Page 92 of Scandal
His expression softens instantly. “You came all the way to Scotland to be my friend?”
Feeling slightly embarrassed, I half shrug. “You seemed like you could use one at the time, and seeing as I didn’t have any…”
He stares at me for a moment, then presses his lips together and says, “I’m really glad you got on that plane, Mercury Creed.”
“Me, too,” I reply.
Me freaking too.
My phone vibrates on the side table next to me, and I wonder whether I have enough energy to roll over and reach it.
I am that tired.
Who knew a day of sightseeing could be this exhausting? But we managed to accomplish exactly what the countess wanted.
We distracted the press.
After our delightful breakfast on the train, we arrived in Pitlochry, a picturesque Victorian town, around eleven. It was roughly the same time the reporters arrived, tipped off by an “anonymous source” that we’d be traveling. They followed us as we took a walk along the River Tummel and stopped at a cozy coffee shop. They ate up every single minute of our stroll through the scenic village, not knowing—or simply not caring—that we were doing it all for show.
Every moment was photographed. From the handholding to the adorable way Asher stole a bite of scone, it was all captured by the cameras.
Because the world just can’t get enough of this new, softer version of Asher Knight…in love.
It’s exactly what Theodora wants for a multitude of reasons. It not only helps reform his bad-boy image but also prevents the press from sneaking around the hospital and uncovering the truth about the Earl of Dunloch and what that means for his son.
Until Theodora and her team figure out what to do next, we have been instructed to keep it up. The train is parked on a quiet siding until we leave in the morning for our next destination.
I just hope my feet can handle it. The little white sneakers my stylist paired with my outfit today did not cut it.
I finally reach over and grab my phone.
Pres
Babe, your face is all over the internet.
Well, that didn’t take long.
I text her back immediately.
Me
I wouldn’t know. I don’t look.
Pres
Good.
Me
Wait—good? What does that mean? Is it bad?
I sit on the king-size bed, which has no business being this pillowy and soft, given that it’s on a train, and I frown. Ever since Asher and I started “dating,” I’ve been living in a cloud of blissful ignorance, intentionally avoiding social media and any online searches involving us.
It’s actually been kind of nice. I thought I would miss scrolling through Instagram, but it’s oddly liberating. I definitely don’t miss the constant posts from my sorority sisters, who are always trying to one-up each other.
But after that text from my real sister, I wonder if I’ve missed something. What if the world hates me, and Asher has just been too nice to tell me? What if they all think I’m some kind of gold-digging troll, waiting for him to dump me?
Pres
