Page 50 of Wild Scottish Fortune

“Yet you take care of her.”

Finlay sighed, tipping his glass to his lips, his eyes roaming around the room.

“She’s still my mum and it was tough to see her hurting.”

“That’s fair.” I squeezed his arm lightly before turning to the room. “Why don’t you dazzle me with all the gossip and tell me who is who?”

“That, my beautiful lady, I can do.” Finlay drew me to the side and we looked across the ballroom. Women wore everything from slinky, figure-hugging dresses, to gowns with wide skirts, discreet beaded fascinators tucked in their hair. They glided to and fro, greeting friends, colorful birds flitting around the room, an endless display of pomp and circumstance. The men, too, were equally as handsome, most wearing kilts, and the variety of patterns and colors made for a dashing group gathered in the ballroom.

“See over here? The man with the thinning hair and green tartan? Word is he’ll only eat Monster Munch with tomato soup for dinner.”

“Really? That is…well, quite shocking.” I pretended to be scandalized as Finlay drew me closer to a table near the front of the ballroom. A stage stood in front of it, with a podium and a large projection screen, and I assumed there would be a talk of sorts tonight.

“Orla! Should we sit?” Lia waved to me, standing by the table, and I realized then we’d been assigned seats.

“We’ll all sit for a speech. Then dinner and then dancing,” Finlay explained, as he wound me through the crowd, his hand a light touch at my back. I passed poster after poster of photographs of hungry children and my heart skipped a beat when I thought I saw one of Jacob. Pausing, I peered closer, but realized it wasn’t him.

It might as well have been.

Every image looked exactly like I’d remembered it and it was a stark reminder that no matter how far you ran, the past still would slap you in the face when you least expected it.

“I’m starving,” Lia hissed in my ear, grabbing my hand. “The food had better be good or I’m going to revolt.”

“Might be fun to watch,” I said, pulling my eyes away from a photo of a group of kids sitting on stairs outside a shelter.I know those steps.

“I wouldn’t be above flipping a table or two,” Lia assured me as we sat. “I get wildly hangry.”

My eyes went to the poster again.

I remembered being “hangry” too. Hunger so raw it clawed your stomach until you felt yourself withering away as your energy sapped. Yeah, being hungry could make a body angry, that was for certain.

As soon as we sat at our table, surrounded by so much wealth and opulence, my stomach had churned. Couldn’t they see how much they were spending on this gala? All ofthis could have been used to feed needy children, not stroke the egos of those who were out there rubbing elbows and making business deals. This felt…distasteful in a way that I couldn’t rightly explain. I fell silent as Sharon strode to the podium and launched into a speech about the needs of hungry children in Scotland.

The entire contents of which was wildly off base.

Had she ever evenspokenwith a needy child in Scotland? Or gone to a soup kitchen? Fury licked through me, and I took a shaky sip of my wine, unsure how to react. Huge photographs of sad children projected behind her as she spoke, each image lingering for a while before it melded into the next.

“If only the children would be able to access the resources we have for them, we could better set them up for success.”

I narrowed my eyes at Finlay’s mum. Was she insinuating it was the child’s fault for not eating the food provided? Had she even tried some of the meals offered? Depending on the place, I could tell you from experience, the meals weren’t great.

But none of that mattered when you were starving. Food was food.

Sharon paused as the next image flashed on the screen and she turned, gesturing to it.

I froze.

It was a photo of me, taken without my consent likely, my T-shirt showcasing my ribs and boney arms, my ginger hair unmistakable. I leaned against a wall outside the soup kitchen, freezing cold likely, waiting for my cousins to finish eating. There was no mistaking who was in thephoto, even if my body had since filled out and I was much healthier now.

A roaring filled my ears, my entire body flushing with heat, as Sharon turned back toward the microphone, her eyes zeroing in on me.

Lia whirled, her face wreathed in sympathy.

“Tonight, we’re lucky enough to have a success story here in our very audience…” Sharon began.

I didn’t wait to hear what she was going to say next.

I refused to be paraded around, particularly without my consent, as some success story of a charity I’d never even heard of.No one had ever turned their head to care for me. To offer me a soft bed, warm food, or shelter against the elements.

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