My sister Keira coughs to hide a laugh.
“Callum loves numbers and spreadsheets,” she says sweetly. “I once caught him talking to his Excel sheet. He called it ‘my precious.’”
I shoot her a glare.
“I was verifying a complex formula out loud.”
“Of course you were,” she says, winking at Eleanor. “And the time you canceled a date for an ‘urgent report’—was that about a formula too?”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“That report was urgent,” I mutter.
Mercifully, my grandmother claps her hands.
“Who wants dessert? I asked Finley to make his famous cranachan with fresh raspberries from the garden.”
The rest of the evening blurs into forced conversation and pointed looks from my grandmother.
When the Campbells finally leave, I collapse into a chair like a man who’s run a marathon.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Maggie says, sitting across from me. “Eleanor is a delightful girl.”
I stare at her, wondering if age has finally gotten to her.
“Absolutely charming,” Keira adds. “Especially when she tried explaining literary periods while you checked your watch three times in five minutes.”
“I did not?—”
“You did,” they say in perfect unison.
I groan.
“Look, I get what you’re trying to do. But it’s not going to work. I’m not marrying someone I barely know just to meet the conditions of a will.”
Keira perches on the arm of my chair.
“So what? You’re just going to let Lachlan take over?”
I close my eyes.
That’s the problem, isn’t it?
“I need another option,” I insist.
My grandmother stands, smoothing her skirt.
“There isn’t one, Callum. Your father was as stubborn as you are. If he wanted this enforced, it will be.”
She rests a hand on my shoulder.
“Sometimes traditions exist for a reason. McGregors are stronger in pairs. Your grandfather knew it. Your father learned it the hard way.”
Then she leaves, cryptic as ever.
Silence settles.
“You know she won’t drop this,” Keira says.
