Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
MERCURY
The first part of the interview consists mostly of photos.
Photos of us in the garden, the conservatory, and the library. We hold hands, pretend to walk along a cobblestone path, and look lovingly into each other’s eyes.
It’s giving engagement photo shoot vibes, except there’s no ring on my finger, and…oh right. None of this is fucking real!
I try to stay focused as the photographer moves us to the library window and tells Asher to place his hand on my hip. “That’s good,” he says over the top of his camera. “Now, lean in a bit, Ash—” I catch Theodora giving him a stern look. He clears his throat and corrects himself. “Lord Blackstone.”
Since Lana, the extremely beautiful reporter, arrived and greeted Asher by name, the countess made it abundantly clear that protocol dictates the heir apparent to be addressed by his courtesy title.
I am given the only pass.
The reporter receives a warning glare from the countess that appears to slide right off her back.
“Angle your chin up a bit, Miss Creed,” the photographer instructs.
When I do, I find myself staring into Asher’s soft blue eyes. His grip on my waist tightens for a moment, as if he can’t help himself, and then it releases.
After the camera clicks a few times, I let my gaze drift, needing a momentary respite from his intense stare.
The windowpane is old and warped, making the gardens below look surreal, as if you’re peering through a looking glass into another world.
The wood around it is the kind you find all over Blackstone.
Beautiful and highly polished, but if you look closely, you can see the age in the tiny scratches and grooves etched into the layers of varnish.
“Is that…” I find myself saying, pointing to the corner behind Asher. “Your initials?”
Asher turns, but he’s already grinning. “I was hoping your keen eye wouldn’t notice that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s been twenty years and my mother has not…and I’d very much like to keep it that way.”
I snort out a laugh, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in response. “Maybe she doesn’t have as keen eyesight as she thinks,” I whisper.
He sneaks a glance in her direction. She raises a brow. “I think she sees what she wants to see.”
“And you? What do you see when you look at these initials carved into the window?”
He looks at me, his gaze raking over me in a way that makes my body tingle. “Hope,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “I see hope.”
“Perfect!” the photographer shouts, making us both jump. “That last shot was perfect.” Then he turns to Lana and says, “I think I’m done.”
“Really?” she says, surprised. “You don’t think you need a few more? Just in case their posture comes off as rigid or fake?”
Her eyes slowly shift from the photographer to Asher and back again.
What the fuck?
“Uh, no. Like I said, the last shot was—”
“Perfect.” She glowers. “I heard you.”
He turns to address Asher and me. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. Capturing two people in love is one of my favorite things and something I rarely get to do, so I truly appreciate it. Let me know if you’d like any prints.”
“We will,” Asher replies, offering the man his hand. The man graciously takes it, thanking him again.
Theodora’s secretary, Connor, takes over from there, asking whether he minds staying to take a few photos during the interview. He agrees, and we move into the sitting room for tea.
No one actually drinks any of it. It’s all for show.
And even if it weren’t, I’d be too damn nervous to drink or eat anything right now anyway. Not to mention the risk of spilling something on my gorgeous dress.
Considering the vibe I’m getting from this reporter, she definitely wouldn’t leave something like that off the record.
She’d probably make it front-page news.
Asher’s new girlfriend can’t even drink a proper cup of tea…gasp!
Lana sits across from us, while Theodora takes the chair to our left. They couldn’t look more different. Lana is the definition of chic, wearing designer wide-leg black pants, pumps, and a sheer blouse. The countess is in a sensible green wrap dress with nude pumps.
Evie, Mac, and Connor all melt into the background, standing against the wall…again. I try to ignore the occasional flash of the camera.
Everyone else does.
Asher takes my hand, but there’s an undercurrent of nervousness in his posture I can’t quite read. I glance up at him and see a familiar look in his gaze as he stares at the brunette across from us.
A familiarity that seems almost…No, it couldn’t be.
“So, Asher—” Theodora clears her throat and gives Lana a pointed glare. “Sorry,” Lana offers a halfhearted apology. “Habit, I guess.”
Habit? Habit?
“What do you mean by this?” Theodora asks, before turning to her son. “What does she mean by this?”
“We used to date,” Lana says, and at the same time, Asher replies, “We’ve met.”
