Page 62 of Scandal
I’ve always wondered why my father never carried on the tradition.
Mercury brakes a little too hard, and we quickly come to an abrupt stop. The seat belt presses into my chest, and I groan as she grimaces and apologizes. “Sorry!” she says over her shoulder. “My car at home isn’t this touchy.”
“It is a little fiddly,” I agree.
“Fiddly?” Her mouth tips up in amusement.
“Yes, fiddly. You know, sensitive, tricky, difficult?”
“Oh, I know what the word means,” she assures me with a snort. “I’ve just never heard you say it. It doesn’t sound very rock and roll.”
“What if I used it in a sentence like, ‘This zipper on your dress is acting a bit fiddly, and I can’t wait any longer, so I’m just going to rip it off you instead.’” Her gaze widens, and I grin. “Does that sound more…rock and roll?”
“Um…yep,” she says, barely able to speak.
“Excellent.” I chuckle. I’ve made thousands of women blush throughout my career. I’ve seen women get so flustered in my presence that they forget their own names. But nothing makes me feel like an actual king than when I render Mercury Creed speechless. “Ready for a picnic?”
With backpack in tow, we both step out of the Rover and head toward the loch. It’s on the small side, although quite a bit larger than the wee pond by the cottage that’s barely bigger than a puddle.
The sun is out, a rarity in late spring. I pull out a large wool blanket and set it down next to the water. We both kick off our shoes, and while Mercury settles in, I start pulling out the food.
As I finish laying out the cheeses and fruits, I find her staring at the water, leaning back on her elbows. She turns her head toward me. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Aye, it’s always been a favorite spot of mine,” I say, reaching out to pluck a daffodil from nearby and hand it to her.
She smiles and tucks it behind her ear. “So is this where you bring all your fake girlfriends?”
“No.” I grin. “Just the special ones.”
“Did Hendrix ever tell you that Presley and Hollis faked their marriage in the beginning?”
“You mean that quickie wedding in Vegas wasn’t real?” I pretend to be shocked, making her laugh. “I think I heard your dad or Cash talking about it when the invites for their renewal ceremony went out, but I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my business.”
“Hollis was Hendrix’s best friend in high school. He even lived with us for a while, and I think he and Presley sort of had a crush on each other or something.”
My gut tightens because I see the similarities. Does she?
“After they reconnected, the two of them met up in Vegas, where they got drunk and married.”
“Why did they stay married? Is Hollis a duke or something?”
Mercury snorts, shaking her head. “The bar was struggling, and she thought Hollis could help her out of a jam. I think there’s more to it, but she won’t tell me.”
“She doesn’t trust you?”
“No, she does. I think she’s just embarrassed. She’s always struggled with a fear of inadequacy, which is crazy. She has this notion that, out of the five of us, she’s the family fuck-up.”
“That is crazy. She’s just as capable and smart as the rest of you.”
“She is.” She smiles, pleased with my assessment of her big sister. “She started working at the bar at eighteen, and from day one, she set out to prove to our dad she could run it on her own. It took a lot of work and several years, but she finally got her wish, and now the bar is flourishing. I know it wasn’t easy,but I’ve always looked up to her for that, for her strength and resilience.”
“I think those are traits all of you possess. I’ve seen it in Hendrix and Zander. You. It must be a Creed thing.”
“Maybe.”
“Speaking of Creeds,” I say, my eyes roaming over her body. “Where’s your tattoo?”
“My tattoo?” She plays dumb.
