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Camera flashes blinded her as she stepped off the podium. When it cleared Tom stood in front of her, a huge grin on his face.
‘I knew you could do it! Prepare yourself, Sasha. Your world’s about to rock!’
The obligatory press conference for the top three winning drivers took half an hour. When she emerged, Tom grabbed her arm and steered her towards the bank of reporters waiting behind the barriers.
‘Tom, I don’t really want—’
‘You’ve just won your first race. “I don’t really want” shouldn’t feature in your vocabulary. The world’s your oyster.’
But I don’t want the world, she screamed silently. I want Marco. I want not to feel alone on a night like this.
Feeling the stupid tears build again, Sasha rapidly blinked them back as a microphone was thrust in her face.
‘How does it feel to be the first woman to win the Singapore Grand Prix?’
From deep inside she summoned a smile. ‘Just as brilliant as the first man felt when he won, I expect.’
Beside her she heard Tom’s sharp intake of breath.
Behave, Sasha.
‘Are you still involved with Rafael de Cervantes?’ asked an odious reporter she recognised from a Brazilian sports channel.
‘Rafael and I were never involved. We’re just friends.’
‘So now he’s in a coma there’s nothing to stop you from switching friendships to his brother, no?’
Tom stepped forward. ‘Listen, mate—’
Sasha stopped him. ‘No. It’s fine.’ She faced the reporter. ‘Marco de Cervantes is a world-class engineer and a visionary in his field. His incredible race car design is the reason we won the race today. It would be an honour for me to call him my friend.’ She tagged on another smile and watched the reporter’s face droop with disappointment.
Tom nodded at a British female reporter. ‘Next question.’
‘As the winner of the race, you’ll be the guest of honour at the rock concert. What will you be wearing?’
Mild shock went through her at the question, followed swiftly by a deepening sense of hollowness. The X1 Premier Rock Concert had become a fixture on every A-List celebrity’s calendar. No doubt Marco would be there with his latest girlfriend.
‘It doesn’t matter what I’ll be wearing because I’m not going to the concert.’
Sasha dashed into the foyer of her six-star hotel, grateful when the two burly doormen blocked the chasing paparazzi. She heaved in a sigh of relief when she shut her suite door behind her.
The ever-widening chasm of emptiness she couldn’t shake threatened to overwhelm her. Quickly she stripped off her clothes and showered.
The knock came as she was towelling herself dry. For a second she considered not answering it.
A sense of déjà vu hit her as she opened the door to another perfectly coiffed stylist, carting another rack of clothes.
‘I think you’ve got the wrong suite.’
The diminutive Asian woman in a pink suit simply bowed, smiled and let herself in. Her assistant sailed in behind her, clutching a large and stunningly beautiful bouquet of purple lilies and cream roses.
‘For you.’ She thrust the flowers and a long oblong box into Sasha’s hand.
Stifling a need to scream, Sasha calmly shut the door and opened the box. On a red velvet cushion lay the most exquisite diamond necklace she?
??d ever seen. With shaking fingers, she plucked the card from the tiny peg.
Pick a dress, then they’ll leave. Romano is waiting downstairs.
