Chapter 1 Celtic Tattoo
CELTIC TATTOO
Six years later
I watch the man Dad wants me to marry from where I sit at one of many white-clothed tables in our sunlit estate yard.
Summer in New England has lived up to its charm, offering beautiful days made for outdoor events like this. Today’s luncheon serves two purposes. Business and a place for me and my suitor—Dad’s word—to mingle.
So far, the striking man has mingled with everyone but me.
Lachlan MacReid Ashford stands by the seafood buffet, where an ice sculpture of an ocean wave drips onto lobster tails, while he talks to investors of my father’s company. He wants to buy out my father upon his retirement at the end of the year and own Spencer Securities.
Dad will only allow that if he marries me.
No matter how much Dad admires Lachlan and thinks he’s a worthy owner, he’ll only sell his shares to someone in the family.
With Pippa already married, that leaves me. I thought—hoped—I’d escaped this fate when I found a suitable husband for myself. Gabe is no Lachlan, but he’s smart, handsome, and comes from a family that, although worth far less than ours, is reputable.
That act of rebellion, as dad called it, landed me here.
I didn’t sleep with Gabe and swore to remain pure until my wedding night.
I’d only kissed him—maybe a teeny bit more—like I had kissed other guys throughout my college years.
Dad had gotten a little lenient, so I took a chance on Gabe—sweet Gabe who didn’t care that I wanted to wait until marriage to have sex.
That should have been my first clue that he was using me.
It took Dad one day to prove Gabe only wanted me for my money and name.
There’s nothing worse than your dad being right—or so I’d thought.
Dad taking away my trust fund and cutting me off was worse. If it weren’t for Pippa needing me for the first time in her life, I wouldn’t have survived. I even had to drop out of college, unable to make tuition.
After the deceit I suffered from Gabe, I decided love wasn’t in the cards for me.
Why not embrace Dad’s plans for my future and the business?
If I have to marry someone, why not a gorgeous, aloof man?
I can handle his detached personality. It might even work to my advantage.
I have a plan of my own—terms for the marriage that benefit me and require nothing from Lachlan.
He’d be a fool not to go for it. Maybe. Hopefully.
The only thing stopping me from approaching him about these terms is my nerves.
If I had Pippa’s confidence, I would walk right up to him and declare my conditions, certain he’d accept anything just to have me—but I don’t.
I have insecurities about my body and my worth.
The fact that Lachlan is six years my senior isn’t helping.
How can I entice him to agree to anything I want if I don’t even believe in the product I’m trying to sell him? He wants Dad’s company, but he may not want me. If that happens, this potential deal is over. Lachlan will look for another company to buy, and I’ll be blamed for the failure.
To be honest, I’ve always waited for guys to come to me. If they’re interested, they do, and my nerves simmer down, yet Lachlan hasn’t looked at me once.
I, however, have studied the tall man as if I’m writing a thesis on him.
For a person who doesn’t seem to lack charm, Lachlan isn’t a fan of smiling. He’s composed but stiff in a guarded way.
Could be his fitted suit making him look so rigid.
The steel blue European cut is tailored to perfection.
The same can be said about his face. God had the most skilled angel carve his features.
His thin nose, sculpted cheekbones, and chiseled jaw remind me of a younger Sam Heughan in the first season of Outlander, if Sam’s character had impeccably trimmed light scruff.
It was a favorite show at my boarding school. Damn, those sex scenes were steamy. Having no experience, I learned a lot from those scenes. Now I had visuals to go with the romance books I’d read and the stories I heard from Tinsley—the only sexually active student.
Even though Lachlan has sharp features like Sam aka Jamie Fraser, his eyes are a much brighter blue—nearly fluorescent.
And his hair looks like dark chocolate with toffee highlights that are only visible in the sun.
The wavy strands are shorter in the back but longer on top.
It’s styled in a way that is sexy but also professional.
Everything about him is crisp and pressed. I bet he has his underwear ironed.
Many of the women enjoying my father’s luncheon have eyed him. Some have even approached him, attempting to make small talk.
He engages politely but doesn’t go beyond answering questions with short remarks. They take the hint—he’s not interested—and walk away.
For two hours, I’ve watched this go on. I even snuck a picture of him for my bestie, Adelaide. There is no shortage of gorgeous women here, but not one has caught his attention or made his gaze linger, which has me curious about his sexual preference.
