— Exactly! he exclaims. We let things surprise us—and it turned into an adventure instead of a disaster.
He steps closer, suddenly serious.
— Your whole life, you’ve planned every detail, every step, every possible outcome. You’ve turned your existence into a series of equations and contractual clauses.
— It’s worked out pretty well so far, I argue.
— Has it? And are you happy, Callum? Truly happy?
His question catches me off guard. Am I happy? I’ve succeeded professionally. I’ve preserved the family legacy. I’ve met my grandfather’s and father’s expectations.
But happy?
— I’ve never really thought about it, I admit.
— That’s what I figured, Ewan says quietly. You’ve been so busy doing what you’re supposed to do that you’ve never asked yourself what you want to do.
— And what do I want to do, according to you? I ask, a hint of irritation creeping in.
— I think you already know, he replies, sitting back in a chair. I think that’s why you’re so nervous today. Not because you’re getting married according to a carefully calculated plan—but because, for the first time in your life, you’re considering stepping away from that plan. You’re considering turning this temporary marriage into something permanent.
His words echo inside me like an uncomfortable truth. Since Jane came into my life, since I’ve started really getting to know her—seeing beyond our arrangement—something has shifted. I find myself enjoying her company, anticipating her sarcastic remarks, admiring her resilience in the face of adversity.
— And what if she doesn’t feel the same way? I say at last, voicing my greatest fear.
— Ah, there’s the man beneath the armor, Ewan says with a grin. The man afraid of being rejected, like the rest of us mere mortals.
— Thank you for that incredibly helpful psychological analysis, I mutter.
— Listen, he continues, more serious now. I can’t promise Jane feels the same. But I can tell you she was looking at you with admiration last night. I saw the way she talks about you, the way she laughs with you. There’s something there, Callum. Something real.
— Or maybe she’s just a very good actress playing her part perfectly.
— If that’s the case, she deserves an Oscar, Ewan says, standing up. And you deserve a kick in the ass for being this stubborn.
He checks his watch.
— Time to go. Your wedding starts in thirty minutes, and I refuse to be blamed if the groom is late.
Ewan grabs my barely touched glass and downs it in one go.
I stand as well, smoothing my kilt one last time. For the occasion, I’ve chosen to wear the full McGregor tartan: kilt, jacket, sporran, and all the traditional accessories.
— How do I look? I ask, suddenly concerned with my appearance.
Ewan looks me up and down, then smiles.
— Like a man about to marry the woman he loves—whether he’s ready to admit it or not.
I frown.
— I’m not in love.
— Correction—you’re not in love yet.
The ceremony takesplace in the castle gardens. The weather—and in Scotland, that’s nothing short of a miracle—is perfect: sunny, but not too warm, with just enough clouds to create ideal light for photographs. My grandmother must have made a pact with the Scottish weather gods.
I stand beneath an arch of wildflowers, Ewan at my side as best man. On Jane’s side, her best friend Savannah waits. We haven’t been formally introduced—she arrived at the last minute. Our eyes meet briefly, and she gives me a thumbs-up.
