Page 22 of One Night in Glasgow
I took a moment and answered. “Hello?”
“Elisabeth Fiona MacLeod,” my mother’s voice was a sliver of ice in my ear. “You will come to the house. Immediately. Your father and I are waiting in the study.”
The line went dead before I could utter a word. No room for excuses. It wasn’t a request; it was a summons.
I looked around my messy room, feeling the weight of dread settle in my stomach. Getting dressed up was pointless. My life was over anyway. But I couldn’t show up like a disaster either. That’d give my parents too much joy in being right about me. I quickly pulled on a fitted black sweater and a pair of jeans, hoping to at least be presentable. After a cursory glance in the mirror, noting the wild strands of my hair and the remnants of last night’s makeup, I sighed and ran a quick brush through my hair.Whatever.
Grabbing my keys, I hurried out to my car. As I drovetoward my parents’ upscale manor in Glasgow, my chest tightened with dread, each pulse mirroring the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. I knew exactly what this meeting was about.
Pulling into the driveway, I felt an icy knot of nerves tighten in my stomach. The house stood over me like a fortress, all intimidating angles and heavy vibes, just brimming with expectations and judgement.
As I parked, I steadied myself to face whatever punishment awaited me. I had the urge to slam the car in reverse and peel out of there; I mean, who wouldn’t want to run from their problems, right? Classic move.Shit. I was totally screwed.
Each step toward the front door felt monumental. Before my hand could even touch the heavy brass knob, the door swung open. Angus stood there, our lifelong butler, his posture as impeccably straight as ever.
“Miss Elisabeth,” he said, his voice a perfectly neutral baritone.
“Angus.” I stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of polished wood and beeswax. He took my coat, his movements precise and practiced. But as he turned to hang it in the hall closet, his eyes met mine for just a fraction of a second. There was no judgment there, none of the cold disappointment I knew I was about to face. Instead, I saw a flicker of something else—a deep, weary sadness. The kind of pity a man has for a lamb he’s about to lead to the slaughter.
He cleared his throat. “They are waiting for you in the study, miss,” he said quietly. “The... atmosphere is quite charged.”
It was the closest he would ever come to a warning. With a final, almost imperceptible nod, he turned and disappeared toward the back of the house, leaving me alone in the grand,silent hall. The only sound was the low rumble of my parents’ angry voices floating out from the study.
I paused outside the door and prepared myself. Part of me wanted to run, to hide from the storm I knew was coming. But I’d been running for too long. It was time to face the music.
I entered, bracing myself for impact.
My father was pacing, his face red with anger. My mother, however, sat perfectly poised in her wingback chair, her eyes boring into me with cold disappointment.
“We know that you’ve embarrassed this family for the last time,” Mum said, her tone icy. “We’ve tried to help you, Elisabeth. We’ve given you chance after chance. But clearly, you’re incapable of change.”
I felt tears pricking at my eyes. “That’s not true. I’ve been trying, I swear. The outreach program with the kids?—”
Dad’s laugh was laced with scorn. “Oh yes, Bright Futures. The one you’ve now dragged through the mud with your antics. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” I said, my voice small. “I just... I met someone, and for once, it felt real. This is nothing like last time. This is just social media gossip, blown completely out of proportion by the tabloids.”
“Felt real? Like what?” Mum sneered, ignoring my defense. “True love? Grow up, Elisabeth. He’s an American, who’s here in Glasgow for a few weeks on business. Men like that aren’t interested in your charming personality. They want one thing, and once they get it, they’re gone. Back to America.”
Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. Because deep down, I knew she was right.
My father, looking to her for his cue, finally spoke, his voice heavy with finality. “This has to stop, Elisabeth. Your wild ways end now.”
“Your father is correct,” Mum continued, taking control of the conversation again. She steepled her fingers, her gaze pinning me in place. “We have been in contact with a wonderful private wellness clinic in Switzerland. A beautiful, discreet place in the Alps where you can rest, reset, and learn the tools of emotional regulation that seem to elude you. A place where there are no… distracting influences. We have you signed up for six months to start.”
I stared at them in disbelief. “Rehab? For an entire six months? You can’t be fucking serious. That’s a prison sentence. I don’t have a problem!”
A flicker of defiance surged through me. I still had the foundation. I had that. I lifted my chin, latching onto the only piece of leverage I had.
“And I can’t go,” I said, my voice suddenly firm. “I have responsibilities.”
My mother’s eyebrow arched slightly, a sign of faint, condescending amusement. “Responsibilities? To whom, pray tell?”
“To the foundation,” I said, pressing my advantage. “To Bright Futures. You’re the ones who insisted I take this on, to prove I could be responsible. I am doing that. I have children there who are counting on me, a project I’m committed to. Surely you wouldn’t want me to dishonor my responsibility to the foundation, Mother? Think of the message that would send to their board.”
A small, cold smile touched Fiona’s lips. “Oh, Elisabeth. How noble of you to hide behind the very opportunity you’ve just jeopardized. Let’s not be naive. You are confusing a consequence with a career. That position is a penance we arranged. And given this new, very public ‘romance’ you’ve flaunted, I imagine the foundation’s board is, as we speak, having a veryserious conversation about the liability of keeping a ‘wild child heiress’ around their vulnerable children. Your ‘responsibility’ there is likely already obsolete.”
My stomach plummeted. She was right. Of course, she was right. She was always five steps ahead.
