We ordered whisky at the bar, and while I sipped, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Sam and I rarely had a row, so I knew everyone could tell something was off. Then when I turned around and saw that Sam had taken the stage, things only got worse.
“This is for you, Hugh MacLeod,” she said, but something in her tone was off. Her voice was cold and distant.
This wasn’t going to be good.
When I recognized the song—“Borderline” by Madonna—I felt everyone’s eyes on me even more. I got so uncomfortable, I almost wanted to jet out of the place. She wasn’t going to let me down easy. Admittedly, I deserved it.
She sang the entire song while staring at me, looking proud and focused.
At some point, I raised my glass to her and took a drink of whisky.
I was hoping my gesture would make her smile, but it didn’t work. She narrowed her eyes at me even more.
I wanted her to forgive me, but I wasn’t going to humiliate myself. If this kind of “shaming” was the sort of punishment she had in mind, I was gladly going to put up with it.
Everyone cheered when the song was over, and for a moment I thought I’d have to chase her out of the pub and apologize profusely. Instead, she surprised me again.
She walked toward me and stopped a few inches away. I stepped forward and placed my hands around her waist then leaned down and kissed her forehead slowly, tentatively.
“I’m really sorry for what I said, Sam,” I whispered in her ear.
“If you ever act like a jealous grouch again, I swear I’ll knee you in the balls,” she threatened.
Ouch.
“You have my word,” I told her, and then I sealed my promise with a kiss.
Later that night, it was all forgotten. It was almost as if nothing had happened.
By the grace of God, Sam was sweet and loving as ever. She might have been furious a couple of hours before, but any trace of bitterness was gone. I couldn’t deny how relieved I was.
While I couldn’t drink much, everyone around me kept drinking merrily, including Sam, and I had to admit I was a wee bit jealous. Winston’s program was taking a toll on me. Drinking out together was our way to unwind after a long week, and it wasn’t very much fun to make one drink last while everyone else kept downing their glasses. Mika and Frank in particular had one too many, and were trying to get me to join them on a bike ride the next day.
“You two will be too hungover! You’re not going to be able to bike down the hill to save yer life!”
Mika raised one eyebrow. “Want to make things interesting? I bet you twenty quids I’ll go faster than you, uphill or downhill. You down for it?”
“Sure, why not. Twenty quids.” We clinked glasses and I took another—small—sip of my whisky. I glanced to my side and found Sam, Cecilia, Blair, and the newest addition of the crew, Gretchen, engaged in a heated conversation.
“All I’m saying is that I don’t think anyone has ever spoken the words ‘Oh my gosh, I am so sick of this song.’ That song is a freaking classic. You could make me listen to it a hundred times in a row and I wouldn’t be sick of it. I’ve been listening to it since I was a teen, and it still gives me chills.” Sam was arguing with Cecilia about something.
“Oh, bloody hell, don’t tempt me. You know I love a challenge.” Cecilia bumped her shoulder against Sam, and then clinked her glass with the one my girl was holding.
“Ha! Do you?” Sam replied in a mocking tone. They narrowed their eyes at each other and scrunched their noses playfully, as they often did. Cecilia was a constant tease, and Sam was a good sport, most of the time. The interactions between them were like those of two sisters. In fact, Sam and Cecilia’s relationship was quite similar to the one she had with Amira. I was happy Sam had someone here in Scotland whom she was close to. It couldn’t be easy to be away from her family all the time. I knew she missed them terribly, even if things were easier this year. We had each other and I didn’t doubt for a moment that this was where she wanted to be, but sometimes I felt a little pang of guilt.
I knew I missed my family, and I was just a few hours away from them so Sam and I could visit whenever we wanted. She was close to her mom and dad, as well as her sister and her brother. Even if she didn’t admit it, I knew that from time to time, she probably missed the chaotic, sunny LA life.
I got distracted by the guys talking about rugby and chimed in to comment about the latest match, but then I drifted back to Sam and Cecilia’s conversation. I took another swig of my whisky and zoned in on their chat, but I still couldn’t quite understand what they were discussing since I’d missed the beginning of it.
“What are you two talking about?”
They both turned in my direction, surprised by my interruption.
“Your girlfriend—pardon me, your fiancée here claims that ‘Everlong’ by the Foo Fighters is the greatest love song ever. I mean, it’s not a bad song, but the greatest?”
I let out a low chuckle, and Sam didn’t miss a beat to make her argument.
“Well, it is my favorite love song, Cecilia, it doesn’t have to be yours. I’m not expecting you to feel the same way about it. We can agree to disagree . . . wouldn’t be the first time,” Sam told her before raising her eyebrows and continuing. “I know it’s unusual, but it’s a song I have listened to a million times and I could never get sick of it. It’s sweet and sexy and it has that I’m falling for you and if we do this right it could be the greatest thing ever vibe. Does that make sense? And, it’s not cheesy. For the life of me, I cannot stand cheesy love songs,” she said animatedly. She was clearly a bit intoxicated, and for some reason I found it really amusing when she was slightly drunk.
