Chapter 18
JANE
The bed is empty beside me. I’ve been staring at that vacant spot for a good ten minutes now, as if I expect it to reveal the secrets of the universe—or at the very least explain why my brand-new husband bolted from our wedding suite like I was contagious.
— Fantastic start to a marriage, Jane, I mutter, pushing myself upright. Day One: the husband runs away. Really promising.
Then again, what did I expect? We signed a contract that explicitly states there would be nothing romantic or physical between us.
Then we kissed like two desperate teenagers.
And now Callum McGregor—the man who probably schedules his bathroom breaks with military precision—is completely thrown off balance.
I get up and head into the bathroom, taking one look at myself in the mirror: messy hair, slightly puffy eyes—the perfect image of a bride abandoned on her wedding night.
Hollywood could turn this into a heartbreaking drama.
Except this is my life, and honestly, it feels more like a poorly written rom-com than anything Oscar-worthy.
After a quick shower, I slip into a simple dress and wrestle my hair into a somewhat presentable ponytail.
Breakfast is served in the main dining room at 8:30, and it’s already 8:15.
The last thing I want is to face the McGregor family, but disappearing the morning after my wedding would probably look even worse than showing up alone.
— Come on, Jane, I tell my reflection. You survived auditioning for a low-budget “sexy zombie” role. You can survive breakfast with your runaway husband and his intimidating Highland clan.
My reflection doesn’t look convinced—and honestly, neither do I.
As I make my way down the grand staircase, flashes from last night hit me: the guests, the music, the dancing… and that kiss beneath the flowered arch. That kiss that felt so real. So promising. God, I’m such a na?ve actress if I start confusing performance with reality.
I pause outside the dining room doors and take a deep breath. On the other side, I can already hear voices, the clink of dishes—life going on as usual for people who didn’t spend the night wondering why they broke their own marriage contract.
— Well, look who finally made it—the bride!
Keira’s cheerful voice greets me the second I step inside. She’s already seated, dressed in jeans and a sweater, looking far too fresh for someone who was dancing at three in the morning.
— Good morning, Keira, I reply, forcing what I hope is a convincing smile.
My gaze sweeps across the table. Isobel is there, of course, impeccably dressed as if she’s attending a royal luncheon. Maggie is seated as well, eating her porridge with queenly composure—and… my mother.
Amanda Carter is sitting next to Isobel in a loud floral dress that screams California and clashes spectacularly with the understated elegance of the McGregors.
I catch Savannah’s eye. She shrugs like this isn’t her fault. My best friend looks exhausted—and I’m not even sure she slept.
— Sweetheart! my mom exclaims, jumping up to hug me. You look tired. Short night?
She gives me a not-at-all subtle wink that makes me want to sink straight into the polished floor.
Savannah nearly chokes on her coffee trying not to laugh.
— Mom, you’re already up? I ask, deliberately ignoring her question.
— I always wake up early. Alex had a seminar in Glasgow—“Chakra Awakening Through Belly Dancing.” He’ll join us tomorrow.
— Belly dancing, Savannah snorts, and I shoot her a warning look as I take my seat across from her.
I hear a faint sound from Isobel that might be her trying—and failing—to hide her disapproval.
My mom and my stepfather Alex represent everything the McGregors seem to dislike: loud, extroverted, spiritually…
Californian, and completely lacking that stiff British restraint the McGregor family wears like a second skin.
— That’s… great, Mom, I say.
I try very hard not to look at the empty chair beside me. Callum’s chair.
— Your mother and I had a fascinating conversation, Isobel comments, in a tone suggesting “fascinating” could easily mean “utterly surreal.” Amanda was just telling me about her experiences with… what do you call it, dear?
— Crystal therapy, my mom says enthusiastically. I actually brought a few energy stones for Jane and Callum. Rose quartz for love, carnelian for passion—
— Oh, I don’t think our newlyweds need help in that department, Keira cuts in with a smirk. Not judging by the way they were looking at each other last night…
— Must’ve been fireworks, Savannah adds.
I nearly choke on my tea. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed: a discussion about my imaginary sex life with my absent husband—in front of his mother and grandmother—while said husband is probably drafting an amendment to our contract clarifying that kissing was a catastrophic mistake never to be repeated.
Keira and Savannah exchange a conspiratorial look that makes me groan internally. If they team up, I’m doomed.
— Where is Callum, by the way? I ask, aiming for casual.
An awkward silence falls over the table. Keira and Maggie exchange a look I can’t quite read.
— He had to leave early this morning for urgent business in Edinburgh, Maggie finally says. Something about a contract that couldn’t wait.
A contract that couldn’t wait. The morning after his wedding. Of course. And I’m the Queen of England.
— I see, I say simply, grabbing a scone to keep my hands busy.
— My son takes his professional obligations very seriously, Isobel adds, with a hint of pride.
— Unlike some of his marital ones, I murmur under my breath—low enough that only Keira, sitting beside me, can hear.
She shoots me a surprised look, quickly followed by curiosity. Across the table, Savannah is already narrowing her eyes at me, clearly preparing an interrogation.
