I right Jane’s chair, and we both sit again.
“Well,” my grandmother announces, clapping her hands lightly, “since our dinner has been interrupted in such a… picturesque manner, I suggest we retire to the drawing room for coffee. Jane must be exhausted after her journey, and tomorrow will be a busy day.”
“Busy?” Jane echoes, alarmed.
“Of course, dear. You need to learn the traditional dance, oversee the banquet preparations, attend your final dress fittings?—”
“My dress?” Jane interrupts. “I was planning to wear the one I brought from Los Angeles.”
My grandmother looks at her as if she just suggested getting married in a swimsuit.
“Certainly not. A McGregor bride wears a gown that reflects our heritage. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting the finest dressmaker in Edinburgh. She arrives tomorrow morning.”
Jane pales slightly. Without thinking, I slip my hand over hers beneath the table.
“Grandmother, Jane is exhausted. Perhaps we can discuss details tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! A bride should be excited about her wedding preparations. Shouldn’t you, Jane?”
Cornered, Jane nods with forced enthusiasm. “Absolutely. I can’t wait.”
Eventually, the dinner ends. After surviving coffee—and several more probing questions from my mother—we’re finally released.
I guide Jane through the maze of corridors back to our room, acutely aware she’s hanging on by a thread.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly once the door closes behind us. “For all of it. The haggis, the interrogation… Hamish.”
To my surprise, she bursts out laughing—real, bright laughter that transforms her tired face.
“That was the most surreal dinner of my life,” she says, collapsing onto the bed. “I lied through my teeth, ate sheep organs, and made an enemy out of a rogue sheep. All in one night.”
“You handled it well,” I say honestly, sitting beside her. “Better than I expected.”
“Really? Even with the gin story?”
“That was… creative.”
“I panicked!” she groans, covering her face. “Your mother was looking at me like she was deciding whether to poison me or bury me in the moors.”
“That’s her usual expression. Don’t take it personally.”
She lowers her hands, suddenly serious.
“Your family matters to you. I don’t want to ruin this.”
There’s something in her voice—something real—that catches me off guard.
“You’re not ruining anything. If anything… I think my grandmother is starting to like you.”
“Seriously?”
“I think surviving Hamish counts as a rite of passage. In this house, that’s almost as important as her approval.”
She gestures helplessly at her ruined dress. “My dress is destroyed…”
“It’s just fabric. I’ll buy you another.”
She blinks, biting back what looks like a sharp response, then lets it go.
