From my very unglamorous position on the ground, I catch sight of Callum’s bare legs—far more of them than is probably appropriate in front of his grandmother—and I realize with horror what I’ve just done.
— Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I blurt, scrambling to my knees in front of him.
I try to awkwardly fix the fabric. And I realize far too late that my hands are pressed… on Callum’s crotch. I jerk both hands into the air. My face is seconds from combustion, and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes.
At that exact moment, the ballroom doors swing open, revealing a broad-shouldered man with red hair and a mischievous grin.
— Callum, I wan— Well. I see I’ve arrived at an interesting moment.
His gaze flicks from Callum, whose groin is barely covered by what remains of his kilt, to me, still kneeling in front of my future fake husband.
Callum quickly adjusts his kilt with remarkable dignity for someone who was just partially undressed in public, while I stand up.
— Ewan, he says. Your timing is, as always, impeccable.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
— I’m really, really sorry, I stammer. I didn’t mean to?—
To my surprise, an unexpected sound breaks the tension: Maggie McGregor’s laughter. A full, booming laugh that echoes through the room.
— Well, she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, it seems these dance lessons are more revealing than expected.
— Grandmother! Callum protests.
— Oh, don’t be so modest, my boy. Your grandfather went through the same thing at our wedding. It’s practically a family tradition now.
The newcomer walks over and offers me his hand with a warm smile.
— You must be Jane. Ewan Fraser, best friend of this poor traumatized man. I have to say, that’s the best first impression I’ve ever had.
I take his hand, mortified but strangely relieved by his easygoing attitude.
— Nice to meet you. I would’ve preferred less catastrophic circumstances.
— On the contrary, he replies with a wink. Now I know exactly what kind of story to tell in my wedding speech.
— You will do no such thing, Callum warns, though I can see him suppressing a smile.
Maggie rises from her chair, smoothing her skirt with an expression I can’t quite read.
— I believe that’s enough for today. Jane needs to rest before her dress fitting this afternoon. Mr. Murray, thank you for your time.
The dance master nods, looking slightly traumatized by what he just witnessed.
— We’ll resume tomorrow, provided Miss Carter promises to keep her hands away from Mr. McGregor’s kilt, he concludes.
— I can’t promise anything, I joke weakly, trying to salvage some dignity.
Once Murray and Maggie leave, I turn to Callum.
— I’m so sorry. If I could die of embarrassment, I’d already be six feet under.
— Don’t worry, he replies with more humor than I expected from him. It’s not the first time a woman has desperately tried to see under my kilt.
Ewan bursts out laughing.
— Ah, the age-old mystery: what’s under a Scotsman’s kilt? Now you know the answer, Jane.
