A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2) Read online

  He nodded, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  I felt my cheeks heat up even more. Yes, I did feel bad having such thoughts in a place of worship, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Ye see, the stylist didn’t give me anything to wear . . . under. It’s a wee . . . cold, I must admit.” The corner of his lips tilted up, and the spark in his eyes made my heart throttle in my chest.

  “Oh my gosh, stop it. You are so bad!” I said, pursing my lips to hold back a laugh. He reached for my hand and I swatted it away playfully.

  “I thought you might want to know,” he teased, completely shameless.

  “So bad,” I repeated, shaking my head.

  The rest of the ceremony was pretty much torture, fingers laced together, waiting for the moment when we could kiss again.

  After the final blessing, everyone started leaving the church as we signed the register. Arnauld, the photographer of the fake photo shoot, had been taking pictures of us throughout the ceremony.

  He guided us and told us what to do as he took a few more pictures with the help of his “assistants,” a mix of photographers and wedding planners.

  “Okay, now it’s time for you two to make your way outside,” Fern said as he approached us. “Remember, big smiles! These pictures are going to be everywhere!”

  “What’s Fern doing here?” Hugh asked, puzzled. “Why is he wearing the same headset as Sandra?”

  “That would be because he is our wedding planner.”

  “Fern is our wedding planner? I was jealous of a wedding planner?”

  I nodded, adding in a slight eye roll for emphasis.

  “That’s right. Besides, he is positively gay. Your jealousy was completely unnecessary.”

  “And you’ve been organizing this wedding this whole time? Is that why you two always looked up to no good?”

  “That’s right! And we did it right under your nose, MacLeod!”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist.

  “Now, I wouldn’t get so cocky if I were you, wife.”

  “Oh yeah? Why, what are you going to do about it?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  SAM

  “Hey, what did Fern mean by ‘these pictures are going to be everywhere’?” Hugh asked before we even made it out of the church.

  “Well, in order to be able to pull all this off, I had to sell my soul to the devil . . . meaning I had to give Nora something in exchange for the day off and halting production.”

  “What did you have to trade, Sam?”

  “The photo shoot . . . your photo shoot . . . it’s actually going to be a spread in Scottish Brides and their Grooms,” I told him, gritting my teeth. I was afraid of his reaction.

  He didn’t like the media butting in on our relationship, and only used the press to his advantage when we needed to get the network off our back.

  “So, there’s no formalwear campaign? That was a cover-up?” he asked.

  “Please don’t be mad.” I clutched my bouquet in my hands a little tighter.

  A laugh erupted from his chest, and the smile that stretched across his face made me stupid.

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m almost relieved, in a way. I wasn’t sure about some of those outfits,” he said, running a hand through his hair. We both laughed.

  Fern motioned for us to start walking down the nave of the church, and Hugh offered me his arm. We took all of three steps before we stopped again.

  “What is it?”

  He nodded to my flowers. “Your bouquet. I’m just now noticing it.”

  One of the few things I’d really wanted was a bouquet made of heather. It was a symbol of our love and such an important part of our relationship. I’d fallen in love with Scotland when he’d shown me the heather in bloom, and later I had fallen in love with him.

  The man at my side.

  My husband.

  Since it was already late September, the heather was pretty scarce on the glen. We had to have the florist find it for us, and he was also able to find something else.

  Something rare.

  “Is that white heather?”

  “That’s correct. I have to thank your niece for that. She insisted I use regular heather and white heather for my bouquet.”

  “White heather is rare, and it’s a symbol of good luck.”

  “She said the heather turns white if a fairy steps on it.”

  He smiled, as if remembering something. “My grandma used to tell me the same legend.”

  Our gazes locked, and he reached for my face with his free hand. He brushed his fingers along my cheek and leaned down to kiss me again.

  He paused before his lips touched mine.

  “I would very much like to kiss you again, wife. May I?” he asked in a gruff tone.

  A laugh escaped my lips. “You may kiss me again, husband.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck as his lips and his tongue conquered and possessed my mouth, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.

  I wasn’t aware of much else in that moment. There was my heart beating loudly in my ears, his lips on mine, and the bright beam of Arnauld’s flash as the photographer took a candid shot of us.

  “So, where are we going next?” Hugh asked. We were in the back seat of the Mercedes as the driver took us to our wedding reception. We had taken so many pictures on the hill behind the church, until the weather changed drastically and thin, icy rain drops had started falling over us.

  “Did you ever find a castle?” The tone of amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on me. I had told him how hard it was to find anything available, one of the few details I’d shared with him when he’d gotten restless about us not setting a date.

  “No,” I said in a resigned tone. “I really wanted a castle for the reception, but none of them were very close to the church in Stonehaven, and the ones that were within an hour or two were all booked up. I even signed up for cancelations, but nothing. No one canceled!” I told him in an exasperated tone.

  He chuckled. “Wait a moment, are you actually upset no one canceled their wedding?”

  “I’ve done worse,” I confessed.

  “What could you possibly have done?” He was flat-out laughing at me now.

