Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
F iona
Dad laughs as he tells me the latest news on the garden. “There’s a wee bunny rabbit who’s made a den just below the wall. I know he’s nibbling on the cabbage but I haven’t got the heart to kick him out. I thought, ‘Now what would my Fiona do?’”
“Keep him!” I laugh.
“Exactly!” He laughs back. “And probably knit him a scarf.”
“Aye, don’t put it past me. I love those wee bunnies.” I’m joyful, talking to him daily on the Burnes family landline. Not only does it keep my worry over him at bay, but I also enjoy getting to know the clever, witty man who is my father when he’s sober. “I’m so glad you’re healthy and happy,” I add. . ”
Dad says, “You sound happy too, lass.”
“Do I?” I ask.
“Aye. We’ve been speaking every day, and you sound happier with each call.”
I think over this past week, the first of my imprisonment.
After that first dinner, Callum was buried in the Great Hall with his men, or he was off scouting around Glasgow. Every evening at five on the dot, we have dinner, or tea, or supper, as we all call it something different. Callum chimes in with a dry comment here or there, but Freya carries the conversation.
To my relief and disappointment, he’s not stepped foot inside my room after that mind-blowing adventure that left me kneeling on the floor, naked, trembling, and clinging to the bedcovers. He’s been so busy with work, wedding plans seem far from his mind, leaving me to enjoy Freya’s company and the house without worrying over his demands for marriage.
Freya’s taken the week off work. She says the time was already planned, but I think she’s here to watch me. Each day, we have some new adventure on the Estate. Knowing my love of nature, she took me down to the creek at the back of the property, guards in our wake. We had a picnic of sandwiches, lemonade, and Nan’s cookies. We dipped our feet in the water and picked wildflowers.
I showed her how to tie their stems together, weaving us each a crown of flowers.
That night, we went to dinner arm in arm, crowns on our heads. My face felt flushed from hiking, air, and sun, and I was giggling at some silly comment Freya had made. Declan was in the room, showing Callum some papers. Callum stopped mid-sentence when I entered, his eyes falling on me with such a hunger, I went weak in the knees.
Paranoid or overprotective, maybe both; Callum’s not allowed me to step foot off the property. I try to convince Freya to go out and enjoy her time off. Instead, she finds more things for us to do. We fill hours with online shopping from her favorite boutiques in Glasgow, ones that offer next day delivery.
When the boxes arrive, we have a fashion show, trying on everything. Freya helps me organize my new wardrobe, shoes, purses, and jewelry. I’m overwhelmed with my new lifestyle, but I lovingly embrace the gifts.
She gifts me pallets of makeup and shows me how to apply it all. We play board games, watch rom-coms, and walk the property. The days have flown by. She’s back to work tomorrow. We’ve decided to celebrate our new friendship by going out tonight.
Butterflies dance in my stomach. I don’t know if we can pull this off. Freya’s convinced we can, but then her brother has no hold on her.
It’s a different story if I get caught.
“Where are you going?” Dad asks.
“Just to have a bite to eat,” I say. “Maybe do a little dancing.”
“Callum’s letting you out?” My dad snorts. “I’m guessing you’ll have an army of guards escorting you on the dance floor, love.”
Not wanting to lie, I just laugh at his imagery. “Can you imagine me dancing with those men?”
“Hold still!” Freya hisses as she tucks the last few strands of my flame-red hair under the wig cap.
“Is that Freya with you?” Dad asks.
“Aye, Dad. She’s doing my hair. Some of her friends from work are joining us out tonight. Should be a good time!”
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Dad says. “It was a rude awakening. It took Callum showing up here and taking you away to make me see the error of my ways, and it finally made me sober up. And you getting a glimpse of the big wide world by staying with those two in Glasgow. Well, it’s all working out for now.”
“Aye, Dad. It is.” I stare at the mirror. I look like Ms. Daphne, the sweet cafeteria manager from primary school. She always snuck me extra boiled potatoes when I looked a little thin. “I’ve got to go now. Love you!”
