Page 91 of Scandal
And now, we’re on a luxury train, enjoying the fanciest breakfast I’ve ever had, on our way to the Highlands for a three-day tour.
It doesn’t seem right.
But the countess insisted.
“It’s nothing,” Asher insists with a shrug. I give him a pointed stare until he finally sighs. “Sometimes I get weird texts from a crazy fan, so I have to change my number.”
“So you got another one? A crazy text?”
He nods, taking a sip of tea. “I sent it to security, and they didn’t find anything, so I’m not worried.”
I watch him carefully. “But you still got a new phone?”
He stares a little too long at the table, then looks up at me and gives an almost convincing smile. “Better safe than sorry.”
“How do they even get your number in the first place?”
Shrugging, he leans back in his seat. He’s dressed in what I’d call designer-casual today. Expensive dark denim, a collared shirt, and a wool sweater. It’s a far cry from the Henley and ripped jeans he wore when I first arrived, but after the top hat, I’m convinced he can look good in just about anything. “I wish I knew. It’d be nice not to have to change my number every six months.”
A waiter comes to take my empty plate, and I thank him. He does the same for Asher, and then without a word, they all vacate, leaving just the two of us. His eyes graze over me, briefly pausing on my mouth before he takes another sip of his tea.
Other than when we both collapsed on the bed last night from exhaustion and the mad dash to get ready this morning, this is the first time we’ve been alone in more than twenty-four hours.
“How are you feeling? About everything?” I ask, trying not to get distracted.
By the time all of Stuart’s tests came back yesterday, and he was alert enough for visitors, it was already late in the evening. Dr. Wright’s suspicions were confirmed, and unfortunately, it wasn’t something as simple as dehydration that caused the earl to collapse. It was an infection. Quite a severe one, from the sound of it.
He would likely be in the hospital for a week or more.
Since I wasn’t family and the hospital was already stretching the rules by letting me into the relative’s room, I stayed back while Asher and Theodora went to his room.
When he came back, he was quiet. I held his hand, letting him know I was there if he needed me, but gave him space to sort out his feelings.
Everyone processes things differently. Asher wasn’t a talker, at least not right away. He seems to handle situations best when he can step back before talking it out. I, however, tend to attack a problem head-on, so hopefully I’m not rushing him by diving into heavy talk already.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he answers, which makes me immediately think, yes, I am rushing him. But then he follows it up with, “I’m kind of relieved to be away from it all and here with you. Is that wrong?”
“No,” I answer, taking a sip of my plain Earl Grey. I still prefer a strong cup of coffee, but I’ve developed a decent appreciation for tea since I arrived, especially when it’s shared with the Scot across from me. “My mom always told us growing up that all our feelings were valid, even the ones that made us uncomfortable.”
“I’ve always liked your mother.”
I smile, feeling a twinge of homesickness. I’ve talked with my parents here and there, and I text my mom all the time, but it’s not the same as seeing them. “She’s quite fond of you too,” I say, remembering our chat in her room before I left. “She’s actually the one who convinced me to come here.”
“Convinced you?” he says with a sly grin. “You mean you didn’t rush onto the plane the second your father suggested it?”
“No,” I admit with a snort. “I thought they were insane for suggesting I go. We’d only met once?—”
“Twice,” he corrects me, and I feel my cheeks heat up instantly. Why does everything he say sound so damn filthy?
“Twice,” I agree. “But even so, the idea seemed ludicrous.”
“So what wise words did Mama Creed share with you that suddenly made you change your tune? Did she charm you with the idea of seeing the Scottish countryside?” he asks, motioning toward the window. The Lowlands are slowly giving way to the rugged Highlands. It’s breathtaking—enough reason for someone my age to want to come here.
“No,” I answer.
His brow arches. “Did she remind you I’m a devilishly handsome rock star who needed rescuing?”
“If she knew you were living in that derelict cottage, she might have.” I laugh. “But no. She told me you needed a friend.”
