A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2)

by Hilaria Alexander

  She nodded thoughtfully, as if seriously considering the option. I wasn’t sure if my sister really wanted to take on more responsibilities behind the camera, but I would go for anything that would distract her from her momentary drama.

  “Good Lord, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles are just fabulous in this movie, aren’t they?” she asked.

  “They really are. There’s something so easy and natural between them. You know what? Watching this movie makes me realize something else.”

  “What?” she asked with a curious look in her eyes.

  “This might sound stupid coming from a makeup artist, but I kind of miss the days when you could still see flaws on an actor’s face. Look, you can see their blemishes and little skin imperfections, and their teeth are not all veneers. They have real, authentic smiles. They look more . . . human.”

  “Are you saying your job makes actors look inhuman?” she joked.

  “I’m just saying the makeup and lighting and cosmetic adjustments actors go through these days make them too perfect. This idea that you have to be flawless is kind of twisted, to be honest, and the stress of striving for perfection makes people insane, if you ask me.”

  She took a deep breath. “You’re not wrong. It’s not like I haven’t done the same over the years. It’s so easy to obsess over, and now that you’re pointing it out, I’m kind of upset these actors get to look so normal in this movie and we can’t anymore.”

  Amira ended up staying a few more days, and each day her mood seemed to get progressively better. I still had to go to work, so I didn’t get to see her until the evening. She was enjoying spending some time alone, away from the madness, or so she said.

  Her publicist and her team had successfully gotten the pictures removed from the Internet, and as often happened with these kind of scandals, the finger was pointed at the hacker, not the starlet. I was relieved, and I hoped in a few months she’d be able to feel less wounded about the whole ordeal.

  On Friday night, a week after she arrived, we took her to the pub. If people knew she was in town, they had been quiet about it, for which I was thankful. I’d told only a handful of people I worked with that my sister was there, mainly the makeup crew.

  I knew they wanted to meet her, but they understood she wasn’t much in the mood for company.

  When we went out that night, Amira arranged her long blond locks in a braid and wore a black baseball hat. She dressed casually, covered head to toe in black, and borrowed one of my heavy-duty rain coats. Apparently, she was having just as much of a hard time adjusting to the weather as I had. Sometimes I still struggled with it, but I was lucky I had my hot-blooded Scot to warm me up whenever I needed it.

  When we stepped into the pub, karaoke night was already in full swing.

  One of the cameramen was singing a feisty version of Blur’s “Boys and Girls” and had the whole place singing along and dancing. I had seen this place get rowdy before, but this was stadium level. People were going gaga, dancing and singing at the top of their lungs. It was only about eight thirty in the evening, but it was evident the drinking had been going on for a while. I laughed to myself and shook my head. The people I worked with were quite the party animals.

  My sister’s eyes were wide with wonder and excitement and the smile on her face was one I hadn’t seen in days. I smiled back at her and led her through the crowd to find a more secluded spot by the wall. She squeezed my hand as we made our way, turning her head around, taking everything in, looking at every little knickknack hanging on the walls of the pub. Hugh was right behind us, acting a bit like a protective big brother and personal bodyguard. The expression on his face was not relaxed as usual, and he kept looking around as if trying to spot anyone suspicious whom we might have to steer clear of.

  He leaned in and brought his lips to my ear. “Are you two going to be okay if I go get drinks?”

  “I believe we’ll manage, dear sir,” I teased him, giving his hard bicep a squeeze. He rolled his eyes, but I still managed to steal a kiss.

  “I’ll see if I can find Cecilia and send her over.”

  “Great thinking,” I replied.

  I watched Hugh make his way through the crowd, heading for the opposite end of the pub, where the bar was. I glanced around us, just to make sure we weren’t attracting too much attention. Besides a few quick appreciative glances from locals, I didn’t think anyone had recognized my sister yet, which was what I wanted. I just wanted Mira to have a night of fun—incognito, if possible.

  After “Boys and Girls” ended, Rupert took the stage.

  “Well, this is new,” I said, mostly to myself. “I have never seen him karaoke the whole time I have been here,” I explained to Mira.

  As soon as the notes of “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers filled the place, the crowd went insane. If I thought they were being wild before, it was nothing compared to this.

  You would have thought this was everyone’s all-time favorite song.

  Almost every person in the pub was singing and jumping.

  It was exhilarating.

  Excited by the crowd’s reaction, my sister joined in and pulled my hand so I would start jumping with her. It wasn’t hard to convince me to go with it.

  We sang and danced along with the crowd, and everyone was so loud, I couldn’t even hear Rupert. I got a glimpse of Hugh trapped on the other side, waiting for things to calm down before he made his way back to us.

  When the song was over, everyone settled down a bit, and it wasn’t long before Hugh was back with us again and then Cecilia, Oliver, my fellow makeup artist Blair and Mika joined us soon after.

  We chatted as we could between songs, and even as I snuggled against my Scot, I tried to keep a watchful eye on my sister and everyone present.

