More like have to show TRC why he needs his own spin-off, I thought cynically. Then again, from the little I knew of Kit Kirby, this seemed pretty in character. Maybe some people just had the kind of personalities that were made for reality TV.
“Shall we get out of this dank corner, then?” Kit began steering us all out of our hidey-hole. No more comfortably hugging the wall for me. “The lighting is dreadful!”
“Can you believe this guy?” Heaven muttered as Kit strode grandly right into the center of the room. “What a show-off.”
Privately, I thought Heaven’s issues with Kit may have had more to do with the fact that she was worried there was only room for one breakout star from Dusty and Ronan’s Happily Ever After Royal Jamboree or whatever this nightmare was called.
“I think maybe he just likes costumes?” I suggested.
“Yeah. I like costumes, too. But I’m not parading around here dressed like a slutty ladybug.”
“Did you bring a slutty ladybug—”
“No, I did not,” she interrupted me. We both looked at Jamie and Kit, deep into a discussion of how to tie cravats, and sank, almost in unison, into a deep, overstuffed floral couch.
“Mmm.” Heaven closed her eyes. “This is nice. Cozy couch, warm fire, no one talking to us about cravats…Think anyone would notice if I took a nap?”
“Heaven,” I began, not sure how to say what I wanted to. “We have to go home.”
“What, now?” She cracked an eye open.
“No, not now. But we have to go home. Eventually. After the wedding.”
“Um, yeah.” Both eyes were fully open now. She struggled to sit up straight, sinking into the couch. “You just figuring that out now?”
“No, I knew that, I just sort of…forgot.”
She looked at me with confusion, then followed my gaze over to Jamie.
“Ohhh. But, Dyl, this was always just, like, a fling. Not, like, a thing. You know?”
“But what if I want it to be a thing?” I whispered.
“Well, damn,” she said flatly. “I thought this was just a ‘Hey, I had my first kiss in a castle’ kind of situation.”
“I think we’ve evolved past that.”
“But how can this evolve, Dylan?” she said seriously. “I don’t want to burst any bubbles here, but you have to go home. And he has to go back to school. What then? You gonna be long distance across two continents? At sixteen?”
“I thought you were going to be all hopeless romantic with me here!” I complained. “You know, love can conquer all the odds?”
“LOVE?!”
Heaven was so loud conversation died down, and everyone turned to look at us, including all the camera and production people.
“I LOVE HAGGIS!” Heaven bellowed, and shot Ronan a thumbs-up, which he duly returned, accompanied by a huge grin.
“Good save,” I muttered, attempting to sink into the couch and disappear forever. “I hope you’re committed to eating a ton of haggis at dinner now.”
“Are. You. Nuts?” she hissed between clenched teeth. Luckily everyone else turned back to whatever it was they were doing before she started shouting like a crazy person. “Love?”
“I didn’t say I loved him! I just—”
“But you thought it,” she interrupted. “You thought you might. Or you could.”
“Maybe.”
“Dylan.” She fixed me with a stare. It was hard to meet her brown eyes, usually so warm. “This is not going to end well. You are going to get hurt. I know you want me to sell you on the fairy tale, but I can’t. Because this isn’t a fairy tale. In a week, we’re all going to turn back into pumpkins and go home to Mississippi. And this, whatever it was, will be over. You might be Facebook friends, you might e-mail or whatever, but it won’t be what it was. And gradually it’ll just fade away.”
I heard her, but I didn’t want to. Nothing she was saying was wrong, but it felt wrong.
“Damn.” She chuckled softly, breaking the moment. “Who would have thought I’d be the one trying to convince you to be more cynical, huh?”
Neither of us said his name, but we both knew why. Tate Moseley was as much a part of this conversation as if he were wedged in between us on this hideous floral couch.
“Just try to live in the moment, maybe, right?” she said more gently. “Just appreciate it for what it is, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Are we cool?” she asked, concerned.
“We’re cool.” And we were. I certainly wasn’t mad at Heaven; she’d said nothing but the truth—but that didn’t mean I enjoyed hearing it. We only had a week left in Scotland, and that seemed like an impossibly short amount of time. I wasn’t nearly ready to say good-bye to Jamie. And I was worried I never would be.
