Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Bryn
Mac’s sisters make it easy to talk to them, and a short while later when his mum returns, we all talk about the wedding, the dresses, and the plans that are happening.
“It’s a bit crazy,” Paisley says. She’s shyer than Islan, will hardly meet my eyes when she talks, but I can tell beneath that shy exterior of hers she’s brilliant and witty.
“Fran met her man online. They only met last week in person for the very first time. Isn’t that mental, girls?”
Their mum, Flora, shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know.
When you’re talking to people like me and Bryn’s mum, you hear that we all have our own stories, things like arranged marriages.
" She smiles sadly, and the mention of an arranged marriage makes my own nerves twitch.
It's uncomfortable to even think about the possibility. “So when you talk about meeting blokes online, it doesn’t sound that far-fetched.” She sighs.
“I suppose many of us made the marriages work despite the challenges, hmm?”
And for some reason, I feel as if she’s speaking directly to me.
Could I make the arranged marriage work, and spare Mac from what I have planned?
I don't like the thought of hurting him.
I hate the thought of doing anything that would harm him.
Furthermore, now that I've met his family, I despise the very thought of doing anything that would turn them against me.
It's one thing to think of a nameless, faceless enemy, but another thing to see their actual faces.
This family is nothing like mine. This family… likes each other. They welcomed me in here… well, most of them. I wouldn't say their father gave me a very warm welcome. The women, however, actually stood up for me.
“You say that, Mum,” Islan says, shaking her head. “But arranged marriages are archaic. There's no need for something like that in this day and age, and it's a bloody shame to think that it still happens." She turns to look at me. "What do you think, Bryn?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. “I mean, I can see why they’ve worked for so long for our families.
But even by saying they worked, we may be talking about two different things, aren't we? It works to keep the peace among the clans. It works to keep… children coming.” I cringe.
“It works to make sure that those in leadership positions have the power of family behind them. But when we talk about marriage working, maybe our hopes are still pinned on… something a little different.”
“Aye,” Islan says, her voice hardening. “We are. Something like love. Is it too much to ask for?”
Flora doesn’t respond. Is her own marriage one built on convenience, like my parents’? I don’t say anything about myself. I’m not sure I want to.
I butter a scone and drink the scalding tea.
“God, this is delicious,” I tell her. “Our staff makes good food, but this scone’s amazing.”
It turns out this is the right way to change the subject. Paisley's eyes light up, and she begins to tell me about all of her baking lessons the staff has recently given her.
Flora shakes her head. “Now the only reason why you girls have this notion of love in your heads is because of those novels you’ve been reading.”
“Novels?” I ask, curious why she’d blame the hope of love on a novel.
Islan snorts. “Now, don’t you go lecturing us for reading romance novels. You know as well as us that you’ve read every single damn one of them. Haven't you?" She gives her a teasing look, and Flora actually smiles.
“Well, of course I have," she says. "But at least I have the ability to discern between fiction and reality. These novels don't give you an ideal view into what actually happens in a marriage, do they?"
“Of course they do.” We look up to see the door swinging open, and an older woman with her gray hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head comes waltzing in. “Och, we’ve got fresh scones and muffins and a guest. Looks like I’m just on time.”
Mac takes a seat beside me. “Nan, meet Bryn. Bryn, Nan.”
“Pleased to meet you, Nan,” I say, extending my hand. She waves me away.
“No need for formalities, lassie, you have a seat beside your man. Bryn… what a bonnie name for a bonnie lass. Dinnae ken when I heard such a lovely name, do you, Flora?”
Flora’s eyes dance. “No, I don’t.”
“Now, then,” Nan says with a smile. “Were we talking about those romance novels? I’m a bit disappointed we haven’t had a new one since last fall. I mean, if a lass can’t get a real-life snog, she can read about it, hmm?”
Even Mac’s shoulders shake with laughter at this, and he shakes his head.
“Not sure Leith was too keen on you girls reading those, no?”
Leith rolls his eyes. “Gave up that battle. And I have no objection to the reading, it’s just that…” he looks to me, and changes the subject. “I have my reasons. You girls can read them if you’d like.”
“There’s nothing to read,” Islan says. “We finished the last one the day after it came out and there’s been nothing else since.” She looks on the verge of pouting.
“Maybe someone finally found out the author, then?” Paisley asks, her eyes wide.
I’m dying to know.
