31. Madison
MADISON
Three Weeks Later
Turns out, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of your life is actually really freaking hard. Even with a clear schedule, no work commitments, and the magic of the Highlands surrounding me, I was still at an utter loss.
I groaned and flopped back against my pillow, the container of beads I’d been working from rattling.
My door creaked, and I glanced at it as Isla peeked her head in. She had three-week-old Baby Andy strapped to her front. She bounced slightly, soothing the baby as she stared at the crafting mess on the bed. “Doing okay? You sound frustrated.”
“Honestly, I am frustrated. And so bored,” I complained. “I didn’t realize how empty the days would feel without a four-year-old to fill them.” Now that Kenna had gone back to nursery, I was at loose ends.
“No luck plotting out your next route?”
I grumbled. I’d gotten the idea to research the different festivals where my mom might’ve had a booth with the idea of visiting those places.
I’d tried using reverse image search to identify some of the locations from the copies of her photos I’d saved to my phone, but there weren’t enough identifying features in the photos to give me anything concrete.
“No. I’m sick of staring at maps of Scotland, waiting for some magical sign to appear.
” Andy made a tiny squeak, and I couldn’t help but smile.
The one good thing about hanging around the Deerhound was that I’d gotten more than my fair share of newborn snuggles over the past couple of weeks.
“How’s the world’s smallest inn manager? ”
Isla yawned, giving me a wry grin. “He had a giant blowout which I made Locke deal with. I don’t know how a tiny human makes so much poop.”
I laughed. From what I could tell, Locke and Isla were taking this parenting thing in stride and handling the sleepless nights better than I ever would.
“He’s being a little fussy and fighting his nap,” Isla said. “You don’t fancy coming for a walk with me, do you? Please. I’m feeling a little stir crazy.”
“Of course,” I said, taking in her desperate expression. “Sounds great.”
I tucked my beads away and found my jacket while Isla got Andy bundled and into his baby stroller.
I peered in at him, marveling at how tiny he was beneath his baby blanket.
It wasn’t particularly cold, but for a three-week-old, the lovely April weather was probably a far cry from the womb he was used to.
Andy confirmed my suspicions the moment we stepped outside by releasing a wail.
“You’re okay,” Isla cooed. “Shhhh.”
“You’ve picked up that mom voice quickly,” I noted.
“What mom voice?”
“The little half-whisper thing.”
She chuckled. “Just comes from trying not to wake him whenever he dozes off.”
As we made our way down the high street, Andy quieted, and when I next peered in at him, he was asleep.
“You know what I’ve been craving lately?” Isla said. “A giant plate of chips.”
It took a second for me to realize she meant french fries.
With her American accent, it was easy to forget she’d assimilated herself pretty thoroughly in British Isles culture after moving back here a few years ago.
You could take the girl out of Scotland and raise her in the US, but it seemed you couldn’t take Scotland out of the girl.
“Like the ones from the pub?” I asked.
She nodded. “Andy seems to be content for now. How about we swing by?”
“Why not?” It’s not like I had anything better to do with my time, and who didn’t love deep fried potatoes?
Together, we managed to get Andy’s stroller through the door without waking him, but inside, the crowd was surprisingly large, especially for this time of the day. They were definitely going to wake Andy. “Is there a football match on I didn’t know about?”
Isla shrugged, giving me a smile. “There’s always footie.
Still seems unusually busy though. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.
” She navigated the stroller toward the bar where everyone was crowding around to watch the TV mounted above the shelves of alcohol.
As we drew closer, instead of the sports game I expected to see, it was showing… Alistair?
“What the hell?” I murmured, stopping in my tracks.
He was sitting in front of a middle-aged woman with a fancy hairdo and a pile of flash cards.
I recognized her immediately. That was Helen Hartford!
She was a big-deal interviewer, known for bridging the gap between hard news and celebrity journalism.
Her interviews brought in massive ratings.
I laughed awkwardly. “Are you kidding me? Is he actually sitting down for an interview?”
Isla shrugged.
I couldn’t get over the sight. I’d have sworn on my life that the man would never.
“Welcome to those of you just joining us,” Helen said in a posh British accent. “I’m Helen Hartford. We’re here with Alistair Shaw for an exclusive interview.”
