The look she gives me could melt Arctic ice. She’s always been the voice of reason against Maggie’s theatrics—and I’ve never seen her this unsettled.
“A McKenzie?” she repeats, like the words themselves taste wrong. “How is that even possible? You spend half your life arguing with that man!”
“Opposites attract,” I offer with a nervous laugh.
She shakes her head.
“Since when? How? Why? I mean… a McKenzie, Keira!”
“It happened gradually,” I improvise, forcing sincerity into my voice. “Our arguments turned into… something else.”
“Into an engagement?” she chokes out.
I just nod.
Silence falls between us, but I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.
“He’s the first of his clan in generations who seems almost reasonable,” she admits, “but he’s still… a McKenzie.”
I blink, startled.
“Reasonable? Mom, that man suggested turning the old washhouse into a public jacuzzi.”
“A ‘heritage thermal spa,’” she corrects. “And honestly, between us, it wasn’t the worst idea for preserving the structure while making it useful.”
I stare at her, speechless. My own mother. Defending a McKenzie. Something is deeply off tonight.
“How are you—when did you—why are you defending him all of a sudden?”
She shrugs.
“I’m not defending him. I’m recognizing that, unlike his ancestors, he’s trying to balance tradition and modernity. And trust me, after thirty years around your grandmother, I’ve learned that balance is the only way traditions survive.”
I look back out over the hills, chewing on my lip. I shouldn’t keep digging myself deeper into this lie—but now that I’ve started…
“That’s exactly what drew me to him,” I say softly, seizing the opening. “That sense of balance. Beneath the arrogance, there’s someone who truly understands how to evolve traditions without betraying them.”
My mother stares at me like I’ve just told her I’m training to be an astronaut. Or worse—English.
“You’re serious, aren’t you? This isn’t some elaborate joke to escape Robert?”
I shake my head, my heart pounding.
“How did this even happen?” she asks, still reeling. “You were practically throwing documents at each other during the last council meeting!”
“It was after that meeting,” I say, pressing forward. “He caught up with me in the parking lot. We argued again—of course we did. And then… I don’t know. Something shifted. It was like all that intensity we put into fighting just… turned into something else.”
I look away, unable to meet her eyes as I spin this story—but the words come disturbingly easily.
“He invited me to tour his distillery. To show me how he blends innovation with tradition. I wanted to say no, but I was curious. And then… one thing led to another.”
My mother sinks down onto the stone wall like her legs can’t quite hold her anymore.
“We were waiting for the right moment to tell everyone. But with Robert—and Maggie’s plans—I panicked.”
Silence settles between us. I don’t dare look at her. Instead, I fix my gaze on the McKenzie distillery in the distance.
What have I gotten myself into?
