Page 45 of One Night in Glasgow
“That sounds like Kinna, alright.” I took a sip of my latte, a smile playing on my lips as I tried to regain my composure. “She’s a bulldog in designer shoes.”
“A good person to have in your corner,” Sean said, his expression sincere.
I nodded, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. “It’s nice here, you know?” I said, changing the subject before I got too sentimental. “In New York. Nobody knows who I am. Nobody’s whispering behind their hands when I walk by, calling me…” I trailed off, the litany of insults I’d heard—slut, cunt, whore, skank—flashing in my mind. “Well, you know. Here, I can just… be.”
“You seem decidedly lighter,” Sean observed, his gaze thoughtful. “Less… encumbered.”
“Funny that,” I quipped. “I can actually inhale without feeling like there’s a camera lens shoved down my throat. Glasgow was becoming a bit of a command performance, wasn’t it? Here, I’m just another face in the crowd. It’s mercifully liberating.” My smile faltered as a familiar tension crept back. “Though, my mother would likely clutch her pearls if she knew I was having coffee with you right now.”
Sean’s brows furrowed slightly, his focus sharpening. “Still feeling the fallout from it all?”
I let out a wry, humorless laugh. “Fallout implies a mere drizzle, Sean. This was a full-blown category five monsoon. My choosing New York was my ‘final act of defiance.’ Thealternative they had planned for me? A six-month, all-expenses-paid ‘wellness retreat’ in a lovely Swiss clinic.”
Sean raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “A wellness retreat? Or an exile?”
“Oh, it’s a perfectly elegant cage, I assure you,” I retorted with a theatrical eyeroll. “One designed to ‘restore’ me to the pristine version of the MacLeod heiress they so desperately crave. Polished, predictable, and preferably mute.”
“So, they weren’t trying to help you,” Sean noted, his voice quiet but certain. “They were trying to re-brand you.”
His insight was so sharp, so accurate, it took my breath away for a second. “Precisely,” I admitted, swirling my latte. “Thankfully, a distant relative, bless her anonymous heart, offered this as a sanctuary instead. Though I imagine discovering I’m sharing coffee with you would be grounds for having that sanctuary revoked. Apparently, you were instrumental in… ‘soiling the family tapestry’. As if my own antics weren’t quite up to the task.”
Sean’s expression softened, but his voice was firm. “Beth, I would never intentionally bring that kind of chaos to your door. But I won’t apologize for meeting you.”
“I know,” I said softly. “Just try convincing my mother. She’s already cast you as a recurring character in my… ‘wild child’ era, I believe is the official term.”
His fingers caught mine before I could pull away. “You know, when I couldn’t reach you after Glasgow, I was worried.”
The warmth of his hand sent tingles up my arm. “Worried about what?”
“That you were alone, dealing with all that by yourself.” His thumb traced small circles on my palm. “I’ve seen what that kind of public scrutiny can do to someone.”
I studied his face, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. “Is that why you came to New York? To check on me?”
“Uh… since I was coming around these old hunting grounds anyway, why not a little side trip. I never expected to find you, honestly.”
A flutter stirred within me. “You still wanted to see me after I ripped you a new one back in Glasgow?”
“Even after that.” His signature grin returned. “Though I gotta admit, you’re pretty scary when you’re angry.”
I laughed, feeling some of my walls start to crumble. “Well, I am Scottish. We’re known for our tempers.”
“Among other things,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.
We fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, sharing stories about our lives. Sean told me about growing up in his big, blended family, about his twin brother, Xander, playing soccer in London. I began to open up about my childhood, the pressure of being a high-society MacLeod, the constant scrutiny.
“God, it’s soul-crushing,” I admitted, my shoulders slumping. “Living under this microscope where every tiny flaw gets dissected. Some days I think that’s exactly why I went so wild… like a big middle finger to their precious image of the perfect MacLeod daughter they want me to be.”
Sean listened intently, his hand still holding mine. “And what do you want, Beth?”
The question caught me off guard. What did I want? The old Beth would have deflected with a joke or a flirty comment. But something about Sean demanded honesty.
“I want to make a difference,” I said slowly. “I want to prove I’m more than just some rich party girl who screws everything up.”
“You already are more than that,” Sean said. “Anyone who can’t see that isn’t looking hard enough.”
His words warmed something inside me, which was deeply annoying, and I immediately wanted to snuff it out before it could catch fire. The way he looked at me, like he could see past all my mistakes to something worthwhile underneath... it wasn’t just terrifying and thrilling; it was a tactical assault on the walls I’d so carefully constructed.
“You know,” Sean continued, his voice low and sincere, “Recently, someone gave me some good advice… life’s too short for regrets. Not trying to find you again could have been one of those regrets.”