We exchange pleasantries. I hang up the landline, staring at Freya’s work in the mirror.
“This is not a good look,” I say. “Not good at all.”
“Just wait, little bee,” she says, using one of her many nicknames for me. “I’m not done yet. May I introduce you to Kare Bear with a K.” She holds up a shiny blonde bob with thick bangs to hide my face.
“You named your wig?” I ask.
“Not wig. Wigs. I have hundreds, and yes, they all have names. Today, I’ll be wearing Kimmie.” She points a long red fingernail, filed to a point, at a long brunette wig, the part running down the center.
I take a closer look at the brunette. The hair feels soft and expensive. “Is that a real part at the scalp?”
“Yes,” she says. “A skin-toned netting meant to look like human skin. I don’t skimp.”
“When going undercover?” I ask.
“Ever,” she laughs. “You can see why I had to get off our wee island. My personality was city-sized, and so were my financial aspirations. Fishermen’s wives can’t afford Channel, now can they?” She does a little twirl, showing off the red soles of her sky-high heels.
“Now, just hold still.” She pulls the wig over my hairline, settling it in place. It takes a few moments of tugging and adjusting before she’s happy. “Va-va-va-voom! I’m getting Marilyn Monroe vibes.”
“Vibes?” I ask.
“Vibes. Feels. Just look.” She grabs my shoulders, turning me toward the mirror. “See?”
I take in my reflection with awe. It’s not mousy little Fiona looking back at me. I’m a blonde bombshell.
Reaching up, I brush my fingers over the fibers of the wig. “Is this real human hair?”
“Yes.” Her face pops in the mirror next to mine. “What do you think?”
“I love it.” I turn right to left, getting a full view of my profile with the new do. I’ve spent hours envying Freya’s sexy locks. It’s only been a moment, and I’m already finding it true that blondes have more fun.
“You could pull it off, you know. Platinum. I have a girl who may have an opening next month. I can book an appointment for you if you want. Maybe start slow with some partial highlights?”
I laugh. “Last I got my hair trimmed, it was in Ms. Greta’s kitchen.”
“Och. God! I remember her. Soprano in the church choir. She gave me bangs once when I was seven. Grew them back and never tried that again. Is she the only one who's ever done your hair?”
“Yes,” I admit, sheepish around fashionable Freya.
“Yer due for a proper salon visit. Angie’s amazing, so she’s fully booked all the time. She’s great. She keeps my grays away.”
I peek at her scalp, looking for evidence. I can’t find anything other than blonde strands. “Yer too young for gray hair.”
“Not when your brother is Callum Burnes. Just wait. A few years of being married to him? You’ll see. You’ll be as gray as grandma.” Seeing my reflection, she stops herself. “I mean, if you marry him…”
I try to ease her discomfort. “I think I know what you mean already, just from living with him,” I say.
“Yes, I’m sure you do. Now, hold still while I put on your lashes. I need to see the full picture. I need to make sure yer blonde bob doesn’t turn you into a Karen.”
“Karen?” I close my eyes, trying not to move as she presses a delicate strip of long black lashes against my skin .
She talks as she works. “Have you never heard the term? I must have picked it up at work. You know, Karen? American moms from the early 2000s with the blonde bobs. The ones who complain to the manager and think the world revolves around them.”
“Goodness. I’d crawl under a rock before complaining to a manager.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I could never complain. I once ate an entire meal of blood sausages because I thought telling them they gave me the wrong plate was rude. I’d ordered a grilled cheese.”
“Aw, bless! Yer no Karen.” She gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. I love how instantly she accepts me just as I am yet still encourages me to go outside my comfort zone. “Yer as sweet as honey. That’s why yer my little Fi-bee.” Her honey reference makes me blush as I remember Callum tasting his fingers the first day I arrived at the house.
Others have weaponized my sweetness at times, like Carol Ann, who I love to death but who often likes to give me a hard time about my docile nature. Freya and Callum appreciate my softness.
I stare at the mirror. “Do I look like a Karen?”
