Page 12 of Scandal
I take a deep, calming breath.It’s going to be okay.
I don’t have a car service, but that’s okay. There are probably other options. This is a big city. There must be cabs and rental cars. Scratch that. I’m not driving on the opposite side of the road by myself in a foreign country.
I absentmindedly glance around the terminal, as if some sort of plan will reveal itself the longer I stand here, looking like a lost puppy.
Suddenly, a man comes up to me. He’s older, with silver hair and weathered skin. His smile is gentle, and his blue eyes meet mine warmly as he asks, “Are you lookin’ for a cab, lass?”
Well, how about that…
This day keeps getting better and better.
Chapter Three
ASHER
“My lord, I must insist that you stay here. It’s not safe!” I hear Cormac’s heavy accent over the hum of the engine just moments before he steps onto the path, blocking my exit. He looks a bit out of breath, his short silver hair slightly mussed, and his cashmere sweater is askew, as if he barely had time to throw it on.
That’s probably my fault.
My departure from the cottage after our discussion was rather…hasty.
He folds his arms across his chest, patiently waiting for me to be a good little boy and get out of the car.
I rev the Land Rover’s engine instead, just to fuck with him.
His eyes widen.
I stick my head out the window and motion for him to come closer. The wind whips through my dark hair and sends a chill down my spine. Los Angeles has made me soft when it comes to the chilly weather of my homeland.
“It’s just the village pub, Mac.”
“Even so,” he levels me with a stare that would have made my younger self quake in my boots. “You will still be recognized.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “No one in the village gives a shite about me,” I say as he walks up to the driver’s side door. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s hard not to notice how much he’s aged while I’ve been away. The lines on his face are deeper. The white in his hair is brighter, and he moves just a bit slower. I tried to forget this place when I was away, but it went on existing nonetheless. “I’ve been here for a month, and not a single photo has surfaced online.”
“That’s because you haven’t left the grounds.”
I smile wickedly. “Haven’t I?”
“You—” His words falter. “When? How?”
I casually shrug. “I have my ways.”
I’m lying. I haven’t left the grounds since the day the car service dropped my sorry arse at the front gate.
I’ve been too scared. Too worried I’d be seen.
Recognized.
Photographed.
But I can’t take it anymore. I’m withering away in here. I feel like a caged animal, and if I don’t get off these grounds—away from my parents and this…life, even for just a few hours—I’m going to go feral.
But I can’t tell Mac that. He’s already worried enough. He’s been my personal valet since I was a child, and even though I’ve been gone for well over a decade, he’s stayed. He could have gone back to his family home in the Highlands and retired. God knows my parents pay him enough.
But he didn’t, and I never understood why.
The selfish part of me is relieved he stayed. I’m not sure I could survive this place without him.
