Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
MERCURY
“Explain to me why you have a new phone again?” I ask, sitting across from him as Scotland’s rolling hills flash by the window. We boarded the Northern Crown this morning, a luxury rail service catering to celebrities and royalty.
It’s completely over the top, with elaborate gold finishes and luxurious, velvety furnishings. The food is prepared by a Michelin-starred chef, and there is enough wait staff to serve a dining room of twenty.
And yet, there are only the two of us.
Just the two of us…
I try to dispel that thought from my mind. It is not the time for it. Just yesterday, we were at the hospital, waiting for news about his father.
And now, we’re on a luxury train, enjoying the fanciest breakfast I’ve ever had, on our way to the Highlands for a three-day tour.
It doesn’t seem right.
But the countess insisted.
“It’s nothing,” Asher insists with a shrug. I give him a pointed stare until he finally sighs. “Sometimes I get weird texts from a crazy fan, so I have to change my number.”
“So you got another one? A crazy text?”
He nods, taking a sip of tea. “I sent it to security, and they didn’t find anything, so I’m not worried.”
I watch him carefully. “But you still got a new phone?”
He stares a little too long at the table, then looks up at me and gives an almost convincing smile. “Better safe than sorry.”
“How do they even get your number in the first place?”
Shrugging, he leans back in his seat. He’s dressed in what I’d call designer-casual today.
Expensive dark denim, a collared shirt, and a wool sweater.
It’s a far cry from the Henley and ripped jeans he wore when I first arrived, but after the top hat, I’m convinced he can look good in just about anything.
“I wish I knew. It’d be nice not to have to change my number every six months. ”
A waiter comes to take my empty plate, and I thank him. He does the same for Asher, and then without a word, they all vacate, leaving just the two of us. His eyes graze over me, briefly pausing on my mouth before he takes another sip of his tea.
Other than when we both collapsed on the bed last night from exhaustion and the mad dash to get ready this morning, this is the first time we’ve been alone in more than twenty-four hours.
“How are you feeling? About everything?” I ask, trying not to get distracted.
By the time all of Stuart’s tests came back yesterday, and he was alert enough for visitors, it was already late in the evening.
Dr. Wright’s suspicions were confirmed, and unfortunately, it wasn’t something as simple as dehydration that caused the earl to collapse.
It was an infection. Quite a severe one, from the sound of it.
He would likely be in the hospital for a week or more.
Since I wasn’t family and the hospital was already stretching the rules by letting me into the relative’s room, I stayed back while Asher and Theodora went to his room.
When he came back, he was quiet. I held his hand, letting him know I was there if he needed me, but gave him space to sort out his feelings.
Everyone processes things differently. Asher wasn’t a talker, at least not right away. He seems to handle situations best when he can step back before talking it out. I, however, tend to attack a problem head-on, so hopefully I’m not rushing him by diving into heavy talk already.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he answers, which makes me immediately think, yes, I am rushing him. But then he follows it up with, “I’m kind of relieved to be away from it all and here with you. Is that wrong?”
“No,” I answer, taking a sip of my plain Earl Grey.
I still prefer a strong cup of coffee, but I’ve developed a decent appreciation for tea since I arrived, especially when it’s shared with the Scot across from me.
“My mom always told us growing up that all our feelings were valid, even the ones that made us uncomfortable.”
“I’ve always liked your mother.”
I smile, feeling a twinge of homesickness. I’ve talked with my parents here and there, and I text my mom all the time, but it’s not the same as seeing them. “She’s quite fond of you too,” I say, remembering our chat in her room before I left. “She’s actually the one who convinced me to come here.”
“Convinced you?” he says with a sly grin. “You mean you didn’t rush onto the plane the second your father suggested it?”
“No,” I admit with a snort. “I thought they were insane for suggesting I go. We’d only met once—”
“Twice,” he corrects me, and I feel my cheeks heat up instantly. Why does everything he say sound so damn filthy?
“Twice,” I agree. “But even so, the idea seemed ludicrous.”
“So what wise words did Mama Creed share with you that suddenly made you change your tune? Did she charm you with the idea of seeing the Scottish countryside?” he asks, motioning toward the window.
The Lowlands are slowly giving way to the rugged Highlands.
It’s breathtaking—enough reason for someone my age to want to come here.
“No,” I answer.
His brow arches. “Did she remind you I’m a devilishly handsome rock star who needed rescuing?”
