"It suits you, kid."

"You think?"

"Sure do."

George Goldwyn smiled down at a ten year old Tony Stark who was sat with a beaming smile on his face in the drivers seat of a red Ferrari F40.

It was a hot summers afternoon up in The Hamptons and the boys had been in the garage all day, George spending hours showing Tony the insides and outsides of his small collection of rather lavish cars.

They could just about see Leonie and Estélla sat together on a chequered blanket on the lawn having a tea party and they'd been laughing at the dainty China cups they used as they watched through the open windows and doors.

It wasn't often that George and Tony spent time alone together and for the most part, Tony didn't mind since there was something slightly intimidating about the man, but when he'd been offered a peek in the garage when he first got dropped off at the house that morning, there was only ever going to be one answer.

"Maybe I'll leave it to you, I don't think Esté has much of an interest in cars," George said, laughing quietly as he watched his daughter pour more tea into a blue cup, "Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes please," Tony look up with a grin, eyes wide as he nodded furiously, "Can you show me the engine again?"

George nodded and popped open the cover, propping it up safely to make sure it didn't slam shut on little Tony's hands as he peered inside.

He watched as the boy shuffled around the edges, head practically inside the engine and all the meticulous mechanics that made little sense to him, but seemed to have the child completely mesmerised.

"You really love cars, don't you, son?"

Tony nodded again, running his hands across the parts but being careful not to knock or twist anything out of its place.

"More than anything," Tony answered.

George sighed and wandered over to a bright red refrigerator in the corner of the garage, grabbing two bottles of Coke and popping the caps from both before handing one to Tony.

"Loving people is different," he said.

"How?" Tony asked, sipping the cold drink and leaning against a workbench beside George.

"It's the most powerful thing in the world," he answered, "Strong enough to kill you but strong enough to keep you alive, too. It all depends on how soft the hands are that you fall into, I suppose."

Tony wasn't quite sure what George meant by his words, but it gave him something to think about nevertheless.

They drank their Coke in silence for a few moments, both of them staring out at the girls on the lawn. Esté had her hair tied back in two French plaits and was dressed in a pale yellow sundress, laughing while her mother lifted up her pinky finger as they drank their tea.

"What about Esté? Would it be OK to love her?"

George chuckled quietly to himself at the child's remark, though found it equally heartwarming to hear. There was purity to his question and an innocence in his brown eyes as he looked up at George and waited for his answer.

"She likes to see the best in people, but she won't turn a blind eye to the bad, either. Honestly kid, it wouldn't surprise me if one day the whole world fell in love with my Estélla," he said, placing a hand on Tony's shoulders with a light squeeze as she watched Esté look over at them and wave with a dazzling smile, "But what would surprise me more is if she didn't fall in love with you."

Estélla was relieved when she finally slipped the key into the lock of Christian's front door. She was exhausted to say the least, drained from working a manic four days in Paris with a total of perhaps twelve hours of sleep across the entire trip. Her head was aching and her eyes strained, desperate to collapse into bed beside him and fall asleep.

"Esté? Is that you sweetheart?"

"It's me."

Dragging her suitcase through the door, she closed it and double checked the locks before hanging up her keys on a hook on the wall, shrugging off her coat and laying it at the foot of the stairs.

Christian's voice echoed through the empty house from somewhere out of sight, though it wasn't long before his footsteps ascended and before she knew it, his smiling face and warm eyes were right in front of her.

"I've missed you so much," he said, picking her up and spinning her around as she laughed wildly, hands on his shoulders.

"I've missed you too," she replied, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

"How was it? Come on, I've just put the kettle on."

She followed him through into the kitchen, pushing herself up onto the countertop while Christian began to make two cups of tea for the both of them.

"Fine. Just long, you know? I've been working with Saint Laurent for so long now but things are always changing," she yawned and rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers, "Oh, I think I saw Sibi's car passing a couple of streets back, are the kids here?"

Christian had finalised his divorce to his ex-wife six months before setting eyes on Estélla on New Year's Eve. They couple had been married for ten years and had two children together, though Esté had been keen to hold off on meeting them for as long as she possibly could, which Christian had been entirely understanding of.

They co-parented in perfect harmony and Esté was more than happy to disappear for a few hours while Christian saw his children and often tried to plan he work trips around the days he had them stay with him, which so far, had worked for everybody involved.

"No, no the kids aren't here," Christian said, handing her a cup of tea, "She uh, she had to call earlier about something, that's all. Wasn't here for long, just..."

