He shrugs lightly.
— Let’s just say I’ve had time to think these past few months. And maybe grow up a little. Your film project is impressive, by the way. If you ever need a consultant for anything related to the whisky industry…
— I’ll keep that in mind, I promise, surprised by the sincerity of the offer.
He nods, then adds with a faintly nostalgic smile:
— You know, I always knew Callum was a lucky man. But I don’t think I realized just how lucky until today.
With that, he walks away, leaving me slightly stunned. It seems people really can change—even manipulative business rivals.
My phone buzzes in the small pocket Keira insisted on adding to my dress (“Even a bride needs her phone in 2025, Jane”).
Max
Congrats on your big day, sweetheart! PS: Ryan finally landed that role in the sitcom about aliens living in a laundromat. He plays the lead alien. The reviews are… creative. You dodged a bullet, babe! PPS: I’ve already received three offers for your project after the funding announcement. Talk Monday?
I smile as I tuck my phone away. Ryan in an alien costume in a mediocre sitcom… there’s a certain poetic justice in that. As for Heather, I recently learned from Keira that she left the Highlands for London, where she apparently found a wealthy banker to charm. Good luck to him.
Callum joins me, sliding an arm around my waist.
— Everything okay? he asks softly. You looked lost in thought.
— Everything’s perfect, I reply, leaning into him. I was just thinking about how life can take unexpected turns. A year ago, I was a desperate actress signing a marriage contract with a man I barely knew—for purely practical reasons.
— And now?
— And now, I’m a film producer married to the man I love more than anything, living in a Scottish castle with a mother-in-law who has finally admitted that the way I make tea is not a crime against humanity.
He lets out a soft laugh and presses a kiss to my forehead.
— That is quite the evolution.
— The funny thing is, our story—the one that started as a cold business arrangement—ended up becoming more romantic than any Hollywood script I’ve ever read.
— Maybe because it’s real, he suggests.
— Maybe, I agree, tilting my face up toward his. Or maybe it’s because you’re secretly a hopeless romantic beneath that pragmatic businessman exterior.
— Don’t spread that rumor, Jane McGregor, or I’ll lose all credibility in business negotiations.
I laugh, rising onto my toes to kiss him.
— Your secret’s safe with me. One of the many things I’ve learned in Scotland—McGregors know how to keep family secrets.
— And you’re a McGregor now, he reminds me gently. Truly.
— Truly—and forever, I confirm, finally feeling exactly where I belong.
The music shifts to something more upbeat, and guests begin drifting back to the dance floor.
— Mrs. McGregor, may I have this dance? Callum asks formally, a playful glint in his eyes.
— With pleasure, Mr. McGregor, I reply, taking his hand. But I’m warning you—I’m still terrible at your Scottish dances. This could be dangerous for your toes.
— I’ll take the risk, he assures me, leading me onto the dance floor. Some things are worth a little pain.
And as we begin to dance, surrounded by our family and friends beneath the ever-changing Highland sky, I can’t help but think that sometimes, the best love stories are the ones we never would’ve dared to write ourselves.
