt himself curl his arm possessively around George's waist. The last thing he wanted was to tip the man who had been ogling his boyfriend, but when he looked at George's innocent eyes and parted lips, he conceded. He found himself powerless when George was looking at him with the face of a saint of a renaissance painting.
After leaving a pile of bills, (which was more than he deserved) Max helped George shrug on his trench coat at the door. When Max went to grab his hand as they left, he found himself disappointed as George started to walk ahead, away from the direction of their car.
Speeding up to catch up, Max pulled on his own jacket. "Schat, this isn't the way home." He grabbed George's hand and held it securely in his own, feeling more territorial than usual.
George continued walking through the streets of Monte Carlo, not looking back at Max, but not pulling his hand away either. "Since I'm so high maintenance, I thought, while we were here, we could visit a couple of shops."
Max chuckled quietly to himself as he watched George striding along. "So this is continuing, is it? I take it I'll be footing the bill." George cast a sideways glance at him before continuing on. He didn't actually plan on spending from Max's account - he had enough of his own money for that. He was just proving that he wasn't as high maintenance as he was reported to be. Hearing his boyfriend sharing that detail to their friends left him feeling judged that morning, his skin prickling uncomfortably, with cold sweat sweeping it and a pit in his stomach. Now, he just wanted to give Max a little financial scare, as his own small revenge.
He veered off the main street, pulling into a small boutique, with chic, black lettering on a cream backdrop, dragging Max behind him. A saleswoman made her way over to them. "Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you with today?"
"No, thank you, we're just browsing."
"Of course. I'll be right over there if you need anything."
George ran his fingers along the rack, pausing occasionally, hoping to feel Max tense up behind him. He suddenly stopped when he saw a midnight blue silk shirt, fabric rippling beneath his fingers like the night ocean. He removed the shirt from the rail and inspected it. "Do you want it, Schat?" George felt Max looping his chin over his shoulder, plastering himself to his back.
"They don't have my size, it's fine." George moved to replace it, when he felt Max pull away.
"Excuse me, do you have this in a larger size?" George whirled around, watching Max approach the saleswoman, gesturing to the garment in his own hands.
"Of course sir. One moment, please." The woman disappeared into a back room. George felt his control on the situation slip.
"Max, really, it's fine-"
"Well, you like it. At least try it on."
The woman returned, carrying the navy blue shirt, as well as a stash of other silky materials. "Here is shirt. I also brought some similar styles in other colours. Here are our dressing rooms." She hung up the collection of clothes in a room and opened the curtain wide, with a flourish, looking expectantly at George. Max moved to sit on a velvet cushioned chair in the dressing room area and also turned his gaze on George.
George slowly stepped towards the dressing room and pulled the curtain closed behind him. He buttoned the shirt across his chest and turned to himself in the mirror. The blue fabric felt cool against his skin, sweeping across his chest like a rolling tide. Its deep hue made his sun-bronzed skin glow, a warm contrast that echoed the golden sands of the beaches they once wandered.
"George?"
He heard Max call out his name and moved to pull the curtain away and turned to face him. Max's eyes zeroed in on where the shirt was unbuttoned and his collar bones peaked out from behind the fabric, turning darker. "Oh Angel...you can't tell me you don't want that now." He rose from his seat and drew George towards him in his arms and nuzzled his neck, before whispering into his ear: "I think you need to try it in the other colours now, don't you?"
George nodded, feeling his body warm from the proximity before stumbling back into the changing room. He pulled the shirt off of himself and replaced it with a burgundy version, matching the dark red wine he had drunk during lunch, that splashed across his chest like an open wound. He stepped out again to be met with the same reaction from Max, whose tongue darted out and wetted his bottom lip. "You look beautiful, George. How many more of them are there?"
"A couple, but just different colours, not different styles."
"I think we just get them all then because they all look good on you."
