Or maybe… what scares me even more… is the possibility that I am.
CHAPTER 18
JANE
The bed is empty beside me. I’ve been staring at that vacant spot for a good ten minutes now, as if I expect it to reveal the secrets of the universe—or at the very least explain why my brand-new husband bolted from our wedding suite like I was contagious.
— Fantastic start to a marriage, Jane, I mutter, pushing myself upright. Day One: the husband runs away. Really promising.
Then again, what did I expect? We signed a contract that explicitly states there would be nothing romantic or physical between us. Then we kissed like two desperate teenagers. And now Callum McGregor—the man who probably schedules his bathroom breaks with military precision—is completely thrown off balance.
I get up and head into the bathroom, taking one look at myself in the mirror: messy hair, slightly puffy eyes—the perfect image of a bride abandoned on her wedding night. Hollywood could turn this into a heartbreaking drama. Except this is my life, and honestly, it feels more like a poorly written rom-com than anything Oscar-worthy.
After a quick shower, I slip into a simple dress and wrestle my hair into a somewhat presentable ponytail. Breakfast is served in the main dining room at 8:30, and it’s already 8:15. The last thing I want is to face the McGregor family, but disappearing the morning after my wedding would probably look even worse than showing up alone.
— Come on, Jane, I tell my reflection. You survived auditioning for a low-budget “sexy zombie” role. You can survive breakfast with your runaway husband and his intimidating Highland clan.
My reflection doesn’t look convinced—and honestly, neither do I.
As I make my way down the grand staircase, flashes from last night hit me: the guests, the music, the dancing… and that kiss beneath the flowered arch. That kiss that felt so real. So promising. God, I’m such a naïve actress if I start confusing performance with reality.
I pause outside the dining room doors and take a deep breath. On the other side, I can already hear voices, the clink of dishes—life going on as usual for people who didn’t spend the night wondering why they broke their own marriage contract.
— Well, look who finally made it—the bride!
Keira’s cheerful voice greets me the second I step inside. She’s already seated, dressed in jeans and a sweater, looking far too fresh for someone who was dancing at three in the morning.
— Good morning, Keira, I reply, forcing what I hope is a convincing smile.
My gaze sweeps across the table. Isobel is there, of course, impeccably dressed as if she’s attending a royal luncheon. Maggie is seated as well, eating her porridge with queenly composure—and… my mother.
Amanda Carter is sitting next to Isobel in a loud floral dress that screams California and clashes spectacularly with the understated elegance of the McGregors.
I catch Savannah’s eye. She shrugs like this isn’t her fault. My best friend looks exhausted—and I’m not even sure she slept.
— Sweetheart! my mom exclaims, jumping up to hug me. You look tired. Short night?
She gives me a not-at-all subtle wink that makes me want to sink straight into the polished floor.
Savannah nearly chokes on her coffee trying not to laugh.
— Mom, you’re already up? I ask, deliberately ignoring her question.
— I always wake up early. Alex had a seminar in Glasgow—“Chakra Awakening Through Belly Dancing.” He’ll join us tomorrow.
— Belly dancing, Savannah snorts, and I shoot her a warning look as I take my seat across from her.
I hear a faint sound from Isobel that might be her trying—and failing—to hide her disapproval. My mom and my stepfather Alex represent everything the McGregors seem to dislike: loud, extroverted, spiritually… Californian, and completely lacking that stiff British restraint the McGregor family wears like a second skin.
— That’s… great, Mom, I say.
I try very hard not to look at the empty chair beside me. Callum’s chair.
— Your mother and I had a fascinating conversation, Isobel comments, in a tone suggesting “fascinating” could easily mean “utterly surreal.” Amanda was just telling me about her experiences with… what do you call it, dear?
— Crystal therapy, my mom says enthusiastically. I actually brought a few energy stones for Jane and Callum. Rose quartz for love, carnelian for passion?—
— Oh, I don’t think our newlyweds need help in that department, Keira cuts in with a smirk. Not judging by the way they were looking at each other last night…
