I step closer, Hamish still at my side like a woolly bodyguard.
— Take your camera and leave. And if you publish anything about this encounter, I’ll sue you for trespassing and defamation. And I’ll send Hamish after you.
Hamish bleats as if in agreement.
The paparazzo, now soaked in mud, retrieves his damaged camera with a grimace.
— You weren’t always this hostile toward the press, Miss Carter. Before your scandal, you chased photographers.
That hits like a slap.
Worst of all—he’s not entirely wrong.
— People change, I say simply. Now go.
He backs away slowly, keeping a wary eye on Hamish.
— Your marriage won’t last, he throws over his shoulder. No matter what you claim, no one believes in it.
Then he turns and disappears between the trees.
I sink down at the base of the oak, suddenly exhausted. Hamish ambles over and, to my surprise, drops heavily beside me, his thick wool brushing my arm.
— I guess I should thank you, I say, awkwardly patting his head. You’re a remarkably perceptive sheep, you know that?
He lets out a satisfied bleat. I quickly pull my hand back.
— I’m starting to see why you didn’t like Heather. You must have a sixth sense for toxic people.
I glance toward the distant castle, wondering what’s happening there now. Is Callum strategizing damage control? Calling in lawyers to erase the photo? Or does he still think I set this whole thing up?
That last thought hurts more than I want to admit.
— You know, Hamish, I say, and he actually seems to be listening, I thought this arranged marriage would be simple. A contract. One year of my life. Then I’d start over. No attachments. No emotional complications.
He blinks, like he already knows where I’m going.
— But nothing’s ever simple, is it? Especially when you start seeing the person behind the contract. When you start liking them for who they really are.
I sigh.
— And now I don’t even know where I stand. Because even if Callum isn’t the cold businessman I thought he was… he clearly thinks I’m exactly the desperate, manipulative actress he imagined.
Hamish nudges my arm gently.
— At least you trust me, apparently. Maybe I should marry you instead of Callum. You’d make a much more understanding husband.
— I’m not sure that’s legal. Even in Scotland.
I jump at the sound of Callum’s voice.
He’s standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets.
— What are you doing here? I ask, not moving.
— Looking for you. Jamison said he saw you head into the park.
He approaches slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt again… or that Hamish might charge.
