Page 38 of Scandal
I snort out a laugh. “Okay.”
“Oh, and Merc?”
“Yeah?”
“Ignore Hen,” she says. “It’s not his place to say who you can or cannot be with. He tried to play the big brother card when he found out about Hollis and me, and I made sure to put him in his place real quick.”
My face flushes. “But I’m not…we’re not…”
“I know,” she says, giving me a knowing grin. “But just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
She shrugs. “Things…change.”
After all the primping and pampering today, I have to admit, I do feel a little like a princess.
Especially when I step into this icy-blue gown. The A-line design makes the satin flow effortlessly down my body like water, and the delicate V-neck bodice shows just enough while remaining appropriate for the upscale event.
I’ve never worn anything so elegant, and the moment I saw it in the store, I knew it was exactly what I needed for tonight.
Now, if I could just get the damn thing zipped up.
This has got to be some sort of cruel joke. A woman should be able to zip up her own damn dress.
I let out a frustrated huff, and that’s exactly how Asher finds me—with one hand pressed against the bodice of the dress to keep it from falling to my waist, and the other stretched comically over my shoulder.
I swear I hear him mutter something like “fucking hell” under his breath before he clears his throat and says, “Do you need assistance?”
I turn to face the wall so I can rearrange my bodice. “Um…yes. Thank you.”
I hear his shoes on the floor as he walks toward me. Each step makes my heart flutter a little faster.
No one has ever made me feel the way he does.
I used to think it was a stupid crush, something I’d grow out of like every infatuated girl does when she meets the right person.
But I never did.
I tried to tell myself I was over him, that meeting him cured me of such lofty fantasies.
It didn’t.
Now, I fear, as I stand here with his breath on my back and his hands at my waist, that I’m not going to have a hard time keeping track of what is real and what is fantasy.
“My mother said they had security protocols, but this is insane,” Asher says as the limo is thoroughly inspected and our phones are confiscated.
Our driver is finally given permission to pull forward into the estate. Yes, we’ve left one estate just to go to another.
I’m starting to wonder if all I’ll see of Scotland is fancy houses.
“I thought the Grammys were intense with all the bodyguards and hired security, but this is crazy.”
Asher’s brow piques in curiosity. “You’ve been to the Grammys?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard this story. My dad loves to tell people how his little girl marched right up to the artist of the year and informed him that his album was pitchy and pedantic. I was ten.”
A laugh bursts out of him, and I can’t help but smile. “What did he do?”