"Max, you can't-"
"Can't what? You said you wanted to be high maintenance. Don't tell me you don't intend to follow through?" Max quirked an eyebrow up at him, a smirk playing across his lips, as he pulled away and started walking towards the other racks of clothes. "Come out when you're ready."
George flew back into the changing room, feeling dumbfounded, and started pulling on his own shirt. He decided then, that if Max thought he could call his bluff, he would simply have to push until Max snapped. There would be no limits until Max said so and until then he would just bat his eye lashes and say thank you. What had started as a bluff now needed to escalate. He grinned to himself privately in the changing room at his new, reformed plan. Max (and his bank account) wouldn't know what hit him.
George strutted out, a smug smile lining his face, with four shirts in hand towards where his boyfriend was waiting by the checkout counter. When he arrived, he saw a pair of muslin pyjamas and a silk robe already waiting there. "What are these?"
Max grinned lazily from where he was leaning against the counter. "Thought that they would suit you."
George felt himself bristle up inside. He was not about to let himself be outdone now.
He piled the shirts on top of the other items and watched as the lady folded them into two bags. She slid them over the counter and wished them a good day, as Max grabbed them with one hand and George's hand with the other and began walking towards the exit.
"Wait, we've not paid?" George felt confused as they walked out of the store.
"I already took care of it, Schat. So, where to next?"
George prevented his mouth from falling open and gaping like a fish. Max was making executing his master plan more difficult than he initially planned.
"In here. I'm running out of some of my body scrubs."
George steered them towards the luxury bath shops, knowing how Max felt about his growing collection of lotions at how, feeling certain he would draw a line here.
As he perused the shelves, he unscrewed countless frosted glass pots, smelling intermittently and passing them to Max to get his opinion. Sea salt and coconut flooded his senses, as he picked up each pot, bottle and jar in the collection and passed them to Max with the basket. He waited for a complaint from behind him, but soon had gathered everything he wanted and was met only with silence. They made their way other to the till and Max unpacked his basket.
"What have you got then? Body scrub, body cream, body lotion, body oil, exfoliater, facial cleanser, moisturiser, eye cream, retinol serum, glycolic acid - Angel, are you washing or building a chemistry lab?"
"They're important for anti-aging. Don't you want me to look pretty, Maxie?" George blinked his big, blue eyes framed by long lashes up at him. Max didn't look away from him as he swiped his card across the reader, ignoring the high price read on the small screen. He added the bag to the growing collection in his right hand and picked George's up again with his left.
"You know I always think you're very pretty, Georgie."
George felt a swell of affection rise up in his chest, looking at Max's genuine smile and full hand. "Thank you, Max."
"You're very welcome. Now where are we off to?" Max stared expectantly at George, awaiting direction. George remembered he had a point to prove and set back on his course.
"Homeware store. I want new bed sheets."
"New bed sheets it is."
They made their way inside and a salesman approached them and launched into a conversation about what they were looking for. Whilst engaging George in discussions of Egyptian cotton versus silk, his eyes continued to flicker down to Max's hand full of bags and directed more of his replies towards him. "Sir, have you any preferences?"
Max snorted and pointed back to George. "He's in charge here, not me - I only carry the bags."
"Ah, I see." The shop assistant looked mildly confused before Max sent him away, saying they'll come back when they made a choice.
"Can you believe that, he wasn't even properly looking at me. I mean, I have my own money, I'm just choosing to spend yours, Red Bull pay you an insane amount anyway." George's voice trailed off, as he curled inwards on himself.
"Shh, it's ok, Schat, I know." Max wrapped his arm around George's waist and pressed his lips to his temple. "Why don't we get both, the silk for winter and Egyptian cotton for summer, hm?" Max hummed, with his lips still pressed against George's head, whilst his arm reached over and grabbed the two sets from the shelves. "We probably also need some extra pillow cases too."
