Page 135 of Scandal
“I’m sure they’re just relieved you’re safe. Like we all are,” she says with a reassuring nod. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Good night, Mother.”
“Good night…” Mercury hesitates. “My lady.”
“Call me Theodora.” Then she smiles wickedly. “For now.”
After several tearful conversations with her family, including one particularly difficult talk with her parents, Mercury can barely keep her eyes open when our dinner trays finally arrive from the kitchen.
“Can you just feed it to me in bed?” she groans, shuffling out of the en suite bathroom in a pink robe and matching slippers.
“If you think that sounds like some sort of chore, you would be highly mistaken.” Decision made, I quickly grab her tray and put it on my side of the bed. “Come on,” I motion to her to get under the covers. “Let’s do this.”
“I was kidding!” She laughs, although the sound isn’t as joyful as it usually is, and the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’m not. Now get your arse over here. You need to eat.”
She settles next to me on the bed, pulling the heavy duvet up to her waist. Then she turns to face me. I offer her a piece of cheese from the fruit plate the chef sent up, knowing it’s one of Mercury’s favorites. She takes it and nibbles on the end. “Your Scottish comes out when you’re bossy.”
I’ve also changed my clothes, but rather than a robe, I’ve opted for a loose pair of sweats and a T-shirt. “I’m quite certain I’m Scottish, whether or not I’m bossing you around. It’s the gentlemanly side of me that comes and goes depending on your level of sass.”
“You like my sass.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I like everything about you.”
“Even my naïvety?” Her lip wobbles a little when she says it.
“What?” I lean forward, food forgotten as I take her hand. “What do you mean?”
“I just keep wondering if he’d approached someone else—someone less naïve and trusting—would they have gotten in that car?”
“Mercury, no. Don’t think like that. He had us all fooled. Even Mitch, apparently.” Lewis had filled me in on some missing details he’d discovered since the arrest. Ian Nicholson was indeed the brother of Fiona McRae, Mitch’s fiancée. They shared the same father but had different mothers, which explains their last names.
Mitch met Ian at a bar where he was working after he got out of the military. When Ian introduced the former bass player to his sister, it was almost love at first sight, or at least that’s how Mitch’s fiancée described it when the police spoke with her when she came to clear his name.
When Ian ran off a few months ago, Mitch and Fiona searched everywhere for him. They had no idea he was working as a guard at Blackstone House.
Or that he had such nefarious plans once he got here.
“I knew something wasn’t right when I reached the car. But, by then, it was too late.”
“You did nothing wrong,” I say, feeling that lump in my throat again. “This is not your fault.”
She must notice the change in my expression because she squeezes my hand. Her eyes meet mine, and then she says, “It’s not yours either.” I try to look away, but she catches my chin with her other hand. “You know that, right?”
Do I, though?
“One of my biggest fears about being in a relationship was that the attention I attract could endanger my partner,” I tell her. “And barely three months in, and even after I walked awayfrom the band, someone tried to hurt you, Merc. How is that not my fault?”
She leans over, and for a moment I think she’s reaching for a grape or a piece of fruit, but then I see her hands curl around the edge of the tray and lift it. She turns and sets it on the table on her side before shifting off the covers to wrap one of her silky legs over my waist to straddle me.
It’s not sexual, or at least it’s not intended to be. Her forehead presses against mine, and I sense the steady rhythm of her heart. I breathe in and out, closing my eyes for a moment, and simply let myself feel her.
Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and she rests her head against mine. “You are not responsible for the choices of others,” she says softly. “What Ian did was on him. It was just a troubled man making a bad decision. The same goes for Meg and the countless others who thought they could take advantage of you over the years. Being who you are doesn’t give them the right, Asher. And it doesn’t make you liable for their crimes.”
“I know you’re right,” I tell her. Logically, I know she’s right. It’s just hard to get my heart to agree, especially when I see that bruise on her cheek. “I just hate that you were in danger.”
“Then we’ll do better,” she says. “We’ll have Lewis review the security protocol and figure out what went wrong. And if we have to, we’ll make adjustments when we leave the property. We’ll figure it out.”
