To my surprise, Maggie, who has also noticed Hamish, doesn’t seem upset. On the contrary, she smiles indulgently, as if his presence were part of the evening’s entertainment.
— Why is no one doing anything? I whisper to Callum.
— Because it’s Hamish, he replies, as if that explains everything. And because, strangely, the guests seem to like him.
Indeed, far from being shocked, the villagers seem to find the sheep’s presence perfectly normal, some even speaking to him like an old friend.
— This animal has a higher social status than I do in this village, I remark, stunned.
— He was born here. You’re just the newcomer who nearly undressed the McGregor heir in public, Callum teases.
— Thank you for the reminder, I mutter, nudging him lightly. I was almost starting to forget that humiliation.
Having finished his floral snack, Hamish now heads toward us with determination.
— Is he coming to greet us or looking for more flowers to devour? I ask, not entirely reassured despite our recent alliance.
— Hard to say with him.
But Hamish stops in front of us and fixes us with his strangely intelligent eyes before sitting down, as if waiting for something.
— Do you think he wants us to introduce him officially to the guests? Callum suggests, half amused, half exasperated.
— That sheep has an oversized ego, I comment. He should work in Hollywood.
The clinking of a glass interrupts us as Maggie calls for attention.
— Dear friends, family, and neighbors, she begins in a voice that carries effortlessly across the hall. Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate the upcoming union of my grandson, Callum McGregor, and the charming Jane Carter.
Polite applause fills the room.
— As you all know, Maggie continues, the McGregors are deeply attached to their traditions. And tonight, I would like to invite the future bride and groom to share a few words with us.
She gestures for us to step forward, her smile leaving no room for refusal.
Callum looks at me, concerned.
— Ready? he murmurs.
— Not at all, I reply, still wearing my best actress smile. But when are we ever ready in life?
We walk together to the center of the room under the attentive gaze of every guest. Hamish follows us, as if he were an integral part of the ceremony.
— Callum, perhaps you would like to begin? Maggie suggests, handing him a glass for the toast.
I watch him take a deep breath, his face settling into that composed calm I now recognize as his professional mask.
— Thank you all for coming tonight, he begins. Your presence means a great deal to Jane and me.
He speaks with ease, thanking the guests, emphasizing the importance of family and community, even sharing a few childhood anecdotes that draw laughter from the crowd. It is a perfectly calibrated speech—warm without being too personal, formal without being distant.
And yet, I can’t help but feel a slight disappointment. Every word is measured, every sentence carefully constructed for its effect. Nothing in this speech reveals the Callum I’ve glimpsed these past few days—the one who showed me his secret place in the hills, the one who laughed when Hamish attacked the paparazzo.
When he finishes, the guests applaud warmly. Maggie nods with approval, clearly satisfied.
Then it’s my turn.
She hands me a glass, and I feel every eye turn toward me, waiting. My heart pounds, my throat is dry, and my mind is strangely blank.
