Page 122 of My Fake Fiancé is a Highlander

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— Hello, Keira, Alistair says at last, breaking the silence.

— Hello, I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

— I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.

— It’s fine.

Another silence stretches between us.

— How are you? he asks.

— Fine.

That makes three lies today.

— And you?

— I’ve been better, he says with disarming honesty. I haven’t slept in days, I’ve been surviving on coffee and whisky, and I’ve probably terrified half my staff with my foul mood.

His bluntness catches me off guard.

— Why are you here, Alistair?

He steps closer, slowly, as if afraid I might bolt if he moves too fast.

— I need to know the truth, Keira. Did my father speak to you during dinner? When I was on the phone?

The question chills me.

— I don’t know what you’re talking about, I say, looking away.

— Please don’t lie to me. Not you.

There’s so much pain in his voice I can’t keep up the act.

— How did you find out? I whisper.

— I put two and two together. I tried to speak to my father, but very conveniently, he had an important meeting in Edinburgh today…

I close my eyes, defeated.

— What exactly did he say? Alistair asks, sitting across from me.

— He knows about our arrangement. About the fake engagement.

— I figured.

— He said he’d already signed an agreement with William Fraser for the shop. That my project didn’t stand a chance. And that if I… if I truly cared about you, I should end things before you were disinherited because of me.

I finally look up at him, bracing myself for anger—maybe even contempt. But all I find is a tenderness so overwhelming it steals my breath.

— And you believed him, he says softly. You thought you were protecting me.

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.

— I didn’t want to be the reason you lost everything, I whisper. Your family, your inheritance, the distillery…

Alistair shakes his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips.