Page 1 of Wild Scottish Beauty

CHAPTER ONE

Willow

Iwasn’t doing itjustfor the wine.

Okay, so maybe that played a small part in my decision to accept an internship at a Milan fashion house, but only, like, ten percent. Fifteen, tops. The rest was rooted firmly in my need to get away from a failed business venture that doubled as a bad breakup.

If you’re going to fail, you might as well do it catastrophically. At least you’ll be the best at something.

I laughed, amazed that my innate optimism could somehow turn even my most recent dumpster fire of a life into a positive thing. But maybe it was. If my boyfriend hadn’t stolen all the money I’d invested in our fashion line—along with the heart of the very first employee we’d hired—well, I wouldn’t be able to take this internship in Milan, would I? Instead, I’d still be stuck in a closet of a studio,desperately working on designs, sucking down instant ramen from the bodega next to the artist warehouse in Brooklyn, and dreaming of being able to afford a one-bedroom apartment someday.

Moving to Brooklyn from the Midwest had been like jumping into an icy lake in the dead of winter where at first, you’re so shocked it hurts, and then you’re so busy frantically kicking your legs to survive that you just grow numb to it all. I was in the numb stage—perhapstoonumb—after my boyfriend had charmingly talked me out of all my savings and taken off with our new seamstress.

Now, as I stared at the snow gusting across the frozen tundra of my father’s backyard in Minnesota, I dreamed of warm Italian nights, good food, and learning at the helm of a larger fashion house. Maybe I just needed to set aside the dream of starting my own line for a while, get more experience, and see where it took me. It was standard operating procedure for me, really, to dive in headfirst, which was also what had landed me in my most recent pickle. Ah, well. Live and learn.

Some would say I needed to learn faster.

“Hey, Threads. You doing okay?”

I turned to see my father hovering in the living room doorway, two glasses of red wine in his hands, a concerned look on his face. He’d started calling me Threads when I became obsessed with fashion after we’d gone on a trip to Chicago and a woman dressed in high, high heels, a leopard-print dress, and screaming red lipstick had enraptured seven-year-old me. Upon return, I’d thrown myself into playing dress up with a vengeance, demanding trips to thestore for more material, and had become the clothing designer for my dolls.

My father says my mother would have been proud.

It’s hard to know, really, as she died four years after I was born. It had been just my dad, and my older brother, Miles, and me for years now, a small team unit. Miles fancied himself the captain of our team, and if I didn’t love him so much, his overbearing nature would be enough for me to hem all his pants too short.

“Actually, I am.” I beamed at him and accepted the glass he offered me, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He smelled like Old Spice and cedar, likely having come in from his workshop where he built custom cabinetry, and the scent was as familiar to me as the feel of a sewing machine under my hands. “I just got a new opportunity, and I think I’m going to take it.”

“New opportunity?” I glanced up to see my brother, my complete opposite, standing in the doorway. Tall, wickedly handsome, and dressed in what I referred to as Minnesota chic—Carhartt chinos, a flannel, and a Twins baseball cap—Miles was confident in a way that I aspired to be some day. He’d always been so certain of his path in life, and doors had just opened for him. Whereas for me, even though Iknewwhat I wanted to do, it seemed like I had to lose my life savings, slam into a few walls, fall into the bushes, climb a hedge, trip on a boobytrap, and tumble down a hill before I made any headway in life.

Which was fine. It was totally fine.

“Yes.” I beamed. We settled into the living room, Miles stretching out in a lounge chair, feet crossed,fingers steepled at his chest as he regarded me. My dad sat with me on the couch, curiosity in his warm brown eyes.

“Tell us, Threads. You look excited.”

“I just got accepted for an internship at Dolce and Gabbana in Milan!” I squealed, doing a little happy dance in my seat.

“Italy?”

“Internship?”

They both spoke at once, and I sipped my wine, anticipating their reactions. Dad would be upset that I was leaving again. Miles was going to lose his mind when he heard it was an unpaid internship. Therewasa meager stipend for living expenses, but based on apartment prices in Milan, I knew it would be much like trying to find a place to live in New York.

“Is this paid?” Miles asked, his eyes narrowing, confirming my suspicions.

“There’s a living stipend,” I assured him quickly, taking a gulp of my wine.

“A stipend? What about an actual wage?” Miles shifted, leaning forward into his interrogation position.

“Yes, well, that’s the goal, isn’t it? You have to work up to that.”

“Willow, what are you even doing? You just lost everything that you’ve worked for. Now you’re going to run off to Italy with no money and no promise of an actual job? This is idiotic, even for you.”

I flinched, stung by his words.

“That’s enough, Miles. Let’s just talk this through, and we’ll figure something out. Your sisterhas every right to chase her dream,” my father said, always the voice of reason, and I calmed down.

“For how long though? The fashion industry is notoriously difficult, and she’s too nice. New York already chewed her up and spat her out, so what do you think Milan’s going to do? There’s a language barrier, she has no money, and we don’t know anyone there who can help her.”

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