Chapter 5
JANE
I stare at the contract lying on the table in front of me like it might strike at any second.
There are no visible fangs, but twenty-seven pages of clauses and subclauses are more than enough to make my head spin. Who knew a fake marriage would require more paperwork than a real one?
“So?” Callum asks, his Scottish accent making that single word far too appealing for my own good.
A man who looks like that should not be allowed to have that voice. It’s like handing a flamethrower to an arsonist.
“I’m reading,” I reply without looking up. “That’s what people usually do before signing a contract that legally binds them to a stranger for a year.”
“We met yesterday. Technically, I’m no longer a stranger.”
I finally lift my gaze to meet his icy blue eyes.
“Oh really? What’s my middle name?”
He opens his mouth… then closes it again.
“Exactly.”
“Elizabeth,” he says after a beat.
I hide my surprise behind a sip of my latte.
Impressive.
“You did your homework.”
“Always. I assume you did yours as well?”
“Callum Keir McGregor. Born October fifteenth, nineteen ninety-three, in Edinburgh. Graduated with honors from St Andrews in economics and business management. Fan of single malt whisky and collector of vintage vinyl. Your favorite album is Rumours by Fleetwood Mac—which is surprisingly sentimental for someone so… you.”
A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth.
“I see we’re both prepared.”
“Not quite,” I say, flipping a page. “I’m still processing clause 14.b, which states that I must ‘maintain a public image consistent with the standards of the McGregor family.’ What exactly does that mean? Am I expected to wear a kilt and learn the bagpipes?”
“It means no scandals or behavior that could embarrass the company. No viral videos of you yelling at people, for example.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Point taken, Mr. McGregor. But that video was taken completely out of context. That director deserved every decibel.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he says evenly. “But within the context of our arrangement, I would ask that you reserve such… expressive moments for private settings.”
“And those ‘private settings’ are detailed where exactly?” I flip through the document. “Ah—there it is. Clause 18: cohabitation and personal space. You’re seriously telling me we have to keep up the act even in front of your staff?”
“Jamison has been with my family for thirty years. He witnessed my first steps and likely knows more about McGregor history than most historians. If he suspects anything, my grandmother will know before you can say ‘single malt.’”
I sigh, rubbing my temples.
This is getting complicated.
“How exactly am I supposed to convince your entire world I’m thrilled to marry you when I barely know you?”
“You’re an actress,” he replies calmly. “It’s literally your job to make people believe things that aren’t true.”
“There’s a difference between playing a role for a few hours with a script and living a lie twenty-four hours a day for a year.”
He leans forward slightly, and his scent—something warm, sandalwood mixed with citrus—hits me unexpectedly.
“Consider it immersive preparation for your comeback role,” he says. “An actress willing to do anything for her career revival. It would make an excellent film.”
“With me in the lead, I hope?”
“Naturally. An Oscar-worthy performance.”
I laugh despite myself.
“You know, for someone so rigid, you occasionally have a surprisingly decent sense of humor.”
“I’m Scottish, not a robot. Contrary to popular belief, we do have emotions—we simply express them in a more… controlled manner.”
“By controlled, you mean repressed to the point of suffocation?”
“I prefer the word measured.”
I shake my head and keep reading.
“Clause 22: early termination. Now that’s interesting.”
He clears his throat. “As requested, I included an exit clause in case the arrangement becomes problematic.”
I scan the paragraph, then snort softly. “‘In the event that one party develops genuine romantic feelings toward a third party…’ Wow. You really know how to make love sound deeply unappetizing.”
“That clause exists to protect both of us,” he says a little too quickly. “You may meet someone in Scotland.”
“In an isolated castle in the Highlands?” I arch a brow. “Unless you have a secret brother or a dangerously attractive mailman, I doubt my romantic prospects will be overwhelming.”
“You might be surprised. The Highlands are full of… robust men who would likely be intrigued by an American actress.”
“‘Robust men,’” I repeat, mimicking his accent. “You sound like a tourism brochure.”
“I’m simply stating the clause is necessary. For both of us.”
“Of course. Heaven forbid the great Callum McGregor falls in love with a humble American actress. That would completely ruin your stoic businessman image.”