BONG!!!!!!
Of all things, a loud clang of a gong broke our moment. I turned to see a butler type in a tuxedo standing next to a still-reverberating golden gong, mallet in his white-gloved hand. I swear there hadn’t been a gong in here before.
“Dinner,” he announced, “is served.”
“Well, then.” Heaven pushed herself off of the couch. “Think I might need one of those at my house. Might inspire my brothers to shut up and get their asses to the dinner table in a timely fashion, huh?”
I nodded and smiled at her, but my thoughts were still lingering on Jamie and the future. We followed the swarm of people trooping into the dining room, falling into line like a herd of cattle.
The table was set formally as always, but the floral arrangements were composed almost entirely of thistles. The fat votive candles were wrapped in tartan bows, and even the plates were plaid. I found my name on a vellum place card embossed with a printed thistle, luckily right next to Heaven. A servant materialized out of nowhere to pull out my seat. To no one’s surprise, the seat cushion was plaid, too.
At the first few notes of a low, droning bagpipe, we stood. A chef dressed in whites followed the bagpiper into the room, holding an enormous white serving dish containing a huge brown lump and a knife. Guess that was the haggis.
The bagpiper continued playing as the chef placed the haggis in front of Ronan. Ronan gestured to Kit, who strode grandly over to join him at the head of the table. As the song faded to a close, Kit raised his hands above his head, like he was about to address the heavens.
“Far fa’ your honest, sonsie face,” he began, hands still above his head. Who knew what the heck “sonsie” meant? “Great chieftan o’ the puddin’-race!”
I snorted. Loudly. Mom and Dusty shot me identical I will murder you looks.
“Puddin’-race?” Jamie mouthed sympathetically.
At least somebody got it.
“The groaning trencher there ye fill,” Kit shouted, pointing dramatically at the haggis, desperate to reclaim his audience. I tried to fix a rapt, attention-paying kind of look on my face. The more boring I was, the less the camera would look at me.
“His knife see rustic Labour dight,” Kit intoned, like he was Macbeth, grabbing the knife off the plate and raising it solemnly aloft. With a lusty “an’ cut ye up wi’ ready sleight,” Kit plunged the knife into the belly of the haggis and split it from end to end. I couldn’t see entrails spilling out, even if the next line was something about trenching your gushing entrails. The haggis just kinda sat there quivering, but Heaven looked a little green anyway. She pulled her tiny bottle of ginger ale out from under the table and took a desperate gulp.
“Five more stanzas,” Jamie mouthed, holding up five fingers.
I smacked my head with my palm. Probably a little too loudly. Whoops.
And so Kit continued on, hopping about the room like a demonic haggis elf. Finally, he strode back to the haggis with weighty, measured steps. Did this moment of gravitas mean we were nearing the end?
“But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,” Kit said quietly, almost in a whisper. Pause. Pause. Dramatic pause. Longest dramatic pause in the history of mankind. “Gie. Her. A. HAGGIS!”
“All righ’, then.” Ronan clapped Kit on the back. “Couldna ha’ said it better myself. Now, my new American family, ye may not know much about Burns Night. I’m wagerin’ this is yer very first Burns Supper. They’ve got an order, usually, and a tradition to it.”
“Tradition is the hallmark of Burns Night,” Florence sniffed.
“Forgive me, Mum, for I’m goin’ to break tradition for a moment here,” Ronan continued. “Do somethin’ new because I’m about to make a new start—and make a brand-new family.” He squeezed Dusty’s shoulder. Brand-new family? Was he trying to tip everyone off about the baby?! I looked wildly around the room, but everyone was smiling blandly, not in the least bit suspicious. “Usually, the Toast to the Lassies happens after dinner. But I canna wait that long. Because there’s one lassie in particular I need to toast this evenin’.” White-gloved waiters appeared out of nowhere, circulating with champagne glasses.
“Oh, Ronan!” Dusty giggled, hiding behind her hair. She couldn’t drink that champagne! Wouldn’t everyone get suspicious if she didn’t drink as part of her own toast? God, this baby was already giving me an ulcer, and it wasn’t even born yet.
