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reposting this for the people in the back (or on the other side of the world)

Syringa vulgaris - First Love ☆ OP81

From the series petals unfolding, forever anew

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Mirabelle Desmarais (OC) Summary: It’s 2021. Mirabelle is a florist. Oscar is in need of a Mother’s Day bouquet. The rest is history Wordcount: 4,7k a/n: They’re both disasters. Oscar more than Mirabelle tho

It's finally here! It's past midnight where i am, but i'm so happy with this! Enjoy! (If you want to read the other installment in this series, here it is)

Taken from Youtube (02/05/2021)

[The viewer can see a woman dressed in a long khaki skirt and a cream shirt with ruffles, the outfit adorned with a brown apron. She is watering different plants around a room, the video being sped up as she changes the water of vases bigger than her torso. The video cuts to a short scene of the front of a flower shop with a loopy cursive added one top. The words read “Une semaine en tant que fleuriste et 1er mai” (“A week as a florist and May 1st”)]

Weekly vlog S1e17: A week as a florist and May 1st

@/Mirabelle Desmarais 10,56 k subscribers 2k likes

5,2 k views 5 hours ago 17th vlog of the year! And we still haven’t missed one :) …Show more

16 comments

@/Milliesplace i love the way this is edited :) keep up the good work Mirabelle @/deadinsid3 i’d love to be in Monaco to buy flowers from you @/tiredhighsoolstudent how old are you? i feel like you’re so successful already and i’m lacking @/danielisthebest I’m in Monaco next week! I hope i can see you

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Monaco (03/05/2021)

The weeks leading up to mother’s day are always busy for flower shops, and Mirabelle knows this well. This year is her first year having her own shop, but she’s been employed in a flower shop for about two years after getting her vocational baccalauréat in horticulture.

She knows how to operate a flower shop; running her business into the ground before it can fly is not in her ten-year plan. That’s why this year, for the first Mother’s Day of her shop, she’s going to do great. Or at least that’s the mantra she’s been repeating every hour for a few days.

She’s been living in Monaco for the past two years, so she can’t call herself a local yet. She has her own flat, and she pays her own bills (to the French government, to her great disappointment; what she wouldn’t do to get tax exemptions like most people living in Monaco…).

Her flat is situated near the French border, but you could say that most streets in Monaco are near the border, unless you want to live in the Mediterranean Sea. And while Mirabelle thinks fish are cute in their own way, she doesn’t think that she’d like to spend the rest of her days underwater, eating algae. And Mirabelle has always preferred Barbie: Fairytopia to Barbie in a Mermaid Tale.

The view from her flat is amazing, because she lives on the highest floor of the building. Not a penthouse, but a flat under the roof, she says. She managed to get it for a reduced price because of the state it was in when she bought it. Still, what she owes the bank haunts her in her dreams. One more reason for Mother’s Day this year to be a success. Monaco is home to a lot of foreigners (as she is); and so deals for the celebration can run during more than a week. For Monaco-natives, or Monégasques, as they like to insist upon, Mother’s day is May 30th this year. For French people like Mirabelle and her mother; Marie, it will be on the same day. But she knows that there are a lot of Italians coming to Monaco during the month of May, following the Grand Prix, and so the day of the celebration will be on May 9th. Which is less than a week away.

Today is Monday. This means that she has six days left to prepare for the rush and to write down orders. And rich people always want exotic flowers or flowers that don’t bloom during the spring for Mother’s Day. Which, fair. If she had that kind of money, Mirabelle would decorate all year around with lilac or hibiscus. Unfortunately, she cannot, and her flat is already filled to the brim with potted plants anyways. Maybe she could try and grow wisteria.

Lilac, or Syringa vulgaris, blooms during spring, but it’s not a flower commonly used in bouquets and even less for Mother’s Day. Depending on the colour of the lilac, the flowers can mean the first love of someone (lilac colour, the name of the shade coming directly from the flower), which could be used for this celebration, Mirabelle thinks, even if it would be a bit strange; or mourning a loved one for darker purples. Not really sought after for Mother’s Day.

Mirabelle needs to get a stock of lilies this year. It’s a flower often wanted for bouquets destined to mothers, because one of the meanings of lilies is motherhood. Still, lilies bloom during summer, so Mirabelle isn’t the happiest when dealing with people demanding she use lilies for bouquets in the middle of spring.

White roses are a staple too, and so she needs to contact her supplier to see if he has any news about her shipment. She has ordered more than a hundred roses for Friday, which would leave her the time to prep the flowers for the rush of Saturday night leading into Sunday. Her fridge is already stocked to the brim with caffeinated drinks; keeping them cold in order for her to make it through the night.

