Patrick huffs a laugh. “Perhaps brothers are more protective when it comes to sisters. Jake just wants what’s best for you.”
I force a tight smile. “Of course.”
“I should get going. Enjoy your first evening in Scotland.”
He’s already several steps away when something reckless makes me call out: “Patrick?”
He stops. Looks back.
“I’ll try not to let you down.”
His gaze holds mine for half a beat. Then he gives me one of those clipped nods, the kind that says he’s already bracing for my inevitable failure.
By the time he turns away, his phone’s already at his ear, like our exchange was just another checkbox on his to-do list.
The little glow I’d been nursing—surviving the helicopter, calculating our distance mid-flight, maybe impressing him for all of three seconds—flickers out completely.
Apparently, the only thing I accomplished today was proving just how easy I am to underestimate.
And how much that hurts.
NINE
A guide to Scottish liberation
Georgie
I drag my suitcaseinto the staff cottage they’ve assigned me. The silence settles around me as I shoulder the door closed.
And… huh. It’s lovely.
Soft greys and warm creams, the kind of decor that whispers “retreat” instead of “staff housing.” There’s a plush sofa angled toward an enormous window, clearly positioned for serious contemplation.
Judging by the lacy red thong draped over the radiator, someone’s living here. Someone who has the confidence to leave their underwear on display.
I collapse onto the sofa with a softwhump, not bothering to take my coat off. Just for a second. Just to breathe.
Then I look up.
Oh.
The view through the window is spectacular.Cliffs spilling into wild, endless sea. Portree curled up below with its pastel houses. The hotel sitting on its own private throne of land. Other staff cottages scattered across the hillside.
I just stare. Completely transfixed.
Then my eyes start stinging.
Shit.
I’m crying.
The kind where you can’t even identify what the hell you’re crying about because it’s everything and nothing all at once.
Maybe it’s the view. Maybe it’s the kind of beauty that punches a hole in you when you’ve spent too long in offices with people who dismiss everything you say.
Maybe it’s the fact that Riri isn’t here to hear me ramble about Patrick’s helicopter or the thong.
Maybe it’s Patrick, with the way he looks at me like I’m a liability before I even have the chance to prove otherwise.
