— You were right, I admit at last. About Jane and me. About the possibility of developing real feelings.
— I do love hearing that I’m right, Ewan says, savoring the moment as he pours a generous measure of whisky. But let me clarify something crucial—you have feelings for Jane?
I take the glass he offers, swirling the amber liquid without drinking.
— It’s complicated.
— Of course it’s complicated! he exclaims, throwing his hands up and nearly spilling his drink. You signed a temporary marriage contract with a woman you barely knew, and now you’re falling for her. That’s either the worst—or the best—romance ever written.
— I didn’t say I was falling in love, I protest.
— No, you said “developing real feelings,” which is just your technocratic way of saying the exact same thing.
I take a sip of whisky, welcoming the familiar burn in my throat.
— What I feel doesn’t matter. Our arrangement is clear, and it has an expiration date.
Ewan looks at me as if I’ve just declared the earth is flat.
— Callum McGregor, you are the smartest and the stupidest man I know.
— That’s contradictory.
— Just like marrying a woman while planning your divorce.
He drains his glass in one go and sets it down with a thud.
— Let me tell you a story, he says, already pouring himself another.
— Is this really the time for one of your endless anecdotes?
— It’s always the time for my endless anecdotes—especially when they come with a life lesson.
I sigh but sit on the edge of the bed, resigned. When Ewan gets like this, nothing stops him.
— Do you remember our fishing trip to the loch the summer we were sixteen?
— The one where you insisted we camp despite the storm warnings?
— Exactly, he says with a nostalgic grin. I had everything planned—the best fishing spot, perfect equipment, even a bottle of whisky stolen from my father’s cabinet.
— And it rained for three straight days, our tent flooded, and we had to sleep in a damp cave full of bats, I add.
— But it was one of the best times of our teenage years, wasn’t it?
I smile despite myself.
— It was memorable, certainly.
— Why? Ewan asks, pointing his glass at me.
— Why what?
— Why was it memorable, when everything went wrong?
I think for a moment.
— Because we improvised. We found solutions as problems came up. We laughed at our misfortune instead of feeling sorry for ourselves.
