Chapter 5
WESTON
“That’s all you’re bringing?” I said as I stepped out of the SUV to greet Lena on the sidewalk in front of her condo.
She was dressed in a white sundress with tiny blue flowers embroidered into the skirt.
Her dark hair was curled slightly where it rested beneath her shoulder blades.
I cocked my head as I took her in. She never wore her hair down. It was always pulled back at work.
Tidy. Efficient. Borderline stern.
Like this, there was something softer about her, and it intrigued me so much that I couldn’t help staring. It was like I’d stumbled upon some rare species, and I had to take in as much as I could before it spooked.
“You said we’d be gone a week,” she said, hands falling to her hips. She leveled me with a look—that no-nonsense, arched eyebrow and pursed lips. Ah, yes, there was my assistant.
“I think I actually said a week or so,” I clarified.
“Well, there’s a week or so worth of clothes in there.” She shoved her suitcase toward the vehicle. “Why do you look confused?”
“I just assumed all women overpacked.” Narissa certainly had. There’d been bags for shoes and bags for makeup and outfits on hangers that needed to lay perfectly flat lest they get wrinkled. A weekend getaway came with enough bags to fill the trunk of my car to overflowing.
“Well, this bride packs as efficiently as she manages your calendar,” Lena muttered. I admired the line of her neck and the curve of her collarbone as she flipped her hair off her shoulder and lifted her bag off the curb. “Why are you staring at me?”
“I just…” I gestured awkwardly to her. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the bun and the blazer.”
She tilted her head. “Oh.”
“You look different outside the office,” I said. “Nice.” What I actually wanted to say was beautiful, because she was.
Lena bristled. “Oh.”
I played my words back in my head, wincing a bit. I’d intended to compliment her, but looking back, I could see how I might have insinuated that she looked terrible at the office. Which wasn’t the case. “I meant—”
“Maybe a girl wants to look special on her wedding day,” she said coolly, cutting me off before brushing by me to climb into the back seat of the SUV.
My driver, Nic, came around the back of the vehicle to handle the bag, so I joined Lena in the back seat.
“Did you get the waiver?” I asked as she flipped through emails on her phone.
“The judge signed it late last night,” she said. “No seventy-two-hour waiting period for you. Guess it’s all about who you know.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“I still don’t know how you get the courthouse to open this early for you.”
“You agree to spend a lot of money backing the mayor’s next campaign run,” I said.
“He’s giving you the VIP treatment, huh?”
“Even said he’d come to witness if I wanted.”
She snorted at that, amused in spite of herself.
We pulled up in front of the blocky stone building and climbed out of the SUV. For a moment, Lena hesitated on the steps.
“Ready?” I asked her.
She nodded and followed me to the doors, where a security guard let us inside.
As far as courthouse weddings went, it was a quick and painless affair—over and done with in about fifteen minutes.
The staff were attentive and friendly, clapping politely for us as I slid the ring I’d overnighted from the main Veritique store in NYC onto Lena’s finger.
For an awkward moment, I wondered if I’d ordered the wrong size—I’d just opted for the most common size sold by the jeweler.
I’d spent the last seven years working with Lena, but I’d never given much thought to her fingers.
Looking at them now, I noted that they were thin and delicate, her nails perfectly manicured with frosted white tips.
Despite my concern, the ring slid perfectly into place.
Lena stared at the glittery stone, assessing. Then her gaze flicked up, meeting mine, and the corner of her mouth turned up. Fake or not, she approved of the ring. And then it was done.
Marriage certificate in hand, we headed straight for Houston Executive Airport to catch the jet.
“How long is the flight?” Lena asked.
“Should be about nine hours.” I was hoping to be in Scotland by dinner, local time.
She nodded. “I’m sending you a briefing packet I need you to read before the meeting with the Tokyo execs. And yes, before you ask, I’ve already highlighted all the key bits.”
“You can’t be serious, woman.” Her eyes flicked in my direction. “I’m on my honeymoon.”
She snorted. “Well, it’s either that or Arnie’s Bolivian alpaca farm pitch. Take your pick.”
“Lena,” I whispered, nudging her awake hours later. Milo shifted his head off her lap. He always sat with her when we flew.
Her long eyelashes fluttered. “What, is something going on in Houston?” She blinked sleepily, reaching for her phone. “Is it Narissa again?”
I gritted my teeth at the very mention of her name.
