Page 123 of Scandal
Evie eyes me from her spot on the sofa opposite, then closes her iPad, leans back, and crosses one leg over the other. It’s the most relaxed posture I’ve ever seen her in. For anyone else, it’s like lying down, spread-eagled.
A small grin spreads on her lips as she notes my surprised look. “You do realize you’ve basically been training to take over for Theodora for months now.”
“Theoretically, I guess?—”
“Not theoretically,” she argues, interrupting me. “All those etiquette classes and history lessons served a greater purpose. The countess wasn’t just preparing you for the press. She was training her successor.”
I remember the first time I met her. Such poise and elegance. But also so damn intimidating. “I don’t think I can fill her shoes,” I say, somewhat bewildered.
“Then don’t,” Evie says with a casual shrug. “Just be yourself.”
“But didn’t you just say she was training me to be her replacement?”
“No. I said she was training her successor. There’s a difference,” she says with that same amused expression. “Theodora knows you. She’d never expect you to be a copycat version of her. And frankly, I doubt you ever could be. That woman is one of a kind.”
“Ouch,” I deadpan.
She ignores me and just continues. “You and Asher are popular because you’re different. You’re a modern-day fairy tale.”
“If the handsome prince happened to be a retired rock star, sure.”
She actually rolls her eyes. “The point is, people don’t expect you to be Theodora and Stuart. So don’t be. Be different. Be better.”
I smile. “You know, you’re really good at giving advice, Evie.”
“I’m good at everything.” She states it as a fact, not a boast.
I snort. “I don’t doubt that.”
Her brow furrows. “Why would you?”
“So you really think I’ll make a good countess?” Even saying those words out loud sounds crazy. A few months ago, my sister was calling me a princess, and now my real life isn’t too far off.
“And viscountess.”
My stomach flutters. “Shit, right.”
“I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t,” she says matter-of-factly, then adds, “At first, I thought you might be a little too softfor this life, but I’ve seen how well you’ve adapted. You’re both strong and kindhearted. You will make a wonderful countess.”
“And Asher?”
“Asher was born and raised to do this,” she says instinctively. “But I believe his time away helped him. He’s very different from his father, and although he hates the fame that follows him, I think he’ll realize he can use it to his advantage and do some real good with that title of his.”
“You know,” I say, staring at her with a bit of awe. “I do think you’re right about that raise, Evie.”
She gives me a rare smile. “Twenty percent should do.”
I’m still reeling from the revelation that I might someday be a countess when my phone rings an hour later while I’m relaxing in our suite.
I have a few minutes before I need to be in the sitting room for tea with Asher, so I answer right away, especially since this particular sibling and I have been playing phone tag for a couple of days now.
And he hates to text.
“Hey, Cash,” I say warmly. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” he says gruffly. “I just had to explain to my four-year-old why her favorite aunt isn’t going to be at Sunday dinners anymore because she apparently caught feelings for a rock star.”
“He’s not a rock star anymore, and I’m Taylor’s favorite aunt?”
