Page 100 of Scandal
“This is a good thing, Asher. He will have round-the-clock care without the risk of the press swarming the hospital. He’s safer at home.”
I have a million questions, but I slump my shoulders in defeat. “Okay,” I simply respond.
“You and Mercury can also return home. No need to keep parading you in front of the press when you have a full calendar of events awaiting you.”
Again, I want to respond, but I hold my tongue.
“The nurse just walked in. I have to go, but we’ll chat later,” she says, then hangs up before I can say goodbye.
Love you too, Mother…
I let out a frustrated sigh, then glance over at Mercury. Although the last twenty-four hours have been a bit challenging, with the constant barrage of press and a security detail at our heels, it still feels like the first time we’ve truly been on our own.
No personal assistants or valets.
No nagging countesses
No sick fathers.
“Give me another moment?” I ask.
Without even questioning me, she gives an encouraging nod. I pull out my phone again, and then I do something truly wild. I text my mother. I’m not even sure she’ll respond. She probably thinks texting is below her.
Me
I need another day. No press. No security. Mercury and I need a break. Please, Mum.
Maybe it’s the please at the end, but a moment later, my jaw nearly hits the forest floor when I get a text back from her.
Mother
I’ll make it happen.
She surprises me even further when a moment later, she sends a follow-up text informing me that her press secretary will message me with the details within the hour.
I stare at it, a little dumbfounded, then look up at Mercury, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “Didn’t you say something about french fries?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
ASHER
As promised, I have a detailed itinerary from my mother’s private secretary within the hour. I would send him my thanks, but that man is scary as fuck.
He is bloody good at his job, though.
By the time Mercury and I ventured into the nearby village for a wee bite to eat and a coffee, Connor had not only found us a place to stay for the night but also arranged transportation and had all our luggage packed and moved off the train.
The country cottage he found for us is just what I imagined when I asked for privacy. Perched on a small, private loch and surrounded by ancient trees, its cobblestone exterior and slate roof make it feel instantly warm and inviting. Nothing like the old, run-down cottage at Blackstone House.
No, this little gem has been well cared for over the years.
“It’s beautiful,” Mercury says as the driver pulls to a stop on the gravel drive in front of a weathered gate.
“Thought you might enjoy a night in a proper Scottish cottage,” I jest.
“Hey, don’t knock our homey little cottage.”
Maybe it’s the way she calls it ours or the memories it evokes. The many cold mornings I woke to her cuddled up to my side. The warm evenings we shared by the fire, with her head buried in her Kindle and mine in my tattered notebook.
