I send a confirmation and head upstairs to change.
I choose something casual but elegant—jeans, ankle boots, and a white cashmere sweater that, according to Callum, inspires thoroughly indecent thoughts. A touch of light makeup, and I’m ready.
As I make my way down to the hall, I run into Jamison, who observes me with his usual neutrality, though I detect a flicker of surprise in his gaze.
—Madam is going out? he asks politely.
—Yes, Jamison. Mr. McKenzie invited me to visit his distillery. I’ll be back for dinner.
Something passes through his eyes—concern?—but his expression returns to impassive so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
—Very good, Madam. Would you like me to inform Sir of your plans?
—That won’t be necessary, thank you, I reply quickly. He’s in meetings all day. I’ll tell him myself this evening.
Jamison nods, but I can tell he isn’t entirely convinced. I step outside to wait on the front steps, enjoying a rare stretch of Scottish sunshine that has decided to make an appearance today.
A sleek black Jaguar glides up the castle drive exactly one hour after our exchange. The car stops in front of me, and an elegant man steps out. Tall, dark hair perfectly styled, wearing a tailored suit that practically announcesI’m rich and I know it—not exactly the typical look of the distillers I’ve met so far.
—Jane McGregor, he says, approaching with a confident smile. Alistair McKenzie. A pleasure to meet you.
—The pleasure is mine, I reply, shaking his hand. Thank you for the invitation.
—All mine, he assures me, opening the passenger door. I must admit, I was curious to meet the woman who managed to capture the heart of the unflappable Callum McGregor.
His tone is light, but there’s something beneath it I can’t quite decipher.
—Oh, I don’t know if I’ve captured his heart, I say as I slide into the car. Let’s just say we found each other at the right time.
Alistair gets behind the wheel and pulls away.
—Modesty is a rare quality these days, he comments as we leave the castle grounds. Especially in the world you come from.
—The world I come from?
—Hollywood, he clarifies. I did some research, of course. Jane Carter, promising actress until that unfortunate incident with that director. And then, as if by magic, you find yourself married to one of Scotland’s most eligible businessmen. It’s almost like a movie, isn’t it?
I try not to stiffen. His tone is casual, but his words hit like a small explosion.
—Life has a way of surprising you, I say simply. And you, Mr. McKenzie? What exactly do you do, aside from owning a distillery?
—Alistair, please. I run McKenzie Industries. We operate in the same sector as the McGregors—exporting luxury Scottish goods, with a specialization in whisky and textiles. We are, let’s say, cordial competitors.
His smile suggests cordial may not be entirely accurate.
—I see, I reply carefully. And what made you want to invite me to your distillery today?
—Let’s just say I like to know all the players in my professional environment, he explains, taking a sharp turn along the winding road. And I’ve always believed it’s important for spouses to understand the world their partner operates in. Callum hasn’t shown you his yet?
—We haven’t had the opportunity, I answer, suddenly wondering if I should have mentioned this outing to Callum before accepting.
—That’s surprising, Alistair remarks. The McGregor distillery is one of the oldest in Scotland. An impressive family legacy. One would think it would be one of the first things he’d want to show you.
A flicker of irritation sparks inside me. Is he trying to plant doubt?
—We’ve been busy, I say, turning my gaze to the window. Between my adjustment to Scottish life and his professional responsibilities, some things take a back seat.
—Of course, of course, he agrees with a small smile. Here we are.
