Page 32 of Forbidden Dark Vows

It’s crazy. I’ve never been further than Mexico and I have no idea what to expect. But the word Edinburgh clings to my tongue like peanut butter, nesting there as if it was always waiting for Harry to introduce us to each other.

We fly overnight. First class. We’re greeted by stewards wearing suits and ushered into our sleeper seats like plush armchairs, with fresh flowers on tables and heavy purple drapes separating us from the rest of the aircraft.

“It’s like going to the cinema.” I fasten my seatbelt and lean across to kiss Harry. “Only bigger.”

Harry inclines his head. “And don’t forget the minor detail that we’ll be flying above the clouds.”

I laugh. It’s an intoxicating, heady experience. The curtains, the plaid blankets, the glass of champagne—in a real glass—that the steward serves when we’re comfortable. I sip the bubbles and wait for them to go straight to my head.

What am I doing?

“Harry, pinch me.”

He obliges, and I squeal like a child.

We eat a full-blown three-course meal washed down with wine, play Rummy for a while with the complimentary playing cards, and when the lights inside the aircraft are dimmed, I rest myhead on Harry’s shoulder and fall asleep instantly to the low purr of the engines. By the time we reach our stopover at London Heathrow, it feels as if we have known each other forever.

I know nothing about Harry’s childhood, his family, his life in New York, but it’s unimportant because I know Harry. The rest will come. It will seep into our life through shared experiences and snippets of conversation, and there’s no rush.

Edinburgh is like no city I have ever experienced before.

We check into the George Hotel, a grand old building that seems to span an entire block with wide arches and tall stately columns giving it a regal appearance. Stepping inside is like stepping back in time to an early twentieth-century colonial mansion, with parquet flooring, wood paneling, huge gilt-framed paintings and plush sofas. The reception is framed by more columns and heavy white drapes, buttoned armchairs strategically placed around small round tables.

While Harry checks in, I turn three-sixty, soaking up the genteel atmosphere and hushed whispers of guests passing through on their way out to explore the city.

How is this even happening to me, I think.

Yesterday I was in Chicago and today… Today, I’m inEdinburgh!

Our suite overlooks George Street with its ancient buildings and trams trundling along the middle of the road. I can see the castle in the distance at the top of a hill. An actual castle. An actual castle that was once inhabited by real live monarchs.

I drag myself away from the view to freshen up before we go and explore. There’s a walk-in shower in the marble-tiled bathroom,complimentary robes and slippers, and towels so thick and heavy that I don’t want to get dry.

Dressed, I take a shortbread and then we step outside into George Street with its restaurants, wine bars, and modern stores set inside magnificent aging buildings. Following the map of the city we found in the room, we make our way towards the old town where cobbled streets wind up and down steep hills, and in and out of buildings that are centuries old. The imposing castle sits sentinel at the top of the hill as if protecting its people.

We explore the Royal Mile, the streets lined with towering tenement buildings, cafés, souvenir shops, and museums. We sit inside St. Giles Cathedral for a while, soaking up the solemnity and splendor of its architecture. We visit the graveyards, known as kirks, and study the names on the ancient headstones. We see the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the dog who, according to legend, guarded the grave of his owner for fourteen years.

We eat haggis in a breakfast bun with square sausage. It’s spicy, the texture rough on my tongue, and I like it until Harry says, “Try not to think about what it’s made from.”

“What?” I freeze, the haggis halfway to my mouth. “Now you have to tell me what it’s made from.”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course I do. You can’t throw a curveball like that at me without following it through.”

“It’ll put you off.” Harry obviously has no such qualms as he chews and swallows another mouthful of haggis.

“Tell me! Or I’ll…” I peer all around searching for something to threaten him with.

“You’ll…?” Eyebrows raised.

“I’ll buy you a kilt and make you wear it with nothing underneath.”

Harry laughs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Harry…” I start walking towards the kilt shop.

“Okay, it’s made from sheep offal and?—”

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