“Thank you…” her voice barely reaches me.
“Ye fecking pervert,” I mutter as I head back downstairs to pour myself a drink.
***
An auld yin - Scottish slang for an old guy.
Polis - Scottish slang for police.
Chapter Two
Sophie…
Current day…
“Happy graduation day, bitches! We’re all getting blootered as feck tonight!”
Our classmate Daisy shouts it the moment the MacTavishes arrive to congratulate Maisie and me. Timing is not her strength.
“Hey, is that Michael MacTavish?” Daisy pokes me in an unsubtle fashion, “Can ye introduce me?”
Michael’s standing behind his parents, absorbed by something he’s looking at on his phone. He’s thirty-four now, and looks incredible in a charcoal-colored Tom Ford suit and a green tie, almost the shade of his eyes.
I never thought he could be more beautiful than the first time I’d seen him, but he insists on getting even hotter and I hate him for it. He has a well-trimmed beard now, and the extra years have just made him stronger and more authoritative-looking.
“So can ye?” Daisy’s pulling on my graduation gown.
“I’ve been looking for you, darling.” Celia Montrose slips her hand in the crook of Michael’s elbow, not seeming to mind that he hasn’t looked up from his phone. She smiles at us insincerely.
“Oh, are you friends of Maisie’s?”
She’s met me at least six times over the last few months, while she’s been on a determined quest to become Mrs. Michael MacTavish. Celia’s a painfully thin blonde with a sharp face like a fox’s and suspicious brown eyes. But she’s a British blue-blood - her father is an earl, and a billionaire - so she seems like a good match for the future Chieftain of the MacTavish Mafia.
On paper. In real life, she’s horrendous, always treating everyone as if they’re beneath her, especially the help. I’ve wanted to punch her more than once for the condescending way she’s spoken to my mother.
Michael looks up briefly, giving her a peck on the cheek. “This is Sophie, a good friend of Maisie’s and a member of our clan. You’ve met her before, darling.”
The glitter in those narrow brown eyes of hers tells me that she remembers that quite clearly.
“I dinnae know her friend, however.” His attention turns to Daisy. “I’m Michael MacTavish. And ye are?”
“Disappointed,” she breathes, before blinking, horrified. “I mean, Daisy. Daisy Baird.”
His lips twitch. “A pleasure to meet ye, Daisy Baird.” He gives her a gallant kiss on the hand while Celia watches in brittle silence.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Daisy croaks.
“Sophie love!” Mom hurries up to me, a huge smile on her face. “I’m so proud! I must have taken three hundred pictures when you were accepting your degree.”
“Hey, Mrs. Barnes,” Daisy pipes up. “Did ye hear the cheers when Sophie walked across the stage? She’sverypopular here. She’s sonicetoeveryone.”
Daisy’s unspoken words are, “Unlike Celia.” Maisie and I have complained about Miss “My father is anearl,”more than once to her.
“Ah,” Michael says, gesturing to his driver, Ian. “Congratulations on your First, Sophie.” He hands me a huge bouquet of lilies, roses and heather.
“This is… wow, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” I know I’m mooning up at him like a simpleton.
“That’s very sweet, Michael,” Mom says.