“No, it’s just the bob cut. You look fantastic.”
“Poor Karens,” I say. “They were unlucky, being named Karen in the first place, I guess.”
She carefully applies red lipstick to hide my natural tones.
It takes a full fifteen minutes to pack all her gorgeous waist-length hair under two layers of wig caps, then tuck it all underneath Kimmie. When she’s done, she looks incredible, as always .
Envy creeps up as I take in her long legs, tanned skin, and beautiful face. Her complexion is just as dewy in brunette hair as in blonde. She wears a padded bra, an attempt to change her shape.
“You truly look good in anything, don’t you?” I say.
Brushing off my comment, she loops her arm in mine. “Okay, baby bee. Let’s go. It's time to dive deep undercover. Marilyn Monroe and Kimmie Double D, to the rescue!”
Freya is determined to take me out on the town and get me to a dance club for a girls’ night out without Callum knowing. She’s decided we’ve got to go undercover, disguising our identities so word doesn’t get back to him that she’s snuck me out.
“Here’s a trick I learned as a girl on the island.” Slipping her heels off, she carries them in one hand. “Less noisy.”
“Did you sneak out a lot?” I whisper.
“God, yeah. Didn’t you? Och, no, wait. You were a good girl, weren’t you? Good for your mum. That’s why she had so many less grays than mine. I’ll bet you were a dream to have around the house, a godsend helping with all those boys.”
“Thank you,” I say. I grip the back straps of my heels in the crook of my finger. “She called me her little helper.”
“Bless.” She holds the back door open for me, and we step out of the house and into the garden, the night air crisp and refreshing. My bare feet press into the soft, cool grass. We slip on our shoes.
Freya guides me down the street, her long legs striding purposefully. I walk behind her, my steps somewhat hesitant in my borrowed identity. The wig feels strange on my head, and the false lashes and bold lipstick make me feel almost like a different person. But I trust Freya—and even her alter ego, Kimmie Double D—to help me navigate this strange world.
I teeter on my high heels, tugging down the hem of my mini dress.
As we walk, I mimic Freya's confident gait and take in my surroundings. The streets are busy, even at this earlier hour of eight p.m. People in all sorts of attire pass us by, some dressed for a night out, others in casual clothes. A group of teenagers laugh loudly as they walk past us, their colorful sneakers squeaking on the pavement.
“Right, snacks first. You’ve got to have a full tummy to drink Cosmos.” Freya leads me to a nearby pub, the familiar scent of beer and fried food wafting onto the street. My stomach grumbles at the delicious smells, and I realize I haven't eaten since lunch.
We enter the dimly lit pub and find a table in the corner. There’s live music tonight, and a few men are playing a traditional ballad on their instruments. It’s one I recognize, a song often played at the Hobgoblin.
Freya orders for us as I survey the crowd. We sit, giggling at our costumes as we snack on cheese-covered fries and drink sparkling water in preparation for our long night out. We clear our table, and she gives me an excited grin. “Ready to dance? The girls from the law firm are meeting us there.”
“Yeah,” I say, pasting on a smile.
We get more than a few curious stares at our getups. I’ve got half a mind to back out, but Freya grabs my hand, giggling. I find her enthusiasm contagious.
As we make our way down the High Street, I can’t help but wonder what Callum will say if he finds out about this outing. About my involvement in this crazy, undercover mission. But for now, I trust Freya to keep me safe and on track.
As we approach the dance club, I take a deep breath and follow Freya. The music is throbbing, the lights are flashing, and I feel like a fish out of water. However, Freya seems to know exactly what she's doing, leading me through the crowd to the bar where we order drinks.
She hands me a fruity pink one. I take a sip, wincing at the strength of the liquor. The smell of alcohol and sweat assaults my nose, and I feel like I'm in a different world.
Pulling me along, our hands clasped, Freya pushes through the crowd and I find myself on the dance floor before long. Surrounded by bodies swaying, moving, and gyrating, I can't help but feel a strange sense of liberation. The music drowns out any thoughts of Callum or our mission, and for a moment, I forget who I am and where I'm meant to be. I let myself get lost in the rhythm, my body moving like never before.
