Chapter 14 #2
— These old trinkets, she says, touching her pearl necklace, they’ve seen so many McGregor dinners they could probably seat themselves by now.
I smile, appreciating her self-deprecating humor.
— Jane, Callum says, are you alright?
His gaze is softer than usual. I wonder if it’s because of our conversation after the paparazzi incident, or just a performance for his grandmother.
— I’m fine, thank you. A little nervous about meeting all these people, but nothing a good glass of champagne can’t fix.
— Speaking of which, Maggie says, I must inform you of a small change in the program.
Oh no. I already hate that sentence.
— What change? Callum asks cautiously.
— I thought it would be charming for the two of you to give a short speech tonight, she declares as if announcing a delightful surprise. To welcome the guests and express your happiness on the eve of your union.
My stomach tightens. A speech? Without preparation? In front of all these strangers already watching me like some kind of spectacle?
— Grandmother, Callum begins, we haven’t prepared anything—
— Oh, but that’s much better! Maggie insists. The most sincere words are those that come from the heart, not the ones written in advance.
She pats my arm affectionately.
— And don’t worry, my dear. You’re an actress—improvisation must be second nature to you.
With that, she moves away to greet other guests, leaving Callum and me in stunned silence.
— I’m sorry, he finally says. I didn’t know she was planning this.
— It’s not your fault, I sigh. Your grandmother is creative in the way she tests us.
— You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.
I raise an eyebrow.
— And disappoint Lady McGregor? I’d rather duel Hamish.
Callum lets out a soft laugh, a sound that has become less rare in recent days.
— Speaking of which… look who decided to join the party.
I follow his gaze and spot, to my astonishment, Hamish standing proudly at the entrance of the hall, observing the festivities as if waiting for a personal invitation.
— How did he get in here? I ask, incredulous.
— Hamish has his methods, Callum replies with a resigned shrug. During events, he always finds a way to invite himself in.
— Don’t tell me that’s also a tradition.
— No. Just an annoying habit. I’ll ask Jamison to escort him out before he causes any damage.
But before Callum can act, Hamish calmly walks into the room, heading straight for the floral arrangements decorating the tables.
— Oh no, Callum…
We watch, helpless, as Hamish begins methodically nibbling on one of the centerpieces. Several guests notice the plump intruder and laughter starts to ripple through the room.
To my surprise, Maggie, who has also noticed Hamish, doesn’t seem upset. On the contrary, she smiles indulgently, as if his presence were part of the evening’s entertainment.
— Why is no one doing anything? I whisper to Callum.
— Because it’s Hamish, he replies, as if that explains everything. And because, strangely, the guests seem to like him.
Indeed, far from being shocked, the villagers seem to find the sheep’s presence perfectly normal, some even speaking to him like an old friend.
— This animal has a higher social status than I do in this village, I remark, stunned.
— He was born here. You’re just the newcomer who nearly undressed the McGregor heir in public, Callum teases.
— Thank you for the reminder, I mutter, nudging him lightly. I was almost starting to forget that humiliation.
Having finished his floral snack, Hamish now heads toward us with determination.
— Is he coming to greet us or looking for more flowers to devour? I ask, not entirely reassured despite our recent alliance.
— Hard to say with him.
But Hamish stops in front of us and fixes us with his strangely intelligent eyes before sitting down, as if waiting for something.
— Do you think he wants us to introduce him officially to the guests? Callum suggests, half amused, half exasperated.
— That sheep has an oversized ego, I comment. He should work in Hollywood.
The clinking of a glass interrupts us as Maggie calls for attention.
— Dear friends, family, and neighbors, she begins in a voice that carries effortlessly across the hall. Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate the upcoming union of my grandson, Callum McGregor, and the charming Jane Carter.
Polite applause fills the room.
— As you all know, Maggie continues, the McGregors are deeply attached to their traditions. And tonight, I would like to invite the future bride and groom to share a few words with us.
She gestures for us to step forward, her smile leaving no room for refusal.
Callum looks at me, concerned.
— Ready? he murmurs.
— Not at all, I reply, still wearing my best actress smile. But when are we ever ready in life?
We walk together to the center of the room under the attentive gaze of every guest. Hamish follows us, as if he were an integral part of the ceremony.
— Callum, perhaps you would like to begin? Maggie suggests, handing him a glass for the toast.
I watch him take a deep breath, his face settling into that composed calm I now recognize as his professional mask.
— Thank you all for coming tonight, he begins. Your presence means a great deal to Jane and me.
He speaks with ease, thanking the guests, emphasizing the importance of family and community, even sharing a few childhood anecdotes that draw laughter from the crowd. It is a perfectly calibrated speech—warm without being too personal, formal without being distant.
And yet, I can’t help but feel a slight disappointment.
Every word is measured, every sentence carefully constructed for its effect.
