Page 2 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“Come with me then,” I purred at him, and Miles rolled his eyes in response.

“Unlike you, I have gainful employment. Here. Where you should stay as well and start looking into other career options. Maybe you can go into something fashion adjacent, I don’t know…merchandising or marketing and branding. Something like that. This is getting ridiculous, Willow. How often do we have to bail you out?”

“Excuse me? There’s only been like?—”

“Three times now,” Miles said.

“Oh, come on, you can hardly call the first two instances bailing me out. This was the worst of them, wasn’t it?” I rolled my eyes. Annoyance bloomed. Miles dearly loved holding up my failures for me as reminders that I should be heading in the direction he wanted, which appeared to be firmly settled into Minnesota forever, where he could ensure my safety.

A few years older than me, losing Mom made Miles overly controlling of those he loved, as though if he could keep a constant eye on them then he could ensure their safety. I tried to remember that when he was annoying the shit out of me, like now, but it wasn’t always easy. My temper heated.

“Miles, back off. Her Scottish isheating up.”

It was rare for me to get well and truly angry, but when I did, look out. My mother was Scottish, and my father always said she and I shared the same temperament. Calm, even keeled, until pushed too far. It was true, too. I could feel the anger boiling.

“Let me read this offer.”

Standing up, I grabbed my laptop and opened the email with the offer and handed it to Miles before returning to the couch. I was far too angry to engage verbally right now.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Threads? What opportunities will come from something like this?” My dad reached out and squeezed my arm, concern in his eyes.How can he not know how interning for Dolce and Gabbana could influence my future so positively?

“It’s a foot in the door. If I’m lucky, I might be able to work my way up to in-house designer, maybe contributing ideas that get used in collections, that kind of thing. If anything, it will look great on my résumé. It’s an internationally successful, upmarket brand, somewhat exclusive, and I might get a recommendation out of it too. It’s a step forward, albeit a small one, since I won’t be designing my own label, but I guess that’s just how the industry works. I think I’ll always be fighting for opportunities.”

“And is that what you want?”

“I mean…” I tapped my fingernail, painted in Chanel Ballerina, against my wine glass. “I don’t think I’m in a position to say no to opportunities.”

“One hundred euro a month is hardly a living stipend.” Miles handed my closed laptop back to me, and I glared at him.

“I’ll get a second job. Like everyone else in the world who has to make ends meet.”

“I can help?—”

“No, Dad.No. I can do this. Trust me, it’s going to be great.” I drained my wine, picked up my laptop, and stood. “Now, I need to research flights and look at housing options. I love you both. Thank you for caring, but this is what I want to do.”

With that, I left the living room and climbed the stairs to my childhood bedroom, which my father had left exactly as I loved—colorful, chock-full of art, and stacked with books on fashion. Flopping onto the bed, I stared at the ceiling, my heart hammering in my chest. It wasn’t like their concerns were unfounded. It was just that they were people who wanted everyTcrossed and everyIdotted before they took a risk. I was a touch more haphazard with my approach to life.

Opening my laptop, my emails flashed on the screen at the same time my phone rang.

An international number?

“Hello?”

“Hi, I am looking for Willow Barlowe?”

“Yup, that’s me.” The woman had an American accent, but her number certainly wasn’t local. “And who is this?”

“My name is Sophie, and I run MacAlpine Castle in Scotland.”

Scotland. A ripple of recognition went through me, as it always did when speaking of my mother’s homeland. We’d spent many a summer there, my father leaving us with our mother’s family, and it was a country I loved dearly.

“MacAlpine … is that in Loren Brae?”

“It is! That’s awesome you know it.”

“My mother grew up nearby, so I’ve visited a few times over the years.”

“Did she? Even better.”

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