— That was… Callum begins, searching for words.
— Acceptable? I suggest. Not too embarrassing? Convincing enough for your grandmother?
— Beautiful, he corrects gently. You were beautiful.
His voice is so sincere, so stripped of his usual reserve, that I feel myself blush.
— It was nothing, I stammer. Just improvisation, like your grandmother said.
— It was more than that, he insists. It was sincere.
Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, the rest of the room fades away. There is only Callum and me, suspended in a bubble where all the complications of our arrangement feel distant and insignificant.
The moment is broken when Jamison politely informs us that we are expected at the main table. Reluctantly, we part to take our seats.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of conversations, delicious food, and toasts in our honor. I meet dozens of people whose names blur together in my tired mind. I smile until mycheeks ache, laugh at stories about Callum as a child, and do my best to decipher the thickest Scottish accents.
And sometimes, across the table, I catch Callum looking at me. Every time, he smiles—different from the ones he gives the guests. A smile just for me.
It’s well past midnight when Maggie finally announces the end of the evening, reminding everyone that tomorrow is a big day requiring rest.
As the guests begin to disperse, I find myself beside Callum again.
— You survived your first official dinner as a future McGregor. Congratulations, he says.
— I feel like I’ve run a marathon, I admit, stifling a yawn. A marathon with haggis and kilts.
— You should get some rest, he suggests gently. Tomorrow will be an even longer day.
— Hard to imagine, I sigh. But you’re right—I should go before I collapse in the middle of the hall.
I turn to leave when Callum gently places his hand on my arm.
— Jane, he says hesitantly.
— Yes?
— What you said tonight… about an arrangement becoming a new beginning…
My heart picks up speed.
— That was just for the speech, I reply quickly. You know… to make it convincing.
He looks at me for a long moment, as if searching for something in my eyes.
— Of course, he says finally. Good night, Jane.
— Good night, Callum.
I head toward the staircase, strangely disappointed with my own answer.
CHAPTER 15
CALLUM
I stand in front of the mirror, attempting for the fourth time to properly adjust this damn silk tie. My fingers, usually so precise, seem today to have developed a will of their own—and that will appears to be making me look like a high schooler heading to his first prom.
— You’re supposed to tie an elegant knot, not hang yourself with it, my reflection tells me.