— Trouble in paradise already? Keira whispers.
— There is no paradise when the marriage is a business contract, I whisper back.
She frowns, but before she can press further, my mom jumps back in.
— So, Jane, what are your plans for today? Your first day as Mrs. McGregor!
— I have no idea, I admit. I guess I’ll explore the area a bit.
— Perfect! my mom beams. I’ll come with you. I’ve always wanted to explore the Highlands. Maybe we’ll find a stone circle like in Outlander? I’d love to time travel…
I see Isobel roll her eyes—and for once, I sympathize. My mother has always had this uncanny ability to turn reality into a romanticized version that exists only in her imagination.
— I’m afraid time travel isn’t on the agenda, Mom, I say. And I’m not sure that—
— Jane, Maggie cuts in smoothly, I thought you might enjoy going into town with Keira this afternoon. She knows several charming shops you might like.
I recognize an escape route when I see one.
— That would be perfect, thank you, Maggie.
— And of course, Amanda, you’re welcome to join them, Maggie adds politely—though it’s clear she’s strategically avoiding leaving my mother alone with Isobel for too long.
— Oh, thank you, but I already promised Isobel I’d show her my Celtic tarot card collection, my mom says brightly. Didn’t I, Isobel?
Isobel’s face freezes into the expression of someone caught in headlights.
— That’s… correct, she says, clearly unable to find a diplomatic excuse to refuse.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. My mother—the California hippie—cornering the formidable Isobel McGregor into an impromptu tarot session. Across from me, Savannah is discreetly wiping tears of laughter from the corner of her eye.
— You coming with us? I ask her.
— Obviously, she says. If shopping’s involved, you know I’m in.
Breakfast continues in a strange mix of forced politeness and unspoken tension.
Keira keeps trying to catch my eye, silently demanding answers, while my mother enthusiastically recounts her latest tantric meditation retreat to absolutely no one.
Maggie watches it all with quiet amusement, like she’s enjoying a particularly entertaining play.
Savannah looks like she’s having the time of her life.
But my mind is elsewhere, replaying last night over and over, dissecting every word, every touch. How did we go from those kisses to him walking out? And why does it hurt so much, when this marriage was never supposed to mean anything?
— Jane? You still with us? Keira asks, pulling me back.
— Sorry?
— I asked if you want to leave around two to go into town.
— Oh—yes. That’s perfect.
— You seem distracted this morning, my mom says, suddenly sharp. Is it because your husband left so early?
I force a smile.
— No, Mom. Just tired. Yesterday was a lot.
— And the night even more so, I imagine, she adds.
— Mom!
— Oh, come on, honey, it was your wedding night. It reminds me of my first night with your father. We were in Vegas, in that chapel where the officiant was dressed as Elvis—
— I think I’ve eaten enough, I say quickly, standing up before she can continue. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to take care of before this afternoon.
— “Things”? Savannah echoes, grinning. What kind of things?
— Very important things that absolutely require me to be somewhere else, I say, backing toward the door.
— Like calling your husband to ask why he ran off at dawn? she suggests sweetly.
I shoot her a glare.
— Like getting some fresh air before I commit murder on my overly curious best friend.
Keira bursts out laughing.
— You’re perfect for this family, Jane Carter-McGregor. Meet me in the hall at two. In the meantime, Savannah—want a tour of Castle McGregor?
Savannah lights up like she just won the lottery.
— Yes! I want to know everything. About the castle… and its inhabitants.
She gives me a pointed look on that last word. I roll my eyes as she and Keira head out together.
I leave the dining room with as much dignity as possible—which isn’t much, considering I basically fled a conversation about my nonexistent wedding night.
Once in the hallway, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.
Why does this bother me so much? Our arrangement was clear from the start: a contractual marriage, no emotions, no complications. I should be relieved that Callum came to his senses after our moment of weakness.
So why does it feel like there’s a stone lodged in my chest?
My phone vibrates in my pocket. For one irrational second, my heart jumps—thinking it might be Callum.
It’s not.
It’s a message from my agent.
Max
Babe!!! Wedding pics are blowing up in UK tabloids. Your stock is rising in Hollywood. Three casting directors called. You looked STUNNING. Call me, this is URGENT!!!!!
I stare at the screen, stunned. Tabloid photos? Already? How is that even possible?
Another message comes through almost instantly, with links to several articles. I tap the first one—and my chest tightens.
DISGRACED ACTRESS JANE CARTER MARRIES SCOTTISH MILLIONAIRE: FAIRYTALE OR CAREER MOVE?
The article swings between cynicism and romance, suggesting I may have cleverly escaped my Hollywood scandal by marrying a wealthy Scottish businessman—while also admitting we make a striking couple.
And the photos…
They’re beautiful. I can’t deny that.
Callum and me beneath the flowered arch, exchanging vows.
Callum and me kissing—completely lost in each other.
Callum and me dancing, laughing, looking at the world like we share the same one.
We look…
In love.
The word echoes inside me.
In love.
We look like two people deeply, undeniably connected—not like participants in a carefully negotiated arrangement.
And for a fleeting, dangerous second…
I wonder if any of it was real.