Page 91 of My Fake Fiancé is a Highlander

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“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Alistair.”

I close my door and lean against it, heart racing. On the other side of the wall, I hear him moving around, getting ready for bed. Every sound reminds me how close he is.

As I slip under the covers, the day replays in my mind.

Callum and Jane’s quiet intimacy. The way Alistair blended into my family like he’d always belonged. His hands on my hips during the games. The way we looked at each other by the fire.

And it hits me—with painful clarity.

I want something I can’t have.

And I don’t know how to stop.

CHAPITRE 22

ALISTAIR

Territories and boundaries

Martha knocks on my office door while I’m buried in quarterly reports. Three quick knocks, a pause, then one final tap—her personal code forsomething unusual is happening.

“Mr. Alistair,” she says as she steps inside, “you have a visitor.”

“I don’t have any appointments this morning,” I reply without looking up.

“That’s exactly the issue. It’s Callum McGregor. He says it’s urgent.”

That gets my attention.

Callum? Here?

The last time a McGregor—other than Keira—set foot on our land, it ended in a full-blown brawl at the 2012 whisky festival. There were photos in the local paper.

“What does he want?”

“He says it’s about Hamish. Apparently… he might be here.”

Hamish. Of course.

The same sheep who already caused a minor diplomatic incident by falling in love with Rosita, our prize ewe. I should’ve known that particular romance wasn’t over.

“Where is he?”

“At the distillery entrance. He refuses to step any farther without explicit permission. Something about enemy territory and protocol.”

I bite back a smile. That sounds exactly like Callum.

“Tell him I’m on my way.”

I take a second to straighten my tie and run a hand through my hair. Not that I’m trying to impress Keira’s brother. Just… maintaining standards.

Callum is waiting exactly where Martha said he’d be—like there’s an invisible line he refuses to cross. When he sees me, he straightens.

“McKenzie,” he greets with a nod.

“McGregor,” I reply in kind. “I hear you’re looking for a sheep.”