Page 98 of Scandal
My mother may want us to be a distraction for these tossers, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for them.
“Oh?” It’s the first time she’s mentioned Isobel since that day at the garden party, when she drunkenly apologized to us and begged Mercury to be her friend.
I selfishly hoped it might be the last.
“She wants to get together for that girls’ night she mentioned at the garden party.”
I can’t help but smirk when I glance at her. She’s dressed in dark denim and sturdy leather boots today. The wool sweater and Dubarry coat give her a distinctly Scottish look.
It’s got me thinking all sorts of inappropriate things.
Things I want but shouldn’t.
“You don’t sound so sure about it,” I reply, glancing back to catch the glare of a camera lens.
“I just don’t know whether I trust her intentions,” she says with a frown. “Do you?”
I choose my words carefully. “I think I’m a little more jaded than you are after some of the shit I’ve been through.” Being constantly betrayed by people you know and trust, and stalked and preyed on by everyone else, will do that to a guy. “But I don’t want you to cut yourself off from the possibility of making friends while you’re here. Being stuck at Blackstone all the time can be isolating. Trust me, I know,” I say with a sad smile. “So if you want to invite her over one evening, I’ll support it. I might even order you take-away from the pub in town.”
“Wow.” She grins. “You really are the full package, aren’t you?” Then she lets out a dreamy sigh. “I am kind of dying for some greasy fries after weeks of salmon and filet mignon your mom puts on the menu.”
“It used to be worse. Even stuffier, if you can believe it. She’s lightened up over the years. More so since you arrived, I think.”
“Really?” She perks up.
“She’s not putting pasta on the menu for anyone else, love.”
That blush creeps up her cheeks, and she smiles softly. “I think there’s some goodness in her. Deep down, I think she believes everything she does comes from a place of love.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” I manage to say.
“No,” she says, shaking her head and squeezing my hand. “It doesn’t. Nor does it excuse the damage she’s done to you.”
It’s nothing I haven’t told myself a dozen times, but hearing her say it is oddly validating. For so long, the media has portrayed my childhood as a rosy, privileged existence, and in many ways it was. I’m the only son of Scotland’s wealthiest earl.I wanted for nothing. My parents gave me an excellent education and ensured every need was met.
Except for one.
For eighteen years, I felt emotionally bankrupt living in that drafty old house.
“She’s never told me she loves me,” I confess. “Neither of them has.”
Mercury comes to a complete stop in the middle of the trail, her eyes wide with compassion. “Never?”
I shake my head. “They both live their private lives as they do their public lives. No outward displays of affection, no emotional outbursts, and they always maintain decorum.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” I agree. “And for a child, it’s confusing.”
She rubs her thumb over mine. “Of course it is. Kids need the comfort of a simple hug after a bad day or the reassurance that their parents will always love them, even if they screw up.”
I stare at her, a strange flutter in my belly, and then suddenly blurt out, “You’d make a good mum.” Her eyes widen, probably in horror at my random outburst, a split second before I add, “Not now—obviously. I just meant…”
Fucking hell, Ash…
The corner of her mouth turns up. “I don’t know,” she muses. “The surprise-baby trope is one of my favorites. Could be an interesting twist for those guys over there.” She motions toward the paparazzi, who are doing a piss-poor job of hiding behind the bushes. They think that by concealing themselves, they’ll make us forget they’re around and act more naturally.
Like that’s possible.
