—So it’s true, my grandmother says. You made an arrangement. A marriage of convenience. She gets her reputation restored, you get your inheritance.
—That’s not…
I stop, unable to finish the sentence without outright lying. Because at its core, that’s exactly how it began—a practical arrangement, a mutually beneficial contract.
But things changed.
I don’t know exactly when or how, but something shifted between us. The shared looks, the moments of quiet understanding, the strange connection that grew… it all went far beyond the terms of our original agreement.
—Listen, Callum, my mother says, I understand your reasons. You did what you thought you had to do—for the business, for the family legacy. That’s admirable, in a way. But now that the objective has been achieved, perhaps it’s time to reconsider?—
—No, I say firmly. There’s nothing to reconsider.
—Callum, my grandmother interjects, no one would blame you for admitting you made a mistake. These things happen. A discreet divorce, after a respectable amount of time…
—There will be no divorce, I cut in, louder than I intended.
—Callum, be reasonable, my mother insists. This situation isn’t sustainable. Jane doesn’t belong in our world. She doesn’t understand our traditions, our values.
—She understands them better than you think, I reply, a rare anger rising in me. And who are you to decide whether she “belongs” in our world? She’s my wife now. She’s part of this family—whether you like it or not.
My mother leans back slightly, taken aback by my tone.
—I see you’ve developed an attachment to her, she says, her voice suggesting she’s describing an unfortunate but treatable condition. That’s understandable. She’s attractive—exotic, even.But think long-term, Callum. In a few months, a few years at most, when the novelty fades, what will remain? A woman who will never truly understand your heritage. Your responsibilities.
—Maybe I’m tired of logic, I say, surprising even myself with the honesty of it. Maybe sometimes you have to follow something else.
—Like what? she asks, genuinely puzzled.
—Like your heart, perhaps? my grandmother suggests.
There’s both amusement and compassion in her expression.
—Maggie, please, my mother says sharply. Don’t encourage this madness.
—The madness, my dear Isobel, is believing you can plan every aspect of life—especially love, my grandmother replies calmly. Trust me, I tried.
She turns to me with a knowing smile.
—Jane has decided to leave and abandon her husband, my mother declares.
Cold anger floods my veins.
—Jane has not decided to leave, I say firmly. And even if she did, it wouldn’t be to “abandon her husband,” as you put it—but to pursue her career. A career she put on hold to come here and adapt to our world.
My mother looks genuinely surprised.
—You’re defending her? she asks. Even as she considers abandoning you—and the McGregor name—to return to her old life?
—She hasn’t abandoned anything, I fire back, my voice dangerously low. She’s been offered a professional opportunity and is weighing her options. Options I’ve made harder by refusing to tell her how I actually feel.
—And how do you actually feel, Callum? Maggie asks gently, watching me like she already knows the answer.
—I love her, I say simply. More than anything. And I need to tell her before it’s too late.
A stunned silence follows.
Then, unexpectedly, my mother stands and walks toward me.