At least the city is still navigable (for now), the Grand Prix of Monaco taking place at the end of the month. This week is… Spain, if she remembers correctly. While Mirabelle watches 1 occasionally, she’s not that informed. The only moments when she gets new information is when she goes to Cece’s flat to watch races when they are at a reasonable time.

Cécé, from her first name Célia, has been Mirabelle's best friend since kindergarten, when a boy had decided to push Mirabelle to the ground, saying that carrot people needed to stay in the dirt where they belonged and Célia had pushed the boy right back, stomping on his hand for good measure. Cece has always been spirited. And when she was younger, Mirabelle indeed had carrot-like red hair. Now the colour has faded, settling into a comfortable strawberry blonde, still keeping her darker ginger highlights in the summertime. She still lives in Nice, their hometown and is studying business with a focus on luxury.

Startled out of her thoughts by a passing truck, Mirabelle shakes her head and looks at the shop front of her business. She likes the vibes, she thinks. She’d decorated everything with the help of Cece and Nathan before the grand opening a few weeks ago. Nathan, Cece’s fiancé, was great to have around to renovate an old building, the guy being quite tall and good with manual tasks. The only downside is his inability to stay still for more than two consecutive minutes and his clumsiness.

From an external viewpoint, the shop looks like an antique store, with its forest green wooden front and the gold lettering above the door and the windows. Mirabelle did it herself, which she is really proud of. The gold works quite well against the green of the background, in her opinion. And the honeysuckle climbing at the side of the shop is great. She still needs to find a name for it. Maybe Cece would have an idea.

Mirabelle takes out her phone and steps onto the street to take a picture of it, sending it to her best friend to ask for her opinion. The picture is great, now that she’s looking at it. It just needs some touch ups, and she’ll post it on her instagram page. She still needs to check the vlog she posted yesterday on Youtube.

The idea of filming her life everyday and posting it as vlogs was her little sister’s idea. Amandine is currently in 9th grade, but because she’s in a boarding school in the north of France, she only has access to her phone for half an hour everyday to call their parents. Apparently, she also has access to her phone on weekends, because that’s when she calls Mirabelle. And so, to get updates on her sister’s life, Amandine had made her take a resolution for the new year: film her life a bit everyday and post it on Sunday afternoon, when she still has time to use her phone to watch the Youtube video. Well, at first Amandine had wanted Mirabelle to use Tiktok, but Mirabelle still hasn’t used the app, and even less downloaded it.

And so Youtube it was. At first, she tried talking face to the camera, but honestly, that took so much time that she discarded it after the third week of filming. Between the script (Mirabelle is not confident enough in her skills in front of a lens yet to talk without any notes), the filming and the editing, she didn’t have the time to actually live her everyday life. And so now, her camera is on when she goes about her business, during her trips between home and the shop…

Mirabelle will admit, filming oneself does boost one’s confidence, because now she’s quit her previous job and opened her own flower shop, all of this in less than five months. Which, in her opinion, is so strange that sometimes she wonders if she were a saint in her previous life. Or maybe the bad karma will only appear in a few years, when she’s resting on her laurels.

If it comes in the future, let it come. Nothing is set in stone, and she’ll enjoy what she has for now, even as she watches the people around her like a plant yearning for the sun, reaching and reaching and never embracing the golden star.

Taken from Instagram (03/05/2021)

@/mirabelledesmarais

[Picture of the front of a flower shop. The walls are painted green, with a bay window on the right and a normal one on the left. A honeysuckle is creeping up on the left of the shop. Above the door, gold letters can be seen writing ‘Desmarais - Fleuriste’ (Desmarais - Florist)]

🖤 💬 729 Likes

mirabelledesmarais Waiting to create your bouquets for Mother’s Day 💐

Comments

@/lilyofthevalley: fan n°1 je l’annonce j’étais là dès la semaine 1 (number 1 fan i’m calling it i was there during the first week)

@/fleurtoujours: 🌷🌺🌹

@/celia_guillaume: i still need to find a name for that plant! ↬ @/mirabelledesmarais: i’m counting on you soldier

@/rosedesvents: c’est pas dans 3 semaines la fête des mères?? (isn’t mother’s day in 3 weeks??) ↬ @/mirabelledesmarais: Pour la France et Monaco, la fête des mères est bien le 30 mai! Mais j’ai beaucoup de clients étrangers pour qui la fête des mères est ce dimanche 9 :) (For France and Monaco; Mother’s Day is indeed on May 30th! But I have a lot of foreign clients, for whom Mother’s Day is this Sunday the 9th!:))

Monaco (09/05/2021)

Oscar was bored. Monaco was good and nice, but after a week with his parents and his three younger sisters, he was ready to throw himself over the hotel’s balcony into the water. Fortunately, this was his last day of vacation, and he would go back to the sim room and his training. He still had no idea why his mum wanted to go to Monaco, of all places, to spend his vacation week. She was right that it made more sense to visit the city state before or after the racing season, but a mere ten days before was pushing it, in his opinion.