“If she knew you were living in that derelict cottage, she might have.” I laugh. “But no. She told me you needed a friend.”
His expression softens instantly. “You came all the way to Scotland to be my friend?”
Feeling slightly embarrassed, I half shrug. “You seemed like you could use one at the time, and seeing as I didn’t have any…”
He stares at me for a moment, then presses his lips together and says, “I’m really glad you got on that plane, Mercury Creed.”
“Me, too,” I reply.
Me freaking too.
My phone vibrates on the side table next to me, and I wonder whether I have enough energy to roll over and reach it.
I am that tired.
Who knew a day of sightseeing could be this exhausting? But we managed to accomplish exactly what the countess wanted.
We distracted the press.
After our delightful breakfast on the train, we arrived in Pitlochry, a picturesque Victorian town, around eleven.
It was roughly the same time the reporters arrived, tipped off by an “anonymous source” that we’d be traveling.
They followed us as we took a walk along the River Tummel and stopped at a cozy coffee shop.
They ate up every single minute of our stroll through the scenic village, not knowing—or simply not caring—that we were doing it all for show.
Every moment was photographed. From the handholding to the adorable way Asher stole a bite of scone, it was all captured by the cameras.
Because the world just can’t get enough of this new, softer version of Asher Knight…in love.
It’s exactly what Theodora wants for a multitude of reasons. It not only helps reform his bad-boy image but also prevents the press from sneaking around the hospital and uncovering the truth about the Earl of Dunloch and what that means for his son.
Until Theodora and her team figure out what to do next, we have been instructed to keep it up. The train is parked on a quiet siding until we leave in the morning for our next destination.
I just hope my feet can handle it. The little white sneakers my stylist paired with my outfit today did not cut it.
I finally reach over and grab my phone.
Pres
Babe, your face is all over the internet.
Well, that didn’t take long.
I text her back immediately.
Me
I wouldn’t know. I don’t look.
Pres
Good.
Me
Wait—good? What does that mean? Is it bad?
I sit on the king-size bed, which has no business being this pillowy and soft, given that it’s on a train, and I frown. Ever since Asher and I started “dating,” I’ve been living in a cloud of blissful ignorance, intentionally avoiding social media and any online searches involving us.
It’s actually been kind of nice. I thought I would miss scrolling through Instagram, but it’s oddly liberating. I definitely don’t miss the constant posts from my sorority sisters, who are always trying to one-up each other.
But after that text from my real sister, I wonder if I’ve missed something. What if the world hates me, and Asher has just been too nice to tell me? What if they all think I’m some kind of gold-digging troll, waiting for him to dump me?
Pres
No! Jesus. It’s all very gooey and cute. You and Asher look freaking adorable. Calm down!
See, this is why everyone told you to stay off the internet. It will drive you crazy.
Me
Okay, good. And it’s all just acting. You know that, right?
Pres
Sure, sis.
Me
Pres
If that’s acting, you two deserve an Oscar.
Me
You and Hollis seemed pretty convincing…
Not to me, of course, since I knew they were faking it, thanks to our nosy mother.
She overheard them hyping each other up on the security camera the day they came over to tell my parents they had gotten married in Vegas.
She also saw them kissing, but I never quite got the full story on why they were making out in the driveway.
Pres
Uh, yeah—because we were never really faking it. We were into each other from day one. We just didn’t want to admit it.
Me
Oh.
I guess the kissing in the driveway makes more sense now.
Pres
FYI, lying causes wrinkles.
Me
OMG, fine.
Pres
Fine…what??!!
Me
We’re…doing stuff.
Pres
Merc, we’re not in middle school. I’m gonna need you to define WTF “stuff” means.
My eyes drift over to the bathroom suite where Asher is taking a shower, and I try to decide just how much to share with my big sister.
Me
Okay, but you cannot tell Hendrix.
Pres
Why in the world would I tell our big brother anything about your sex life?
A thrill goes through me. I have a sex life now!
Me
I don’t know. What if Hollis told him?
Pres
Guys do not talk about that kind of stuff, Merc.
Me
But, apparently, sisters do?
Pres
Yes. Especially when it involves a rock star. Now spill.
Me
We’ve fooled around a bit. Nothing serious.
Pres
The fooling around isn’t serious? Or you two aren’t serious?
Me
Both?
It takes her a moment to respond.
Pres
You don’t sound so sure.