“Margaret McGregor. Maggie. Do not be fooled by appearances. She is strategic to her core.”
I study the photo.
“She actually looks kind of amazing.”
“She is. Formidable and amazing.”
I continue until I reach the financial section.
“One million dollars, paid in quarterly installments. And a clause stating that if the agreement fails due to ‘lackof commitment from Party B,’ the remaining payments are forfeited.”
“A standard precaution.”
“And who defines ‘lack of commitment’? You?”
“We can establish objective criteria if you prefer.”
“Like what? A minimum daily smile quota? Two and a half public displays of affection per week?”
He looks at me seriously.
“If that reassures you, we can quantify those metrics.”
I blink.
“I was joking, Callum.”
“Oh.”
Something about his brief confusion is… oddly endearing.
“Look,” I say, softening slightly. “I understand you want guarantees. But I’m a good actress, no matter what the tabloids say. If I take this role, I commit. I don’t do things halfway.”
He studies me for a moment, as if weighing my words.
“I believe you,” he says finally. “But the contract remains necessary.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want us developing trust or anything.”
“Trust is built over time. The contract bridges the gap.”
I exhale and flip to the last page.
“So. When do rehearsals begin for our grand performance?”
“As soon as you sign. We have a great deal to prepare before the wedding.”
“The wedding,” I repeat.
It hits me all at once.
“I’m actually going to marry you in two weeks… and move into a Scottish castle for a year. That’s completely insane.”
“Fourteen days now,” he corrects.
“That does not help.”
“If you need more time?—”