Something flickers in his eyes—amusement? irritation?—before his expression smooths out again.
“One never knows what the future holds,” he says. “That’s precisely why we have a contract—to account for all possibilities.”
I keep reading, pausing at every clause that feels excessive—which is… quite a few.
“‘Party B’—that’s me, apparently—‘agrees to participate in traditional family events, including but not limited to: Sunday dinners, birthdays, the Highland Games, and Hogmanay.’ What exactly is Hogmanay?”
“Scottish New Year. A significant celebration.”
“And the Highland Games… please don’t tell me I’ll be throwing logs.”
A genuine smile flashes across his face, briefly softening everything about him.
“The caber toss is generally reserved for men, but if you wish to participate, I’m sure my grandmother would appreciate your enthusiasm.”
“I’ll pass. I prefer activities that don’t involve potential spinal injury.”
“Pity. You would have made quite an impression.”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or complimenting me.
He’s impossible to read.
I turn another page. “‘Party B agrees to learn the basics of McGregor family history and familiarize herself with local traditions.’ Is there an exam?”
“My grandmother will likely administer one. Informal—but merciless.”
“Fantastic. And how exactly am I supposed to learn all this in a few days?”
“I’ve prepared a file.”
Of course he has.
He pulls out another folder and hands it to me. I open it—at least fifty pages, complete with photos, family trees, even traditional recipes.
I stare at him.
“You did this… when?”
“I had a twelve-hour flight.”
I flip through the pages, grudgingly impressed.
“You’re always this thorough?”
“I prefer to be prepared.”
Clearly.
A photo catches my attention—a sharply dressed older woman with an elegant posture, mischievous eyes, and an extravagant hat.
“That’s her? The infamous grandmother?”
“Margaret McGregor. Maggie. Do not be fooled by appearances. She is strategic to her core.”
I study the photo.
“She actually looks kind of amazing.”
“She is. Formidable and amazing.”
I continue until I reach the financial section.
“One million dollars, paid in quarterly installments. And a clause stating that if the agreement fails due to ‘lack of commitment from Party B,’ the remaining payments are forfeited.”
“A standard precaution.”
“And who defines ‘lack of commitment’? You?”
“We can establish objective criteria if you prefer.”
“Like what? A minimum daily smile quota? Two and a half public displays of affection per week?”
He looks at me seriously.
“If that reassures you, we can quantify those metrics.”
I blink.
“I was joking, Callum.”
“Oh.”
Something about his brief confusion is… oddly endearing.
“Look,” I say, softening slightly. “I understand you want guarantees. But I’m a good actress, no matter what the tabloids say. If I take this role, I commit. I don’t do things halfway.”
He studies me for a moment, as if weighing my words.
“I believe you,” he says finally. “But the contract remains necessary.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want us developing trust or anything.”
“Trust is built over time. The contract bridges the gap.”
I exhale and flip to the last page.
“So. When do rehearsals begin for our grand performance?”
“As soon as you sign. We have a great deal to prepare before the wedding.”
“The wedding,” I repeat.
It hits me all at once.
“I’m actually going to marry you in two weeks… and move into a Scottish castle for a year. That’s completely insane.”
“Fourteen days now,” he corrects.
“That does not help.”
“If you need more time—”
“No,” I cut in. “I thought about it all night. It’s crazy, but it’s also an opportunity. Not just for the money—though that helps—but to disappear for a while. Reset. Come back stronger.”
He nods, and for the first time, I see something real in his expression.
Understanding.
“Sometimes the most irrational decisions are the only ones that make sense.”
“Exactly.”
A quiet settles between us as I scan the final lines one last time.
Then I inhale deeply and extend my hand.
“A pen. Before I change my mind.”
He pulls a fountain pen from his jacket—of course he does—and hands it to me.
“You’re certain?”
“Not even slightly. But when have I ever been?”
I sign in one swift motion and hand it back. He signs next, precise and controlled.
“That’s it,” I say. “I’m officially your future wife. God help us.”
“God—or perhaps a good Scotch whisky.”
“I vote whisky.”
He slips the contract back into his briefcase, then pulls out a small black velvet box.
