Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
MERCURY
Pres
Omg, Merc. Are you like a princess now?
Cash
You sound like Taylor. And it’s a PR stunt, remember? It’s fake—kind of like your marriage.
Hendrix
Better be a fucking PR stunt.
Pres
Okay, first of all, always happy to be compared to my niece. Secondly, nothing about my marriage is fake. Well, not anymore.
Pres
Wait, is that where you got the idea, Merc? Am I a trendsetter?
I think about it for a second. Shit? Is that where I got the idea? My sister and her husband, Hollis, accidentally got married in Vegas last year. That’s what happens when you add years of unresolved feelings and a whole lot of tequila.
Unbeknownst to us, they were sort of faking it for months before they really fell for each other and renewed their vows on the beach in my parents’ backyard.
Me
Guys, I’m not a princess, or a duchess, or a debutante, which are apparently very different. I’m just helping Asher out.
Myles
A debutante is just a rich girl being fawned over. A duchess is like, noble and shit.
Hendrix
…
Myles
I’ve played a lot of weird roles, guys.
Pres
That’s fair.
Cash
How are you feeling about everything?
I’m not surprised Cash is the first to ask. He’s known among my siblings as the Grinch, but they don’t know him as I do. On the outside, he can be gruff and rude, but he truly has a heart of gold.
It’s just a little broken.
Me
Nervous. I don’t want to embarrass myself. Or him.
Pres
You won’t. If any of us were born to be a princess, it’s you, Merc.
I roll my eyes.
Me
I am not a princess, Pres.
Pres
Will you let me just live out this Princess Diaries fantasy in my mind, please? Wait, are you going to get a royal makeover?
I look at my reflection in the mirror of the salon.
Me
Sort of.
Pres
I must know everything! Go away, boys. It’s sister time!
Cash
I wasn’t paying attention anyway.
Myles
Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.
Hendrix
Tell Asher we need to talk.
Before I have a chance to reply to Hen’s rather gruff response, my phone is ringing. I swipe left to answer the FaceTime call.
“Oh my god, you really are getting a makeover!” Presley practically gushes as her eyes take in the foils in my hair and the black cape around my neck.
“I’m just getting a few lowlights to add some dimension and a trim. That’s it,” I say, biting my bottom lip.
“That’s it?” Her brow rises.
She somehow always seems to know when I’m lying or hiding something. Either I’m just as bad at lying as Hendrix, or it’s one of her superpowers as my big sister.
“We’re going shopping too,” I say quietly.
My sister squeals.
“Shhh!” I practically shove the phone into my armpit to keep the people in the salon from turning around.
“Sorry,” she whispers between soft giggles, holding her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I’ll behave.”
Doubtful. There’s only one of us who ever behaves, and it’s not her.
“Is he with you?”
I shake my head. “No. He wanted to be, but—”
“Right.” Pres nods, clearly catching on to my uneasiness. There is only so much I can say in the salon. “I understand. Easier said than done.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s he doing, by the way? This can’t be easy for him, after everything else that has happened.”
“He’s…managing.” I wish I could say more, but how do you tell your sister that you’re a little worried about your fake boyfriend taking over his father’s earldom in the middle of a noisy salon?
“So, Dad mentioned something about an event?”
Our conversation with my parents went better than I expected. They were surprised, to say the least, but also understanding, especially when I reminded them this is what I came here to do, even if it’s not exactly what they had in mind.
My dad assured me he’d handle everything at work, and I could do as much or as little remote work as I wanted in the meantime.
Asher was super nervous about breaking the news that he wouldn’t be returning.
My dad was obviously disappointed, but he understood, especially when Asher revealed his father’s health news.
There are a multitude of reasons I love my father, but seeing him set aside his professional side to focus on Asher’s well-being is something I’ll never forget.
He always puts his clients’ mental and physical well-being above all else, and that’s why he’ll always be the most sought-after manager in the industry.
Presley obviously knows what kind of event, but I appreciate her being vague about the particulars. If Scottish salons are anything like American salons, the women here are likely to be nosy as hell.
“Yeah, tonight.”
“And are you ready?”
“I will be,” I say. Once I get a dress, have my hair done, and have my nails painted.
And my nerves are under control.
