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THE MIAMI PADDOCKS were beautiful. The delicately sculpted scenery was to die for. The sun was incandescent with heat and wide brilliance. Miami weather was balmy.
Merliah was trailing herself back to the familiar garage she was set for yesterday for qualifying. She wore a pink Chanel set, cardigan, and skirt. An outfit classy yet simple that refrained her from wearing anything out of character for her image.
"Merliah Saint! Merliah Saint!" An interviewer ran up to her, his camera crew chasing after him. Merliah stopped in her tracks and turned to the man holding the microphone. "Oh, hello." She said it with a soft smile.
Interviews always made her shy.
"A princess like you out in Miami, the world never knew you were ever into racing. Where was this sudden ambition driven from?" He questioned.
She looked down at the microphone and back up to the man. "Oh, well. I have a few friends who drive. I supposed I should come support."
"Is this your escape from Monaco after your father's most recent law?"
Most recent law?
She never followed her father's politics. All she knew was that he was highly liked by the Monegasques. He was a beloved figure, and he treated his political position with high value and accordance.
"Eh, Sorry-"
More cameras and interviewers showed up and circled the young princess. She was bombarded with questions that the press were dying to know.
"Are you hooking up with McLaren driver, Lando Norris?"
"Are you traveling the world with Norris and his career?" "Does your father know about this relationship?" The questions were just being thrown at her.
Merliah wasn't one for interviews. Her introverted personality made her very shy and nervous, and anxiety always got the best of her. She went completely silent as she was pounded with controversial questions, completely out of proportion.
Before she knew it, a strong grip held her waist as she was dragged out of the mess. "No more questions, please." The familiar voice made her knees feel weak.
Lando had spotted her from the McLaren garage as the press crowd got bigger. He came and rescued her, like a true prince.
Lando had safely guided Merliah away from the press and back to the private McLaren garages.
"Are you alright? I'm sorry—the press here is awful."
"It's alright, truly. Thank you."
"Anytime," he smiled, handing her a pair of McLaren-branded headphones. "I didn't know you'd be here so early. I would've sent my personal car to pick you up."
Lando's gestures were always so genuine. "I'm sorry, I forgot to text you. I thought you'd be so busy with pre-race stuff."
He chuckled and said, "Never. I'll always make time for you."
A rosy shade crept to her cheek, and Lando took notice. "Eh, I've got to do some last-minute data for the race. Do you need anything before I leave?"
She looked around. Merliah sat at the table she sat at yesterday during the qualification rounds. For the most part, she knew where everything was. And if she ever got hungry, the paddock club was just above.
"I should be fine. Good luck; I'm expecting a P1 out of you." She said it with a smile, kissing his cheek for good luck.
This time, Lando blushed. He smiled and said, "I'll make it happen for you."
