Page 45 of Wild Scottish Fortune

Not at some swanky hotel in Edinburgh, in a fancy suite, stationed next to Lia, who was making similar noises of distress as I was.

“Why did we agree to this again?” Lia hissed, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror above the sink. They’d brought two chairs into the bathroom for us to sit on while they didour hair and makeup, if that told you anything about the size of the hotel suite we were in.

I could barely fitmyselfinto my bathroom at home, let alone two chairs and a team of hair and makeup people. This had to be the fanciest bathroom I’d ever been in. I kind of wanted everyone to leave so I could pour myself a luxurious bath with loads of bubbles, and then open all the little jars by the sink to see what they held.

If Finlay and Munroe were going to spend this much money on hotel rooms, shouldn’t I be using them to the fullest? Why even get a place this nice if we were just going to be out at a gala all night? It seemed like a waste of money to me, but who was I to tell other people how to spend their money?

To be honest, I hadn’t even considered the need for a hotel room. But, of course, we’d need a spot to sleep. The gala was in Edinburgh, which was a fair drive from Loren Brae, and it wouldn’t make sense to come home that night. I had checked the bus schedule to see the options to get home before Finlay had informed me that Munroe had reserved a block of rooms for us.

A shiver of excitement had danced through me before Finlay had immediately clarified that I would, naturally, have my own room.

Not a date, Orla. This was not a date.

I had to keep reminding myself of that fact because it was beginning to feel a little bit like a fairy tale. What with all the hair and makeup and a gorgeous dress that I was scared to touch, let alone wear. What if I spilled something on the dress? Willow would never forgive me.

“Did we agree to it? It feels a bit like we were steamrolled,” I said. Guilt immediately filled me. Finlay had gone above and beyond his agreement to pay for the extension at the shelter—something which I’d honestly wondered if he’d even do. One thousand pounds was an incredible amount to pay for a date, and I’d kind of expected him to not fulfill his side of it. When I’d seen him there, and gotten a look at the numbers that Barbara was writing down, my impression of Finlay had shifted.

He’d looked decidedly uncomfortable with our adoration, particularly when Barbara gushed all over him, tears in her eyes, pulling him into a long hug before he left. Honestly, I’d been certain the man would have eaten the adulation right up, enjoying the praise and being center of the limelight. Instead, he’d quietly accepted the praise, but Barbara later had sworn me to secrecy, telling me in no uncertain terms how upset she’d be if word got out about Finlay’s gift to the shelter.

He’d asked her not to tell anyone.

Protecting me? Or himself? I couldn’t quite be sure, but my feelings about Finlay were more mixed than ever. I’d reached out to the group of women in the Order, having asked them to keep the information about Finlay paying for the date quiet, and they’d all agreed. I hadn’t thought about his side of things when I’d told my new friends about it, but now Finlay had me wondering about the person beneath the shiny layers.

This past week, I hadn’t seen him much, as we’d received a large delivery of supplies that had been on backorder due to a holdup of container ships in the Suez Canal,and it had been all hands on deck to bring the project back onto a timeline that Munroe would be happy with. Finlay had been active on-site, meeting with me when I needed clarification on something, but we’d both bent our heads to work.

I had to say this for him—he didn’t hide himself in a fancy office and bark orders. No matter how posh his exterior seemed. Instead, he was involved in every aspect of the buildout, speaking with my team and listening carefully when they gave ideas or suggestions on ways to circumnavigate various issues that always popped up on a build.

In the meantime, I’d also spent mornings checking the work of my secondary crew assigned to Ramsay Kilts and I was pleased to see the burned building coming back to life. It was such a sweet spot, nestled at the end of the lane, and I loved creating a mix of work and living space for Willow and Ramsay to thrive in. I also loved just how much the grumpy highlander doted on sunshiny Willow. Where Ramsay was gruff, and likely terrifying to some, he was basically a mashed potato with Willow, giving her anything she desired so long as she kept smiling.

It was seriously too adorable, though I’d never, ever, be caught dead calling Ramsay adorable out loud.

“You know whyI’mgoing. Not sure why you decided to go.” I looked over to where a stylist lightly pinned Lia’s riot of curls back from her face.

“Because that’s fiancé code. You kind of have to do these things once in a while to support your person.” Lia scrunched her face up in the mirror and I smiled.

“Luckily it doesn’t seem to happen too often.”

“Thank God. Could you imagine? There’s no way I’dbe able to run the restaurant and be a socialite. I love that we live far enough away from here that I don’t have to be involved in events like this too often, but when I’m feeling the need for more stimulation than Loren Brae can offer, we can run over here for a show or something.”

“Or a gala.” I laughed at Lia’s glare.

“I’m really hoping this won’t be as painful as people seem to make galas out to be.”

“Och, they’re exhausting.” This came from the woman currently curling my hair.

“I love them. I like to see what everyone’s wearing,” the woman doing Lia’s hair chimed in.

“True enough. Sometimes they have a good guest, like a comedian or a band that’s great fun. You’ll enjoy yourself if you like to listen to all the gossip and see how fashionable everyone is.”

Two things that I literally did not care for.

“Don’t worry, Orla. I’ll be by your side. We can escape for breaks when we need them.” Lia reached over and squeezed my hand and I nodded, worry making me bite my lip.

“No lip biting, hon. I just lined them,” the makeup artist gently chided me.

No lip biting. No cursing. No high-fives or fist bumps. Did I need to curtsy? Would I be shaking hands with people? What about if I screwed up which fork to pick up at dinner? I’d spent far too long the night before googling which fork was the proper one to use, but now as nerves kicked low in my stomach, all my careful research neatly fled my brain.

“Your hair is beautiful.” I looked in the mirrorwhere the woman curled my long hair. For much of my life, keeping it long had been more out of budget constraints than vanity, but now that I could afford regular haircuts, I’d found that I liked my long hair. Even if I just plaited it back most days, it had become a part of me. I often tugged on my plait when I was thinking or wound it around my hand when I was nervous. As a child, I’d been teased for my ginger locks, but I’d grown to love my hair through the years. Not that I ever gave it much thought anymore, as who had time for mooning over hairstyles when I had a million things on my to-do list each morning?

---