Chapter 21
JANE
We exchange a stunned look. I can read the exact same horror on my best friend’s face.
I turn slowly, like in a horror movie where the heroine knows she’s about to come face-to-face with the monster.
And there he is, in all his Hollywood glory—Ryan Fowler, my ex-boyfriend—standing in the middle of a Scottish street like he just stepped out of a luxury perfume ad.
— Ryan, I manage, my voice suddenly as dry as the Mojave Desert. What a… surprise.
— What a nightmare, Savannah mutters.
— Who is that? Keira asks.
Ryan strides toward me, arms wide, his dazzling smile perfectly calibrated for cameras—even though there aren’t any in sight, unless the local sheep are secretly paparazzi in disguise.
He looks nothing like the man I threw out of my house in Los Angeles.
I’d almost forgotten his ability to conveniently ignore anything that doesn’t suit him…
— My Jane! he exclaims, pulling me into a hug without my consent. I can’t believe I found you in a place like this!
He glances around like he’s just landed on some particularly primitive foreign planet.
I awkwardly push myself out of his arms, aware of Keira watching me with a mix of curiosity and amusement. I shoot Savannah a look—she seems about two seconds away from going for his throat, and honestly, I think she’s aiming for the jugular.
— What are you doing here? I ask my ex, still reeling from the shock of seeing him.
— I came to get you, of course! he declares, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I blink, certain I misheard him.
— You came to get me? I squeak.
— I’m going to kill him, chop him into tiny pieces, and feed him to the sheep, Savannah growls.
— They’re vegetarians, Keira informs her.
— Then I’ll just strangle him and skin him…
Keira slips an arm around my best friend’s shoulders.
— We really need to have a talk about what is and isn’t legal in this country.
Ryan ignores them completely.
— Obviously! You’d never marry a… (he lowers his voice like he’s sharing a secret) Scotsman unless you were desperate. I understand the scandal put you in a difficult position, but there are better solutions than selling yourself to some medieval landowner.
Next to me, Keira coughs loudly, clearly trying to hide a laugh. I shoot her a glare before turning back to Ryan.
— I didn’t sell myself to anyone, Ryan. And Callum is not a “medieval landowner.” He’s a respected businessman and… he’s my husband.
Saying the words sends a strange ripple of satisfaction through me.
— Your husband, Ryan repeats, shaking his head like I just told him I’d decided to start breeding penguins. Come on, Jane. We both know this isn’t serious. How could it be? You’ve known him what—five minutes?
Keira clears her throat and steps forward, extending her hand with a predatory smile.
— Hi, I’m Keira McGregor, sister of the “medieval landowner.” And you are…?
To his credit, Ryan looks briefly embarrassed.
— Ryan Fowler, he says, shaking her hand. I’m a friend of Jane’s.
— A friend, of course, Keira replies with a smile that fools absolutely no one. Fascinating how “friends” cross an ocean to “save” women from their own decisions.
— He wouldn’t save his own mother if there wasn’t something in it for him, Savannah adds.
Ryan turns back to me, completely unfazed by their sarcasm.
— Jane, listen to me. You don’t have to stay here. I talked to Spielberg about you last week, and he’s interested. Really interested. But you need to come back to L.A.—now.
— Spielberg? I repeat, incredulous. You did not talk to Spielberg.
— His assistant, then, he corrects with an impatient wave. The point is, you still have a shot, Jane. A real shot. Not… this.
He gestures vaguely at the picturesque street around us.
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to stomp on his foot with my boot—freshly purchased and perfectly suited for the job.
— Ryan, I’m married now, and I—
— Come on, he cuts in with that condescending smile I’ve always hated. We both know this “marriage” is just a temporary solution to your little image problem. I’m not judging you! It’s smart, really. But now that I have a more permanent solution—
— I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Keira cuts in, her voice suddenly icy. My sister-in-law just told you she’s happy here. With my brother. In this “middle-of-nowhere dump,” as you so elegantly put it.
— Look, uh… Leila?
— Keira, we correct in unison.
— Whatever, he continues dismissively. I’ve known Jane for years. We have history. She’s not meant to live here, among the… (he sniffs the air disdainfully) sheep and rain. She’s meant for Hollywood, for the spotlight, for fame.
Suddenly, shouts and commotion rise further down the street.
— What now? I sigh.
