Page 77 of Scandal
Which one?
Me
Hendrix
Mercury
No, why?
Me
Because I think he might have just shown up at the gate.
Mercury
What?!
Moments later, I hear someone running down the hall. It’s not a sound you typically hear in Blackstone House. When I was caught running in my youth, I had to spend an extra hour in my mum’s etiquette classes, learning how a gentleman, even the modern variety, did not run through the halls or clomp his feet when he walked.
I hated the old coot who tutored me so much that I never ran in the halls again. So when I hear that sound, my ears perk up, and I say a little prayer for the runner’s sake, hoping my mother isn’t nearby.
Then the double doors swing wide, and a flushed, panicked Mercury barrels in. “What do you mean, my brother is here?”
I can’t help but smile a little at her disheveled appearance. Her cardigan is half on—she obviously left in a rush—the perfect curls she had this morning are a little frizzy from dashing down the halls, and she’s got this wide-eyed look that tells me she’s not prepared to see her big brother at all.
“Well, I can’t be sure it’s him?—”
“What do you mean?” She tries to fix her sweater but fails. “Didn’t you ask?”
“I figured it was fairly obvious who would be knocking, figuratively, of course, on our door a day after the interview went live.”
“Do you think he would be that upset about it?”
I shrug. “He was about the photos from the gala.”
She snorts, still fiddling with her sweater. “God, imagine if he knew?—”
“Mac,” I say, interrupting her as she finally turns to notice him standing behind her. She squeaks in alarm as he lets out a rare chuckle.
“Apologies, miss. I didn’t mean to cause a fright.”
“No worries. My fault for not being more aware of my surroundings.”
Remembering what she was about to say, I glance over at my old friend and ask, “Mac, would you mind greeting our guest for me?”
He nods, knowing when I need a minute alone. “My pleasure.”
“Thanks.”
He hurries out of the room to head off the butler, Niall, leaving the two of us alone.
I close the gap between us and gently fix her sweater. A faint blush creeps up her neck and cheeks as she watches me straighten the two panels of fabric.
“Whatever happens between us needs to stay between us,” I reiterate.
She nods, the light in her eyes dimming just slightly. “I know.”
“The whole world thinks we’re dating, and that’s fine,” I continue. “But what we share behind closed doors is just for us. I don’t want anyone else’s opinion or input. Just us, okay?”