George felt himself slump into Max's side. After trying to push Max's buttons for the whole afternoon, he felt himself give up. It seemed Max had never-ending patience and never-ending pockets. "Alright, you win. I can't spend anymore of your money. You're being too nice. Words I've never uttered before."
Max chuckled before pulling George closer into his side. "Don't worry, Schat, we'll work up to more. Besides, there's somewhere I want to visit after this."
Once they reached the checkout, the salesman was there waiting for them. George dug through his pockets, searching for his wallet and felt his stomach plummet when he realised it was missing. He tore through every section of his coat frantically. "Max, Max I can't find my wallet."
"I know."
"It's not in any of my- what do you mean you know?"
George looked up from where he was patting himself down to see Max removing his card from the reader, holding both his own and George's wallets in his hand. "Somehow it ended up with me. Funny, that? Come on, there's still my place." Max started to walk out, George's wallet held in his hand reaching backwards. George grabbed and put it safely back in its usual place.
"Max, you didn't need to-"
"But I did. So not worth talking about now." With that, he seized George's hand once again and started guiding them down the streets.
"Where are we going? The tech store?"
"No."
"The pet shop?"
"No."
"...have you run out of redbull?"
Max snickered before replying. "No."
"You don't go to anywhere else. I'm confused."
"All will become clear."
Suddenly, Max veered off the street towards a store with a gleaming sign: Cartier. He opened the door and ushered George inside before following him after.
"Max, what are we doing here, you never wear jewellery."
"Maybe not, but I gave them a call earlier, when you were floundering inside that dressing room."
"Huh? What do you mean 'you have them a call'? You hate calling people?"
"Shh." Max steered them towards the counter before greeting the woman behind it. She had grey hair, swept up into an elegant bun and knowing eyes framed by smile lines. "Hello, I'm Max Verstappen. I believe we spoke earlier today on the phone."
"Yes, Mr Verstappen. I have the piece we spoke about earlier along with some other options."
The lady pulled a collection of red boxes out from behind the counter and laid them out, before opening the first one with a wrinkled hand. "Here, we have your original enquiry: our Essential Lines bracelet, with white gold and 26 brilliant-cut diamonds totalling 2.34 carats, and 26 brilliant-cut sapphires."
The bracelet gleamed beneath the boutique’s lighting, elegantly cradled in a bed of deep velvet. Each diamond, set between rich blue sapphires, glittered like stardust scattered across a midnight sky. George felt his hand twitch at his side, but held his arm firm in place. However, the hand held by Max was raised and held out to the saleswoman. Before he realised it, the bracelet was clasped onto his wrist and smoothed over.
He felt his breath get caught in his chest. It was so beautiful.
"What do you think, Schat?"
"It's exquisite, Max." George felt a wave of guilt rise up through him as he moved to slip the bracket off. "But I don't need-"
"But you want it, yes? If you want it, I get it. What do you think of the other ones, any you like more?"
The saleswoman interjected, moving other boxes closer to them. "We also have a similar style in just diamonds. All brilliant-cut diamonds though this one here totals to 4.68 carats and this one totals 6.83 carats. All the diamonds are flawless, of course." She picked the two bracelets up and wrapped them around George's wrist.
"You look beautiful on you, George. Which do you prefer?"
"They're so pretty. I don't- I don't know, the sapphires are gorgeous but the thin band feels so elegant. What do you think?"
"Well, why not get both. You could wear them together. Can we try?"
The saleswoman nodded and unclipped one bracket to replace it with the sapphires. George's wrist gleamed under the weight.
"Oh George. You look beautiful. They suit you very well."
"We have a matching necklace if that would interest you?"
"No, it ok-"
"Yes, we'd like-"
Max and George answered at the same time, contradicting each other. The woman gave them a small, amused smile and reached below the table pulling out two larger, slim boxes. Popping the lids open, a mirror image of each bracelet but enlarged met their eyes. Similarly to the bracelets, the jewels glittered and George gazed upon them with reverence. "The sapphire and diamond would be slightly more eye catching than just the diamonds. Both very elegant choices."
