My mother laughs softly.
“Rhona was quite pragmatic. She used to say the McGregors were neither better nor worse than us—simply different in their approach.They look backward while we look forward, but we are all gazing at the same landscape, she would say.”
“Did Father share that view?”
“Your father inherited the legendary McKenzie stubbornness… along with a tendency to turn professional disagreements into personal vendettas.”
She rises gracefully, smoothing her skirt.
“I’ll leave you to your marketing research,” she says with a wink. “Oh—and don’t forget dinner tonight. If you’d like to bring your charming fiancée, she would be most welcome. Your great-uncle Douglas would be delighted to have a new audience.”
“I don’t think Keira is ready for another family confrontation just yet,” I reply carefully.
“As you wish. But you know… for someone who claims to be engaged, you’re spending an awful lot of time digging into our family’s past. Wouldn’t it be simpler to ask her directly what she thinks of our ancestral rivalry?”
With that, she leaves.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the documents.
This treasure mentioned across generations… what could it be? Artifacts? Something valuable? And why was it divided between the two families?
Finally, I pull out my phone and take photos of the old 1952 image, along with the most revealing journal entries—especially those mentioning the treasure and this Elspeth who seems to have played a role in the original fracture between our families.
For the first time, I begin to wonder if our temporary arrangement might have consequences far more lasting than we anticipated.
Not because of a contract.
Not because of our families.
Not even because of our competing business interests.
But because… maybe Hamish and Rosita understood long before we did that some barriers aren’t as unbreakable as they seem.
And that perhaps… a shared treasure is waiting to be found again.
CHAPITRE 12
Parfait.
On revient strictement au cadre :traduction fidèle, sans coupe, sans ajout, sans interprétation excessive.
Keira
A McKenzie, a McGregor, and a Jewelry Box Walk into a Distillery…
I am not nervous. Not at all. The fact that I changed outfits three times this morning has absolutely nothing to do with stress. Nor does the fact that I reorganized my pencils by size, then by color, then by size again before leaving the house. It’s simply that I’m meticulous. Professional. Prepared. And if my hands are trembling slightly as I park in front of the McKenzie distillery, it is solely because of the excess caffeine in my system.
Instinctively, I turn my head to glance at the back seat, almost expecting to find Hamish there. It must be at least the twentieth time I’ve checked since leaving the McGregor estate. Thankfully, there is no sheep in sight…
“You can do this, Keira,” I murmur to my reflection in the rearview mirror. “It’s just a tea—no, a project. You’ve done dozens.”
Except I’ve never had to do one for my supposed fiancé, in the distillery of the rival family, after discovering that our respective sheep are involved in a more honest relationship than we are. Life was so much simpler a month ago…
I take a deep breath, grab my portfolio, my sketchbooks, and my laptop, then step out of the car. The Scottish sun, in one of its rare generous moods, bathes the modernized façade in light, making it almost dazzling. I squint slightly.
“Right on time,” a familiar voice says behind me. “I appreciate that quality in my contractors.”
I turn to find Alistair, arms crossed over his chest, a crooked smile on his lips, that particularly irritating dimple appearing in his left cheek.
