“So… you love him?” she asks suddenly.
The question hits me so hard I nearly slip off the wall.
“I—it’s complicated,” I stammer, buying time. “We’re so different, but?—”
“But you love him,” she finishes.
This time, it’s not a question.
I bite my lip. Do I keep lying… or come clean?
“Yes,” I whisper finally, choosing the coward’s way out. “As unlikely as it sounds.”
My mother exhales slowly.
“Oh, Keira. A McKenzie.”
“I know. Believe me, no one is more surprised than I am.”
She studies me carefully.
“And he loves you too?”
I swallow hard. There’s no turning back now.
“He told me he does.”
“And the castle? He did call our ancestral home a ‘picturesque but outdated ruin.’”
I grimace.
“We had a long discussion about that. He admits he can be… provocative.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“But deep down, he respects history. He just has a different way of honoring it.”
The words flow too easily—like some part of me has already thought all of this through. Like, despite all our clashes, I’ve actually imagined what it might be like to be with Alistair.
My mother watches me closely, as if trying to read between every line.
“Well… I suppose you won’t be bored together.”
I smile.
“No. Boredom is definitely not a risk.”
Then it hits me.
If I keep this up, I actually have to convince Alistair to go along with it. A McKenzie. Grandson of the man who swore eternal vengeance on the McGregors after my grandfather “accidentally” spilled coffee on his kilt at a town council meeting.
I check the time.
“We should head back.”
I hop down from the wall, brushing dampness from my jeans. My mother follows, her expression still serious.
“Keira, if you really are in love with Alistair McKenzie…”