  When we’d go out in LA, it was normal for her to get recognized everywhere she went. It didn’t bother her, and sometimes she got a good laugh when people approached her even when they thought she was a completely different actress or got her name right but the name of her latest movie wrong. With the upheaval of emotions she’d been through in the last few days, I just wanted her to be able to relax and be herself, without having to have conversations with complete strangers who would most likely be asking for selfies.

  After song after song, however, she seemed to grow restless. She was still dancing along to the music and following the conversation, but she was a bit . . . off.

  “I’m going to the restroom,” she said, leaning down and giving my hand a squeeze.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “Nahh, I’ll be fine,” she replied with a confident smile.

  I let her go, because I hated being the overbearing big sister, and Amira was a grown-up who could take care of herself. While she was gone, I was challenged by Blair to a round of tequila shots, and the sting of the alcohol helped eased the tension I had been feeling since we’d gotten there. I just needed to relax. No one was going to recognize or bother Amira. Everything was well. I had nothing to worry about.

  By the time Amira came back to the table, she had a bright smile on her face and an extra skip in her step.

  “Are you okay? You look chipper . . . like, a lot chipper.”

  “You’re right, I am. I feel fantastic, like I’m finally getting back to being myself again. You know what?”

  “What?”

  “Fuck the haters and the naysayers. My life is my life. I do what I want. I call the shots.”

  I pursed my lips together, trying to hide a smile, but inside, I was simply ecstatic.

  This was the Amira I knew.

  She was finally going back to her old self.

  “And you know what I realized?” she asked.

  I shook my head no.

  “What better way to celebrate my newfound empowerment than to sing with my sister?”

  “No, Amira. You didn’t!” Now it all made sense: she had put in a request for karaoke.

  This wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want
to attract attention to us, to her.

  “I did, and you’re going to like it. Besides, it’s going to bring the whole pub down.”

  “Oh yeah? And what is it we’ll be singing?”

  “One of our favorite karaoke songs . . . ever. We must have sung it a million times as kids.”

  “Argh, you didn’t!” I knew exactly which song she’d picked. “It’s ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls, isn’t it?” I asked. She grinned obnoxiously, and her good humor was infectious—I couldn’t say no. I didn’t know how to say no to my little sister.

  “Oh man, you will pay for making me sing zigazig ah in front of all my coworkers.”

  Along with all the other oldie-but-goodie songs of the night, “Wannabe” was a hit.

  Did I stumble a few times on the lyrics? You bet. That song is impossibly fast, and we hadn’t “performed” it since we were in middle school or something, when the fascination with karaoke really started weaning out.

  Just like when we were kids, she sang Scary and Baby Spice’s lines while I sang Ginger and Sporty’s. Don’t ask about Posh, because as we learned by watching the video a million times, she didn’t have any solo lines in that song. In retrospect, Posh seriously banked by being in one of the most successful girl bands ever. And, not only had she married one of the most swoon-worthy soccer players, her Victoria Beckham dresses were amazing. I had seen a couple in Mira’s closet and they were constructed beautifully.

  A few people recognized Mira after our performance, but she was in a far better mood by then so she didn’t really hate saying hi or posing for a couple of pictures.

  By Sunday evening, Mira had a flight booked and her luggage packed.

  Gone was the somber look in her eyes of a few days before.

  She was back to her old self, ready to take the world by the balls.

  “You were right, Sam. I just needed a break. I needed time to put things into perspective. This wasn’t as bad as it could have been. So there’s a picture of me going to town with a girl out there—big deal. My life is my life and I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.”

  “Atta girl!”

  “You know, I think this place is magical.” She let out a small laugh, eyes brimming with a mix of mischief and excitement. “I feel completely . . . rejuvenated. Now I know where I need to come any time I feel down.”

  “You’re most welcome to come visit any time you want. In fact, I might need you to be back in just a few weeks,” I explained, letting her in on my plan.

  HUGH

  After Amira left, I thought Sam and I would have more chances to spend some time together.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t like that.

  My trainer had not only cut a consistent amount of calories from my diet, he had also increased the frequency of my training sessions and now insisted on me training during the weekend, as well. The last thing I wanted to do after a long week was get up early and leave my Sam alone in bed. I would have much rather buried myself in her than have to get out and work my arse off at the gym.

  I wanted to take another walk in the heather just like we had a couple of weeks before, but we never had a chance.

  On top of everything else, when I asked her about wedding plans, she always sounded evasive, although she did say she had talked to the attorney and we were close to obtaining the necessary paperwork for a license.

  We’d gone to Edinburgh on a Saturday to sign the deed for the cottage. The lawyer, Damon, was an old friend of mine from when my family used to live in town, and he didn’t make too much of a big deal about having to meet us during the weekend. That being said, I could tell he was recovering from a long, drunken night by the disheveled way he looked when we met up with him.

