Then he clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, and leans slightly closer.
“Jane… I never believed in love at first sight until I met you,” he begins, his voice softer, his accent deeper. “But there’s something about the way you laugh… the way you look at the world like it’s something to challenge. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew.”
My breath catches.
He takes my hand, his thumb brushing the ring.
“Every day without you felt incomplete. Like something was missing. I know this is fast—but when you know, you know. And I know you’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
My heart stumbles.
He’s good.
Really good.
“Not bad,” I manage, my voice tighter than I’d like. “You’re a better actor than I expected.”
He releases my hand, his expression snapping back to neutral.
“Business negotiations sometimes require a certain degree of performance.”
“Well, your grandmother doesn’t stand a chance. If I hadn’t already signed, I might’ve believed you.”
A faint, unreadable smile touches his lips.
“That’s the idea, Jane.”
He checks his watch.
“I have a few calls to make before dinner. May I pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“Of course. Where are we going?”
“Providence. I secured the best table. We’ll be noticed.”
“Providence? That’s impossible to book on short notice—how did you?—”
“I have my methods. Our love story begins tonight.”
He stands, straightens his jacket, and gives me a slight nod.
“Until tonight… future Mrs. McGregor.”
Then he leaves.
And I’m alone—with a diamond ring, a sapphire that catches the light, and a dizzying sense that my life just veered completely off course.
I stare at my hand.
What have I done?
An arranged marriage in two weeks. A year in a Scottish castle. Playing the devoted wife to a man I barely know.
And yet…
I can’t help smiling as I imagine Ryan’s face when he finds out. Or better yet—Michael Peterson’s—when photos of my “fairy tale wedding” hit the tabloids.
You’re just a pretty face.
