Chapter 28 #2
—Summer storms here are usually violent but brief. An hour, maybe two.
—Stranded together in an isolated cabin during a storm, she says with a small smile. Just like those romantic TV movies I used to watch as a teenager.
—With the irresistible attraction and deep emotional revelations? I tease, even as my heart picks up at the thought.
—Exactly, she agrees, her eyes glinting in the firelight. We’re supposed to share our deepest secrets and realize we’re meant for each other.
She says it lightly, like a joke—but there’s something in her gaze that tells me she’s not entirely kidding.
—Well, I begin, feeding the fire as it starts to catch, you could explain how an actress who’s never held a bow suddenly becomes a champion.
Jane settles onto the wooden bench, pulling her knees to her chest.
—I have no idea. It’s like everything aligned—my body, my mind, the bow. Like I’ve always known how to do it… and just forgot.
—A natural talent, then.
—Or divine intervention, she suggests with a crooked smile. Maybe your grandmother made a deal with Scottish gods to help me humiliate Heather?
I laugh.
—I wouldn’t be surprised. Maggie has always had… mysterious methods.
The fire crackles, shadows dancing along the walls. I sit beside Jane, keeping a respectful distance despite the inexplicable pull to be closer.
—You know what’s strange? she says after a moment. Winning today made me realize how much I feel like an imposter most of the time.
—An imposter? I echo, surprised. How so?
She sighs, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
—My whole life, I’ve felt like I was playing a role. Not just professionally—but in every part of my life. The confident actress who knows exactly where she’s going. The responsible daughter who reassures her eccentric mother. The sophisticated woman who understands all the rules of Hollywood.
She pauses, staring into the flames.
—And now, the Scottish wife who fits in perfectly. I feel like I’ve spent my entire life trying to convince everyone I belong… while being convinced I don’t.
Her confession hits me harder than I expect, echoing feelings I’ve never dared put into words.
—I understand, I say quietly. More than you think.
She looks at me, startled.
—Really? You? Callum McGregor—the man who seems born to lead, who always has the exact answer to everything?
—Yes, I say with a humorless smile. The public version of Callum McGregor is a character I created to meet my father’s expectations… and then those of an entire line of ancestors whose portraits stare down at me every day.
It’s more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone, and yet the words keep coming, as if the storm outside has broken something open inside me.
—My father was relentlessly demanding, I continue. Nothing was ever good enough—never perfect enough. I spent my childhood and teenage years trying to earn his approval. And when he died…
My voice falters.
—When he died, I go on after steadying myself, I realized I’d never earned it. And now it was too late. So I tried even harder—to be the perfect McGregor heir, to run the business exactly as he would have, to uphold every tradition to the letter…
—For a man who can no longer see you or appreciate any of it, Jane finishes softly. Oh, Cal…
Her hand finds mine on the bench, her fingers threading through mine so naturally it feels instinctive.
—And the worst part is, I’m not even sure I know who I am outside of that role, I admit. The perfect McGregor heir has become my default setting. What’s left if you strip that away?
—A good man, Jane says without hesitation. A man who stands up for his wife against a toxic ex, who takes care of his family even when they drive him crazy, who makes compromises he never would have before—because he’s growing.
Her words hit deeper than I expect. Outside, thunder rumbles, but it feels distant now, like we’re wrapped in our own pocket of time.
—I’ve spent my life feeling like the imposter everyone would eventually expose, Jane continues.
In Hollywood, I was terrified they’d realize I wasn’t beautiful enough, talented enough—just…
not enough. And the most ironic part? When the scandal broke, it was almost a relief.
There it was—it’s out. They’ve discovered I’m not good enough.
A single tear slips down her cheek, catching the firelight. Without thinking, I lift my free hand and brush it away with my thumb.
—You are more than enough, Jane, I say, my voice rougher than I expect. You’re extraordinary.
Our eyes lock, and something shifts in the air. The tension we’ve been dancing around since the beginning—carefully avoiding, negotiating, accepting—suddenly becomes impossible to ignore.
—Cal, she whispers, my name on her lips both question and answer.
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly the space between us disappears. Our lips meet in a kiss unlike the one we shared on the moor. This one carries everything we’ve just revealed—every vulnerability, every truth we’ve finally dared to admit.
My hands frame her face, my thumbs brushing over her tear-damp cheeks. Hers clutch at my shirt as if she’s afraid I might disappear. When we finally pull apart, breathless, the world feels different.
—I didn’t plan this when I suggested a walk, I say, trying—badly—to lighten the moment.
She laughs softly, and I’m fairly certain that sound has become my favorite thing in the world.
—Really? Because luring me into an isolated cabin during a storm sounds like a pretty elaborate plan, Mr. McGregor.
—If I’d known it would be this effective, I would’ve done it much sooner, I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, still amazed I’m allowed to touch her like this.
—And miss all those weeks of unresolved sexual tension? she teases. What a waste that would’ve been.
—It hasn’t been that long, has it?
—Since we first met, she clarifies. Don’t you remember? You looked at me like I was either an alien… or the answer to a question you hadn’t asked yet.
—I remember perfectly, I admit. You had this mix of defiance and panic that intrigued me.
—Intrigued? she repeats with a mischievous smile. Is that Scottish for “deeply disturbed”?
—Maybe a bit of both, I concede, before kissing her again, unable to resist her any longer now that I know I’m allowed.
This kiss deepens quickly—more urgent, more desperate. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer until she’s practically in my lap. Hers roam my shoulders, my back, threading into my hair.
—You’re still wet, I murmur against her lips, suddenly realizing her clothes are still soaked despite the warmth of the fire.
—You really do say the most romantic things, Cal, she laughs.
—I’m serious. You’ll catch a cold, I insist, trying to regain some semblance of reason. We should—
—Take off our wet clothes? she suggests innocently, though the gleam in her eyes is anything but. For purely practical health reasons, of course.
—Of course, I echo, my voice betraying just how little I believe in that argument.
She stands and shrugs off her jacket, her fingers trembling slightly. I remain frozen on the bench, mesmerized by every inch of skin she reveals.
—Are you planning to just watch all night, or are you going to join me in this noble pursuit of health and well-being? she asks.
There’s a flicker of nerves beneath her confidence.
Her vulnerability snaps me out of it. I stand and gently take her hands, stilling her movements.
—Jane. We don’t have to do anything you’re not absolutely sure about. This cabin, this storm—it might feel like one of your movies, but real life is more complicated.
—Callum McGregor, she says, holding my gaze, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me—soft at first, then deepening into something undeniable. My last hesitations scatter like leaves in the storm outside.
—In that case, I murmur against her skin, I suggest we deal with those wet clothes immediately.
Outside, the thunder rolls one last time as the storm begins to move on. But inside the small stone cabin, an entirely different storm is only just beginning.