  After we signed the papers, he invited us to go out with him, and I was half embarrassed when I had to explain I was on a new regimen and couldn’t go out and drink. He assured Sam and me that he would take care of the paperwork for the marriage license, but we hadn’t heard anything back yet. I considered giving him a call, but when I mentioned it to Sam, she assured me she’d been in touch with him and there was nothing new to report. “Besides,” she’d said, “since we won’t have time to get married until next summer, it won’t matter whether we can have a license now or not because they’re only valid for a few weeks.”

  We had completed the first month of shooting and wrapped the first two episodes of season two. The next few months were going to be even more challenging because of what was going to happen with Abarath’s storyline. My diet and the training were weighing on me, and I didn’t have time to make plans with Sam about our wedding.

  I realized how cranky I sounded, when I really shouldn’t have.

  True, I was having to make some sacrifices, but I was also living my dream, and every night I shared a bed with the woman I loved.

  Still, it was hard to always have a positive attitude. There were days when exhaustion could easily turn me into a grumpy jerk. To make things worse, Sam seemed to spend way too much time with Fern the intern.

  It seemed I could hardly get a moment alone with Sam on the set—Fern was always around.

  Whenever I’d look her way or go to the makeup trailer, the two of them would always be engrossed in a hushed conversation about . . . something, sometimes giggling, laughing together like old friends. When I’d ask what it was about, Sam would always reply with some makeup lingo and procedures I didn’t know anything about.

  I couldn’t help it—I was suspicious. The guy was good-looking and sharply dressed, and for some ridiculous reason was always buzzing around my beautiful fiancée.

  I shouldn’t have been jealous. I should have been trusting.

  I knew Sam would never betray me, knew she wasn’t the type of person to do that.

  But I couldn’t help it.

  “Why is Fern always around?” I finally asked her one Friday evening while we were on our way to the pub. Fern came two to three times a week and stayed for a few hours, but he would only work with Sam. He followed her wherever she went, meaning he followed her on set and even watched when she did touchups.

  “Who?” she asked with an air of confusion.

  “Fern. Why is he always around? Why is he always working with you? Why can’t he work with someone else?” I snapped.

  Sam let out a laugh. “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m really not. I’m dead serious. I can’t even have a conversation with you anymore because the bloody bloke is always around!” I said, the tone of my voice going involuntarily higher. It seemed I couldn’t control it.

  “Hugh, he only comes twice a week, three at the most. You have plenty of time to talk to me during the other days. Besides, this is not something I decided. The network wanted to do this, and I think it’s a great opportunity for Scottish students. Don’t be so daft!”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you!” I yelled, despite my better judgment.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said in a low voice, disappointment clouding her features.

  “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He fancies you!”

  “You’re ridiculous. I’m pretty sure Fern is gay—not that I’ve asked him, because it’s none of my business—but honestly? I’m disappointed in you. Do you really think I would cheat on you? With him? Under your nose?”

  “Don’t tell me it’s not possible, Sam. Didn’t the same thing happen to you? Wasn’t your boyfriend cheating right under your nose?”

  She shot me an angry look. “I can’t believe you just said that to me. How could you? Do you really think I would ever do anything like that to you?”

  Shite. I was fucking everything up.

  “No, no,” I replied. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not that I don’t trust you . . . I don’t trust him.”

  “But if you do trust me, there shouldn’t be any problems whatsoever. I love you, and I would never do something like that to you. If you don’t know that by now, if you don’t trust me eno
ugh to know nothing is going to happen, I don’t know what the point of getting married is.”

  The harshness of her words cut like a knife. No, this wasn’t what I wanted. I knew I was overreacting, but it was as if I were spiraling and couldn’t stop.

  “No, Sam, I trust you.”

  “Do you? Because that doesn’t sound like it at all.”

  “Mo chridhe, I’m sorry. I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Yeah, but you did. Those were harsh words MacLeod.”

  I tried to take her hand as we continued toward the pub, but she pushed mine away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, even though I knew it wasn’t going to fix things, not right away, anyway.

  She stopped in her tracks before we approached the door of the pub.

  “You know, one of these days you’ll realize how terribly wrong you are and you will feel so stupid—seriously, so stupid—and you know what? I can’t wait for you to admit how wrong you were.”

  I already felt like an arse, knew I had royally screwed up, so I didn’t say anything. I simply nodded and gave her a cautious look.

  “You’re right. Can I hold your hand now?” I asked tentatively.

  She stared at me with narrowed eyes. “No, you can’t.”

  She entered the pub, waved to our friends, and headed to the bar without waiting for me. From a distance, I saw her order and down a drink before going over to Philip, the guy in charge of karaoke.

  Mika saw me and came over to say hi. He patted me on the back.

  “What’s up, man?”

  “Not much. Making an arse of myself, mostly.”

  Mika noticed me watching Sam, and probably saw her shoot me an angry look from the other side of the pub.

  “Fuck, man. What did you do?”

  “Not what I did, more what I said. Should have kept my bloody mouth shut.”

  “Come on, let’s have a drink.”

  “All right, just one though—Winston will have a cow if I get drunk and get off his strict regimen.”