—It’s not my place to ask her to give up her dreams to stay here.
Ewan rolls his eyes so hard I’m briefly concerned they might get stuck.
—For God’s sake, Callum! You are the king of idiots. Your wife—who moved to a foreign country for you, who learned to enjoy the Highland Games, who even tamed a psychotic sheep—asks if you want her to stay, and all you can come up with is “I understand your career is important”?
When he puts it like that… it does sound incredibly stupid.
—It was the noble thing to do, I protest weakly.
—Noble? he scoffs. You’re not noble—you’re a coward. You’re so afraid she’ll choose her career over you that you’re making it easier for her by pretending it doesn’t matter.
His words hit like a punch. Is that what I’ve done? I’ve always told myself my restraint was respect—that I wasn’t influencing her. But if Ewan’s right… if my silence is actually cowardice…
—What do you suggest? I ask, at a loss. That I beg her to give up the opportunity of a lifetime to stay in a damp castle in the middle of nowhere with a Scottish husband who can barely express his feelings?
—I suggest you tell her the truth! Ewan snaps, slamming his hand on the counter. That the thought of her leaving breaks your heart, that you love her more than anything, and that you want to build a life with her—here or anywhere!
I fall silent, turning his words over in my mind. Tell the truth. Lay everything bare. No filters. No restraint. No armor of logic to hide behind.
The idea is terrifying.
—And what if it’s not enough? I murmur. What if—even knowing how I feel—she still chooses to leave?
Ewan looks at me with unexpected compassion.
—Then at least you’ll know you did everything you could. That you didn’t let pride or fear decide for you. And she’ll leave knowing exactly what she’s walking away from.
He’s right. Of course he is. Typical Ewan—seeing clearly while I drown in my own complications.
—She thinks I’d be relieved if she left, I admit. That our marriage is too far from what I originally planned. That I’d prefer someone like Heather.
—Heather? Ewan nearly chokes. That woman with the warmth of an iceberg and the empathy of an oyster? That’s ridiculous!
—Not to Jane. She’s convinced I secretly regret not marrying a perfect Scottish Lady who knows every tradition and which fork to use.
Ewan bursts out laughing.
—Callum, before Jane came into your life, you were the most boring man in Scotland. You lived like a robot programmed to honor family traditions and grow the business. You never laughed at my jokes, never danced at ceilidhs, never did anything remotely unpredictable.
I’m about to protest, but he leans in, suddenly serious.
—And then this American actress shows up—with her humor, her enthusiasm, her ability to turn disasters into adventures. And suddenly—miracle—the great Callum McGregor starts smiling. Laughing. Living. She made you human, my friend. She saved you from yourself.
His words hit me like a revelation.
He’s right.
Before Jane, I existed—but I didn’t really live. I was so focused on meeting expectations—my father’s, my mother’s, my ancestors’—that I never stopped to ask whatIwanted.
And what I want… is Jane.
Not a perfect Scottish Lady. Not a wife who knows every tradition. But this unpredictable, vibrant, infuriating, extraordinary woman who turned my orderly life upside down—and made it infinitely richer.
—I need to talk to her, I say, standing abruptly.
—No, really? Ewan says dryly. I thought I might have to draw you a diagram.
—Thank you, Ewan, I say sincerely. For the wake-up call—and the whisky at seven in the morning.
