Chapter 20
JANE
— I really think you should try this sweater, Keira insists, holding out a hideous green knit decorated with what looks like dancing sheep. It’s local fashion.
If someone had told me—even three weeks ago—that I’d be shopping in a small Scottish town with my sister-in-law and my best friend, somehow getting past the humiliation of being abandoned the day after my arranged wedding, I would’ve probably suggested they see a psychiatrist. And yet… here I am.
I narrow my eyes, unconvinced.
— You’re trying to trap me so you can take an embarrassing picture and send it to your friends, aren’t you?
Keira presses a hand dramatically to her chest.
— How dare you question my purely stylistic intentions? I’m deeply offended.
— You already tried to make me wear a beanie with Highland cow ears and an apron that said “I love Scotland to the bone.” I’m starting to see a pattern.
She bursts out laughing and finally sets the monstrosity back on the rack.
— Okay, you caught me. But admit it—you would’ve looked adorable with those fluffy little ears.
I shake my head, amused despite myself. In the span of a few hours, Keira has gone from “contractually imposed sister-in-law” to “surprisingly entertaining ally.”
— What do you think of this one? Savannah calls, stepping out of the fitting room. I think I need a belt.
Keira and I both turn to watch as she launches into an impromptu runway walk.
— That arisaid looks amazing on you, Sav.
Apparently, they’re already on nickname terms.
— But you might not want to go back to the castle wearing the McKenzie tartan. Rival clan…
Savannah studies herself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric that looks like a cross between a blanket and a cape.
— That’s a shame, she says at last, slipping it off. What’s the story with the clan rivalry?
Keira smiles.
— How much time do you have? Because it’s a very, very long story.
— Too bad I have a flight tomorrow morning, Sav replies. But now that Jane lives here, I’ve got the perfect excuse to come back.
My chest tightens, because after last night’s disaster, I have no idea how long my arrangement with Callum is actually going to last…
We leave the souvenir shop without buying any ugly sweaters—personal victory—and head toward a small café Keira described as “the only place in the Highlands where the coffee doesn’t taste like dirty sock water.”
Once we’re settled with three decent lattes, Keira fixes me with that sharp, assessing gaze that seems to be a genetic McGregor trait.
— So… are you finally going to tell me why my brother ran off the day after your wedding?
I nearly choke on my coffee.
— He didn’t run off…
— Grandma said he left on business, but we both know that’s bullshit, she says with a dismissive wave. Callum would never schedule a meeting the day after his wedding—even an arranged mar—
She cuts herself off abruptly, her eyes flicking from Savannah to me in sudden panic.
— Don’t worry, Sav jumps in, Jane doesn’t keep secrets from me.
I let out a quiet sigh. Now I do. And they involve my intimate life with Callum… or rather, the complete lack of one.
— The truth is, I don’t know why Callum left. We had a… small difference of opinion last night, and this morning he was gone.
Keira leans forward, instantly hooked. Savannah mirrors her.
— A “difference of opinion”? Is that a euphemism for your first marital fight? Savannah asks.
— Something like that, I mutter, staring into my cup.
— About what?
— Nothing important, I deflect, avoiding their eyes.
— Jane Carter-McGregor, you lie about as well as you dance the Scottish jig, Keira says.
I wince at the memory of my catastrophic performance at the reception, because despite what Callum told me, I absolutely did not dance well…
— It’s personal, Keira.
— You’re my sister-in-law now. “Personal” is a very flexible concept, she shoots back with a wide grin. Come on, spill it. What made my brother bolt like the devil was chasing him?
I exhale slowly. How am I supposed to explain that we broke our own marriage contract by kissing like our lives depended on it… only for Callum to panic and run like I’d suggested burning all his three-piece suits?
— Let’s just say we didn’t exactly agree on certain aspects of our relationship.
Keira and Savannah stare at me, clearly expecting more.
— That’s all you’re getting, I add firmly.
Keira pouts for a second, then shrugs.
— Fine, keep your secrets. But if you ever need advice on handling a stubborn, emotionally constipated McGregor, I’m your spiritual guide.
— “Emotionally constipated”? I repeat, laughing despite myself. That’s… an interesting way to describe your brother.
— But accurate, isn’t it? she shoots back with a wink. Callum has always struggled with unplanned emotions. Our father taught him feelings were a weakness, and Callum—being the perfect student he’s always been—soaked that lesson up like a sponge.
— A guy with emotional issues? What a shock, Savannah snorts. They’re all the same…
That revelation makes something shift in me. I’ve never really questioned why Callum is the way he is. I just assumed it was his nature.
— What happened to your father? Savannah asks casually.
I hold my breath, watching Keira. Her expression darkens slightly, and I’m about to tell her she doesn’t have to answer when she speaks again.
— Heart attack. He was working, of course. Callum was with him when it happened—right in the middle of a board meeting. I think a part of my brother died that day too. He locked himself even deeper into his role as the McGregor heir, like he was trying to become our father’s reincarnation.
— I’m sorry, I murmur.
— That must have been awful, Savannah adds.
— It was. But what’s even worse is watching Callum be so determined to follow in the footsteps of a man who was never truly happy, deep down.
Her words echo inside me, casting Callum in a new light. His need for control. His devotion to the family business. His reluctance to let go.
— But enough family psychoanalysis, Keira suddenly declares, straightening. Let’s talk about how we’re going to turn you into a proper Scot. I think it’s time you learned how to drink whisky without making a face.
— Great, I was just starting to go into withdrawal. And for your information, I do not make a face, I protest. I’m intensely meditating on the complex flavors.
— Of course. And Hamish is just an ordinary sheep who wasn’t actively trying to become the official mascot of your wedding.
As if saying his name summons him, my phone vibrates.
Jamison
Madam, I regret to inform you that Hamish has once again entered the castle and appears to be looking for you. He has already chewed on two cushions and terrorized the maid.
I show the screen to Keira, who bursts out laughing.
— That sheep is obsessed with you. It’s almost romantic.
— Or concerning, depending on how you look at it, I reply. Should we head back?
— Probably, before he decides to redecorate the living room. But first…
She pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of me without warning.
— What are you doing? I protest.
— Sending proof of life to my brother so he knows his wife is having a perfectly good time without him, she says with a wicked grin. A little guilt won’t hurt him.
— Keira! I protest, though I’m secretly amused by her scheme. That’s petty.
— It’s brilliant, Savannah chimes in. My best friend is amazing—your brother needs to regret ditching her the morning after the wedding!
— It’s strategic, Keira declares, tapping her screen. And… sent!
I shake my head, half exasperated, half impressed by her boldness.
— You’re diabolical.
— Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.
— It is, Savannah confirms.
We leave the café and head back to the car, Keira sharing stories about the locals we pass along the way.
There’s something strangely comforting about this temporary normalcy, like for a few hours I can pretend I really am a McGregor—really Callum’s wife—and not an actress playing a role in an elaborate performance.
Just as we reach the car, a familiar voice—terribly, horribly familiar—freezes me in place.
— Jane? Jane Carter? Is that you?
No. No, no, no. That’s not possible. The universe cannot be this cruel.
— Oh shit, Savannah swears.