Page 139 of Scandal
Every day we spend together, I fall a little more in love with her.
Every day we’re together, I notice something new.
Yesterday, it was the tiny freckle on her shoulder.
Today, it’s the way her left brow is slightly higher than her right. But only when she’s smiling, like she is now.
She brings her hands to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she exclaims softly as she takes in the room. “Asher.”
I may not have done a major renovation, but I have done a little temporary redecorating. Covering almost every inch of the room are dozens of daffodils and tiny twinkling lights.I originally wanted to go with candles, but considering the condition of this place, I decided to err on the side of caution.
“It’s beautiful,” she gasps.
“So are you.”
Although it’s unseasonably cold outside for early December, she’s wearing a long-sleeved dark-blue dress, tights, and leather boots. She sheds her wool coat and hangs it on the rack by the door before stepping further into the room.
So overwhelmed by the flowers, it takes her a moment to notice my attire, and when she does, her cheeks flush instantly.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen her turn so red.
“What are you thinking about, love?” I grin as her eyes roam over my bare chest and low-slung black jeans.
“I’m thinking my younger self would probably expire right here from the sight of you in those pants.”
I realized a while ago that ever since Mercury arrived in Scotland, I’ve only been one thing—earl or heir apparent. I left my old life behind, and while I was mostly okay with that, I know there was this side of me she used to fantasize about.
And I want her to have all of me.
“Well, maybe your current self can hold off on fainting, because I have something important to do.”
When I reach behind me and grab my guitar, I hear her whisper, “Oh my god.”
Then I flip open the old leather notebook.
“Even before I knew what it was for, I carried around a notebook like this. It started in boarding school after an English teacher told me I had a knack for poetry. So, at first, that’s what I thought I was writing—poetry. I was so into learning the guitar that I never really considered it as anything else. But then, over time, I quickly realized it wasn’t poetry. They were song lyrics.”
I take a deep breath.
“When I left LA that night, after yet another scandal, I was ready to walk away from it all, but then you showed up. And I suddenly had to pick up my pen again. There were nights when the words just poured out of me. I had no clue what I was writing until I reached the end and realized I’d written a love song. For you.”
“Asher.” Tears stream down her face.
“I’ve written songs about love before, including lust and regret. But I’ve never written a love song like this, and I’d love to sing it for you. Would you like to hear it?”
MERCURY
Would I like to hear it?
Is the sky blue? Are puppies adorable?
Asher stands there bare-chested in his ripped jeans, holding an acoustic guitar, telling me he just wrote his first love song…for me.
And he wants to know if I want to hear it?
“Yes,” I manage to croak out, my throat thick with emotion.
“Okay, but there’s a catch.”