She probably was up to no good. The damn woman had been relentless in her posting.
But I couldn’t say for certain one way or the other.
PR had told me to keep off of social media for now, and it was an order I was more than happy to obey.
If I wanted to swim with sharks, I’d visit the fucking Bahamas.
“No, we’re over the Highlands,” I said, pointing out the window. Sweeping green hills patchworked with the occasional band of purple heather rolled beneath us for miles. “We’ll be coming up on the estate soon. Just there.”
Lena narrowed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the window. “Weston!” she snapped, whipping her head around, her expression displeased. “When you talked about Lochbrae, you always referred to a house.”
“Yes?”
“A house.”
“Right.” I wasn’t following.
“This is a…” She gestured helplessly at the window, her jaw hanging open. “Lochbrae has a friggin’ castle!”
“Did I not mention that part?”
“Um, no, Lord Kincaid, I think I would have remembered,” she muttered.
“Well, it’s only a little one.” It was the land that came with Lochbrae that was truly valuable.
Hundreds of years back, the land had been the source of agricultural jobs for the whole county.
It had been Grandad’s hope that the construction of the wind farm would bring back the prosperity the region had known back then.
He’d loved this place and the people more than anything, and it felt like it was now my responsibility to take care of them.
“Your idea of ‘little’ and mine are very different,” Lena said as we circled the estate, heading for the private landing strip. “This place is massive.”
“Does size really matter?”
“That’s not what a wife wants to hear on her honeymoon,” she quipped, though I noted the way her cheeks flushed.
Once we’d landed, a driver came around to collect us and our bags, taking us down the winding gravel road to the front of the main house.
“Grandad favored the traditional style,” I explained. “Most of the work he did on the property went into preserving that.”
Lena swore under her breath. “It’s literally like something out of a fairy tale.”
Sure, maybe what she saw was weathered stone walls rising into the sky and ivy-coated towers. But all I saw as I stepped out of the car was home. No, it wasn’t the house I’d grown up in with my parents, but it was the only place that had ever truly felt like home to me.
The massive oak front door flew open, and a wrinkled face glared back at me. Agnes, the estate’s housekeeper, dropped her hands to her hips. “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
“I know I’m late,” I said.
Agnes’s face cracked into a grin, and she yanked me into a crushing hug with a strength that should have been impossible for a sixty-something woman who wouldn’t break a hundred pounds soaking wet. She’d been working for Grandad for years, and I was particularly fond of her tattie scones.
“I let the kettle go cold five times waiting for you to turn up yesterday,” she said, releasing me. “And who’s this lovely young thing?”
I stepped aside to introduce her to Lena. “This is Lena…” I hesitated over “Harp.” “My wife.”
“Wife!” Agnes exclaimed, walloping me on the arm. She surged after Lena’s hand, studying the ring. “Since when is Weston Kincaid a married man?”
“Since this morning,” Lena said.
Agnes released her. “For the love o’God,” she said, exasperated. “You said have tea ready! You didn’t say anything about a wedding celebration.”
“No celebration,” I said at the same time Lena said, “That’s not necessary.”
“’Course it’s necessary,” Agnes said, throwing her arms up.
“It’s not every day you get married. Or at least, I hope it’s not.
” She gave me a suspicious stare before turning to march toward the house, muttering to herself.
“Married! Without so much as a word to the staff. What am I, a pile of sheep shite?”
Lena snorted with laughter. “I like her.”
“She’s a riot,” I said. “And unstoppable when she’s set her mind to something.” I set off after her, pulling Lena along by the hand. “Agnes! Don’t make a fuss.”
“Don’t be daft! We have to celebrate,” she called, disappearing down a hall as we walked into the entryway. Milo bounded ahead, eager to re-explore the familiar surroundings.
Lena stood next to me, lost for words, and I took a beat to absorb the emptiness of walking through these doors and not being greeted by Grandad. To not be enveloped in a hug that smelled like his favorite tweed vest and tobacco.
Agnes returned, phone in hand, texting wildly.
“I can’t believe you put me in this position!
I have nothing prepared. Now I have to tell the entire ladies’ chat that Weston has brought his bride back to Braeburn, and I barely have a biscuit to offer you!
” She blew out a ragged breath. “Hopeless, these Kincaid men are,” she said, looking straight at Lena. “I hope you’re ready for that.”
“Don’t worry, I’m well aware,” Lena muttered.
I shot her a look.