Chapter 20
KEIRA
The subtle art of family rom-com chaos
The tennis ball Lachlan just launched at me lands squarely between my feet, snapping me out of my spiral.
I stare down at it for a second, completely blank.
That neon yellow blur feels like the perfect symbol for my life right now—thrown straight at me without warning, and somehow I’m expected to know exactly what to do with it.
In a few minutes, Alistair and his mother will drive through the gates of McGregor Castle for our family barbecue.
And I’ll have to step right back into the role of his adoring fiancée—a role that’s been getting harder and harder to play since the lodge.
Not because I hate it… but because, and this is the truly terrifying part, I’m starting to enjoy it a little too much.
I pick up the ball and toss it back to Lachlan, but my mind’s elsewhere, and it flies wildly off course. He shoots me a murderous look before sprinting off after it.
“You could at least pretend to care about the game, Keira!” he calls over his shoulder.
Pretend.
The irony almost makes me laugh.
The castle gardens have never looked more perfect. Maggie went all out—Irish linen tablecloths, floral arrangements mixing Scottish thistle and English roses, and that determined expression she reserves for occasions where she plans to impress someone important.
Unfortunately, today’s “important guests” are my fake fiancé and his mother. And I’m about five seconds away from cracking under the pressure of this entire charade.
The truce I suggested to Alistair after our almost-kiss at the lodge suddenly feels like one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.
“You’ve got that face again—the one you make when you’re overthinking,” Jane says, stepping out of the house with her arms full of colorful cushions. “What’s going on?”
I tear my gaze away from the table I’ve been supposed to set for the past ten minutes.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
If only she knew how far from fine I am… I’ve been tossing and turning every night, replaying that moment—his breath on my lips, the way everything felt like it could change… right before reality crashed back in.
“You look gorgeous,” I add quickly, deflecting.
And she does. Jane is glowing in a floral summer dress, her long hair loose down her back, her cheeks flushed with happiness. When Callum walks up behind her and murmurs something in her ear, she laughs—easy, effortless, real.
My chest tightens.
That’s what I’ll never have with Alistair. That kind of natural closeness. That quiet, genuine affection that isn’t performed for anyone—it just exists.
“Where is your fiancé?” Callum asks, scanning the driveway. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
“He’s on his way,” I say, checking my watch. “He had something to finish at the distillery.”
In reality, I was the one who suggested he come later—to minimize our time together.
Brilliant plan. All it’s done is give me more time to panic.
Right on cue, gravel crunches under tires as Alistair’s Range Rover rolls up the drive.
My heart jumps.
He steps out—dark jeans, a cashmere sweater, effortlessly put together in a way that should honestly be illegal. My hormones immediately throw a celebration, which is deeply annoying. I am a competent professional, not a teenage girl with a crush on the rugby captain.
He walks around to open the door for his mother. Mary steps out with the elegance of royalty.
“Hello, everyone!” Alistair calls, smiling as he approaches.
He leans in and kisses my cheek—a simple gesture that absolutely should not affect me this much. But it does. Sparks race through me, his scent—woodsy with a hint of citrus—wrapping around me just long enough to make me want more.
“Hi, Alistair,” I manage, hoping my voice sounds normal.
“Alistair, Mary, welcome!” Maggie exclaims, sweeping out of the house, followed by Isobel and Uncle Duncan. “Perfect—everyone’s here!”
Isobel greets Mary warmly, and I still haven’t gotten used to this alliance between our mothers. Years of polite distance, and now they act like lifelong friends.
“So, Maggie,” Alistair says casually, “what trials have you prepared for us today?”
“Oh, nothing too terrible,” she waves off. “Just a few little exercises to prepare our future Highland Games participants!”
I groan internally.
The Highland Games. The ancient Scottish competition full of strength and skill—and, apparently, relationship symbolism. Maggie insisted we compete as a couple this year. “To strengthen your union,” she said.
If only she knew.
“Don’t look so horrified,” Callum teases. “You loved these games as a kid.”
“I was eight,” I shoot back. “And didn’t understand what could go wrong with trying to carry someone twice my size.”
Spoiler: everything.
“You won’t have to carry me,” Alistair murmurs, leaning closer. “Maybe just catch me if I fall.”
That smile.
I am in trouble.
A few minutes later, we’re all gathered on the lawn where Duncan has set up equipment—logs, stones, ropes.
“Behold—the Mac Corquodale log,” he announces solemnly. “In our family for generations. My great-grandfather carved it from a lightning-struck oak.”
Of course it has a story. In Scotland, even torture devices come with heritage.
“Caber tossing is an art,” Duncan continues. “Not just strength—technique, coordination… and for couples, perfect harmony.”
“Couples?” Alistair echoes.
“In the engaged category,” Maggie explains, smiling far too sweetly, “you must demonstrate your ability to work together. One guides, the other executes. A beautiful metaphor for marriage.”
I shoot Alistair a panicked look. He looks equally thrilled. Which is to say—not at all.
“Alistair, you’ll teach Keira the McKenzie technique.”
Of course he will.
I notice Hamish lurking near the castle—with Rosita beside him, as always. The two of them look oddly… sweet together.
“Hamish needs to go back to his pen,” I say quickly. “He’ll cause trouble.”