  I pursed my lips together. “I went as far as to offer a trade to the couple who was getting married this weekend. I offered them VIP passes to Abarath’s premiere.”

  “You didn’t.” His eyes sparkled with glee.

  “I did, and they refused. So, I tried to bribe them with something else.”

  “Something else?”

  “Guest-starring roles on the show! I mean, who would pass that up, right? All they had to do was postpone their wedding a measly twelve months.” I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. “I’ve done ridiculous things to make this wedding happen, Hugh. I just hope you love every bit of it.”

  “Sam, don’t be silly. How could I not love it? You know that only one thing mattered to me, and that has happened already.” He lifted my hand, placing a kiss on my ring finger, just above the wedding band he’d slid onto it an hour prior.

  I licked my lips, and he noticed.

  The intense, dark look in his eyes was too much for me.

  This time, I initiated the kiss, molding my lips to his.

  Unfortunately, our driver soon told us we’d reached our destination.

  Since castles were hard to come by—or more accurately, they were booked way too far in advance—Fern and I had ended up having to settle for something different.

  He found the most adorable rustic barn available for weddings and private events and with his vision and talent, he turned it into a fairy tale with a multitude of white flowers and twinkling lights.

  Instead of having a sit-down dinner and dealing with seating charts, we opted for buffets and open tables. That way, people were able to mingle and socialize as they pleased.

  The menu included an equal amount of American and Scottish dishes.
r />   We had cullen skink soup with smoked haddock, potatoes and onions and haggis with neeps and tatties, a dish made with turnips and potatoes. On another table there was prime rib roast served with mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans, as well as smoked salmon. Fern was thoughtful enough to think we should add a couple of vegetarian dishes; I was particularly fond of the deep-fried goat cheese with marinated grilled vegetables and the herb risotto served with a side of pan-fried garlic mushrooms.

  A lemon tart with Chantilly cream occupied one side of the dessert table, while little glasses filled with cranachan—a Scottish dessert made from a mixture of whipped cream, whisky, honey, and fresh raspberries—decorated the other side.

  In the middle, there was the thing I was most proud of.

  The thing I believed Hugh would like the most.

  “A s’mores wedding cake?” Hugh asked in a tone that was a mix of surprise and delight. That’s right, my handsome Scot had a weakness for the delicious, messy treat he’d discovered when he lived in LA. I had found out for myself during a romantic weekend following our post-Oscars reunion just how much he couldn’t say no to the melted chocolate and marshmallow smashed between two crunchy graham crackers.

  “You’re full of surprises . . . wife.” He looked at me with a certain wicked glint. He’d used the word a couple of times already, but it was certainly going to take a while before the word lost its charm and effect.

  Or maybe that would never happen. Maybe every single time he called me wife, I would feel the same kind of heat pervade my body, and each time, warmth would rise to my cheeks. Maybe each time he called me his wife, I’d feel my heart swell in my chest.

  I should be so lucky.

  He glanced at the wedding cake again and then his eyes met mine. His smile, stretched and big, illuminated his whole face.

  “I still can’t believe you did all this. I can’t believe we’re actually married.”

  I nodded in understanding, as I was experiencing the same feelings of amazement. I couldn’t believe we were married. A laugh rose to my lips from deep down in my belly.

  “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he asked me with a big smile that made his eyes shine like precious gems. He was irresistible when he smiled like that.

  I smiled, biting the inside of my bottom lip, the light in his eyes igniting a delicious ache in my chest.

  “You have the rest of our life to tell me that, mo gradh.”

  What makes a successful wedding?

  Is it the amount of alcohol consumed? Can a wedding be declared successful based exclusively on the quality of the food? Or the number of attendees who dance tirelessly through the night? Or simply the fact that the guests didn’t seem to get tired of partying? In any case, we were in the running for one of the most successful weddings ever.

  The band had been playing for hours, and none of the attendees seemed ready to leave. My dashing husband and I danced to several songs, including Ed Sheeran’s “How Would You Feel” and Foy Vance’s “Guiding Light.” For our first dance, I’d picked Tori Kelly’s “I Was Made For Loving You.” The lyrics of the song spoke to me and reminded me of the way Hugh and I met. Just like in the song, it had all started with a stranger’s hand clutched in mine. Or more accurately, with my hand in Hugh’s hand.

  Who would have known that a hike on an early morning and a casual meeting with a stranger would have changed my life? Hugh’s strong arms enveloped me as we slow danced for a while, lost in each other’s eyes. His embrace was my favorite place to be, cocooned by his arms and his steady heartbeat.

  If God was willing, I was going to fall asleep in my husband’s embrace for the rest of my life.

  I danced with my father, my father-in-law, and each one of my brothers-in-law. Surprisingly, Tamhas was the one with the best moves of all.

  I listened to jokes and stories about Hugh’s childhood. I met relatives I hadn’t had the chance to see before. I welcomed every toast and shot of whisky until I was just a bit too tipsy and knew I had to stop.

  A couple of hours later, I found myself rushing to the restroom—I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since I’d put on my wedding dress earlier in the day.

