— It was. But what’s even worse is watching Callum be so determined to follow in the footsteps of a man who was never truly happy, deep down.
Her words echo inside me, casting Callum in a new light. His need for control. His devotion to the family business. His reluctance to let go.
— But enough family psychoanalysis, Keira suddenly declares, straightening. Let’s talk about how we’re going to turn you into a proper Scot. I think it’s time you learned how to drink whisky without making a face.
— Great, I was just starting to go into withdrawal. And for your information, I do not make a face, I protest. I’m intensely meditating on the complex flavors.
— Of course. And Hamish is just an ordinary sheep who wasn’t actively trying to become the official mascot of your wedding.
As if saying his name summons him, my phone vibrates.
Jamison
Madam, I regret to inform you that Hamish has once again entered the castle and appears to be looking for you. He has already chewed on two cushions and terrorized the maid.
I show the screen to Keira, who bursts out laughing.
— That sheep is obsessed with you. It’s almost romantic.
— Or concerning, depending on how you look at it, I reply. Should we head back?
— Probably, before he decides to redecorate the living room. But first…
She pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of me without warning.
— What are you doing? I protest.
— Sending proof of life to my brother so he knows his wife is having a perfectly good time without him, she says with a wicked grin. A little guilt won’t hurt him.
— Keira! I protest, though I’m secretly amused by her scheme. That’s petty.
— It’s brilliant, Savannah chimes in. My best friend is amazing—your brother needs to regret ditching her the morning after the wedding!
— It’s strategic, Keira declares, tapping her screen. And… sent!
I shake my head, half exasperated, half impressed by her boldness.
— You’re diabolical.
— Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.
— It is, Savannah confirms.
We leave the café and head back to the car, Keira sharing stories about the locals we pass along the way. There’s something strangely comforting about this temporary normalcy, like for a few hours I can pretend I really am a McGregor—really Callum’s wife—and not an actress playing a role in an elaborate performance.
Just as we reach the car, a familiar voice—terribly, horribly familiar—freezes me in place.
— Jane? Jane Carter? Is that you?
No. No, no, no. That’s not possible. The universe cannot be this cruel.
— Oh shit, Savannah swears.
CHAPTER 21
JANE
We exchange a stunned look. I can read the exact same horror on my best friend’s face.