“Since we’ve formalized the agreement, this seems appropriate.”
My eyes widen as he opens it.
A breathtaking ring. Emerald-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds, set in platinum.
“Oh… Is that for me?”
“Engagements generally require a ring.”
I hesitate.
“It’s stunning, but… isn’t this a bit much for a temporary marriage?”
“It belonged to my maternal grandmother. A cheap ring would raise suspicion.”
“A family ring? Callum, I can’t—”
“You can. And you must. It’s part of the illusion. You’ll return it when this ends. It’s in the contract.”
“Of course it is,” I murmur.
I take the ring carefully, watching the deep sapphire catch the light.
“It matches your eyes,” I say before I can stop myself.
He raises a brow.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The sapphire. It’s almost the same color as your eyes.”
Heat rises to my cheeks.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
I slide it onto my finger.
It fits perfectly.
“How did you know my size?”
“I asked your agent.”
“Of course you did. Max would sell his soul for ten percent.”
Callum studies my hand, looking oddly satisfied.
“It suits you.”
“Thank you. It’s… really beautiful.”
I stare at it, suddenly aware I’m wearing an engagement ring from a man I’ve known for barely twenty-six hours.
My life has officially lost all sense of normal.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “What’s next in this completely insane plan?”
“We have dinner tonight. We need to start being seen together in public.”
“You move fast.”
“We don’t have time. Tomorrow, we meet a jeweler for wedding bands, then the officiant.”
“And your grandmother?”
“You’ll meet her once we arrive in Scotland. I’ll explain my reasoning.”
“Let me guess—you won’t tell her we rushed into this because life is short and love can’t wait?”
“I could.”
I laugh.
“You? Saying that with a straight face?”
“I am perfectly capable of expressing romantic sentiments convincingly.”
“Oh really? Prove it.”
He pauses.
“Excuse me?”
“Right now. Say something romantic. Convince me you’re madly in love with me.”
For the first time, he looks… caught off guard.
Then he clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, and leans slightly closer.
“Jane… I never believed in love at first sight until I met you,” he begins, his voice softer, his accent deeper. “But there’s something about the way you laugh… the way you look at the world like it’s something to challenge. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew.”
My breath catches.
He takes my hand, his thumb brushing the ring.
“Every day without you felt incomplete. Like something was missing. I know this is fast—but when you know, you know. And I know you’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
My heart stumbles.
He’s good.
Really good.
“Not bad,” I manage, my voice tighter than I’d like. “You’re a better actor than I expected.”
He releases my hand, his expression snapping back to neutral.
“Business negotiations sometimes require a certain degree of performance.”
“Well, your grandmother doesn’t stand a chance. If I hadn’t already signed, I might’ve believed you.”
A faint, unreadable smile touches his lips.
“That’s the idea, Jane.”
He checks his watch.
“I have a few calls to make before dinner. May I pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“Of course. Where are we going?”
“Providence. I secured the best table. We’ll be noticed.”
“Providence? That’s impossible to book on short notice—how did you—”
“I have my methods. Our love story begins tonight.”
He stands, straightens his jacket, and gives me a slight nod.
“Until tonight… future Mrs. McGregor.”
Then he leaves.
And I’m alone—with a diamond ring, a sapphire that catches the light, and a dizzying sense that my life just veered completely off course.
I stare at my hand.
What have I done?
An arranged marriage in two weeks. A year in a Scottish castle. Playing the devoted wife to a man I barely know.
And yet…
I can’t help smiling as I imagine Ryan’s face when he finds out. Or better yet—Michael Peterson’s—when photos of my “fairy tale wedding” hit the tabloids.
You’re just a pretty face.
Well, this pretty face is about to marry a man who owns a castle, a global company… and can turn into Prince Charming on command.
I finish my coffee, something steady and determined settling inside me.
This might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
But it’s also a reset.
A chance to take control of my story again.
And who knows?
Maybe Scotland will give me exactly what I need—a fresh start, far from Hollywood scandals and broken promises.
One thing’s certain—
The next few months won’t be boring.
Not with Callum McGregor as my contract husband… and a sharp-eyed Scottish grandmother waiting for me.
Let the show begin.