Chapter 14
JANE
— At this point, I don’t even know if I’m a bride or a mannequin, I grumble as Mrs. Gordon adjusts the bodice of my dress for the umpteenth time.
— Stand up straight, Miss Carter, the seamstress scolds, a mouthful of pins making her words slightly muffled. The most beautiful day of your life deserves a posture worthy of the name.
I swallow a sarcastic remark about how this isn’t really “the most beautiful day of my life,” but more like a business transaction wrapped in lace and tulle. Still, Mrs. Gordon—with her nimble fingers and near-religious devotion to sartorial perfection—doesn’t deserve my cynicism.
— How is our bride doing? Keira exclaims as she bursts into the room, a glass of champagne in each hand. You look like you could use this.
— You are my guardian angel, I sigh, reaching for the glass, but Mrs. Gordon smacks my fingers like a strict schoolteacher.
— No sudden movements! And no alcohol until we’re finished. Champagne on this lace would be a disaster.
I let my arm fall back, defeated.
— This woman is a tyrant, I mutter to Keira.
— I can hear perfectly well, Miss Carter, the seamstress replies without looking up from her work. My ears function just as well as my fingers.
Keira sits down on the couch and watches me with a mix of amusement and sympathy.
— Are you holding up? she asks after taking a deliberately provocative sip of her champagne.
— I’m exhausted. Between the dance rehearsal, the dress fitting, the lessons on Scottish traditions, and the photo scandal… I feel like I’ve lived an entire week in a single day.
— And it’s not over yet, Keira reminds me cheerfully. The rehearsal dinner starts in… (she checks her watch) an hour and a half. And Grandmother invited half the village.
— Wonderful, I groan. Even more people to stare at me like I’m some exotic curiosity.
— You’re exaggerating, Keira replies. They’re just curious. It’s not every day the McGregor heir marries an American actress.
— Former actress, I correct automatically. A role as “woman crying in the rain” doesn’t exactly make a career.
— I don’t know, Keira counters, sipping her champagne. If it were in a raincoat commercial, I’d say that’s pretty relevant to life in Scotland.
I can’t help laughing, which earns me another disapproving look from Mrs. Gordon.
— There, I’m finished, the seamstress finally declares, straightening up. You may move, Miss Carter.
I let out a deep breath, only now realizing I’d been holding it.
— Can I have champagne now?
Keira hands me the glass with a wink, and I take a long, grateful sip.
— Turn around, she orders. Let me see.
I spin slowly, the dress swaying lightly around my legs.
— Well?
— You are stunning, Keira says with a sincerity that touches me. Callum is going to have a heart attack.
— Well, that would be an interesting development, I joke. “American bride arrives in Scotland, accidentally kills her fiancé with her dress.”
Mrs. Gordon gathers her things with a disapproving air.
— American humor, she mutters.
— Don’t mind her, Keira tells me once the seamstress has left. She was like that for my debutante ball too. I think she treats every outfit as a personal mission.
I look at myself in the mirror, truly taking in the image I reflect for the first time. The dress is beautiful, hugging my curves perfectly while remaining elegant. With the veil and jewelry waiting for me tomorrow, I will truly look like…
A real bride.
Not an actress playing a role. A real bride about to marry the man she loves.
The thought unsettles me more than I want to admit.
— Earth to Jane, Keira calls, waving her hand in front of my face. Where did you go?
— Nowhere, I reply quickly. I’m just tired.
She studies me with a sideways smile that reminds me of Callum’s.
— You know, she begins in a suspiciously innocent tone, my brother was oddly concerned about your well-being tonight. He asked Jamison to make sure you had everything you needed for your fitting.
— That’s normal, isn’t it? He’s my future husband, after all.
The word husband feels strange in my mouth, like a piece of clothing I haven’t quite learned to wear yet.
— Callum isn’t the attentive type, Keira explains. He’s efficient, yes, but not thoughtful. Not like that.
I feel my cheeks warm slightly and turn away to remove the dress, hiding my face from her.
— He probably feels guilty about the photo incident.
— Hmm, maybe, she concedes, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe that for a second. Or maybe my dear brother is starting to develop feelings that weren’t part of your little contract.
I freeze, halfway out of my dress.
— I don’t know what you’re talking about, I reply, my voice slightly higher than usual.
— Of course you don’t, Keira shoots back with an audible smile. Just like you’re not blushing right now.
— I’m not blushing! It’s just the effort of taking off this dress.