Both necklaces were held up to his neck, his eyes glowing next to the sapphires. "I think the blue one goes wonderfully with your eyes, George. What do you think?" Max's head rested against his shoulder, as his hands held the jewels to George's throat.
"It is beautiful. Truly beautiful." George felt a deep wanting in his chest, but was soon overcome with the hotter flush of guilt. "But, Max, I don't need-"
"It is beautiful on you George. I think it would be a great shame to leave it behind."
"I can also offer our Destinée pendant, which is an oval-cut sapphire and paved with more brilliant-cut diamonds. It would also go very well with the two bracelets."
"That would look lovely on you as well, George. I think the only solution is both, don't you? You could switch between them."
Before George could protest, Max pulled away towards the till and laid the necklaces back in their boxes. "So that's the two essential lines bracelets, the diamond and sapphire essential lines necklace and the destinée pendant with a white gold chain."
"Yes, I think that'll be all, for now. We may be returning at another point."
"Of course, sir." The woman began packing the pile of red boxes into a bag. "We will bill this all to your account."
"Max, you don't need to, why are you-" George began, rummaging around and pulling out his card, only for it to be gently pushed back down.
"But this is so much easier, no need to faff around." Max stated, as he added the bag to the stack in his hand, which was overflowing outwards due to its volume, and started to walk out.
George stood in Cartier, dumbfounded. Max had just spent more than he could ever imagine as flippantly as if he was doing their weekly shop. George had not intended to go any further than the first boutique they stepped into, but Max had seemed determined not only to beat him at his own game, but re-shape the rules.
"I would not protest, child. I have worked here for many years and lived many more. It is a rare thing to see a husband both so willing to buy everything that their partner touches and so enamoured with their partner. I would not question why when the answer is so obvious."
"He's not my husband- wait, the answer?"
The woman scoffed in disbelief, a smile dancing across her face. "Not your husband? Then I'm excited for when he comes back for the ring. I better start preparing to meet his standards. Though I would not be surprised, if he buys out the store." She leaned over the counter, winking conspiratorially at George. "And the answer is, of course, love. Now, go. He's walked off somewhere else."
George stayed silent for a moment, before whirling around and finding Max no where to be seen. "Where's he gone now- thank you, thank you so much for all your help!" George called out to the lady as he moved out of the shop, head turning in different directions.
The old lady chuckled to herself as she watched George search for the man she had just watched walk determinedly into the Dior opposite.
---
George had spent the last 20 minutes searching the streets for Max and was very confused, yet again. He had called him multiple times only to be unanswered. This was so typical of the Dutchman, he thought, to do something so nice and then run away whilst he was still in shock. And people want to call him dramatic.
Suddenly, he felt a tap from behind on his shoulder.
"Hello, Angel."
There stood Max, seemingly having acquired more bags, which had grown to cover both his arms. In his hands clasped to his chest were a big bouquet of pale blue peonies. He had a big, proud smile on his face and George thought for a moment he looked remarkably similar to the dog they had recently adopted.
"Max, there you are! I was looking everywhere for you - you didn't bloody answer your phone. What's all this?"
"I felt like there were one or two more things that needed to be added to make this a proper shopping trip, but they're surprises you can open at home. These, however, I will pass to you now." Max thrust the bouquet into George's hands, who ran his fingers along the soft petals and cradled the flowers to his chest like they were precious. His gaze softened as he started down at the floral clouds in his hands.
"Max, you didn't need to do all of this."
"See, that's why I ran away. It's much more efficient when we don't have to go through this every time. Come on, shall we go back to that car."
George watched as Max started to walk back to where they had parked earlier, both hands filled to the brim with handles. As he strode along side him, he had a wicked idea that he was sure would make Max exasperated.
"Max, why aren't you holding my hand?"