I feel myself start to pull away, but Asher’s hand squeezes mine. “Well, which one is it?” Theodora asks, not showing an ounce of emotion.
“We did not date,” Asher says. “We met once.”
“Twice,” Lana clarifies.
The tension between them suggests that they didn’t just meet. They fucked, and they did so an interminable number of times.
Asher’s brows furrow. “I—are you sure?”
Genuine hurt crosses Lana’s face. “Yes, I’m sure. I guess some of us are more forgettable than others.”
A moment passes, then another, until Asher’s authoritative voice fills the small sitting room. “Everyone out,” he announces. “It seems I need to have a word with our reporter.”
Evie and Mac quickly file out, but Theodora and her secretary are slow to leave. “Asher, I don’t think—” she starts to argue.
“Yes, even you, Mother,” he demands.
She bows her head. “Very well.”
When she stands from her chair, I do the same. But Asher’s hand stops me. “Where are you going?”
“You said everyone.”
“Not you,” he says. “Never you.”
“What if I don’t want her here?” Lana sneers, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“It’s not up to you,” he simply says. “And besides, I know her well enough that what I have to say, she needs to hear.”
She glares at him and then turns it on me. “What’s so special about her?” The way she looks at me is how I imagine every spurned ex looks at the woman after her. Like she’s comparing every curve of my body, every feature, trying to figure out the one thing I have that she didn’t.
“Everything,” he simply says.
It makes my breath catch, and I have to remind myself who we’re talking to. A reporter. A woman who could easily ruin this interview and our public image—Asher’s public image before he even inherits his father’s title.
None of this is real, I remind myself for the hundredth time.
“I owe you an apology, Lana,” Asher continues. “The man I was when we met all those years ago was a very different person. I was young and full of myself, and although it doesn’t excuse my behavior, I want you to know I didn’t intend to cause you harm.”
She seems to consider his words, nodding before she replies.
“When we hooked up the first time, I was working for a small indie rock magazine. Manic was just starting to break out, and I remember you telling me not to turn our night into something it wasn’t because you didn’t date.
But then I saw you again at a party six months later, and you went straight for me. I thought maybe I was an exception.”
I’ve always known he has a sordid sexual past. Hell, there are pictures of it online—not that I’ve ever looked at them—but hearing about it from a woman sitting directly across from me is another matter entirely.
I want to hate her.
I also kind of want to give her a hug.
“I was probably drunk,” he admits. “Or high. Maybe both. There were a few years back then when I let it all go to my head.”
Those years leading up to Mitch’s downfall. That’s why he’s been so strict with the band and crew ever since. My brother says there are now regular drug tests, curfews, and the backstage area is more like a Zen paradise than a party zone, especially since Zander started bringing his family on tour.
“Rationally, I know that, but—”
“You see me, and every rational thought goes out the window?” I chime in.
A smile tugs at her lips, and she nods. “A little, yeah.”
“I get it.” I mean, I don’t really because I have no actual exes unless you count Kent McMannon from ninth grade.
But his hands were sweaty, and his breath smelled like cheese.
I dumped him after a week. “Men can make even the most powerful of women make stupid decisions. I have three brothers, believe me.”
“That they do,” she agrees, a sort of camaraderie settling between us. “That they do.”
“So are we all right?” Asher asks.
“Yeah, we’re good.” She smiles. “We’ll be even better if you can figure out how to keep your mother away.”
He chuckles, then pulls out his phone to text Mac. “I can try.”
“Great.” She hits a button on her laptop, then pulls out a pen. “Now, tell me…how did you two meet?”
Despite the disastrous start, the rest of the interview went off without a hitch.
Lana was professional and, dare I say, even polite as she asked us questions about ourselves and our relationship. Asher’s apology seemed to soothe an old wound that desperately needed healing, and once the two of them faced that part of their past, she became easier to work with.
I can see why she is so highly recommended.
Her laid-back approach made me feel like I was speaking to a friend rather than a reporter, and sometimes it was hard to remember I was playing a role.
Especially when Ash was playing his so well.
I look over at him as he scribbles in that notebook once again.
His dark hair falls gently in front of his glasses, and he pushes it aside between words.
Dinner was a quiet affair tonight, with Stuart noticeably absent.
When Asher asked his mother where he was, she simply said the earl was not feeling well and said nothing more.
No one really felt like talking after that.