Freya eyes the crowd. Her gaze stops at the entrance, and suddenly, she bursts into deep belly laughter. “Och! God! There they are! They’ve come undercover as well. God bless ‘em.”
I look to where she points, taking in the group of women in wigs and glasses and brightly colored dresses .
I can’t help but laugh alongside her. "We all look so ridiculous," I say, still giggling. "I can’t believe they came undercover."
"Those are my workmates from the law firm, alright," Freya replies, her laughter subsiding. She claps her hands together, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "Let's go and join them! This is gonna be a night to remember!"
We push through the crowded dance floor, clinging to our drinks for dear life. As careful as I am, I fear I lose half my drink as we’re bumped about.
Freya was right; the women from the law firm are in on the mission, too, wearing a variety of costumes and wigs. They wave and cheer as we approach, their faces alight, mirroring our expressions.
"Hey, honey!" one of them calls out. "Come and join us!"
As we weave through the sea of bodies, I lose sight of Freya. My heart beats harder as I try to push past two large men in black leather coats who suddenly stand in my way.
They both take me in, the larger one saying, “Fancy a drink?”
Sweat dots my hairline where the wig sits, heavy and hot. “Umm…no thanks, I’m looking for my friends.”
The men exchange glances, their eyes narrowing as they block my path. The music thumps in the background, drowning out any other noise. I can feel my heart racing, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach.
The smaller man leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Are you sure about that, sweetheart? We could show you a real good time. ”
My pulse quickens as I try to step back, but the crowd around us is relentless, pressing in from all sides. Panic begins to bubble up inside me, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin.
Just as I feel the grip of fear tightening around my chest, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “Hey, hands off, mate!”
I see Freya pushing her way through the crowd, her eyes blazing with determination. She stands beside me, a protective force field in human form.
The men size her up, clearly unimpressed by her slender frame and towering heels.
Then she puts her hands on her hips, going to work.
“Stalking is a crime under Scottish law and is an offense against the Criminal Justice and Licensing Act of 2010, Section 39. Scottish law defines stalking as a 'course of conduct' crime, that is, two or more incidents that make a person feel fear and alarm. You blokes have one strike. Let’s not make it two.”
The men glance curiously at one another, but before they can answer, Freya grabs my hand and pulls me away, her laughter leading me to her group.
We find a spot at the edge of the dance floor and start swaying to the music. She introduces me to each woman, and I try to keep up, remembering their names, but with them all in wigs, the dim light, and flashing colors, I highly doubt I’ll ever be able to identify them in the real world.
Still, they’re lovely, and growing up close to my female cousins and the other girls on the island, I easily fall into chatter and laughter with the group. After all, girls just want to have fun?—
As I’m having the thought, Cindy Lauper begins to belt out the words to the song over the speaker. The women squeal, pulling me in closer as we dance and sing along with the words.
And we get to the lines:
My father yells, "Whatchu gonna do with your life?"
Oh daddy dear, you know yer still number one
But girls, they wanna have fun
I instantly picture Callum’s face.
His jaw set, green eyes ablaze.
God, I hope Freya and I can keep this under wraps.
A second thought creeps in, one about his protection. What kind of father would he be? Providing for his wee ones at all costs, protecting those bairns with his very life.
I love my father, but there was more than one time he came home drunk, and we were hungry, and I couldn't stop myself from thinking spiteful thoughts.
How hard is it to put food on the table?
Shaking the memory from my mind, I gulp down the rest of my drink, placing the empty glass on a table, and lose myself in the music.
Callum’s family will want for nothing.
His wife will want for nothing, as well. He’s made that clear. I’m not even his wife, just a figment of his imagination, his imaginary bride-to-be, and he’s more than taken care of my every need.
My every want.
Happy to protect me.
A bit of guilt comes to me, sneaking out like this. I think of all the horror stories about the city that swirled around the island. We’d be worried sick if our friends turned up missing.