Ryan glances around, confused.
And then, as if fate has a flair for dramatic timing—and a particularly twisted sense of humor—a familiar ball of wool comes barreling around the corner, charging straight toward us.
— That’s Hamish, Keira says, a wicked smile tugging at her lips.
Ryan watches in growing horror as the sheep makes a beeline for our group.
Hamish stops in front of me, bleating happily like he’s just found his long-lost best friend. I can’t help but smile as I scratch his head.
— Hi to you too, Hamish.
Ryan takes a few steps back, visibly disgusted.
— We need to go, Jane.
Hamish turns his head toward him, and I swear there’s indignation in those sheep eyes.
Ryan shakes his head, clearly determined to “save” me. He steps forward and grips my shoulders.
— Jane, please. Listen to me. I made a mistake leaving you. I see that now. We were perfect together—two rising stars in Hollywood—
— Until your career started tanking and you dumped her for that fitness influencer, Savannah cuts in.
— That was a lapse in judgment! he protests. Her follower count was artificially inflated—I realized too late.
I step away from him, disgust curling in my stomach.
— Touching. Your sincerity is overwhelming.
— I’m serious, Jane, he insists, his expression aiming for sincere but landing somewhere near constipated. We can start over. Together, we’d be unstoppable. I landed a supporting role in the next Marvel, you know? I play “Guy at the Bar #3,” but my character has an actual line!
Hamish edges closer to me, as if sensing my growing discomfort. Ryan notices and waves irritably at the sheep.
— Get that thing away from me, will you? I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.
— He’s not bothering anyone, I shoot back.
— Hamish goes where he wants, Keira adds.
— He’s bothering me! Ryan snaps. And what are you even wearing? (he gestures at my simple but elegant outfit) What is that? Where’s the Jane who wore Louboutins to check the mail?
— She discovered the comfort of flats, I reply dryly. Revolutionary, I know.
Ryan shakes his head. Then, in what he clearly believes is a grand romantic gesture, he pulls a small box from his pocket.
— I was going to wait for a better moment, but I can see I need to act fast before you fully turn into… a Highland farm girl.
He flips open the box, revealing a flashy ring that looks like it came straight out of a Las Vegas slot machine.
— Jane Carter, come back to Hollywood with me. I promise you fame, success, and eternal love—
— At least until your agent decides it’s no longer mutually beneficial, Savannah cuts in.
I stare at the ring, stunned by a proposal so insulting it almost circles back to impressive. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Keira discreetly pulling out her phone, probably to immortalize this surreal moment.
— Ryan, I begin, searching for a diplomatic way to tell him exactly where he can go.
I don’t get the chance to finish.
Hamish—apparently done tolerating this fake proposal—lunges forward and grabs the sleeve of Ryan’s very expensive-looking jacket in his teeth.
— What the— Let go! Ryan yells, trying to pull away.
But Hamish, true to his reputation as the most stubborn sheep in the Highlands, holds firm. He yanks hard, tearing off a sizable piece of fabric and immediately starts chewing it with obvious satisfaction.
— My Tom Ford jacket! Ryan shrieks, horrified. That costs more than this entire village!
The look of pure outrage and panic on his face is so ridiculous I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. A full, unstoppable laugh that rises straight from my chest.
Keira and Savannah join in, their laughter blending with mine as Ryan desperately tries to retrieve the chunk of fabric Hamish is methodically chewing.
— Give me that, you filthy animal! he shouts, awkwardly dodging the headbutts Hamish attempts to deliver.
— I think Hamish has made his opinion on your proposal pretty clear, I manage between laughs.
— This isn’t funny! Ryan snaps. That sheep is dangerous! It should be put down!
That kills my laughter instantly. I step forward, placing myself between him and Hamish in a protective stance.
— You know there are different types of intelligence?
Ryan blinks, then nods slowly.
— I’m afraid none of them apply to you.
Keira bursts out laughing.
— Nice one, Jane!
— So you’d rather stay here than come back with me? Ryan demands, incredulous.
— That’s right.
He stares at me, stunned, then his expression hardens.
— I see. You think this farmer can offer you more than I can? You think playing Scottish lady of the manor is going to save your failing career?
— She doesn’t need saving.
The new voice—deep and icy—makes all of us turn.
