I scroll through the article, and it’s worse than I imagined. They describe the “kilt incident” as a calculated performance onmy part, a desperate attempt to grab media attention after being blacklisted from Hollywood. They even suggest our wedding is staged—a publicity stunt to revive my failing career.
They’re dangerously close to the truth—for all the wrong reasons.
— My God, this is a nightmare, I whisper.
I look up at Callum, searching for support, but his expression is unreadable. Cold. Distant. Calculating.
— The timing is… suspicious, he says slowly.
— What does that mean? I ask, incredulous.
— The American media suddenly discovers your Scottish wedding—with a perfectly compromising photo—right when your career could use a boost?
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
— You think I orchestrated this?
The words nearly choke me.
We lock eyes.
— I didn’t say that, he replies carefully. But you have to admit… this kind of publicity, even scandalous, could work in your favor.
I take a step back like he just slapped me.
— Wait. You seriously think I arranged for a paparazzo to take a photo that makes it look like I’m giving you a blowjob in public? In what universe would that help me?
— Jane, Maggie interjects, no one is accusing?—
— Yes, I cut in, eyes fixed on Callum. That’s exactly what he’s doing. He thinks I staged this disaster for cheap publicity.
Callum presses his lips together.
— I think we should all take a moment to calm down, Maggie suggests, ever pragmatic. This isn’t the first media storm the McGregor family has faced—and it won’t be the last.
— I’ll contact our legal team, Dougal says, pulling out his phone. We can probably get the photo taken down for invasion of privacy.
— Good luck, I snap. Once something’s online, it never really disappears. Trust me—I know better than anyone.
— Well then, Maggie says, I think we’ll leave you two to handle this privately. Keira?
— What? No! she protests.
But one warning look from Callum is enough to change her mind. She sighs before following her grandmother out. Dougal slips away discreetly.
Once we’re alone, Callum turns back to me. I cross my arms, jaw tight.
— You have to admit, it’s a troubling coincidence.
— A coincidence? I tripped during a dance. You were there!
— What I’m saying is, someone must have tipped off the paparazzi about your presence here. Someone who knew where to find you.
Anger starts to boil inside me, quickly replacing the humiliation.
— And that someone would be me, right? Because of course—the washed-up actress can’t resist the spotlight, even at the cost of her dignity?
— That’s not what I said, he replies, but there’s no conviction in his voice.
