Page 126 of Scandal
My father is dying. It’s something I’ve known for a while, but standing here face-to-face with that reality is harder than I expected.
I always thought the worst part about his death would be inheriting his title. But, in actuality, it’s knowing I’m out of time.
We’re out of time.
Seeing the progress I’ve made with my mother since I returned, I can’t help but wonder…could he and I have done the same if we had another year or two? Even six months?
I take his hand. “I’m not afraid anymore, Da,” I tell him, smiling as I think about the text Mercury sent earlier today, rambling on about all the ideas she had for different charities we could support and environmental and historical causes we could work with. “I want to make a difference with this privilege our family’s been given, and I’m not sure if that will make you proud, but I’ve got to be my own man,” I say, thinking of the woman who changed my life. “And create my own legacy.”
He doesn’t respond. I don’t expect him to, but just as I’m about to pull away, I feel the slightest pressure, like he’s squeezing my hand.
And I smile.
I lost track of time sitting by my father’s bedside, and now I’m running late.
Afternoon tea has become something sacred to Mercury and me. It’s the only time during our hectic day when we can both sit down and enjoy an hour of alone time. Except for last week, when I acted like an asshole, I never miss it.
I’m also rarely late.
I check my watch as I walk down the hall, nearly colliding with a maid coming out of the dining room. “Sorry!” I apologize.
It’s already twenty minutes past three. I’m surprised Merc hasn’t sent a goofy selfie to demonstrate just how bored she is waiting for me. My favorite is when she sent a pic with her handunder her skirt and the text, “Tired of waiting. Starting without you.”
I’ve never run faster in my life.
But today, she’s silent. I don’t think I’ve done anything to upset her, but I pull up our chat history as I turn the corner toward the sitting room, just in case.
Her last message to me is a string ofX’s andO’s, followed by a detailed description of what she wants me to do to her tonight.
It involves me using the belt from her robe in a very unconventional way.
God, I love this woman.
Unlike the other guys in Manic, I never sought the fame we experienced, but as the lead singer, I ended up with most of it. For a while, it all went to my head—the women, the money, and the constant attention.
But then I realized I’d escaped one cage only to create another. I walked away from my birthright because of the spotlight it would bring me. Instead, I just made an even brighter one for myself.
So I gave up on the idea of love years ago.
I never would have guessed that on one of the worst nights of my life, when I thought I lost everything, I was actually flying home.
To her.
I open the door to the sitting room and step inside. “Hey, sorry I’m late—” I barely finish my sentence before I glance around the room and notice I’m alone.
She’s not here.
I check my phone once more. No new texts.
Well, that’s odd.
Maybe she’s not feeling well and is resting in our suite. Just as I’m about to head there, my phone starts ringing.
It’s Mac.
“Hey,” I greet him, already out the door and heading toward our suite. “Did Evie say anything to you about Merc not feeling well? She’s not in the sitting room for tea.”
“Asher.” The way he says my name makes me stop in my tracks. My given name.