Esté put down her cup when she noticed Christian's eyes avoiding her own. He spoke nonchalantly and shrugged his shoulders, his tone normal and his body language too, though his eyes were holding something back, and Esté picked up on it.

"Well is everything alright?" She pressed, feeling a small twist in her gut that forced her to swallow hard.

"Yeah it's fine, love."

"Christian," Este said firmly, "Look at me."

He looked at her then and his eyes were hollow, an uncomfortable hint of a frown tugged on the corners of his lips and as soon as Esté saw his beautiful face, she was violently reminded of the shadow of guilt that was all too familiar for her.

"What happened?" She swallowed again, breathing steadily in attempt to keep herself calm, though knowing deep down there were walls about to crash down around her.

"She, she asked me if I missed her the way she misses me, and if I wanted to give things another go."

The words felt like ice biting at Esté's skin, not cutting her so much, but burning and scratching against the warmth of her insides that left pain searing throughout her body.

Her face didn't falter, remaining strong and unreadable as she blinked just once in acceptance, her chest rising and falling slowly as she stared at him.

"And do you?"

"No," he quickly answered, "No, I want you, Esté. I want us, and-"

"Then why are you telling me this?"

He paused then and his head tilted slightly, a hauntingly familiar expression or horror and guilt flashing through his dark eyes. The regret was gut-wrenchingly known to her and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, remembering the way that Tony had looked at her with the exact same softness and blues.

"Because," he whispered, words struggling on his lips as he looked at her and felt his insides burn, "She kissed me."

Esté squeezed her eyes closed, sighing deeply as she clenched her jaw and felt a trickle of tears seep from the corners of her eyes and fall down her cheeks. It wasn't a sob or a cry, just a sprinkle of a heartbreak that she hoped she'd never have to feel again, though clearly wasn't that lucky.

"I-it meant nothing, Estélla," he followed up hastily, "It was barely a kiss and it didn't mean anything, it didn't-"

"If it meant nothing, why did you do it?" Esté pulled her eyes open, looking at him through a glassy haze, "If it didn't mean anything, why would you throw away what we had for it? Why would you jeopardise us, ruin us completely. It's careless and it's twisted and it hurts but god, it hurts more that you say it meant nothing. But did it really? Do you still love her, Christian?"

"Esté, I..."

He couldn't find any more words, silence falling from the tip of his tongue and drowning in his hazel eyes. He was sorry, Esté could see that he regretted his actions and that he felt ruined by the guilt from the grief-stricken look on his face, but that didn't make her feel any better.

"Oh my God."

Esté pushed herself off the countertop and walked back through the house, pulling on her coat and reaching for her keys, her suitcase still packed by the door.

"Where are you going? Please don't do this, Stella-"

"Don't call me that," she snapped, turning on her heels quickly to stare at him with narrowed eyes that although terrified him in that moment, he still adored.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears falling from his own lashes as he watched her wipe her face dry, "Please, please just stay. We can work this out."

"No," Esté shook her head and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, "I'm not part of this, Christian. I'm going home."

Fourteen hours later, Estélla walked through the door of her townhouse in the West Village. The sky was pouring with heavy rain and she was soaked through to the bone when she flicked on the lights, water dripping from the ends of her hair as she kicked off her shoes and threw down her keys, heading straight upstairs.

The first thing she did was pull open the wardrobe and yank down the tuxedo Christian had left hung up in there, throwing it into a pile in the corner of the room as another box of belongings crashed down with it.

She sank down onto her knees in the darkness, the only light shining from the hallway and the street lamps glowing through the windows. Esté began to pick up the mess that had spilled from inside the wardrobe, picking up old books and photo frames and stacking them back into the box.

An old t-shirt caught her eye, soft cotton on her fingertips that she held up in front of the light, sighing heavily at the child-sized Black Sabbath shirt that had undoubtedly belonged to Tony many moons ago.

T-shirt in her hand, Esté turned over one of the photo frames and felt her heart break all over again, floods of tears spilling from her eyes as she stared down at the picture of her and Tony together on her birthday last year. She looked happy, and the way he stood beside her with a proud smile on his lips while he tried to force her to drink from a glass of champagne made the wounds of pain and regret tear open again, bleeding all over the floor she thought she'd scrubbed clean.

"Why can't it ever be easy?" She whispered to herself.

That night, Estélla fell asleep on her bedroom floor, unable to find the strength to crawl away from the memories and wrap herself in her bedsheets instead. The drowsiness and pain from the weight of her day knocked her out for hours on end, and while she slept silently on the hardwood floor, she clutched that little t-shirt by her face, soaked through with her tears.