Then I remember that all of this is temporary. Just a contract. A performance. A role to play. In less than a year, I’ll be back in Los Angeles, and these people will be nothing more than memories.
The thought makes me inexplicably sad.
— What are you thinking about? Keira asks as we climb the main staircase.
— I was just wondering how anyone survives this many Scottish traditions without losing their mind.
She laughs, looping her arm through mine.
— Simple—you don’t. You become a little Scottish yourself. And trust me, that’s not the worst thing that could happen.
Strangely, I’m starting to think she’s right.
1. The quaich is a small two-handled cup traditionally used to share a drink (such as whisky or spirits) between two people, symbolizing unity, trust, and friendship.
CHAPTER 10
CALLUM
I watch Jane leave the room with Keira, and I can’t help but notice the way she tosses her hair back when she’s nervous. It’s a small tic I’ve picked up on since we met in Los Angeles, an unconscious gesture that betrays her vulnerability despite all her efforts to appear confident.
Once the door closes, I turn to Ewan, who’s watching me with a smile I know all too well. It’s the same one he wore at twelve when he found out I’d written a poem for Katie MacDonald, the baker’s daughter.
— What? I ask, even though I already know what’s coming.
— She’s entertaining, he replies, pouring himself another whisky. Not at all the kind of woman I imagined for you.
— You met her twenty minutes ago, fifteen of which she spent mortified after nearly ripping off my kilt.
— Fifteen very revealing minutes, he shoots back with a crooked smile. I like the way she handles embarrassment. Plenty would’ve burst into tears or run off. She faced it with humor.
I can only nod. Jane has a resilience that’s surprised me more than once since we met. She adapts, rebounds, turns disasters into stories.
— But more importantly, Ewan continues, leaning toward me, his expression suddenly serious, when were you planning on telling me you’d finally found the right person for your arranged marriage?
I freeze, my glass halfway to my lips.
— What are you talking about?
Ewan rolls his eyes.
— Callum, I’ve known you since we were five. I’ve seen you fall in love twice, and both times you were a walking disaster. You stuttered, got clumsy, wrote terrible poetry. Right now, you’re yourself. Methodical, composed, rational. That’s not how a man in love behaves a few days before his wedding. And as if that weren’t enough, the rushed ceremony is a pretty solid clue. You’re not going to convince me this sudden wedding has nothing to do with your father’s will.
I stare into my glass for a moment, weighing my options. Ewan is my oldest friend. If there’s one person besides Keira I can trust, it’s him. And yet every additional person who knows the truth increases the risk of my grandmother finding out.
Our initial search turned up nothing last year. I’d made my peace with it—at least until the countdown caught up with me and I decided to make that absurd proposal to Jane.
— It’s complicated, I finally say.
— Usually when a man says that about his relationship, it means he has a mistress or he’s secretly gay, Ewan remarks, sipping his whisky. Since I know your exes and none of them reported adulterous tendencies, and considering you spent your entire puberty drooling over the MacDonald sisters, I’ll assume it’s something else.
I sigh, defeated.
— You’re right. It is an arranged marriage.
Ewan stares at me, impassive—then bursts into booming laughter that echoes through the small sitting room.
— By all the saints, Callum! So you actually did it? I thought that plan was dead and buried, but you went and found an American actress to play your hopelessly-in-love wife! Congratulations!