Nothing in this speech reveals the Callum I’ve glimpsed these past few days—the one who showed me his secret place in the hills, the one who laughed when Hamish attacked the paparazzo.
When he finishes, the guests applaud warmly. Maggie nods with approval, clearly satisfied.
Then it’s my turn.
She hands me a glass, and I feel every eye turn toward me, waiting. My heart pounds, my throat is dry, and my mind is strangely blank.
What am I supposed to say? Spin a bold lie about passionate love? Recite polite clichés about marital bliss? Or tell the truth—that I’m a disgraced actress who agreed to play the role of fiancée for money, and who’s now starting to wonder if the role is becoming real?
I take a deep breath.
Then I look around.
At the curious but kind faces. At people gathered to celebrate a love they believe is real. I see Keira’s encouraging smile. And Callum—watching me, a flicker of concern in his usually unreadable gaze.
And suddenly, I know.
— When I arrived in Scotland, I begin softly, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew the clichés, of course—castles, kilts, rain… lots of rain.
Soft laughter ripples through the room.
— What I didn’t expect was the warmth. Not from the sun, which is admittedly quite rare…
More laughter, louder this time.
— But from the people. The way a family can welcome a stranger and make her feel like she belongs. The way an entire village can come together to celebrate not just a union, but the very idea of community.
I pause, surprised by my own sincerity.
— I’ve learned a lot since I arrived. I learned what haggis is—and, against all odds, I survived to tell the tale.
The room erupts in laughter, and I even catch Isobel smiling.
— I learned that Scottish dancing is far more dangerous than it looks—especially for kilts.
Callum flushes slightly at the reference, but his eyes remain locked on mine, something new flickering there.
— And I’ve learned that sometimes, the most unexpected things can become the most precious. Like a castle becoming a home. Or an arrangement becoming…
I stop, suddenly aware of how close I am to the truth.
Our eyes meet.
— Becoming a new beginning, I finish.
I raise my glass.
— So here’s my toast: to Scotland, for welcoming me. To the McGregor family, for embracing me. To Callum, who chose me. And to Hamish, who seems to have adopted me—after terrifying me.
Hamish, as if on cue, lets out a soft bleat at my feet, drawing another wave of laughter.
— Slàinte mhath, I conclude.
— Slàinte! the guests echo.
I drain my glass in one go, relieved to have survived. When I look at Callum again, I’m struck by the intensity of his gaze. There’s something new there. Something that looks like admiration… or maybe even—
No. That’s ridiculous. It’s just exhaustion and stress playing tricks on me.
Hamish chooses that moment to return to his floral feast, now targeting the main table decorations, drawing amused reactions from the guests.
— I think our special guest has decided the speeches are over, I comment with a laugh.
— And he’s right, Maggie agrees, collecting our glasses. It’s time for dinner. Jane, my dear, that was absolutely charming. You surprised us all.
She moves off to direct the staff, leaving Callum and me alone in the hum of guests taking their seats.
— That was… Callum begins, searching for words.
— Acceptable? I suggest. Not too embarrassing? Convincing enough for your grandmother?
— Beautiful, he corrects gently. You were beautiful.
His voice is so sincere, so stripped of his usual reserve, that I feel myself blush.
— It was nothing, I stammer. Just improvisation, like your grandmother said.
— It was more than that, he insists. It was sincere.
Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, the rest of the room fades away. There is only Callum and me, suspended in a bubble where all the complications of our arrangement feel distant and insignificant.
The moment is broken when Jamison politely informs us that we are expected at the main table. Reluctantly, we part to take our seats.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of conversations, delicious food, and toasts in our honor. I meet dozens of people whose names blur together in my tired mind. I smile until my cheeks ache, laugh at stories about Callum as a child, and do my best to decipher the thickest Scottish accents.
And sometimes, across the table, I catch Callum looking at me. Every time, he smiles—different from the ones he gives the guests. A smile just for me.
It’s well past midnight when Maggie finally announces the end of the evening, reminding everyone that tomorrow is a big day requiring rest.
As the guests begin to disperse, I find myself beside Callum again.
— You survived your first official dinner as a future McGregor. Congratulations, he says.
— I feel like I’ve run a marathon, I admit, stifling a yawn. A marathon with haggis and kilts.
— You should get some rest, he suggests gently. Tomorrow will be an even longer day.
— Hard to imagine, I sigh. But you’re right—I should go before I collapse in the middle of the hall.
I turn to leave when Callum gently places his hand on my arm.
— Jane, he says hesitantly.
— Yes?
— What you said tonight… about an arrangement becoming a new beginning…
My heart picks up speed.
— That was just for the speech, I reply quickly. You know… to make it convincing.
He looks at me for a long moment, as if searching for something in my eyes.
— Of course, he says finally. Good night, Jane.
— Good night, Callum.
I head toward the staircase, strangely disappointed with my own answer.