Page 23 of Scandal
Merc and I sit down at the table. It’s so small that I have to skip the trays and carry everything by hand.
“This is…” Mercury’s eyes widen as she takes it all in. There are the staples—eggs and sausage, toast, and jam. But there is also fruit and yogurt, orange scones, and fresh chocolate croissants.
“A lot?”
“Yeah.”
“Mac doesn’t know what you like,” I say, a bit of color creeping up my neck when I see her scoop up a bit of cream with her finger and lick it off. “So he brought a bit of everything. He left off the black pudding, it seems.”
She laughs. “I appreciate that.” I watch as she starts to fill her plate with fruit, hesitating a moment before she grabs a scone. “Mac is your…private valet?” The way she says private valet is comical. It’s as if she’s saying something in a foreign language for the first time.
“Yes,” I answer, trying not to grin. I go straight for the eggs and sausage. “Well, he used to be when I was young. Now he works at the main house. I guess he’s on loan for the duration of my stay.”
“And how long might that be?” she inquires as I start to pour tea for us both.
I hesitate. “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t come here with a plan. I just knew it was somewhere I could hide.”
She takes a sip of her tea and sits back in her chair. I try not to notice the way her shorts have ridden up on her thigh, or how good it felt to have those legs pressed against me this morning. “You weren’t hiding yesterday. You were headed toward the village, in plain sight, where anyone could see you. Why?”
It isn’t an accusation. It’s merely a question.
“There’s a reason I left this place, Merc. There’s a reason I’m staying in the middle of the woods, in this shitty excuse for a cottage,” I tell her, feeling more vulnerable than I have in a long time. “It’s suffocating. They’re suffocating.”
“Really?” She feigns surprise. “But your father seemed so nice.”
My lip quirks before I turn serious again. “You didn’t have to do that—lie for me, that is. I appreciate it, and I’ll remember that sourpuss look on his face when you told him you were my girlfriend, but there’s no need for us to keep that charade going.”
I swear I see her flinch, but she hides it by asking, “What about tonight?”
“I’ll tell him you had to run back home for a family emergency or a work thing. You don’t need to sit through a boring family dinner for me, Merc.” I swallow, my throat suddenly thick. “Go home. Go be with your family.”
When her expression shifts, I know I’ve made a grave mistake.
“But I thought you were part of that family, Ash?”
Yep. Massive mistake.
“You are. I mean, I am. But I’m good. We’re good.” Since when did I start stumbling over my words like a pimple-faced teenager trying to score?Rolling Stoneonce called me the lyrical poet of our generation. And now I can barely string two words together?
A slow smile spreads across her face as she pops a grape into her mouth. “Good. Now, what time is dinner?”
Hendrix is going to fucking kill me.
Chapter Six
MERCURY
Dinner was at seven sharp.
When Asher told me it was a formal affair, I thought he was joking. “Like tuxedos and gowns?”
Luckily, it’s not that formal. Men are expected to wear suits, and women are supposed to wear cocktail dresses. I didn’t ask what you wear if you identify as neither. Asher’s parents didn’t strike me as the accepting type.
I guess it’s a good thing I’m a chronic overpacker, because I happened to throw in the perfect dress at the last minute.
As I step back into the cottage, just minutes before we have to leave, I swear I see Asher do a double-take at said dress, then clear his throat and politely say, “You look nice.”
Nice.