Callum stands there in full Scottish businessman glory, his impeccable suit oddly out of place against the rural backdrop. His eyes are locked on Ryan with an intensity that could melt steel.
— And you are? Ryan asks, barely masking his disdain.
— Callum McGregor, the “farmer” in question. More importantly, Jane’s husband.
He strides toward me, and before I can react, he slides an arm around my waist and pulls me against him in a possessive gesture that steals my breath.
— Darling, he says without taking his eyes off Ryan, I see you’ve run into an old friend.
The word friend sounds like the worst insult in the world coming from him.
— Callum, I stammer, caught off guard by his sudden appearance—and the unexpected contact after our icy parting last night.
— I finished my meeting earlier than expected, he replies, his voice smooth, though his gaze remains fixed on Ryan like a predator sizing up prey. I didn’t want to spend another second away from my wife.
The way he emphasizes my wife sends a strange flutter through my chest.
Ryan studies us, his gaze flicking between Callum and me.
— So this is the famous Scottish husband, he says at last. Not what I expected.
— Sorry to disappoint, Callum replies, his smile not reaching his eyes. And you are?
— Ryan Fowler, he says, straightening slightly. International actor—and Jane’s boyfriend.
— In your dreams! Savannah snaps.
— Ex-boyfriend, I correct.
Callum’s grip tightens subtly at my waist.
— He came to “save” her, Keira explains dryly. Apparently your marriage is a desperate cry for help.
Callum lifts a brow, unreadable.
— Really? Fascinating.
— Look, McGregor, Ryan cuts in, regaining confidence. I understand why you seized this opportunity. Jane is beautiful, talented, and her Hollywood scandal pushed her into needing a quick solution. You were that solution. Well played. But the joke’s over.
Callum goes rigid beside me, tension radiating off him.
— I would strongly advise you to choose your next words very carefully, Mr. Fowler, he says in a dangerously low voice.
— Oh, come on, Ryan waves it off. We’re all adults here. Of course it’s an arrangement. Jane Carter marrying a Scottish businessman she barely knows? That’s a bad movie plot, not real life.
— You don’t know anything about my relationship with Callum, I snap, my voice shaking with anger. You have no idea what we share.
— Oh please, Jane, Ryan scoffs. You’re an actress—not the best, but convincing enough. You’re playing a role here. The question is: what are you getting out of it? Money? A European passport? A career break until the scandal blows over?
Callum steps forward, releasing me, and for one terrifying second I think he’s going to hit him. Instead, he positions himself between us, his rigid posture barely containing his fury.
— Mr. Fowler, he begins, his icy tone sending a chill down my spine, I understand that your third-rate acting career hasn’t taught you basic manners, but let me be perfectly clear: Jane is my wife.
Not out of convenience, not as an arrangement, but because we chose each other.
Your presence here is neither wanted nor appreciated.
Ryan stares at him, clearly unaccustomed to being put in his place so bluntly.
— You don’t even know who she really is, he finally throws out.
— On the contrary, Callum replies without hesitation. I know exactly who Jane is. A brilliant, courageous, funny woman who deserves infinitely more than the scraps of attention you’re offering her now that her Hollywood value seems to be rising again.
His words hit me hard—because they feel real, far beyond the bounds of our arrangement.
Hamish, who had briefly stopped chewing Ryan’s jacket to watch the confrontation, chooses that moment to step up beside Callum like a loyal lieutenant backing his general.
— Let’s go home, Callum says to me.
He takes my hand, and I look up at him. God, he’s beautiful… and not just because he’s devastatingly sexy when he plays the protective husband. There’s something magnetic about him.
— Fine! That’s it! Go back to your castle! Ryan shouts after me. But don’t count on me to help you anymore! No more tipping off paparazzi to boost your image—hear me, Jane? You’re on your own now!
I freeze, then exchange a look with Callum.
Ryan.
Of course it was him.
Without thinking, I spin on my heel and march back toward him.
— I knew you’d come to your senses and—
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish.
Applause breaks out around us.
— That’s my best friend! Savannah cheers.
— I don’t condone violence, Keira comments, but that was extremely well deserved.
Callum steps closer to me. I turn my head toward him, and his gaze searches mine.
— You never told me you had such a strong right hook, he says at last.
I smile at him, and he slips an arm around my waist, pulling me in.
— Let’s go home, Cal.