— Of course.
Keira helps me carefully hang the precious gown while I slip into a simpler dress for tonight’s dinner.
— You know, she continues as if we were discussing the weather, it would be understandable if your feelings were evolving.
You’re spending a lot of time together, in stressful and emotionally charged situations.
It’s like in those novels where two people who can’t stand each other end up falling madly in love.
— We don’t hate each other, I correct automatically. And real life isn’t a novel, Keira.
— Too bad, she sighs theatrically. I think you would make a perfect couple. The passionate, impulsive actress and the rigid businessman who learns to let go…
— You should write books, I cut in, running my hands through my hair to make it somewhat presentable. Or better yet, stop seeing a future where there isn’t one.
Keira raises her hands in surrender, but her smile doesn’t leave her lips.
— Fine, I’ll drop it. But keep in mind that the best marriages often start as practical arrangements. Ask any historian.
— I’ll pass on the history lesson tonight, thank you, I reply, grabbing my bag. I have a rehearsal dinner waiting for me, and apparently half the village to impress.
— Don’t worry about that, Keira reassures me as she follows me out of the room. They’ll love you. Especially since Hamish gave you his blessing.
— You know about that too?
— Jane, she sighs as if explaining something to a particularly slow child, we are in a small Scottish village. The story of a sheep attacking a paparazzo to defend the American’s honor is already part of local folklore.
— Fantastic, I sigh.
The rehearsal dinner is held in the castle’s great hall, transformed for the occasion into a banquet space worthy of a historical film.
Long U-shaped tables fill the room, decorated with wildflowers and tartan elements.
Candles and lanterns create an intimate atmosphere despite the imposing size of the hall.
And there are people. A lot of people.
— You told me half the village, I accuse Keira as I take in the crowd. This looks more like the entire village, plus every neighboring hamlet.
— Grandmother was generous with the invitations, she admits. She considers this wedding a community event.
— Of course, why not, I mutter. The more the merrier…
— The more gifts, Keira adds cheerfully.
I spot Callum at the other end of the room, deep in conversation with an older man proudly wearing a kilt. He looks elegant in his dark suit, his hair perfectly styled, his posture straight and confident. Even from a distance, I feel my heart give a small, traitorous leap.
He looks up at that exact moment, as if sensing my gaze, and our eyes meet across the room. A faint smile curves his lips, and he gives me a small nod.
— Oh wow, Keira comments beside me. What was that?
— What?
— That telepathic communication you just had. I practically saw sparks between you.
— You have quite the imagination, Keira McGregor.
— And you are in denial, Jane Carter-soon-to-be-McGregor.
Before I can reply, we’re interrupted by Lachlan’s booming arrival, already slightly drunk judging by his wide grin and flushed cheeks.
— The two most beautiful women of the evening! he exclaims, throwing an arm around each of us. Jane, you look radiant! Callum is one lucky man.
— Thank you, Lachlan, I reply politely.
— Tell me, he whispers, leaning closer, do you have any friends as charming as you in Hollywood? Because I was thinking, if the wedding goes well, maybe—
Savannah flashes through my mind and I nearly choke on my champagne. There could not be a worse match than my best friend and Lachlan McGregor.
— Lachlan, Keira interrupts, focus on your drink. I think there’s still a drop or two at the bottom.
— Excellent idea! he agrees, wandering off as quickly as he arrived.
— Is he always like this? I ask.
— Lachlan? Oh yes. And this is him almost sober and relatively distinguished, she informs me. Wait until you see him after a few glasses of whisky.
— I can’t wait, I reply dryly.
I notice Maggie making her entrance, majestic in a long midnight-blue dress, adorned with a tartan shawl and jewelry that must be worth a small fortune. She spots Callum and heads toward him with purpose.
— I think your grandmother wants to talk to Callum, I say to Keira.
— Uh oh, she comments, following my gaze. The pre-banquet strategy meeting. Poor Callum.
Indeed, I see Callum stiffen slightly as Maggie speaks to him. He nods several times, like a student receiving instructions from a particularly demanding teacher.
Then, to my surprise, Maggie turns in my direction and beckons me over.
— I think I’m being summoned, I murmur.
— Good luck, Keira smiles. If she mentions ancient tradition, run.
I make my way toward them, weaving through guests who openly stare at me with curiosity.
— Ah, Jane, there you are! Maggie exclaims as I join them. You look lovely, my dear.
— Thank you, Maggie. You look very elegant as well.