“Later,” Alistair says. “This comes first.”
He shrugs off his sweater and steps toward the log, lifting it with ease that is frankly offensive. The muscles in his arms flex under his T-shirt, and I have to look away before I get caught staring.
Focus, Keira. It’s just a man lifting wood.
A very attractive man.
A very unfairly attractive man.
He sets it down and motions me over. I glance around for help—none is coming.
“Alright,” he says, stepping behind me, “first, hand placement.”
His arms circle mine, guiding me—and I feel the heat of him at my back. Every nerve in my body lights up.
“Feel that?” he murmurs near my ear. “It’s about balance.”
Oh, I feel it. I feel everything. The rough bark under my hands. His body pressed against mine. The slight tremor in my fingers.
“Now, the swing,” he continues.
His hands land on my hips—and I nearly drop the log. Every point of contact burns.
“Focus, Keira!” Callum calls.
If only you knew.
“Sorry—it’s heavier than I expected,” I mutter.
Alistair’s grip tightens slightly.
“Relax,” he whispers, so only I can hear. “It’s just a game.”
A game.
Of course it is.
“Go!” Duncan shouts.
We move together—perfectly in sync. The log lifts, spins, lands exactly right.
Cheers erupt.
“Beautiful!” Maggie beams. “Perfect harmony!”
“Some people are just meant to move together,” Isobel adds knowingly.
Mary nods. “Just like Archibald and Elspeth. They were an incredible team.”
Alistair and I exchange a look.
“They competed together?” he asks.
“Oh yes,” Mary says. “Won everything.”
“They moved like magic,” Isobel adds.
“What happened to them?” I ask.
The two women exchange a look.
“Sometimes,” my mother says slowly, “what’s obvious to everyone else… escapes the people involved.”
“And sometimes,” Mary adds, “fear keeps us from seeing what’s right in front of us.”
I frown. “That’s not exactly clear.”
“Next event!” Maggie declares.
Of course.
The tug-of-war is worse.
Alistair stands behind me, arms wrapped around my waist. Every time he tightens his grip, my heart goes completely off rhythm.
Across from us, Callum and Jane are perfectly in sync.
“You okay?” Alistair murmurs. “You’re tense.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Keira…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I glance back—and catch something in his expression. Soft. Frustrated. Familiar.
“Ready?” Duncan calls.
We pull.
Together, instantly aligned. Moving as one.
For a moment, I forget everything.
It’s not a performance. Not a contract.
It’s just us.
And it feels… right.
Then—
A loud bleat.
Hooves on gravel.
Hamish charges in like a furry missile, Rosita racing after him.
“Hamish, no!” Callum yells.
Too late.
He barrels straight into Jane, knocking her—and Callum—off balance. The rope jerks. We all go down in a heap.
Hamish stands in the middle, looking proud.
Rosita nudges him disapprovingly.
“I think we have a winner!” Duncan laughs.
Everyone bursts out laughing. Even my mother.
And just like that—the tension breaks.
“I told you—Hamish is a true McGregor,” I laugh. “He hates losing!”
“And Rosita is clearly the voice of reason,” Alistair shoots back.
We stand, still laughing.
I turn toward him—and freeze.
The way he’s looking at me…
For a second, I think he might kiss me.
Right here.
In front of everyone.
And the worst part?
I almost want him to.
“You see?” Isobel exclaims.
Reality slams back into place.
“I—I’ll get drinks,” I mumble, escaping toward the house.
In the quiet kitchen, I brace myself against the counter, breathing hard.
What is wrong with me?
This isn’t me.
“Everything okay?”
I jump. Alistair stands in the doorway.
“Fine,” I say quickly, grabbing glasses. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He steps closer, takes my hand, stopping me.
“Keira. Look at me.”
I do—reluctantly.
“I know this is complicated,” he says softly. “But I wanted to tell you—”
“Oh, there you are!” Lachlan bursts in. “We need you for the family photo!”
Alistair closes his eyes briefly.
“We’re coming,” he says.
Lachlan disappears.
The moment is gone.
“You were saying?” I ask.
He hesitates… then shakes his head.
“Nothing important.”
Of course.
We head out.
Through the window, I catch sight of Hamish and Rosita curled together in their pen—peaceful, content.
“Look at them,” Alistair murmurs. “So calm.”
“They don’t have family expectations,” I say quietly.
“Or contracts,” he adds.
Silence.
“Do you think they even know they’re supposed to be enemies?” I ask.
“I think sheep are smarter than we are about some things,” he says. “They don’t cling to pointless grudges.”
“Or irrational fears.”
Our eyes meet.
Something shifts.
“Keira! Alistair! Photo!” Lachlan yells.
“We should go,” he says.
“We should,” I agree.
Neither of us moves.
Until Maggie calls again.
We join the group. I end up beside him, his arm around my waist.
“Smile!” Duncan calls.
I do.
But my mind drifts—to Hamish and Rosita… to Archibald and Elspeth… to all these stories of rivalry turning into something more.
And for the first time… I let myself wonder if our arrangement could become something real.
It’s terrifying.
And yet, standing here in his arms, I can’t help thinking—
Maybe we’re living our own romantic comedy.
And everyone knows how those end.
The scariest part?
I’m starting to believe in our happy ending.