Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
MERCURY
A couple of months ago, my brother added his girlfriend, Zara, to the sibling group chat. None of us minded, since we all love Zara and already consider her family. A few weeks later, Presley added Hollis, and it was like one big happy family in there.
Until my brother and sister had to go and ruin everything.
Honestly, it was mostly Hendrix’s fault.
It started with small things, like Presley asking what Hollis wanted for dinner. No big deal, right? It usually led to a conversation about everyone’s favorite meal, and then we’d all get hungry, and order takeout.
Or Hendrix would say something cute to Zara—or about Zara—and we’d all send gagging emojis…because if you can’t tease your lovesick brother, what’s the point of having a sibling?
But then there was the time he accidentally sent her an incredibly personal text in the group chat, which included some very scarring photos. Not sure how he mixed up the name of the group chat—No Creed Left Behind—with his girlfriend’s name, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.
And Cash draws the line at dick pics. He made a rule right then and there—sibling chat was for siblings only. No significant others and no spouses. Poor Hollis got the boot because my horny brother didn’t take the time to check who he was texting before hitting send.
Anyway, since then, in retaliation—Presley and Cash have what I would call a somewhat combative sibling relationship—Pres created a second group chat for the women in the Creed family.
I’m not sure how that vindicates Hollis, since he wasn’t invited to the new all-female chat, but she insists it makes her feel better.
We’re still choosing a name. I haven’t really been involved in that, or much else related to the chat, honestly.
But hopefully they’ll forgive me for that, because I really need them to answer this FaceTime call, even though it’s—I check the clock on my phone and do quick mental math—eleven in LA. The sun is barely up here. But Asher is in the shower in the adjoining en suite, and I need a pep talk.
I hit the FaceTime button and hope they aren’t all sleeping.
My sister and Zara are the first ones to answer.
“Hey!” Presley’s chipper voice asks at the same time Zara asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure Zara. I should have known she’d go straight into disaster mode. I still can’t believe my wacky brother is dating a doctor. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” they answer in unison, then laugh.
“Hollis is at the club tonight, so I’m waiting up for him,” Pres explains.
“We just finished a movie,” Zara says, right before I hear my brother shout from another room. “No, we didn’t!” Zara turns bright red, smoothing her frizzy brown hair. “Well, we’re about halfway. We, uh…got hungry.”
Hungry. Sure.
My sister snorts. “Okay. Anyway—” But before she can continue, someone else joins the call.
“Hey, guys,” a groggy-looking Elena says. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a fuzzy robe over an old Manic at Midnight shirt. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, shit. Were you sleeping?”
“No,” she says immediately, then adds, “Sort of. I was reading Marisa a bedtime story and fell asleep halfway through. Zander left a little note that said I looked so cute, he just let me sleep. But that was over three hours ago. I missed dinner!”
Presley gasps, then giggles. “Not dinner!”
“We were going to order Chinese.” Elena pouts as she groggily moves through their massive kitchen. “Now I’m hungry and—” She’s the one who gasps, and it’s genuine. “Oh my god, I love that man!”
“Did he order it anyway and put it in the fridge for you?” I guess. Zander may be Hendrix’s best friend, but he’s more like family to all of us. The world may know him as Zander Tate, the famous rock star, but I will always know him as Zander Green, a big softie and the nicest guy around.
“He did!” She nearly weeps with joy. “Now I can’t decide what I want more—the food or to thank him for the food, if you know what I mean.”
“We all know what you mean, babe.” Zara laughs.
“While you decide, can we maybe focus on why I called all of you?”
“Yes!” Elena’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god, Merc. Of course. Blame the mommy brain. You have our full attention. Tell us all what’s going on. Don’t you just love Scotland? Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Well, I haven’t seen much yet, but yes,” I say, thinking of the long walks with Asher, the nights by the fire, and dancing in his arms. “It’s wonderful.”
“You look stressed,” my sister says, leaning back against a pillow on her couch. She and Hollis just moved into their dream house on the beach in Malibu after months of remodeling, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so content and happy.
“Yeah,” Elena agrees. “Whose ass do we need to kick?”
“No one,” I assure her. “Well, maybe my personal assistant, but that’s only because she’s way too good at her job.” I thought I was organized. Evie put my lists and endless hours of research to shame, and I can’t decide if I love or hate her for it.
“You have a personal assistant? That’s so cool,” she starts to say, but then she must see me scowl and changes her tune. “I mean, oh my god. What a pain in the ass!”
I giggle because this is exactly what I needed. This week has been so stressful and so jam-packed that I just needed a little goofiness from my family.
“We have a garden party today, and it’s not even that big of a deal, but after all the history and etiquette lessons this week—”
“Hold up.” Elena waves a hand. “Etiquette lessons? Did you really think we were gonna let you just roll past something like that?”
“I heard history and etiquette lessons,” Zara chimes in.
“Oh my god, it really is the fucking Princess Diaries!” my sister gushes.
“I think you need to rewatch that movie, Pres.” I snort. “I’m not sixteen, and I’m not inheriting a fictional country from my long-lost grandmother.”
“Not that you know of,” she quips.
“Tell us about etiquette lessons,” Elena demands.
“It’s surprisingly intense. It’s all about how to address nobility, the proper way to curtsy, and what not to talk about in polite society. How to eat—”
“They’re giving you lessons on how to eat?” Zara sputters.
“Yes,” I groan. “Apparently, biting into a roll is considered barbaric.”
“I guess I’m a heathen, then,” Elena mumbles around a mouthful of fried rice.
