Page 11 of Scandal
I actually do feel bad about that. The presentation was so pretty. It seems like a tragedy now to have wasted it all.
“Not a problem. Happens all the time,” she replies in that cheerful voice again. She bends down to pick it up.
“Actually, while you’re here, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Although if you want advice on Scotland, I’m afraid I’ll be of no help. I’m from London.”
“No.” I laugh. “No restaurant recs or anything like that, but if I did happen to go to one, specifically a fancy one, do you happen to know what to do with all those extra utensils?”
Her brow goes up.
“The people I’m staying with are…” I try to think of the right word.
Intimidatingly rich?
Scarily sophisticated?
But she seems to understand what I’m trying to say and simply nods. “Let me just take care of this tray, and I’ll be back in a snap.”
When she returns a few moments later, she has paper, a pen, and a lot to say.
She’s surprisingly well-versed in high society.
I don’t ask why.
By the time she’s called away by another passenger, I know the difference between the fish fork and the salad fork and what to do with my napkin.
You’d think my research-loving soul would be filled to the brim and overwhelmingly happy.
But, instead, I am even more nervous.
Because now, everything feels so much more real.
Holy shit, I’m going to Scotland.
I get off the plane in record time.
With zero sleep and a stomach full of caffeine, I follow the signs to baggage claim and breathe a sigh of relief when the carousel spits out my suitcase.
Maybe my luck is turning around.
It is a new day, after all.
With my luggage in hand, I head for the exit, ready to breathe my first breath of Scottish air, when I realize I have no idea where to meet my driver.
Was it inside the terminal or outside?
Is there a kiosk?
I pull out my phone and check the confirmation email once again, and that’s when I see it.
“No…” I whisper under my breath. Right there, clear as day, under my confirmation number is the date I booked it…and it’s tomorrow.
In my haste, I booked the wrong damn date. And last night, sleep-deprived and a little drugged, I didn’t even notice when I double-checked the email.
Does that mean…What about my hotel reservation?
I quickly pull up the hotel email and check the date. Releasing a relieved breath when I see today’s date on the check-in line, I remember my dad was actually the one who booked the room. At least one of us can book travel arrangements correctly.