The crowd in the pub huddled closer to the TV, whispering among themselves.
All I could do was gape at the screen. “I don’t understand,” I whispered to Isla. “The man has wanted nothing to do with the media for months. Why is he up there now?”
“Maybe he changed his mind,” she said.
“Alistair, I have to say,” Helen began, “I never expected to find myself here with you. You’ve been notoriously press shy. It was quite a surprise to everyone at our program when you reached out to set up an interview.”
“That’s what I just said,” I muttered, gesturing to the screen. I wasn’t just shocked to see him, I was confused because I knew how uncomfortable something like this would be for a man who hated the spotlight and genuinely loathed the press.
Alistair nodded. “I haven’t wanted to fuel the drama and speculation in any way,” he said. “But too much has happened now, and I’m ready to tell my story.”
“Well, then,” Helen said. “Where do you think that story begins?”
I expected him to start with Jessica. If he was giving a public interview just to get his story out there so the press would stop pestering him for it, then that was where he’d begin, right?
But to my surprise, he began with Voyages—how he’d originally gotten the idea, what he’d wanted the company to stand for, how proud he’d been to see it grow and flourish…
and how much it had hurt when all of that had gone away, and the board had shown it no longer had confidence in his ability to lead.
It was open, honest, deeply personal—the sort of thing I’d have thought he’d rather be skinned alive than share with the rest of the world.
But there he was, sharing it. And then he started talking about Jessica, and my shock got deeper.
He described the most crushing details, like waking up the morning she’d vanished and experiencing the free fall into shock and horror when he realized what she’d done.
He detailed the desperate scramble to try to find a way to fix things, to make them right, only to realize that simply wasn’t possible, that there was no undoing what she’d done, and that he’d have to live with it for the rest of his life.
He talked about the trial, the burning humiliation of being judged so publicly for something so intimate and private.
He described his decision to retreat to Dunhope, and his wish at the time that he could go there and simply be forgotten—disappear from the public stage, never to return.
“I can’t believe he’s talking about all this,” I whispered to Isla. He’d taken vulnerability to a whole new level, one that even I had never seen from him before.
On the screen, Helen was nodding along, eyes full of sympathy. “After an experience like that, I think everyone can understand why you would have wanted to withdraw. But then, of course, Jessica was found and arrested. What was that like for you?”
Alistair’s jaw ticked. “Infuriating, honestly. I finally felt like circumstances had settled, like I was starting to live my life again instead of just staying in a defensive posture all the time. When I thought about what the future held, there were things I was excited about, things I looked forward to rather than constantly thinking about how something else could go wrong. But then she was back, throwing a grenade into my life all over again. Bringing the media wolves back howling to my door.”
Helen laughed. “Not the most flattering picture of my profession. If that’s your opinion of the press, then what brought you here with me?” She gestured to the camera. “Talking to the nation. Laying it all out, opening those wounds back up. What changed your mind? Something put you in this seat.”
“It wasn’t something,” Alistair said. “It was someone. For weeks, there’s been rumors about me and the woman who was working for me as my daughter’s nanny, and I’m here to set the record straight once and for all.
When I was confronted after seeing Jessica again, I said the first thing I could think of to shut the paparazzi up, and I said that Madison was just the nanny.
But that’s not true. She has never been just the nanny.
She’s the woman who’s been driving me up the wall since the night I met her.
She’s the woman who brought my gloomy hunk of a house to life and made it into a home.
She’s the woman who challenges me to be the kind of man I always wanted to be.
She’s the woman I love with all my heart. ”
The pub erupted. Heads whipped in my direction. Baby Andy wailed, and Isla scooped him up. I felt my cheeks turn bright red, but nothing could have pulled my attention away from the TV.
“Madison came into my life during one of my darkest moments,” Alistair continued, “and brightened my entire world. She’s made me realize how much I was missing out on by shutting myself off and how much richer life can be when you open your heart.”
“She changed your perspective on things?” Helen said.
Alistair nodded. “I’m done hiding behind my walls.”
“Where is Madison now?” Helen asked. “She didn’t come to the studio with you.”