“So what’s the big secret?” I’m curious and can’t help but ask.
Mac clears his throat, and gives Islan a warning look, but she ignores him.
"The boys have it in their minds that somehow the book’s written about us.
” She rolls her eyes and makes a face. “But honestly if they actually read the books, they’d see that there's no way the heroes of those novels are my manky brothers. "
I laugh out loud at the sound of outrage all three men make in unison.
“Manky my arse,” Mac mutters, getting a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Ask the women they’re with if they agree.”
“No, thank you,” I say, my cheeks flushing. Paisley snorts with laughter but quickly covers her mouth. Islan winks at me, clearly loving taking the piss out of her brothers.
“Has it occurred to you girls that the author of the books has gotten a warning of sorts? Perhaps the real source of where she gets her information found out, and asked her to stop idolizing what they did. Perhaps they want her to stop painting an unrealistic look into the lives of those men."
“Or perhaps,” Islan says, getting to her feet, “no one thinks as much about those men as they do themselves.” She rolls her eyes. “Have you read the Clan Chronicles, Bryn?”
“Can’t say that I have.” Can’t say that I’m not dying to now, after this row.
“For the love of God,” Mac mutters. “Do you have to convert every woman we bring through these doors to your ways? It's like you have a direct reason for pushing these books, like you get a royalty share every time..." Then he goes very quiet. “Islan…”
She rolls her eyes. “We've gone over this, Mac,” she says impatiently. “There's no way I'm the one writing about my brothers the way the author of these novels writes about them. There's no. Fuckin’. Way.”
“In my day, wee lassies didn’t have the mouths of a Highlander,” Nan says sternly, but Islan’s already left the kitchen. Cairstina sidles up to me, holding a sweet, bonnie baby to her chest, and pulls up her phone.
“You’ve got a mobile?” she whispers.
I nod. “Aye, of course.”
She shows me an app on her phone. “Read the digital copies,” she says with a wink. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Mac stands up and heads to the back door with Leith and Tate. “I’ve an errand to run in town with Bryn in a short while, after I help Leith and Tate. Until then, you girls take good care of Bryn, will you?”
“Of course,” Islan says, her eyes dancing.
She’s mischievous as hell. I love it. I never had a relationship with my older sisters.
They left when I was so young, and by the time they did, they were so hardened and icy because of the way they were treated by my father, they weren’t the type of people I wanted to spend time with anyway.
The door shuts behind him, and the girls whisk me away to another room.
“Come, help us figure out what we’re doing with our hair. Are you good at that, too, Bryn?”
“Aye, girls, I love things like this. When I was a wee girl, I’d spend hours upon hours drawing princesses on notepaper. Hairstyles and dresses, jewelry and the like. It’s what got me into wanting to be a designer myself.”
“I can’t believe you actually did Fran’s dress,” Paisley says wistfully. “It must be a dream come true to be the designer behind a wedding dress.”
“Aye, it is,” I say truthfully. I’m nervous about getting it done. I have to get my things in town, and soon, but I’ll wait for Mac.
“Now Paisley, I’ve an idea for your hair.”
My mobile buzzes with a text.
Mac.
My heart thumps.
Mac: Hello, beautiful. Staying out of trouble with my sisters?
I smile and quickly type a reply. Of course not.
There’s a pause before he replies. Are you trying to rile me up?
Bryn: Did it work?
Mac: You’re getting there. Why don’t you tell me what you’ll do later today when we’re alone again?
I don’t respond at first but stand and look around me. “Can someone tell me where the toilet is?”
“Right around the corner we’ve a powder room,” Nan says, as she sits back on one of the loveseats, her hands clasped on her knee, watching her granddaughters rifle through fashion magazines.
“Thank you.”
I head to the restroom with my mobile, and when I find it vacant, I quickly shut the door and lock it. I flip the camera to selfie, then shove my thumb in my mouth, letting my lips loosen as I lick it provocatively. I lean over, showing my cleavage to the camera and send him the shot.
The response comes a moment later.
Mac: Jayssssusssss
I can imagine him leaning up against the fence, groaning. I’ll make him groan again when I have him to myself later.
My phone buzzes with another text, and I swipe it on to read what Mac says. But this one isn’t Mac.
Unknown: Where the fuck are you. I can’t find you, and I can’t fucking go home.
I wince. Oh, God. Michail.