  I had never been anyone’s bridesmaid before, so I had no idea how complicated it was to go to the bathroom on your own. I tried . . . and I got stuck trying to lift my dress and pee at the same time. I chuckled to myself in the empty bathroom, thinking it wasn’t fair that my husband’s outfit had such easier access.

  In the end, I had to come out of the restroom, my bladder about to burst, and looked for either my mother or one of my bridesmaids.

  “My feet are killing me,” my sister huffed, exasperated as she held my dress up while I was peeing.

  “Mine aren’t.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” she mused.

  “Sorry, I should have thought of getting flats for my bridesmaids, too.”

  “Nahhh, don’t worry about it, but I should obviously follow your lead more often.”

  “Obviously.”

  Amira made sure I was good to go before leaving me alone in the restroom. She seemed to be in a hurry to go back, and I wondered if it was about Melissa or not. In all the madness of planning the wedding, I hadn’t had a chance to ask her what was going on between the two of them. I knew they were on friendly terms, but I had no clue if they wanted to take their relationship to the next level. After all, they lived so far away from each other, and long-distance relationships were never easy.

  I told Amira to go ahead and leave, and took my time washing my hands and fixing my hair and makeup. Cecilia had done such a great job with it; she’d wanted to return the favor after I did the makeup on the day of her wedding.

  I fixed the slightly smudged eyeliner in the corners and stared at my eyes, which looked bigger and wider with the help of fake lashes. She’d used earthy tones for my eye shadow and eyeliner, and had shaped my eyebrows to make my arches look even longer.

  She’d applied a long-lasting deep mauve lipstick that was miraculously still in place even after all the times I’d kissed Hugh.

  The foundation and the powder she’d used were still holding up thanks to the finishing spray. I fixed the low bun at the nape of my neck and the flowers the hairstylist had inserted in the knot then marched out of the bathroom, ready to dance for the rest of the night.

  But, when I stepped out, I was surprised to see everyone turn in my direction, giving me big smiles, just as they had when I walked down the nave of the church earlier in the morning.

  What’s going on? Why is everyone looking at me? And where is Hugh?

  I noticed the band wasn’t playing anymore, and I wondered if they had taken a break. I walked around, waving at the guests, but I noticed everyone was sort of frozen on the spot, not chatting, not eating, not having any kind of fun.

  The lights went down a bit, making it just a little harder to see.

  Where was my family? Where was Amira, Rob, Cecilia?

  Just then, the band started playing again.

  I recognized the notes of the song right away, and a smile stretched across my face immediately.

  Everlong.

  He’d remembered. He’d remembered the conversation I’d had with Cecilia weeks ago about my favorite love song.

  I was smiling like a fool, and I couldn’t wait to see his face.

  That rascal.

  I decided to walk closer to the stage where the band was playing and I finally spotted Amira and Melissa’s silhouettes as well as my brother, my parents and their spouses, and my in-laws.

  But . . . where was he?

  Then, the singer of the band sang the first verse of the song.

  My eyes shot up, I looked over to the stage, and my gaze met the most incredible view.

  No, Hugh hadn’t gotten the Foo Fighters to come play at our wedding, but somehow he’d convinced all his brothers to play the song with him.

  For me.

  My eyes had never seen anything quite like it.
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  Five Scottish brothers, dressed to the nines in their best kilts, playing one of the best songs ever written. They looked wickedly handsome, and they didn’t sound that bad, either. I hadn’t even known they could play instruments.

  My mouth was ajar, face still stunned with wonder.

  I had to be dreaming. I almost wanted to pinch myself, but someone else took care of that as she came up to my side. Cecilia pinched my arm slightly and said something I didn’t quite grasp.

  I felt like I was in a daze.

  This was the second time Hugh had done this to me.

  And this time he was playing a guitar! He’d never even told me he could play!

  Cecilia guided me through the small crowd as I wordlessly took in the whole scene.

  Hugh, Declan, and Fergus were on guitars and sang the lyrics together, Tamhas was on bass, and the rambunctious Ewan was on drums, doing his best Taylor Hawkins impression.

  The scene was bound to cause ladyboners left and right.

  You can have the other four, ladies. That one is all mine.

  Phones were held up high in the air, trying to capture the absolutely scrumptious performance the MacLeod brothers were putting on.

  Heart in my throat, I locked eyes with my husband as the thumping of my heart echoed Ewan’s beat on the drums. I was on the verge of tears, but thankfully I managed to blink them away. When Hugh gave one of those delicious grins of his, I couldn’t help but smile back, and I started singing the song along with him at the top of my lungs.

  I pulled the bobby pins out of my hair and dropped them on the floor, throwing away the flowers pinned in my hair, letting my waves spill over my shoulders. I started jumping on the spot, as if I were attending the most exclusive rock concert.

  Just like the song said, I wondered if things would always be this good between us, but I knew all too well that life and marriage were not like in the movies, not like a love song. It was all the good and fluffy feelings, but also hard work and sometimes heartbreak.

  As I sang the song out loud with my husband and everyone else around me, I hoped we could always remember how much we loved each other and the promises we’d made one to another.