Chapter Two
Sophie…
Current day…
“Happy graduation day, bitches! We’re all getting blootered as feck tonight!”
Our classmate Daisy shouts it the moment the MacTavishes arrive to congratulate Maisie and me. Timing is not her strength.
“Hey, is that Michael MacTavish?” Daisy pokes me in an unsubtle fashion, “Can ye introduce me?”
Michael’s standing behind his parents, absorbed by something he’s looking at on his phone. He’s thirty-four now, and looks incredible in a charcoal-colored Tom Ford suit and a green tie, almost the shade of his eyes.
I never thought he could be more beautiful than the first time I’d seen him, but he insists on getting even hotter and I hate him for it. He has a well-trimmed beard now, and the extra years have just made him stronger and more authoritative-looking.
“So can ye?” Daisy’s pulling on my graduation gown.
“I’ve been looking for you, darling.” Celia Montrose slips her hand in the crook of Michael’s elbow, not seeming to mind that he hasn’t looked up from his phone. She smiles at us insincerely.
“Oh, are you friends of Maisie’s?”
She’s met me at least six times over the last few months, while she’s been on a determined quest to become Mrs. Michael MacTavish.
Celia’s a painfully thin blonde with a sharp face like a fox’s and suspicious brown eyes.
But she’s a British blue-blood - her father is an earl, and a billionaire - so she seems like a good match for the future Chieftain of the MacTavish Mafia.
On paper. In real life, she’s horrendous, always treating everyone as if they’re beneath her, especially the help. I’ve wanted to punch her more than once for the condescending way she’s spoken to my mother.
Michael looks up briefly, giving her a peck on the cheek. “This is Sophie, a good friend of Maisie’s and a member of our clan. You’ve met her before, darling.”
The glitter in those narrow brown eyes of hers tells me that she remembers that quite clearly.
“I dinnae know her friend, however.” His attention turns to Daisy. “I’m Michael MacTavish. And ye are?”
“Disappointed,” she breathes, before blinking, horrified. “I mean, Daisy. Daisy Baird.”
His lips twitch. “A pleasure to meet ye, Daisy Baird.” He gives her a gallant kiss on the hand while Celia watches in brittle silence.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Daisy croaks.
“Sophie love!” Mom hurries up to me, a huge smile on her face. “I’m so proud! I must have taken three hundred pictures when you were accepting your degree.”
“Hey, Mrs. Barnes,” Daisy pipes up. “Did ye hear the cheers when Sophie walked across the stage? She’s very popular here. She’s so nice to everyone.”
Daisy’s unspoken words are, “Unlike Celia.” Maisie and I have complained about Miss “My father is an earl,” more than once to her.
“Ah,” Michael says, gesturing to his driver, Ian. “Congratulations on your First, Sophie.” He hands me a huge bouquet of lilies, roses and heather.
“This is… wow, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” I know I’m mooning up at him like a simpleton.
“That’s very sweet, Michael,” Mom says.
He smiles at my mother, then turns the full force of his forest colored eyes on me, and I feel my knees weaken. “I hear you’ll be interning with the MacTavish legal department this summer.”
“I’m very excited about it,” I try not to gush. “Where else can I get experience in six different branches of law in one internship?”
“Ach, they’ll work ye half to death,” he chuckles. “It’s a brutal group.”
My chin goes up. “I can take it.”
His voice drops a register, “I have no doubt of it, lass.”
Oh god oh god oh god… My lower half goes up in flames. That should not sound so sexual.
I’d give anything for him to say it again.
We stare at each other for a moment, the laughter and chattering from the family fading away until Celia loudly clears her throat, making me jump.
“Don’t forget Maisie’s bouquet, darling.”
Michael gives me one last thoughtful look, head tilted, before turning to Maisie and handing her a similar bouquet. “And for my brilliant, clever sister.”
“Thank ye, brother!” Maisie throws her arms around his neck, giving him a big, smacking kiss and smearing her lipstick on his cheek.
“Ye slimed me again, dinnae ye?” he says, touching the mark.
“It never gets old,” she agrees.
“Oh, sweetheart, such a mess!” Celia coos as she hastily rips open her Birken bag. “Here’s a tissue.”
“Fer feck’s sake, why dinnae just pee on him and make it official?” Daisy mumbles. There’s a stifled snort from Maisie and I link arms with Mom, looking down before she catches me rolling my eyes.
“Sophie love, Mala invited us to celebrate your graduation with the family,” Mom says, sweetly oblivious to our petty little exchange.
“Aye,” Maisie agrees. “Da’s booked out the entire restaurant at The Witchery Hotel. It’s going to be grand! Ye want to join us, Daisy?”
“I’d give my right tit,” she says morosely. “But my folks came down from Inverness to take me out. Next time, aye?”
Maisie hugs her, whispering something that makes them both cackle while I hope my mother didn’t hear Daisy's comment as she walks ahead with Mala.
“There’s a smile,” Maisie says. “That can only mean ye dinnae hear that Lady Resting Bitch Face is joining us for dinner.”
My heart sinks. Why? It doesn’t have anything to do with you, I scold myself. You're the housekeeper’s daughter. He’s twelve years older and soon to be Chieftain. He’s never seen you as more than Maisie’s friend.
Shifting my giant bouquet of flowers to my other arm, I say, “That sounds like she and Michael are getting serious, then, if she’s joining a family dinner?”
