Actually… very much the opposite.
“Alright,” I admit reluctantly. “He’s… presentable.”
“Presentable?” Max scoffs. “Sweetheart, I’d eat him for breakfast. He’sgorgeous, Jane. Admit it.”
“I admit he doesn’t look like a mountain troll, which feels like a solid baseline for an arranged marriage.”
“So?” he presses. “What do you think?”
I look back at the photo… then up at Max.
“This is completely insane. I should say no immediately.”
“But?”
“But my career is in ruins. My bank account is on life support. And I have zero prospects in Los Angeles right now.”
“Exactly!”
“And a year in Scotland could be a fresh start?”
“Precisely!” Max beams.
“I’d need to meet him first,” I say firmly. “I’m not marrying a psychopath—even a good-looking one.”
“Of course. He’ll be in Los Angeles soon for business. I’ll set it up.”
I exhale slowly.
A week ago, I was on the verge of becoming a star.
Now I’m considering marrying a stranger.
“I guess this is what rock bottom looks like,” I mutter. “When marrying a random Scottish man starts to feel like a reasonable option.”
“I prefer to think of it as an unexpected plot twist in your life story,” Max says brightly.
I suspect his enthusiasm has a lot to do with whatever commission he’s getting out of this.
“A plot twist that sends me to Scotland. Away from Hollywood.”
“Sometimes you have to leave to come back stronger.”
“Leave? You’re suggesting I move to another continent!”
I pause.
Wait.
Is the UK technically a continent?
Wow. That’s… concerning.
Case in point: I know absolutely nothing about Scotland.
Rain. Castles. Kilts. Sheep.
A mental image flashes—windswept cliffs, haunted halls, men in kilts chasing monsters through misty lochs.