If he finds us missing from our rooms…he’ll be beside himself. And I’d feel terrible about that.
“Freya,” I say, tugging on her arm. I raise my voice to be heard over the music. “Freya. Should we call Callum and let him know where we are?”
“Don’t be silly! I’ve taken care of it. Chef’s got him worrying over a menu. We’ve got at least another hour before Chef lets him free.”
“What menu,” I ask, already knowing the only menu that would take Callum’s attention away long enough for her to feel confident we could stay out tonight.
“Wedding menu.” She flashes me a grin. “But don’t worry. We can use it for a party or something if you decide not to marry my brother.”
One of her friends throws an arm around my shoulders, shouting with an American accent. “You’d be crazy not to marry Callum! He’s sooo HAWT!”
Another one says, “Freya tried to set me up with him but he wassnae interested. Freya said there was someone from home who’d caught his eye. ”
“Oh,” I say, “that was me.”
“I know, silly!” The woman laughs.
I smile, feeling a wave of warmth in my chest. Freya must have told her colleagues all about me. I look around at the group of women, their faces lit up in excitement and joy.
It's been a while since I felt this happy and carefree. I’ve missed having the company of women. My last good times were with the girls at the research center over the summers. We worked by the shore during the day, huddled at the lodge together at night, drinking martinis and watching Sex and the City .
“Rock the Boat” starts playing, and the whole group starts singing again. Carol Ann’s Irish cousins visited the island once for a family wedding. They taught us a fun dance to this song. Now, I show the steps to our group, bumping hips with them, then creating lines of people sitting on the floor in “boats,” rocking our bodies together as we row. The girls with us mimic my actions, quickly learning the steps.
More people gather around, asking about the steps, and soon, the entire dance floor joins in.
When the song ends, the crowd shouts, “Again! Again!”
The DJ replays the song, turning up the volume. We laugh and shout, enjoying every moment, caught up in the magic of the night. Looking around in awe at all the people dancing along with us, I can barely believe I was the one brave enough to start the trend.
As the party goes on, Freya never left my side. I feel grateful for her friendship and trust. She's been there for me in a way that makes me think of her more as a sister than a friend.
The night winds down, and girls leave in groups or pairs to go home by car. My clothing sticks to my skin, damp with sweat. Fresh air sounds lovely after being in the stuffy club.
“Should we walk?” I ask.
“Are ye joking?” Freya looks at me as if I’ve grown a third head. “Walking home at this hour in the city. No way.” Linking arms with me, she tugs me toward the door. “I’ve already got a car waiting for us.”
True to her word, a sexy little black sedan waits to whisk us home.
After climbing into the back seat beside Freya, I pull off my wig and wig cap, sighing with relief as my hair tumbles free over my shoulders. Massaging my scalp, I think about how much I still have to learn about city life, grateful for Freya’s protection.
On the ride home, we sing along with the radio, laughing when we mix up the words. She insists on paying the driver, leaving a generous tip. Threading her arm through mine, we teeter up the front steps. “Shh! Don’t wake the beast!”
We creep through the front doors, the guards on either side keeping their mouths shut as they hold them open—they know they work for Freya as much as they do her brother—then Freya kisses my cheek.
“Night night, honey!” And makes her way up the stairs that lead to the front part of the second floor where she has her suite of rooms
Kicking my heels off, I hide the shoes and wig behind an umbrella stand.
I tiptoe through the foyer to the stairs that lead to the rear of the second floor where Callum’s and my rooms are, focused on crawling into my soft bed without, as Freya warned, waking the beast.
“Fiona!”
I freeze. My heart lurches to my throat as my name is once again bellowed through the halls, echoing off their stone walls.
“Fiona!” He’s getting closer. “That had best be you coming home—” He stands before me, all seventeen feet of him, hands on his hips and fury in his gaze. “There you are.”
My stomach falls into my shoes, and a chitter runs down my spine. Not all monsters are hiding under your bed.
Some are waiting for you to get home.