Damn him!
Racing through a shower, I reach the kitchen in record time when I hear Zed and Elana wandering around.
“Good morning, um, afternoon, I guess. How did everyone sleep?”
Zed is setting the table, Elana’s playing on her phone and Marcus is flipping pancakes.
“Hello there, sleeping beauty,” he winks at me, handing me a glass. “Mimosas, your crucial after-party beverage.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I say, gratefully downing half the glass. “When did you get here?”
“When your husband sent his pet tiger after me,” he says snippily.
“His pet what?” I laugh, holding out the plates for his pancakes.
“Greg, Gary, whatever his name is,” he says loftily. “He showed up at my place this morning and nearly dragged me out of bed, telling me my presence was requested. Heaven forbid he add a ‘please,’ or ‘thank you.’”
“Youliiikehim,” I singsong, “you think Gregor’scuuute, you want todaaatehim.”
“What are you, six?” Zed laughs, taking a plate from me. “Are we talking about the tattooed giant that dropped Marcus off?”
“That would be him,” I smile sweetly at Marcus, who takes away my plate, crunching the last bacon strip while glaring at me.
***
We spend the day showing my family around Glasgow. Because Elana is a huge Harry Potter fan, we take the old-fashioned steam train on the tall and winding Glenfinnian Viaduct, and because Zed is such a little ghoul when it comes to gruesome history, the Glasgow Necropolis Tour where we wander through the City of the Dead, listening to the stories of the warriors and socialites, actors and politicians buried there.
The sun is setting when we finally head back to Lachlan’s penthouse.
“What does Lachlan do for the family business?” Elana asks.
Marcus’s snicker turns into a yelp when I give him a vicious pinch. “He handles their clubs and restaurants,” I explain. “I think he’s taking us out to one tonight.”
“Really?” Marcus squeals, “Is he taking us to-”
“Someplace with traditional Scottish food?” I interrupt, giving him a death stare. “Yes, he sure is.” He pouts but wisely shuts up.
Lachlan chooses that moment to come home and save me from potentially awkward follow-up questions.
“Hello, my beautiful bride,” he says, kissing me with enthusiasm and a fair amount of tongue. “How was your day?”
“Good, thank you.” He looks gorgeous in his dark blue suit, like a 32-year-old titan of business, and nothing at all like the unhinged thug that made me marry him at gunpoint. I keep trying to remind myself of how this started whenever I feel dangerously soft toward him. “And your day? Anything you can discuss in polite society?”
He laughs heartily. “Nothing I do can be discussed in polite society.”
“That, I believe,” I sigh. “Can I make you a drink?”
“No need. I have plans for you tonight.” His gaze is warm and a little lecherous, even though the others are staring at us. “All of you,” he amends, “we’re having dinner at ‘Earth and Sea’.”
Marcus bounces on his toes, clapping like an over-caffeinated cheerleader. “I’ve always wanted to eat there! The waitlist is like six months long!”
“It helps when you know the owner,” Lachlan says, draping an arm around my waist.
“Who’s the owner?” Zed asks.
Smiling devilishly, Lachlan says, “Me.”
***