“History class is a little more interesting, especially when we focus on Asher’s family tree. It’s insane how far back it goes.”
“So all of these lessons…have they helped?”
“In some ways, yes. I’m more prepared, but I’m also way more nervous.
What if I laugh at the wrong moment or address someone improperly?
What if I accidentally insult someone because I’m American and say something dumb?
Asher’s mom said I was lucky to make it through the gala unscathed, and I thought she was being harsh, but honestly…
she’s right. I really had no idea what I was doing. ”
“And now that you do, you’re worried you’re going to mess up?”
I nod. “I’m not exactly sure I’d say I know what I’m doing, but I’m getting there. And because of that, I know all the ways I can fail.”
“You’re not going to fail,” a distinctly male voice says behind me. I lower the phone.
“Oh, damn,” Zara mutters.
“Hey, Asher.” My sister grins. Shit, did I accidentally flip the camera around? I quickly flip it back, but it’s a waste of time since Asher’s dresser is directly behind me, and he seems to give zero shits he’s directly in my camera view.
I turn just as Elena asks, “Are you two sharing a room?”
“No,” I say quickly, while Asher confidently replies, “Yes.”
All three women blink back at me. “What I mean is, yes, we’re sharing a room, but not the way you’re thinking. Obviously.”
“So is that why Asher is in a towel, then?” Presley smirks as I discreetly follow her gaze. God, water is still dripping down his torso, lower and lower until—
“I just needed to grab something,” he says, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a pair of boxers before he heads back into the bathroom.
“So Asher Knight doesn’t go commando? Huh. I really thought he would be the type.” We’re all silent as Zara taps on her lips, seemingly deep in thought. She blinks, then looks at her screen, finally noticing us all staring at her. “What? I’m not wrong, am I?”
We all burst out laughing and then proceed to discuss, in depth, who else in Hollywood the girls think goes with or without underwear.
It does nothing to prepare me for today.
But it does everything to soothe my soul because this is what I realize I was missing in my life.
My sister. Friends. Connections.
And all I had to do was travel halfway around the world to realize it.
“One of these days, I’m going to stop comparing everything to Downton Abbey, I swear,” I say, gazing out at the vast green lawn behind the historic estate. There must be a hundred people scattered about in beautiful sundresses and dashing suits.
And don’t even get me started on the hats—so many extravagant hats in every color and shape you can think of.
I never thought I could pull off a hat or a fascinator, as they call them, but when Theodora’s personal stylist shared the plans with me, I fell in love immediately. It’s coral pink to match my long-sleeve wrap dress and has just enough flair so I don’t feel ridiculous, yet I still feel powerful.
“Perhaps we just need to broaden your horizons when it comes to TV shows,” Asher says, looking so freaking hot in his coat and tails. He’s even wearing a damn top hat, which somehow makes him look even dreamier.
I look up at him, slightly amused. “To be honest, I never made it past the first season. I started it during winter break one year and never had time to go back. But there are like a billion seasons and like four movies! Who has that much time?”
His lips twitch. “People who don’t work sixty hours a week.”
“I seem to remember you being one of those people,” I challenge. A sadness settles over him, and I instantly regret my words. I reach out and place a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
He shrugs. “I’m the one who walked away.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Yes and no, but it doesn’t matter.” He looks lost for a moment, and it makes me think of the guitar he left at the cottage. “I would have had to come back here anyway.”
“Isn’t there a way you can do both?” I wonder aloud. His eyes meet mine. “Can’t you be the rock star and the earl?”
“I’m not sure the world is ready for that just yet.” But when he says it, his gaze goes straight to his mother, and I can’t help but wonder whether he’s really talking about her world.
“Come on,” I say, wrapping my arm around his, amazed at how at ease I am around him.
Less than two weeks ago, we’d barely spent a few hours together, and our conversations mostly revolved around music.
Now I know how he takes his tea—one sugar, a dash of milk—and how he smells after a shower, like rain and pine.
We aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, as everyone here assumes, but we’re something, and I’m glad to have him with me. “Let’s go grab a drink.”
We cross the lawn toward the area where the bar has been set up, but are quickly intercepted by one of the last people I want to see. Isobel looks beautiful, as always, in a floral A-line dress, blush heels, and a matching fascinator.
She instantly raises her free hand, the other holding a glass of champagne. “I’m not here to cause a scene. I just wanted to apologize. Formally, that is.”
“Your mother already took care of that,” Asher says pointedly.
She did? When?
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, a note she had her maid write isn’t exactly personal, is it? I thought I might try a little harder.”
She could have made a little more effort before she started on the champagne, because Isobel seems pretty wasted.
“Well, we appreciate it,” Asher says, giving a curt nod. “Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”
“I didn’t come to apologize to you, Asher,” she says, before turning her gaze to me. “I came to apologize to her.”
“Oh, um…” I stutter, feeling light-years away from the confident woman I was the night of the gala. Catty Isobel I can handle, but drunk and vulnerable Isobel is throwing me off. “There’s no need to apologize, Isobel. We’re fine. No harm, no foul.”
“Truly?” Her eyes widen in relief. “Because I would love for us to be friends.”
Would she, though?
“Um…sure.”
“Brilliant,” she exclaims. “Give me your phone. I’ll plug in my number, and you can ring me for a girls’ night!”
I stand there momentarily stunned. This woman’s mood swings are giving me a headache. But instead of asking any questions, I wordlessly pull my phone out of my coral pink clutch and hand it over.
Because here’s the thing. The idea of having a friend in this country, even if it is Isobel, does sound appealing.
Now, I just have to hope she means it.