—Formal, I repeat, glancing down at my shipwrecked appearance. As in tuxedo-tie-evening-gown formal?
—Not quite, but certainly not like… this, he answers, gesturing to our current state.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying not to panic.
—Alright, I say finally. New plan. We go around the castle and enter through the east wing. From there, we can sneak into our room, change, and come back down as if we’ve been here the whole time.
—The east wing is closed for renovation, Callum gently reminds me. And the only other entrance is the service door, which leads directly into the kitchens, where about a dozen people are currently preparing dinner.
A desperate groan escapes me.
—So we’re forced to walk through the dining room like this?
—It seems to be our only option, he confirms with a resignation that would make me laugh if I weren’t so mortified. We could wait here until they’ve all finished dinner, but that could take hours, and the temperature is still dropping…
As if to illustrate his point, a shiver runs through me, my damp clothes offering little protection against the cool Scottish evening.
—Alright, I decide, straightening my shoulders. Let’s face this with dignity. After all, I’m a professional actress. I can walk through a room full of people with confidence, even looking like a drowned rat.
Callum bursts out laughing.
—You don’t look like a drowned rat, he assures me, taking my hand. You look like a woman who got caught in a storm and found shelter… with her husband.
The word husband suddenly takes on a new meaning, deeper, truer.
—Fine, I concede. Let’s go.
We cross the terrace and enter through the main door. The entrance hall is miraculously empty, except for Jamison, who appears as if by magic.
—Sir, Madam, he greets us with a slight frown at the sight of our condition. We were concerned about your absence.
—We were caught in the storm, Callum explains. We took shelter in the old guard cabin.
—I see, Jamison replies, his expression perfectly neutral, though his eyes betray a glimmer of understanding. Shall I inform the guests that you will not be joining them for dinner?
A spark of hope flares inside me.
—That would be wonderf?—
—No, thank you, Jamison, Callum cuts in. We’re going to change and join our guests. Please inform my mother that we’ll be there shortly.
Jamison nods and walks away. I stare at Callum in disbelief.
—Really? You really want to go down to dinner? I protest in a low voice, even though we’re alone. Wouldn’t it be easier to plead rain-induced illness and hide in our room for the rest of the evening? Preferably naked and under the covers?
His eyes darken at the suggestion, and for a moment, I think I’ve convinced him. Then he shakes his head.
—Believe me, I’d love that, he says with regret. But it’s an important tradition, and our absence would be noticed—and interpreted, rightly so. Let me handle this part of the equation, please. We’ll make an appearance during dinner, and then…
He leaves the rest unsaid, but his look says everything. I let out a resigned sigh.
—Alright. But I’m warning you, I don’t promise to be pleasant company if Heather is still there.
—She probably will be, he confirms, leading me toward the stairs. My mother must have offered for her to stay the night.
I groan. Of course. Isobel McGregor couldn’t help inviting the ex-girlfriend to stay the night. To admire the Scottish stars, no doubt, or some other ridiculous excuse.
—I can’t believe we’re going to have dinner with your ex after having sex for the first time, I grumble as we climb the steps. Shakespeare would have loved this situation.