After another embarrassing morning of waking up curled up next to a man I definitely wasn’t supposed to be spooning, we spent several hours reviewing etiquette and protocols.
Asher said it was good for him to review, too, since he was a bit rusty. I doubted it. He seemed pretty perfect at everything he did, but I appreciated him saying so.
“Well, I’d love to say I’m here for whatever you need—fashion advice, dinner conversation, wine recommendations—but this might be a little out of my depth.”
I snort. “This is out of most people’s depth, Pres.” I had to keep my mouth from dropping to the floor last night when Asher’s father casually mentioned that their cellar had wine dating back to Napoleon’s time. And here I am thinking the Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s is pretty good.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not here for you, though,” she continues, giving me a meaningful smile. “If you need to talk or vent, I’m here, okay?”
I nod, feeling suddenly emotional. Pres and I haven’t been as close lately as we used to be.
In college, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend.
When things got overwhelming, and I needed a break from schoolwork or people, her door was always open, with junk food and bad TV.
When I graduated and started working at the studio, I guess I developed a bit of tunnel vision, and my time with my sister suffered as a result.
“Thanks, Pres.”
“Of course.” She beams. “Now, don’t forget to send me pics, or I’ll be sad. ’Kay?”
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?”
“He patted me on the head and asked if I wanted his autograph.”
“Tell me you said no?”
“I said no.” I grin. “I was a lot more impetuous back then.”
“And you’re not now?”
“Not usually. I’m incredibly boring.”
“There is nothing boring about you, Mercury Creed.” He catches my gaze, and I swear the air around us starts to sizzle. This can’t be one-sided, can it?
This connection?
“We’re here, my lord,” the driver says, and I instantly tear my eyes away from his. It feels like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind.
“Right, thank you,” Asher answers, pushing a hand through his dark hair.
“Your mother has asked that you exit separately from Miss Creed.”
“She what?”
The driver shrinks back into his seat. “I am supposed to take Miss Creed to the staff entrance.” He pauses. “I’m sorry, my lord. That’s just what I was told.”
Asher lets out a heavy sigh. “No, of course. It’s not your fault.”
“She doesn’t want us to be seen together?” I question. “But I thought—”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter what she wants. We’re leaving this car together.”
He offers me his hand.
I smile, taking it. “Together.”
“Here’s what’s about to happen,” he says in a calm, clear voice.
“I’m going to get out and walk around the car to your side.
I’ll open your door and offer you my hand.
Take it, step out, and we’ll pose briefly for the cameras, then walk inside.
There’s tight security, so it shouldn’t be a zoo, but you never know. ”
“Okay.”
“Do you remember what I told you at your father’s event back in LA?”
I smile and nod. “The trick is to act like you don’t give a shit.”
“Exactly.”
Then he pulls our joined hands to his lips and kisses my damn knuckles like I’m the most precious thing in existence right before he opens the door and steps out of the limo into a sea of flashing lights.
Asher Knight is officially back, and soon the whole world will know.
He steps out of the limo, adjusts his sleek black tuxedo jacket, and waves. The cameras flash as he smiles and steps away from the limo to walk to the other side.
My side.
I swear the whole world holds its breath as he reaches for the door handle, opens it, and holds out his hand.
Or maybe it’s just me?
The shit-eating grin on his face has my stomach in somersaults as I step out of the limo and join him. The press were fairly tame up until now, but the moment they see me? Instant pandemonium.
“Who’s your date, Asher?”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“Is she the reason you left the band?”
Asher smiles through it all, even though I know it hurts.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he says softly against the shell of my ear.
“You don’t look half bad yourself.”
“Oh, I know.” He chuckles, and I breathe a sigh of relief to see a genuine smile on his face. “In fact, I think the exact word you used was delicious.”
My cheeks instantly flush. “I was referring to the food tonight,” I lie. “I said I hope the food is delicious. I just mumbled the first part.”
“Right, of course. I forgot you have a tendency to mumble when discussing food.” I discreetly elbow him in the ribs.
He smiles so broadly that tiny creases form in the corners of his eyes.
“Come on,” he says, slipping his hand into mine.
“They’ve gotten what they need. Let’s go inside. I need to have a word with my mother.”