Page 73 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

I looked down, my cheeks hot. “That’s my family home.”

Ezra studied the screen. “Good grief. Are you serious?”

Zach gawped at me. “That’s where you live?”

“It’s where I grew up, with my parents and Marcus. My mum and dad still live there.”

If I was going to do this, I had to do it properly. No more secrets. No more hiding. In a way, it would be a release. No half measures.

I took a big gulp of air and typed in the words Lady Anastasia McLaren-Kerr.

The screen shimmered before dozens of images of me in slinky gowns at various events popped up. There was me posing with Declan, me tear-stained and jilted on my wedding day, me with various celebrity friends at parties.

I didn’t dare look at Zach.

Headlines raced across the screen.

IRISH CHARM ON THE LADY’S ARM; LADY ANASTASIA GETS ENGAGED; BOLLINGER BABE IN LOVE; WEDDING DAY WOES FOR JILTED LADY A– BOLLINGER BABE ARISTO DUMPED AT THE ALTAR; CONNED BY HER IRISH ROVER – LADY ANASTASIA DUPED AND DUMPED…

It was odd to see these pictures again now. I didn’t recognise myself as the woman in the photos. It didn’t seem like me. It didn’t feel like me. Not anymore. And I was so glad.

Ezra appraised the images on screen as he perched on the edge of the stool. He angled round to look at me, a stunned expression in his eyes. He looked at the pouting blonde and then back at me again. “Oh, my goodness! It’s you. You’re Lady Anastasia.” He stared at the photographs of me looking thinner and with swishy, long blonde hair.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was like a therapy session. I hadn’t known what to expect, but I hadn’t expected this. It was like shrugging off chains, feeling the hard, cold sensation sliding away. An element of relief flooded through my system.

“It was me,” I clarified, the heat rising in my cheeks. “But not anymore.”

I don’t know what I expected Zach to say.

I knew he would be surprised. Shocked, even.

What I hadn’t expected was the depth of the wounded look in his dark eyes, like he didn’t know who I was. White-hot needles of pain seared through my heart.

He pointed at the array of images of me filling the screen. His voice was flat. “Is this a joke? That’s you? That party girl? The runaway aristocrat?”

“I didn’t run away,” I blurted. “I started over.” I fiddled with the laptop trackpad for something to do. “But yes. I’m Lady Anastasia McLaren-Kerr.”

Zach drank in the shots of Bannock House again on my laptop screen. “And that stately home is yours?”

“It’s my parents’,” I answered, struggling to look at him.

Zach’s confused gaze ran over me, before returning to the screen. His puzzled expression focused on one of the photos of me on my wedding day, waiting for Declan to show up at the church.

I switched onto one of the pictures of Bannock House again.

Zach rubbed at his jaw, trying to unscramble what I’d just told him. He looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. “So, your parents…?”

I flashed a sideways glance at Ezra. “My parents are Earl and Countess Tweed Muir…”

I clenched my hands into fists by my side and then released them. “I never felt like an Anastasia. Bailey was the middle name of my grandmother and I always liked it.” I couldn’t look at Zach. I steadied my voice and carried on. “I opted for the surname McArthur, after one of my favourite floristry instructors at college, Katie McArthur.”

I took a breath. “And yes, I was supposed to marry Declan, who I suspect was the person who waylaid your editor that day.” I hoped my voice didn’t betray the hammering in my chest. The trouble with opening a box of secrets was that they were all tumbling out at the same time. “His name is Declan Rooney. You probably remember the story. He conned me out of a lot of money and then jilted me at the altar. He vanished into thin air until he spoke to your editor in town.”

Ezra offered me a fleeting smile of sympathy.

I felt sick. I so wanted Zach to believe me and hear what I was saying. I tried to compose the words jumping around in my mind. “I obviously thought Declan felt the same way about me as I did about him, but he didn’t. He used me as a walking cashpoint, a stupid idiot who could be manipulated and squeezed for absolutely everything I had.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “He told me all about this wonderful charity that he was setting up to support kids from underprivileged backgrounds. He said his aim was to help them break into the music industry. I invested in it – or at least, I thought I did.”

“But he pocketed the money and then scarpered,” concluded Ezra.