Instead of texting my father, I’ve texted Mac.
I watch as the little dots next to his name appear, then stop. Oh, God. I just told him everything is going to plan. What is he going to think?
Before he can reply, I shoot him another text.
Bryn: Oh, hahaha! Autocorrect. Should say THE THINGS I’m going to plan…
I send him heart-eye emojis and hope for the best, cringing. A moment later another text comes in from Mac.
Mac: I’m the one that makes the plan, lassie.
Did I dodge a bullet? Or… no?
I bite my lip, but can’t quell the thumping of my heart, when I reply.
Bryn: Can’t wait to hear what you have in store next. Xxx
I stifle a groan, as I send my father another text.Everything’s going well, thanks. I’m fine. How’s Mum? Are we still in danger?
But I’m not fine. I’m in a precarious position, I know it.
What would the Cowan Clan do if they knew what my real purpose here was? And the better question is… what would Mac do? I hate the thought of him being upset with me.
I love the way his eyes dance at me, I love the way he smiles, I love when that wee dimple appears in his cheek. And I'm starting to really enjoy the way I feel when I’m with him.
No, it isn’t true.
I crave him. I feel alive when he touches me. I feel safe when he holds me.
I’m falling in love with the man I’m supposed to seduce and I don’t have a bloody clue what to do about it.
I go back out with the girls and resume where we left off. I have lots of ideas about hairstyles, and have loads of fun showing them a variety. We do a wee trial with makeup, and as we get all dolled up, Cairstina talks on and on about these romance books that I need to read, now that the boys aren’t all eavesdropping.
“And you have to understand, they’re not…” her voice trails off, and her cheeks flush with color.
“She means they’re not tame books,” Islan says with a laugh as she loops a bit of Paisley’s hair around a curling wand. “They’re really,reallydirty. Like fuckin’fire.”
“Ohhh,” I say with a sage nod. “Seems I need to get in on this action, eh?”
“Aye, girl, youreallydo,” Islan says. She lowers her voice. “The girls and I have our suspicions about who the real writer is.”
“Do you?” I ask. It sounds like a great mystery.
“Aye,” Islan whispers.
“Do you really think the writer knows you?”
Islan looks away and bites her lip. “It’s a distinct possibility, aye.”
Cairstina’s eyes go bright, and Paisley bites her lip. I’m intrigued.
“We’ve been doing a little digging around on social media,” Islan whispers.
“Why are we whispering?” I whisper.
She looks over her shoulder. “You have to understand. The men in this house think that someone is spying on them and getting the ideas for these books by watching things here at the house. And you're no stranger to what this life is like, right?” She sobers, the most serious I've seen her look yet. “I don't need to tell you how they treat spies, do I?”
A vivid memory comes back to me. A man, tied up in a dark room, his screams echoing down a long hallway. Me, running to stop them, unable to find the source. Was it a dream or a real memory?