At least they went to visit some cities in the south of France. Nice is quite pretty, with its old town and warm colours, and Menton was nice, even if they missed what is apparently a whole two weeks of celebrating lemons.

What an idea. But to each their own, his mum would say. And she’s right, he shouldn’t judge. But still. If he can trust the internet, they have whole floats made of lemons. He won’t ever understand France, he thinks.

It’s morning now, and as usual, he opens up his phone to check if he received any message or emails during the night. Because Australia is on the other side of the world, some of the conversations he has with friends wait until one of the participants is awake to continue. Just spams, and a reminder coming from his calendar app. Fuck. It’s Mother’s Day. So that’s why his mum is still not up.

He gets out of the bathroom in a hurry, puts his clothes on, checks that he has his wallet and the key to the hotel room with him and goes out the door. How could he forget? Every year, he usually puts a reminder two weeks before the date so he has the time to prepare something nice for his mum. This year, he bought her a bracelet, but now that he thinks about it, it’s been forgotten amidst the preparations for the trip to Monaco. He didn’t bring it on the trip. This means that he’s going to have to wait for them to go back home, all the way in Australia, to give her the bracelet. What to do now?

There must be a florist in the area.

As he waits for the elevator and then goes inside, he’s opening Maps and writing florist in the search bar. Apparently, there are two florists near the hotel, one closer than the other. That's where he’ll go, he decides. He doesn’t have any time to lose, especially if he wants to buy breakfast for his mum before she wakes up.

His run to the florist is short, fortunately. Monaco is hell to run through, with its elevation. He mustn’t be the only one waiting for flowers, as there’s a queue of at least ten people. He checks his phone regularly as he waits, to see if his father has sent him any message. He doesn’t want to risk sending the first message, afraid that the sound of the notification would wake up his mum.

Strangely, the queue goes quite fast and once they say what they’re here for, the florist just goes through a back door and comes back with a bouquet; he must be really efficient at putting up bouquets together.

In front of the florist, a balding man in his forties, he tries to explain his predicament in french before giving up and explaining in english. The man frowns.

“Young man, this is a high-end flower shop. We only take orders at least a week before for our client's utmost satisfaction.” The florist leaves Oscar alone for a minute as he goes to bring a bouquet to the woman behind him in the queue. He continues, “You can still order flowers for next week, but I'm sorry to say that you won’t be able to get a bouquet today.You could still go to another shop, I think a lovely girl has opened up hers just 10 minutes away from here!”

With this said, Oscar thanks the florist in a hurry and runs to the location he’s been given. There’s a climbing plant growing on the side of the dark green storefront, and the inside of the flower, which he can see through the large windows, is luminous. Above the shop is written “Desmarais - Fleuriste” in gold letters. The flower has a fragrant smell, sweet but not too overpowering. It’s not jasmine, Oscar thinks. He would have recognised it. It’s soft, and he can’t help but sop for a few seconds and close his eyes to try and imprint the scent into his brain. He gets closer to the door, ready to enter the flower shop, and a man leaves, loudly declaring “Merci!” (Thank you!) over his shoulder to the person behind the counter.

There’s a girl.

She’s a girl.

Oscar’s seen girls before, of course. His mum is a girl. And he has three younger sisters. He knows plenty of girls. He's just… He doesn’t know this girl. Of course he doesn’t know this girl. She’s probably from here, and he has not been in Monaco a lot.

She’s pretty. Not the kind of pretty you turn around in the street for or the kind you see on TV. Oscar would turn around and stop in the street, he thinks. But this girl, she’s the kind of pretty that comes with the sweetness of summer when fruits are ripe or the lightness of the breeze when you watch the sunset, on the beach with sand between your toes.

With the sun coming from the window, her hair is the color of this sunset, or perhaps more of the sunrise, light oranges blending with gold bathed in light. She has a brown apron on, and it only adds to her beauty, almost imperceptible freckles dotted over her whole face; they frame it like a painting, from her forehead down her wheels to her chin. They’re forming a constellation, Oscar is sure of this, and he wants to know which one. He would stay and watch her all day long, he thinks.

It’s only when she waves her hand that he realises that he’s been staring at her for far too long. She’s speaking, too.

