He folded his arms across his chest, his sharply defined face set in a cool
unreadable expression.
Even those lips of his, naturally curved as if made for smiling, couldn’t soften the sternness etched across his features.
Now that Niamh had confirmed it, Preston realized he hadn’t been mistaken–the man’sitting in the VIP box really was Jonathan.
“So? Well? Is it Jonathan or not?”
Urged on by Preston’s impatience, Niamh lowered her binoculars.
“Yeah, it’s Jonathan…”
“I knew I wasn’t seeing things!”
Preston, satisfied, stroked his chin, but his brow furrowed with confusion.
“But this is weird. Why would Jonathan come to a race like this? And he didn’t even bring his wife…”
In Preston’s memory, Jonathan had never shown much interest in motorsports. The last time he’d even attended a race was because Preston had dragged him along.
So what was Jonathan doing here, now of all times, sitting in a sky–high VIP seat that even Preston couldn’t score?
“It couldn’t be…”
A sudden thought struck Preston.
“Don’t tell me Jonathan came all the way here just to watch that Ra–something compete?”
“Ramona…” Niamh supplied, just as car number 11 blazed across the finish line in first place.
“Huh?” Preston cocked his head at her. “You actually remembered her name?”
He said it just in time to catch the way the corner of Niamh’s mouth curled, cold and wry.
So she does care, after all, Preston thought. Given that Niamh was known as The Speed Queen back in Aldonia, it was only natural she’d pay extra attention when she met her match.
1/3
08:05
But for Preston, Jonathan’s presence here only deepened the mystery.
As for Niamh, her focus was clearly elsewhere–squarely on Ramona,
After claiming victory, Ramona stepped out of her fire–red Ford, pulling off her helmet and shaking loose her long, glossy curls.
“So dramatic,” Preston remarked from the stands, unimpressed.
He’d always preferred the understated types–like Katarina, Niamh’s racing alter ego.*
Niamh shot him a look, half amused, half exasperated.
She could’ve sworn Preston seemed pretty interested in Ramona at first–what was with the attitude now?
Niamh lifted her binoculars again, just as the awards ceremony began on the track. There, on the tallest podium, Ramona stood with effortless poise and confidence.
Through her lenses, Niamh took in Ramona’s striking features–bold, vibrant, with a touch of mature glamour in her makeup and a dazzling, self–assured smile.
The roar from the grandstands was deafening. A chant started up: “Ramona! Ramona!” Her name echoed across the entire speedway.
“Jeez, talk about over the top,” Preston muttered under his breath.
Niamh couldn’t help noticing he’d already said that at least three times tonight.
Ramona drank in the adoration, raising both hands high above her head, reveling in
the crowd’s cheers.
Then, as Niamh watched, Ramona turned toward the VIP box and waved enthusiastically.
Niamh’s eyes widened just a little.
The VIP section was packed, but she couldn’t shake the feeling–Ramona’s wave was aimed at one person.
Jonathan.
“No way! You don’t think she’s trying to flirt with Jonathan, do you?”
Preston’s voice snapped Niamh out of her thoughts.
So it wasn’t just her imagination.
2/3
08:05
But was Ramona really the one doing the flirting?
Niamh tilted her head, curiosity pricking at her. Wasn’t it possible things were the other way around?
She blinked, and suddenly, a memory came rushing back.