He’s here to mingle with me, but it’s as if he doesn’t know I exist.
I gasp.
Maybe, he doesn’t know who I am, and that’s why he’s never paid attention to me before and isn’t now.
Mom strolls over, the image of a Stepford wife, and sits in the empty seat beside me. Everyone from my table has left to either dance to the live band or walk about the property, talking and taking in the blooming hydrangeas bordering most of the yard.
“How long are you going to sit here, Chewy?” Mom asks in an accusatory tone.
That nickname. I hate it. Who would have thought my sixth-grade obsession with caramel chewy candy would lead to this constant comparison? The sugar-free treats were one of a few Mom allowed us to snack on.
She would cup my cheeks and wiggle my head whenever she caught me eating them. “My caramel-blonde baby loves her caramel chews.” Eventually, she started calling me chewy, and Pippa thought it’d be hilarious to share the nickname with everyone we knew.
If I had been born with one other color, it wouldn’t have stuck. Blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair like Pippa and Mom, or even dark hair like my dad had in his youth. But no, I’m the color of light caramel—a caramel chew—from my hair to my eyes to my skin.
“You haven’t tried to talk to Lachlan once.” Mom sets her mimosa in front of me. “If it’s liquid courage you need, chug this. Do whatever you must to keep him interested in only you. This is our chance to marry into nobility. Don’t ruin it for us.”
Nobility? “I thought I was here to lock him down so Dad can keep the business in the family.”
“That too.” She waves her fingers like the business arrangement is an inconsequential detail. “But I’m in it for the nobility. Lachlan’s mother is a countess. Your dad says he even has an ancestral castle in Scotland.”
This is news to me. “Does he have an accent?” I’ve never spoken to him directly to know.
“He does, but it’s English and mild in my opinion. You’d know this if you’d have tried to talk to him.” She gives me a stern look.
I check him out again where he now stands by the champagne fountain, talking to two men.
I try to imagine an English accent sounding from his lips as they move. As a lover of Jane Austen movies, I’ve always had a thing for men who sound like Mr. Darcy or Mr. Lefroy. James McFadden and James McAvoy will always have my heart.
Lachlan having an accent makes him even sexier. I swore I’d never fall for another man again, but my resolve might not survive a walking fantasy like him.
Mom touches the top of my hand, and I realize she’s still talking. “…his mother is Scottish, but his father is English. He was raised in England and attended Eton, but eventually he came here to finish his MBA.”
“Does he live in America now?” No one mentioned I might have to leave New England.
“I think so,” she says with uncertainty. “Your father says he travels back and forth to his business in London and his castle in Scotland. Traveling implies he lives here. Apparently, the entire Scottish village works at his factory and relies on it for their jobs.”
“Factory or castle?” I don’t know how many glasses of wine Mom has had yet, but if it’s her usual, she might be too tipsy to know what she’s talking about.
“Both.”
I can’t picture Lachlan in his perfectly fitted European suit standing in a factory. “What does he make? Cars? Food?”
“I don’t know, nor do I care. His priority is finances and buying our business. The factory is a birth inheritance. It came with the castle.”
“Is it near the castle?” I can’t picture that either. But then, I don’t know anyone who owns a castle other than Kingston VonAston—the sexy guy Adelaide, can’t seem to get over. And a nearby factory isn’t how she described his home.
“Why don’t you ask him? It would give you something to talk about. Go on.” She waves her hands like she’s shooing a fly. “Off with you.”
I don’t move, just keep my gaze on Lachlan’s back and how his suit jacket shows off his broad shoulders and trim waist.
“As much as I hate to admit this, I don’t think he’s interested.” Dad finally picks a suitor who doesn’t make me cringe, and he acts like I don’t exist. “Are you sure he isn’t gay?”
Mom laughs. “Far from it.”
“What does that mean, and how would you know?” I glare at my mother with an odd sense of jealousy. Ridiculous, considering Lachlan and I haven’t even made eye contact.
“It means I’ve seen Lachlan with women on plenty occasions. He brings dates to dinners, fundraisers, and other events. The only reason he didn’t bring one today is because you’re supposed to be his date.”
“How can I be his anything if he won’t look at me? Does he even know who I am?” I ask the question I wondered earlier.
Mom’s lips curl with a grin. “He knows. Your father has pictures of you and Pippa in his office. And we have them all over the estate. I caught him staring at your high school graduation photo just yesterday.”