Page 3 of Expecting Royal Twins!
“You’ve looked at all angles.”
Niko bowed his head. “As you taught me, Father.”
“And Julianna. Are her feelings engaged?”
“She…cares for me,” Niko answered carefully. “As I do for her. She understands what is expected.”
“But is she in love with you?”
Uncomfortable, Niko shifted his weight between his feet. “You’ve never spoken about love before. Only duty and what a state marriage would entail.”
“You are old enough to know whether a woman has feelings for you or not. Answer my question.”
Niko considered his outing with Julianna yesterday afternoon. They’d left their security detail on the shore and sailed on the lake. He’d kissed her for the first time. The kiss had been…pleasant, but Julianna seemed more interested in sailing than kissing him again. “I do not believe she is in love with me. In fact, I’m certain she isn’t.”
“Good.”
“I do not understand what is going on, sir. If something has changed with Vernonia’s relationship to Aliestle—”
“Nothing has changed there.” His father’s drawn out sigh would have made the parliament members’ knees tremble beneath their heavy robes. “But a slight…complication in regards to you marrying Julianna has arisen.”
Niko’s muscles tensed. “What kind of complication?”
Inside Bay #2 at Rowdy’s One Stop Garage in Charlotte, North Carolina, a Brad Paisley song blared from a nearby boom box. Oil, gasoline and grease scented the air. Isabel Poussard bent over a Chevy 350 small block engine. The bolt she needed to remove wouldn’t budge, but she wasn’t giving up or asking for help. She wanted the guys to see her as an equal, not a woman who couldn’t make it on her own.
She adjusted the wrench. “Come on now. Turn for Izzy.”
A swatch of light brown hair fell across her eyes so she couldn’t see.
Darn ponytail. It never stayed put. If she had any extra money, she would get a short hairstyle so she wouldn’t be bothered anymore. She didn’t dare cut it herself. For years her uncle Frank had chopped her hair with whatever was handy, scissors or razor blades. She’d grown up looking more like a boy than a girl. Not that any dresses hung in her closet today.
Izzy tucked the stray strands behind her ear. She struggled to turn the wrench. Her palm sweated. The wrench slipped.
Frustrated, she blew out a puff of air. “No one is going to let you work over the wall in the pits during a race if you can’t loosen a little bolt.”
She imagined the start of the Daytona 500. The roar of the crowd. The heat from the pavement. The smell of burning rubber. The rev of engines.
Excitement surged through her.
Being on a professional pit crew had been Uncle Frank’s dream for as long as Izzy remembered. An aneurysm had cut his life short. Now it was up to her to turn his dream into a reality. He’d spent his life caring for her and sharing his skill and love of cars. More than once he’d had the opportunity to be on a pit crew, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her. This was the least she could do for him.
As soon as she saved enough money, she would enroll in pit crew school. She wanted to put her days at dirt tracks and stock car circuits behind her and take a shot at the big leagues. For Uncle Frank and herself. She had bigger goals than just being on the pit crew. She wanted to be the crew chief. Izzy would show those kids who laughed at her grease-stained hands they were wrong. She would do something with her life. Something big.
She adjusted her grip on the wrench and tried again. The bolt turned. “Yes!”
“Hey, Izzy,” the garage owner’s son and her closest friend, Boyd, shouted to her over the Lady Antebellum song now playing on the radio. “Some folks here to see you.”
Word of mouth about her skills kept spreading. She could not only fix old engines, but the new hybrids, too. Her understanding of the computer and electronics side of things coupled with a gift for diagnostics drew in new clients daily. Her boss, Rowdy, was so happy he’d given Izzy a raise. If this kept up, she could enroll in school in a few months.
With a smile, she placed her wrench and the bolt on the top of her toolbox.