“Bonjour? Hi? How may I help you?” Her voice is melodic. His feet bring him closer. He should answer, right?

“Um… Hi.” What to say next? Should he ask for her name? No. That’s too forward. She’s pretty. Maybe that’s not the right adjective. She’s enchanting to look at, mesmerizing. She’s a siren and Oscar is just the poor sailor caught in her trap. Oscar doesn't know why he came here anymore. Maybe he can stay here, right where he is, and keep watching her. Would that make him a creep? Maybe if she’s aware of it it’s less creepy.

“Are… are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” And she’s nice. She takes care of people. She doesn’t want him to suffer. She’s perfect, actually. Oscar thinks that he would follow her to the end of the world if she welcomed him.

She’s coming over. Should he move? Oscar holds his breath, heart thundering in his ears. She takes his hand. Are they… are they going too fast? With his hand between hers, she guides him to a wooden stool, sitting him down. And then she leaves him. She’s decided to leave him, and he will be like Ariadne waiting for Theseus to come back.

As soon as he thinks about this myth, she comes back, a glass of cool water in her hand. She puts it in his hand, blinking at him slowly.

“Hey, I brought you water. You know this, you have it in your hand, I don’t know why I said this.I hope you’re not having a stroke. But if you are, that's totally fine, or not, I guess. But I'll call the pompiers in thirty seconds if you don’t answer.” She hasn’t breathed once during her small tirade. But Oscar doesn’t want to inconvenience her more than he already has if he can help it. So this means he needs to say something.

“You’re pretty,” he blurts. Wow. Great first impressions, Oscar.

She’s blushing. He can see this, her face close to his and her skin fair and almost translucent. Maybe he hasn’t fumbled this too much.

“Right. Thank you. Did you come into the shop just to tell me this? Not that I’m ungrateful, of course. I’m really grateful actually. Thank you.” She’s cute. And she’s blushing even more, now. He can see it spreading to her ears and down her neck and… No. No impure thoughts. Think about something else, Oscar. What can you see? Her blush. Stop it. Flowers. Right, flowers. Flowers, flowers… Mother’s Day!

“Shit, sorry. I’m just—I actually came because I need flowers for my mum. It’s Mother’s Day.” Does he still have time before his mum wakes up? “So, yep. I need flowers”

“Of course!” she smiles and gets back. Oscar feels the spot where she was getting colder, and the hole in his chest gets bigger. She walks over to her working station and takes a pen and paper in hand. “Did you have particular flowers in mind? or a budget?”

“Do you know of any flowers that mean either gratefulness or flowers to apologize? I forgot her gift back home. Which now that I think about it, is maybe too much information?” He scratches the back of his head with his right hand. Honestly he’s not that worried about the price. His allowance should cover it. even if it ends up being higher than he anticipated.

“Well; if it’s for your mother and to apologise, pink oeillets are great. I think their English name is carnations.” She walks towards one of the walls filled to the brim with flowers and takes a pink one in her hand. “It’s this one, see?”

The flower’s pretty. Not as pretty as her, of course.

“I like them. Could I have a bouquet?” She seems surprised; why? Fortunately, what she says next explains it.

“Don’t you want to hear about other flowers?” She asks, and he shakes his head right to left. “What’s interesting with carnations is that in France, they also mean gratefulness, so this means that they’ll be spot on for what you want!”

Oscar only nods, still dazed. He stays where he is, not moving an inch.

“I’ll make the bouquet, and as we go, you can tell me if you want more or less flowers, is that okay with you?” Oscar had planned on going to the bakery while the florist created the bouquet, but now that he is faced with the possibility of staying with her, he thinks he’ll stay and watch her work.

Oscar observes her as she works and busies herself with selecting the flowers in the best conditions and filler flowers to add to the bouquet. It occurs to him that he hasn’t asked for her name. He should. When she asks him if there are enough flowers for the bouquet, Oscar hasn’t listened to a word coming out of her mouth, too occupied with watching her. And so he nods, agreeing with her, and when he realises that this means that he will spend less time with her because he’ll have to leave with the bouquet, it’s already too late, she’s wrapping the bouquet in pink tissue and white kraft paper; putting the finishes touches in the form of raffia and stapling her business card to the paper.

Once she finishes, she catches Oscar’s eye and smiles, blushing all the while.

“It’s all done! Your total will be 35€.” She says while tapping on her till. The machine beeps and a receipt comes out of it.

Oscar pays and he takes the bouquet that she holds out to him. Now he doesn’t want to leave. He should say something. At least ask for her name. “What’s y—”

“I wondered if—” They both speak at the same time, stopping when they realise the other is about to ask something. He manages to speak.

