Page 58 of Scandal
“I just needed to grab something,” he says, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a pair of boxers before he heads back into the bathroom.
“So Asher Knight doesn’t go commando? Huh. I really thought he would be the type.” We’re all silent as Zara taps on her lips, seemingly deep in thought. She blinks, then looks at her screen, finally noticing us all staring at her. “What? I’m not wrong, am I?”
We all burst out laughing and then proceed to discuss, in depth, who else in Hollywood the girls think goes with or without underwear.
It does nothing to prepare me for today.
But it does everything to soothe my soul because this is what I realize I was missing in my life.
My sister. Friends. Connections.
And all I had to do was travel halfway around the world to realize it.
“One of these days, I’m going to stop comparing everything toDownton Abbey, I swear,” I say, gazing out at the vast green lawn behind the historic estate. There must be a hundred people scattered about in beautiful sundresses and dashing suits.
And don’t even get me started on the hats—so many extravagant hats in every color and shape you can think of.
I never thought I could pull off a hat or a fascinator, as they call them, but when Theodora’s personal stylist shared the plans with me, I fell in love immediately. It’s coral pink to match mylong-sleeve wrap dress and has just enough flair so I don’t feel ridiculous, yet I still feel powerful.
“Perhaps we just need to broaden your horizons when it comes to TV shows,” Asher says, looking so freaking hot in his coat and tails. He’s even wearing a damn top hat, which somehow makes him look even dreamier.
I look up at him, slightly amused. “To be honest, I never made it past the first season. I started it during winter break one year and never had time to go back. But there are like a billion seasons and like four movies! Who has that much time?”
His lips twitch. “People who don’t work sixty hours a week.”
“I seem to remember you being one of those people,” I challenge. A sadness settles over him, and I instantly regret my words. I reach out and place a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
He shrugs. “I’m the one who walked away.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Yes and no, but it doesn’t matter.” He looks lost for a moment, and it makes me think of the guitar he left at the cottage. “I would have had to come back here anyway.”
“Isn’t there a way you can do both?” I wonder aloud. His eyes meet mine. “Can’t you be the rock starandthe earl?”
“I’m not sure the world is ready for that just yet.” But when he says it, his gaze goes straight to his mother, and I can’t help but wonder whether he’s really talking about her world.
“Come on,” I say, wrapping my arm around his, amazed at how at ease I am around him. Less than two weeks ago, we’d barely spent a few hours together, and our conversations mostly revolved around music. Now I know how he takes his tea—one sugar, a dash of milk—and how he smells after a shower, like rain and pine. We aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, as everyone here assumes, but we’re something, and I’m glad to have him with me. “Let’s go grab a drink.”
We cross the lawn toward the area where the bar has been set up, but are quickly intercepted by one of the last people I want to see. Isobel looks beautiful, as always, in a floral A-line dress, blush heels, and a matching fascinator.
She instantly raises her free hand, the other holding a glass of champagne. “I’m not here to cause a scene. I just wanted to apologize. Formally, that is.”
“Your mother already took care of that,” Asher says pointedly.
She did? When?
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, a note she had her maid write isn’t exactly personal, is it? I thought I might try a little harder.”
She could have made a little more effort before she started on the champagne, because Isobel seems pretty wasted.
“Well, we appreciate it,” Asher says, giving a curt nod. “Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse us?—”
“I didn’t come to apologize to you, Asher,” she says, before turning her gaze to me. “I came to apologize to her.”
“Oh, um…” I stutter, feeling light-years away from the confident woman I was the night of the gala. Catty Isobel I can handle, but drunk and vulnerable Isobel is throwing me off. “There’s no need to apologize, Isobel. We’re fine. No harm, no foul.”
“Truly?” Her eyes widen in relief. “Because I would love for us to be friends.”
