“Everyone has their own challenges,” Mala continues, “though Wallace’s were early, and violent. He’s a courageous man, some might say heroic.”
“Why am I sensing a ‘but’ is about to appear?” I ask.
She looks at me closely, her toffee-colored gaze intense. “I’m going to share private information because you’re right. Wallace seems to know all the surface things about you, where you went to school, who’s your best friend, do you prefer red or white wine.
"But,I can tell that it’s the unspoken parts of you that he’s interested in learning about. That’s the kind of connection that hits hard, whether you’ve known each other for five days or five years.”
“So…” she draws the word out, “I’m going to help you catch up a little, give you a chance to understand him better, all right? Ask me five questions about your new husband.”
“You know, I truly wish I could ask Wallace these questions myself,” I admit. “Like normal people do. A shared exchange of information. But I’d have to actually pin him down long enough.”
She shrugs. “The life of a MacTavish.”
“Okay, question one.” I smooth my dress over my knees. “Wallace only went to the Ares Academy for two years? That’s the most competitive college in the world for crime families. What happened?”
“He abruptly left the school just after finals in his sophomore year, with straight A’s, I hear. He became a volunteer firefighter in the Pacific Northwest; there was a monstrous wildfire burning that summer. It took them months to finally extinguish it. Wallace decided firefighting suited him, so he worked there for a couple of years before returning home.”
“A firefighter.” I shake my head. “That is bothperfectly logical as a career goal and wildly ironic. Second question: what happened when he returned home?”
“Has he talked to you about his parents at all?” Mala deflects.
“We’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours, so not yet.”
She laughs, “Fair enough. His mother Sorcha is the only MacTavish daughter of my generation. She married Alastair Taylor, who runs a very respectable real estate development company that covers for one of the most successful crime syndicates in England. Wallace’s only sibling is his little sister, Isobel.”
“Of course,” I nod. “You’re all relentless overachievers.”
“I suspect Wallace went to the Ares Academy to please our side of the family. He broke loose long enough to do something he cared about.” She frowns a little. “His guilt must have brought him back to London, because he was accepted to Cambridge University in finance, just like his father.”
“Wallace?” I hold back an unladylike snort. “Finance? That’s the last thing I could imagine for him.”
“Agreed,” she says. “As the only son, he knows his father is expecting him to take over the familybusiness, eventually.”
“Question three,” I continue. “He’s working here in Scotland, with your side of the family. This seems to be his happy place. How did he get out from under the weight of his parent’s expectations?”
Mala smiles sadly. “I’m not sure Wallace fully understands this, but his parents would rather see him happy. Cormac knew Wallace was miserable in London. He asked Alastair and Sorcha if he could ‘borrow’ him for a couple of years to do his specialty work for the MacTavish Mafia.”
“I don’t have a lot to base this on yet,” I say, “but Wallace seems very happy here. He’s extremely close to his cousins.”
“He is.” She rolls her eyes slightly. “But the boy is bound by duty and honor, two admirable qualities that most MacTavish men have in spades. But it does tend to make them infuriatingly short-sighted sometimes, and willing to suffer if they think it’s theirdutyto be something they’re not.”
I think about the sense of peace Wallace exuded when he first brought me to his house in Tweed Valley, how it comforted me, too.
“Two more questions,” she prompts.
“Question four… um, what’s his favorite meal?”
“Roast beef, asparagus and rosemary fingerling potatoes,” she says instantly. “Sorcha told me he asked for it every year for his birthday dinner. Last question.”
“Question five. Why did Wallace make me marry him?” My hands are sweating and rubbing them on this nice silk dress leaves wet marks. “He could have just gotten me out of there. But marriage? It makes no sense.”
“I see how he looks at you.” Mala’s auburn hair is lit like a flame from the setting sun behind her. “You’re his sacred responsibility now. You know the saying.”
“If you save someone’s life, you are responsible for it for the rest of yours,” I nod. “He said that to me.”
“There’s more to it than that,” she says thoughtfully. “There’s obsession. Devotion. There’s something in you that he connected to. Deeply. And Wallace does not do that.”
“Have ye managed to impart the entire, sordid history of the MacTavish clan to our latest member?” Cormac strides into the room, kissing his wife soundly.