“Please go first”, he says gesturing with his free hand. Her blush is stronger now. She tucks a strand of hair behind her hair before speaking, and Oscar tracks the motion with his eyes, a cat with a treat.

“Well, I just—I wondered what your name was? If that’s not too forward, of course!” She bites her lips at her own advances, a mindless habit. He’d been about to ask the same thing, and so he’s happy that he’s not the only one who may be interested. This means he can feel less creepy.

“I’m Oscar. It’s great to meet you! And I was about to ask for your name too…” Oscar is all too happy to give his name to this enchanting florist. He can’t wait to hear her name.

“Uh. Well I'm Mirabelle, and it’s also great to meet you, and I hope that your mother will enjoy the flowers.” She smiles as she says this, and he thinks about the fruit, the mirabelle plum, with its sunset skin, so close to the colour of her hair.

“Your name is beautiful.” Just like you, he doesn’t say. “ I don’t know how to say this, but I’m coming back to Monaco in ten days, and I don’t know if you’ll be free or anything, and if you have anything to do or if you’re not interested, please don’t mind me and ignore me and forget I ever said anything but would you maybe want to go and drink a coffee with me?”

Oscar doesn’t know if she’ll be able to understand his word vomit. It probably makes no sense. The blush, which had begun to fade, comes back in full.

“Yes of course! Hum… I’ll have to check if I'm free, but maybe I could send you a text to tell you?” Oscar thinks his soul just left his body. Did Mirabelle, the pretty florist, just ask for his name and then his number? He must be the luckiest man alive. He gives her his phone with a bit of gymnastics with his left arm, taking it from his right back pocket and unlocking it. She quickly types in her number and returns the divide to Oscar. When he looks at the contact she created, he can see she put in a purple flower next to her name.

“I couldn’t find lilacs in the emoji section, so I put a hyacinth,” she explains. He’s already half in love with her, he thinks. Whoever said that love at first sight doesn’t exist is wrong. She adds, “by the way, if you don’t want to damage the bouquet on the way back, you should hold it upside down.”

Oscar can feel his neck getting hot, and even if he doesn’t want to leave her, he knows he has to go back to the hotel room. And so he turns around, says goodbye, and he feels like Odysseus leaving Penelope, the flower shop their Ithaca.

He stops on the doorstep before leaving and turns around to say goodbye one last time. Mirabelle sees him and waves.

“Goodbye Oscar, see you soon! And you’re very pretty too”. At that, Mirabelle winks and hurries to busy herself.

Oscar finally leaves, all the while thinking about her.

Once he gets back to the hotel room, he realises that he forgot to go buy breakfast, and so when he sees his sister Hattie, he tells her to be quick and ask the reception for room service before their mum wakes up. When everything is set up, the four siblings gather in their parent’s room and slowly wake them up. Privately Oscar can guess that their mum was already awake, waiting for them.

By the time breakfast is finished, Oscar has spaced out more than once, and his mum can’t help but ask him what he’s thinking about.

“My future wife,” he blurts, before his mouth shuts and his eyes go wide. his parents share a glance.

“I thought you didn’t want to get married,” his mother says, and Oscar shakes his head. That’s true, he doesn’t want to get married, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

“I meant it in a spiritual sense. I met my soulmate today. She’s the one who made the bouquet”.

And Nicole Piastri only has one answer for him:

“Well, you’ll have to practice your French, then.”

Taken from Twitter (09/05/2021)

@/NicolePiastri Thanks to my son and my daughters for this wonderful bouquet and breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day! and thank you @/mirabelledesmarais for the arrangement [Picture of Nicole in a hotel bed with a tray filled with pastries and a cup of coffee, along with a glass of orange juice. In Nicole’s arms is a bouquet of pink carnations] ↬ @/mirabelledesmarais I’m so glad you like the flowers! i hope you had a great day 💐 ↬ @/81futurewag girl no one asked for ur opinion

@/f14ever My dream is to have @/NicolePiastri as my MIL i need this mirabelle girl to go away and disappear from the face of the earth ↬ @/oscarthegoat i fear that’s everyone’s goal ↬ @/mimidefender4life She’s just doing her job what’s ur fucking problem ↬ @/oscarpiastriloml the ‘fucking problem’ as u said is that she’s a gold digger and she trying to become famous using oscar

@/oscarsfirstfan Happy mother’s day to our queen mother @/NicolePiastri ↬ @/oscatpastry She’s a national treasure ↬ @/F1GossipHere And @/OscarPiastri is such a good son, imagine him as a son-in-law, id die

I hope you liked it! I didn't think I'd write more than 2k words, but here we are :)

(the dividers are the works of @thecutestgrotto)

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