Page 49 of Scandal
But not because of the bacon.
Or at least notjustbecause of the bacon.
Asher steps into the cottage, freshly showered, his dark hair still dripping wet down his bare back. How he can walk from the bathhouse into the freezing morning air in nothing but sweats is beyond me.
But I’m going to be thankful I’m here to witness it.’Cause, damn.
I’ve never asked him about his tattoos, but I want to. I know the one on his chest is his family coat of arms, and the lyrics on the side of his torso? They’re from Manic’s first single to ever go platinum. But the rest are a mystery—one I wouldn’t mind solving.
Preferably with my tongue.
A blush creeps across my cheeks as he takes the seat across from me. “Been reading again, love?”
“What?” Then I realize he’s referring to the color of my cheeks. I toss a grape at his face. He dodges, and it flies toward the front door as it opens.
And the countess walks through.
She watches with pursed lips and a tilted chin as the grape hits her pastel pink Birkin bag and lands with a thud on the wooden floor.
Fuck my life. Seriously, what are the chances?
While both of us are still in sweats and hoodies, the Countess of Dunloch is dressed as if she’s off to meet the king.
For all I know, perhaps she is.
Her cream-colored suit and blush pink blouse match perfectly with the Hermès scarf expertly tied around her neck. I tug at the hoodie I desperately need to wash and try not to squirm.
I’m usually much more put together than this. There’s a reason I recognize the crazy-expensive bag on her arm and the vintage Chanel pin on her lapel. I love fashion, and I’m usually covered in it.
But there hasn’t exactly been a need for it in this run-down cottage. This is how I find myself greeting the countess.
Shit, do I need to stand up and bow? Curtsy?
“You could have knocked,” Asher says simply, looking wholly unimpressed as he pops a grape into his mouth and leans back in his chair.
His mother looks at his bare chest, scrunches her nose, and steps over the grape on the floor. “There’s no need to knock if the person at the door happens to be the owner,” she says confidently.
“True.” He shrugs. “But I can’t guarantee we’ll be dressed the next time you come by unannounced.”
Oh my god.My blush intensifies as I try very hard not to picture what he just described.
It does not work.
I feel very, very warm.
“Well, since there won’t be a next time, I doubt it will be an issue.”
Our heads snap up. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t think we’d let you two keep living here? You’re our son and heir.” She scoffs as if the idea is ludicrous. “What would people think if they knew?” I doubt the idea of her son living here bothers her that much, considering he’s been here for over a month. Her heir, though? That’s probably what she’s actually worried about.
“How would they even know?” He questions her logic.
She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You know how the staff talks.”
“Do they?” I say, surprising everyone in the room, myself included. There’s something about Asher’s parents talking down to him that irritates me and makes me forget I actually hate confrontation. Theodora’s gaze lands on me with the same look of curiosity she had that night at the gala, when she turned to me and forgot all about Isobel. “Because Asher has been home for weeks, and not a word has leaked to the press. Seems to me everyone here is pretty loyal.”
She stares me down, and when Isomehowdon’t give in, she lets out a heavy sigh, drops her very expensive Birken bag—one I would literally give my left tit to have—on the small table by the door, and takes the empty seat at the table.