“More like she invited herself, and Mum is too nice to tell her to bugger off,” Maisie grumbles.
I’m always moved by how close the MacTavishes are.
There’s a crowd of them tonight at The Witchery restaurant, laughing and offering toasts, which get increasingly ridiculous as the night wears on.
“What did you say Arabella calls you all?” I ask Maisie.
“MacTavi,” she laughs, downing a shot as Arabella’s husband Logan finishes a long, meandering justification about how it was perfectly logical that he broke down the door of one of the suites upstairs here at the hotel when their cousin Wallace asked him and Ethan to look after his new bride Scarlett for the night.
Wallace and Scarlett’s wedding night, which seems all kinds of awkward, but looking at Wallace now, gazing down at his wife with utter devotion, proves that it worked out.
I try not to be envious, I truly do. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find a man who could love me with the same devotion the MacTavish men have for their wives. Despite multiple sketchy beginnings, every one of them had their happily ever after.
“It must be nice,” I muse to Maisie. “Having so many people to love. Who love you.”
She snorts inelegantly. “Ye mean to take the piss at every opportunity?” Examining my expression, she nudges me drunkenly with her shoulder.
“You’re clan, that means they should be free to be a regular heid the baw with ye, too.
Ye want me to get Jack over here? Ye know what a roaster my arse of a brother is. ”
“Yeah, I’ll pass, but thanks. I still have the horror of that night he flashed his pimply butt at us burned into my retinas,” I shudder. “I’m going to the bathroom, you want to come?”
“Naw,” she shrugs. “I’m a MacTavish, I can hold my drink.”
“Uh, huh…” I say doubtfully as I rise. Checking on Mom, I see she’s deep in conversation with Mala, both of them holding MacTavish grandchildren on their laps.
I’ve always loved Mala. She welcomed us with warmth and generosity from the first day.
Even though we work for her, she’s never made us feel like “the help.”
Then, Mom does something odd. She’s holding Brodie, Logan and Arabella’s son. She kisses the top of the toddler’s head and looks around the room, tears in her eyes and a wobbly little smile. I’ll have to talk to her about it later. Is she hoping for grandchildren from me sooner than later?
That’s going to be a disappointment, since I’m not dating anyone, much less interested in marriage right now.
As I’m walking out of the Gothic-style, wood paneled room, I glance over at Michael.
He’s loosened his tie and he’s laughing at something Duncan said.
There’s a hint of one of Michael’s tattoos peeking out from the collar, and just like my first day at the mansion, I want to trace the tattoo with my fingers and ask him what it means to him.
I’m touching up my lipstick when the bathroom door opens.
It’s Celia.
Well, that just took the shine off of the evening.
Ready to make my escape as soon as she disappears into one of the elaborate little stalls, my plan is foiled when she stands next to me at the enormous mirror with a gold gilt frame.
“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Celia drawls in her best upper-crust finishing school accent. It must be something they teach at those expensive academies, how to draw out words like lovely to make them sound like the opposite. “A bit noisy, but it’s something I need to become used to, after all.”
Smiling noncommittally and uncertain where this is going, I take a step toward the door. “Well, I’ll just give you your privacy.”
“You know, I did remember you after Michael reminded me this afternoon,” she continues as if I’ve not spoken. “The housekeeper’s daughter. I remember you served those divine hors d'oeuvres at the family Christmas party last year.”
I won’t let her make me feel small for being the help.
Her lean body is arched over the counter, watching me in the mirror as she pulls out a Chanel lipstick (Chanel 31 at $230 pounds a tube, my unhelpful memory recites) slowly stroking the color over her lips.
The cashmere dress she’s wearing is a Tom Ford design from this year, it’s on one of my Pinterest boards.
I can’t guess who made those spiky black boots with gold accents, but I’m sure they cost thousands of pounds.
Essentially, Celia is a walking, talking billboard for My Father the Earl is Rich As Fuck and Did I Mention He Has A Castle?
As if she’d ever let us forget.
I bought my flowered dress at the annual clearance sale at Jenner’s downtown and I thought it was pretty. Not as much, next to the understated elegance of Celia’s outfit. Now, my dress looks too young for me, a little gauche.
You’re letting her get to you? Jordan scolds me. Jesus, she looks like a praying mantis.
“You grew up on the grounds, yes?” She puts the lipstick back in her bag and runs her hand over her sleek blonde bob.
“Yes. Well, I need to get back-” My hand’s on the door and I’m almost out of there when she speaks up again.
“It’s so sweet, how Michael’s family looks after those who are less fortunate,” she continues as if I’d not said a word.
“Giving their people a chance to improve their lot in life. I sometimes forget that it’s important to give back to the people who take care of things for us, making our beds, cooking our meals, scrubbing our toilets…
” Her sharp brown eyes examine me. “You’re fortunate to have employers who understand such things. ”
I want to say something clever, something with just a bit of a bite that makes it clear I know she’s attempting to humiliate me. But as I’m struggling to come up with something, she gives me a pitying smile and moves past me, pulling the door from my limp hand and leaving the room.
***
First - The UK equivalent of graduating summa cum laude from a US university or college.
Heid the Baw and Roaster - Scottish slang for an annoying or foolish person.
Take the piss - UK slang for essentially, irritating the hell out of someone.