“Can we all git to our feet?” Ronan asked, and with much scraping and bumping, we rose.
“Here’s to Dusty,” he said. “My bonny bride. The girl who changed my life for the better in every way, when I didna even know it needed changin’.”
“Are we toasting the bride?” a confident American voice drawled. I turned to see an older, blondish guy with very white teeth leaning against the doorway. He watched us all with amusement, the corners of his eyes crinkling in his suntanned face. “Isn’t that usually her dad’s job?”
The champagne flute slipped from Mom’s hand and shattered into a cloud of broken glass.
“Daddy?” Dusty whispered.
“I know I’m a little early,” he continued, oblivious to the chaos he’d created. Everything seemed fine on the surface, but I could feel something invisible moving through the room, like shock waves from an underwater explosion. “Rehearsal dinner’s not for a few days yet, right, puddin’?”
“Right,” Dusty said shakily, pale under her spray tan.
“Wanted to make sure I was nice and rested up for the big day.” He grinned. I couldn’t stop staring at him. “Lookin’ good, Laurie.”
He nodded at Mom. She nodded back, her hands fluttering like she was still trying to hold on to that shattered champagne glass. But the staff had already swept the shards up into a neat little dustpan.
“Dude,” Heaven whispered. “Is that your dad?”
I shrugged, wildly. Was that my dad? Was this tall blond stranger in a gray suit my dad?
Jamie caught my eye across the table and raised his eyebrows questioningly. I shook my head.
Heaven’s hand found mine and held it under the table. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I hadn’t seen so much as a picture of this man, and here he was. Out of nowhere. It seemed impossible that he could exist, an actual three-dimensional person, who had been living a life concurrent with, but completely separate from, mine.
“Who are you?” Florence asked imperiously, commanding the attention of the room. Even with the father-shaped bomb that had been dropped into the middle of it, ready to detonate at any moment.
“I’m the father of the bride. Cash Keller,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Cash Keller. It sounded like a fake name. Like a character in a bad made-for-TV movie. Like someone you thought was a nice guy until he married the heroine and attempted to murder her as part of some elaborate financial scheme.
“I know him,” Heaven murmured curiously. “Cash Keller. I know him.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
“He’s familiar.”
“He looks familiar?” I asked, squinting at him. He didn’t look familiar to me.
“Naw, I mean he looks kind of like Brad Pitt, but that’s not it. He seems familiar.” Heaven closed her eyes. “No, he sounds familiar.”
“Quite a place you got here.” Cash—my dad—whoever he was—whistled. “Yep, this is quite the pile of bricks. You did all right for yourself, here, puddin’.”
“Daddy!” Dusty exclaimed, scandalized, as a faint blush crept up her neck.
“Well, just look at you, sweetheart. So beautiful.” He walked over to Dusty and held out one of her arms, like he was examining her. I half expected her to twirl. “Can’t believe how grown-up you are. You’re the spittin’ image of your mama, I swear.”
I guess it would be hard to believe how much someone had grown up in sixteen years. If you hadn’t even bothered to see them once.
Much to my surprise, Dusty let him pull her into a hug. If she wanted to pretend this was some happy reunion, that was fine, but I wasn’t going to play along. I looked over at Mom, pale and shell-shocked. What did you do, when suddenly faced with the father you’d never met? Mostly I just felt hollow and nauseated, like my stomach had dropped right out from under me. Like that weird feeling you get in an elevator sometimes.
I wished he hadn’t come. I’d been curious about him, sure, but I would have preferred a photograph. I didn’t want an actual flesh-and-blood human being to contend with.
“Cash Keller. 96.5, Scores Sports Radio.” Heaven’s eyes fluttered open. “That’s how I know him! Cash Keller, 96.5!”
“Did someone say Scores Sports Radio?” Cash turned his blinding artificially white smile toward us, and I froze like a deer in headlights. “Is the little lady over here a fan?”
Cash walked right up to Heaven, turning the full force of his personality on her like he was switching on a lamp. I swear, it was like he was shining through his tan. He seemed like the kind of guy who was used to people liking him. Used to getting his way. He seemed like…well, like Dusty.
“Do you listen to 96.5 with Cash Keller in the mornings, sweetheart?” he prompted, nodding encouragingly at Heaven.
