Unexpected

Part 5

It seems like just a few days go by before I'm called in for an interview at a studio. My manager hands me a bag with F1 hats and Nissan t-shirts. So I can hand them out to those who want them, she says.

In the studio a good-looking woman briskly looks me over. "Who did your makeup?" she asks.

"I did," I reply nervously.

"Not bad, but we need a little bit more because of the lighting." She motions another woman over, who gets to work on my face.

And, once again, I feel insecure and unsure of myself. I'm darker than the average celebrity, with a very muscular build for a lady, who does my own makeup and chooses my own outfits. Who doesn't know how to act on camera, and who knows how I will mess up. Didn't they think about these things before asking me? I glance down at my outfit. I'm wearing dark skinny jeans, with a long violet colored sweater. Violet is my favorite color, and I wanted to go to this interview with confidence, feeling good about myself. I raise my head and square my shoulders. I will rock this, I tell myself.

With the interview over, I relax.

"We'll take a few more shots today," the director says. "Let's walk over to where we need to go. It's not far."

I trail behind, trying to ignore the cameras like I've been told, and remembering everything else to do (and not to do). She stops at a door, and hands me my F1 bag. Then she slips a piece of paper in my hand, and as I read it she knocks on the door and walks away. What the—?

One of the people inside is your virtual husband. Figure out which one, and propose. The ring is in your bag.

"Come in!" someone calls out. I crack the door open, and cautiously step inside.

Oh, wow. Snuper. Some of the members are lounging on a couch, but they shoot to their feet when they see me. I freeze and hesitate. I sure could use one of those nonexistent scripts right now!

"Hello. I heard you wanted to meet me," was what comes out of my mouth. So far, so good.

"It's an honor to meet you," says Taewoong.

"The pleasure is all mine," I reply, bowing.

The rest of the members come in and we exchange greetings. Does my husband know that I'm his wife? Is he going to give me a signal? What if I propose to the wrong guy?!

I put my bag on a table and take out the F1 merch. "I brought gifts." I lay the hats and shirts out. "If you want something signed, I'll be happy to do so." I try to unobtrusively put the mission paper in the bag, and peek in at the ring. It's in a small box. I palm it and slip it in my jean pocket. A little snug, but it's fine. For the next few minutes I'm busy signing things and talking to the members about my job.

There were cameramen in the room before I came in. Are Snuper suspicious? Do they know what's going on? Or are the WGM crew really sneaky, making up reasons and excuses of all kinds? I'm miked up, so — wait a minute. I glance at the members to see if any of them has a mic, and only one does. This better be my husband, because I don't know how else to figure it out.

"I meant what I wrote, Sangho. If you can ever make it to a race, I'll be happy to have you as a guest in the paddock."

"Really? Thank you so much. I'll try to work it in my schedule."

I smile. Then I stop, because he doesn't have the mic on, and even though this all started because of him, I don't think he's the one.

"Fifty-one? Does this mean anything?" asks Sebin, putting the hat on his head.