Max turned and looked at him, confused, then looking down at his obviously full hands. This was it. After the whole day of being endlessly patient, George was sure this was it.
He did not expect for Max to stick out his pinky finger to him.
George felt his chest crack with affection from the whole day, as they linked pinkies. As Max loaded the bags into the car and opened his door for him, George found himself overcome with love but also a heavy despair at the whole day. He didn't mean to be high maintenance or demanding or difficult. He didn't set out to make Max's life harder and seeing him embrace it so easily only made him feel worse.
This melancholic feeling continued through the quiet drive home, to the journey up the lift and through the door onto the sofa of their flat, the bags dropped on the floor next to them.
George untied his shoes and rubbed at his sore arches before curling up in a corner, only for his feet to be pulled out from under him and into Max's lap. Max started to gently knead the soles of his feet, moving with deliberate care at each point. George felt the familiar sensation of water welling in his eyes and a thick lump rise through his throat.
"I'm sorry." He quietly whispered, his voice wavering and betraying his closeness to tears.
"Schat, hey, what's wrong, are-"
Once he had started, the words couldn't be stopped from tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be high maintenance, I'm sorry if I'm too much, even now, I don't even know why I'm crying, I'm being irrational and I'm sorry I made such a big deal about it earlier, I don't need any of these nice things and you're just too good to me." George cut himself off at the end with a choked sob before pressing a hand to his mouth to quiet the noise.
Max immediately pulled George into his arms and laid him on his lap against his chest. "Woah, George, that's a lot to unpack right now. Is there anything else you need to say, or can I?"
George gently shook his head, pressing his trembling shoulders closer into his boyfriend.
"Ok. Firstly, I am sorry." George looked up at him in shock, broken out of his tears. Before he could interrupt, Max cut him off. "I am sorry for talking about you with our friends in a way that you weren't comfortable with. That wasn't fair of me. And yes, you are high maintenance." George felt his heart drop and looked down to where he was wringing his fingers in his lap.
"Hey, no," Max raised his chin back up to meet his eyes and cradled his face in his palm. "George, you're not easygoing or nonchalant or relaxed, but you're passionate and you're full of life and, even though our friends might tease you about it, I love it because it means I get to come and help...maintain you." George snorted in laughter at Max's poor word choice. "So, whenever you want a new bag or want someone to put up a shelf for you or hold you while you cry, I feel so happy that that person's me. I'm happy when you let me help. Not because you can't do it on your own, because you can, but because you let me."
"Oh Max." George felt is lower lip tremble as pearls of water started to freely tumble down his face. He nuzzled his face deeper into Max's palm, feeling the fingers stroke across his cheek. "And people say you can't communicate." He said huffing out a wet laugh.
Max joined him, gazing down with eyes full of adoration. "Well, I make an effort for you and the over-thinker that lives up there." He flicked the top of his forehead.
"Very funny." George sniffed and scrubbed at his red-rimmed eyes before moving off of Max and and bending down to reach for the flowers. "Now, these need the stems cut off and to be put in water. What else did you get by the way? You bolted earlier."
"Oh good, crisis over. Just a couple of things, you know - pair of shoes, couple of scarves, a bag."
"All for me?"
"No."
George looked up from where he was arranging the peonies in a vase, a small pout on his lips. Max pulled out a packet of cat treats from a bag. "You can have them, if you really want."
George giggled as Max moved over to him and hugged him from behind, holding him by his waist. He kissed the side of George's head tenderly before whispering in his ear: "You're never too much," he paused for a moment before continuing "and I'd be lying if I said I didn't get any satisfaction from seeing you in my kitchen, wearing clothes and jewellery I bought for you, stomach full with food I paid for."
George cackled. "You kinky bastard."
"Always, when it's you."
George smiled before looking sideways at Max, mischief playing in his eyes. "What would you say if I said I wanted to go on a holiday?"
Max grinned back at him and opened him phone. "Where do you want to go?"