“Um, yeah—yeah,” she stammered, looking wildly back and forth from Cash to me to my mom, clearly unsure of what the social etiquette was in this situation. “We listen to you every morning on the way to school. My dad loves you.”
“Your daddy’s a sports fan?”
“He’s a football coach.”
“My kind of man!” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Where does he coach?”
“Just at my school. Tupelo High.”
“Hey!” Cash snapped his fingers together in recognition. “Dusty, that must be where you went! I’m sure you broke a hell of a lot of hearts on that football team.” He chuckled.
It was at that moment I reached the horrifying conclusion that my dad had absolutely no idea who I was. He sure didn’t recognize me, although there was also a distinct possibility that he had no idea I existed. I had thought he’d left after I’d been born, but I didn’t really know. In all the pictures of me as a baby, it was only me and Mom and Dusty.
What was I supposed to do, walk up to him and formally introduce myself? “Hi, Cash Keller? I’m Dylan Leigh, the daughter you abandoned. Great to meet you. Crazy weather we’re having, huh?”
I emitted an involuntary squeak of distress. Cash looked over and smiled blandly. He didn’t know. He really had no idea who I was.
Run. I could hear it as clearly as if someone had spoken it in my ear. I had no idea what to do with Cash, or what to say to Mom, or even how I was supposed to feel. The only thing I did know was I had to get out of there. I pushed back my chair and bolted from the room.
The stillness erupted into chaos behind me. I could hear shouting and chairs scraping and the jarring sounds of rattling silverware. The only voice I could make out was Jamie’s, calling my n
ame over and over again. Rounding the corner into the entrance hall, I pushed open the heavy doors to the castle and sprinted off into the night.
Eventually, the footsteps behind me faded. I knew it would be easy to outrun the camera crew, weighed down with heavy equipment. Hell, I could outrun everyone in that stupid castle. Especially if they bothered to stop for coats. I’d be long gone by the time they made it out here.
My lungs burned from the cold weather and the exertion. I hadn’t been running here as much as I did at home, and I still wasn’t used to the sting of the cold. But I ran anyway, almost reveling in the burn, as far and as fast as I could go.
Each footfall was like a slap through the thin ballet flats Dusty had lent me. I could feel each twig and rock articulated beneath the frost. Luckily, someone had plowed the road clean or I would never have gotten anywhere. Running through knee-deep snow was not something my cross-country coach had covered.
The moon reflecting off the snow was so bright it almost looked like daytime. I turned away from the fields with the sheep and the tiny cottages and the horse barn. A set of tire tracks led deeper into the woods. I was starting to lose steam from running flat-out, and the last thing I wanted to be in right now was an open field. Too visible. I pushed into the woods down the tire tracks, swatting branches out of my way as I went, my only impulse to disappear. To hide. I let the woods swallow me and ran until I couldn’t see so much as a spire of Dunyvaig in the distance.
Panting, I half collapsed against a tree, sliding down until I sat in the snow. I guess there were limits to how far even I could run. So mission accomplished—I’d gotten away. But now I was outside, alone, in the cold darkness of December, wearing only a cranberry-colored dress and ballet flats. I shivered, rubbing my arms for warmth. As my heart rate started to slow and my flush fade, I was left drenched in cold sweat.
“I should’ve run away to a McDonald’s,” I muttered to myself. Then I would have been warm. And had french fries.
This was all too much. Way too much. I could compartmentalize Dusty’s secret pregnancy, and ignoring the cameras, and the fact that I was days away from saying good-bye to Jamie, probably forever. But the completely unexpected reappearance of the dad I never thought I’d see again was beyond even my powers of denial. There was too much to feel, and the only option was to go numb, to feel nothing because I couldn’t feel everything. Or maybe that was the cold setting in. I had no idea how long I’d been out here. My legs weren’t stinging anymore; the stabbing pain of the cold had faded into a dull numbness. I hugged my knees tighter to my chest as my body shivered violently. It felt like I was coming apart at the seams, each shiver a spasm that rocked me to the core. I shut my eyes and buried my head in my knees, curling into as tight a ball as possible, scared to stay out here much longer, but too scared to go back.
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