We locked eyes, and a slight smile stretched across her face. Whatever she was thinking about made her blush ever so lightly. She chewed on her bottom lip and then brought her eyes down to her glass.
Cecilia huffed, eyes widening in exasperation, her cheeks colored a faint pink.
“Fair enough. I can agree with your point. What’s your favorite love song, Hugh?” Cecilia asked, and the question made me freeze for a moment. I couldn’t think of one.
I hadn’t ever been in love with anyone before Sam.
“I don’t suppose I have one in particular . . . though I have to admit, ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ will always have a special place in my heart.” I winked at Sam, biting my bottom lip, and she smiled, memories brightening her gorgeous, dark chocolate eyes.
Then I thought about the song Sam had been talking about.
Everlong. I’d always liked the song, though I couldn’t say I had paid much attention to it in the past. Sure, it was a great one. I revisited the lyrics of the song in my head, and somewhere along the line, I found myself agreeing with my bride-to-be. Indeed, it was a great song, and now that I knew how much Sam loved it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Several scenarios popped in my head, and at last I had an idea I hoped I could make come true at some point.
SAM
“Cut!” someone called, and everyone started shuffling around set again.
These naked scenes were draining, and not just for the actors. There were too many crew members all packed in a very small place, and it was always warmer than usual because the actors were butt naked and everyone was sweating profusely.
In other words, the most unromantic setting ever.
But, it had to be done. The scene in question was pivotal, and was basically changing the course of the characters’ lives.
Abarath’s only true love, Leonia, had escaped from the castle once she learned he was in grave danger. Dressed as a boy, in true Shakespeare fashion, she’d managed to recruit a few people to help her out along the way, and had been able to rescue Abarath, who was being held hostage by some roamers who learned he might be in possession of a magical dragon tooth, one that had healing powers.
The legend of the healing tooth was an ancient one, and Abarath didn’t have much to do with it, but he’d drunkenly claimed he had such a thing in h
is possession. A few days later, word reached Leonia’s kingdom that Abarath had been captured.
Leonia shed her damsel-in-distress clothes and went after the man she loved. Now that she had found him and the two of them were away from the castle, she wasn’t ready to let go of him.
It wasn’t very princessy of her to give up her virginity to a man she could never marry, but she was determined to seduce Abarath, if necessary.
I couldn’t fault her.
The man was hot. Abarath was strong, brave, and charming . . . and so damn good-looking, he even made a modesty patch look sexy.
If I were a princess and couldn’t marry the man of my dreams for some stupid dynastic reason, I would feel the same way.
I was really surprised by the evolution of her character in the last couple of episodes, and I had to give it up to Melissa for nailing every nuance of Leonia’s personality. She was a really great actress.
I walked over to Hugh just as an assistant was handing him a robe. Pity.
But, all in all, it was better this way. Sure, I could be professional, but let’s face it: it was so hard to focus when my man was naked right in front of me. The year before, I’d had to try my hardest to hide every bit of attraction I felt for him, but now that we were together, it was possibly even tougher to hide the way he could stir up my insides with just one of his looks.
He put on the robe as his eyes met mine. He winked.
What a tease.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I told him with a pointed look.
“Looking at you like what?” he asked innocently.
“Like you’re not the one naked, wearing a tiny modesty patch.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement and the corner of his mouth tilted up.
“Mo chridhe, I’m wearing a robe,” he teased.
“Yeah, but you’re naked under it, and you’ve been naked this entire time . . . and you’ve been doing . . . things.”
“Things?” The entertained tone in his voice was hard to miss.
“Yes, things, things that make my mind . . . wander.”
“Ahhhh.” He nodded in agreement. “So, the things I was doing made you start thinking about other things . . .”
“That’s right.”
“Is that why you had your head stuck in your tablet?”
I let out a breath. Lie. “Yes. You were seriously killing it, but all of a sudden I felt pretty caught up in it . . . and I had to look away. My mind went elsewhere and I got carried away. It was . . . too much.”
He ran his thumb across my cheek while I patted his face with a sponge to reduce the shine on his forehead. He looked down, smiling wickedly at me. Oh, him and his bedroom eyes—I wanted to kill him sometimes. I couldn’t stand when he tried to get me all worked up in public, and I hated to admit how easy it was.
“Stop it, I said! I’m trying to work here,” I mumbled, frustrated, blood rushing to my cheeks.
“Fine, I’ll behave—for now,” he teased in that low and rumbly accent of his. It sent a chill down my spine. Oh, how I loved the sound of his voice.
I sighed, partly from relief and partly with frustration.
“But before we go home, you should stop by my trailer,” he suggested with a wicked grin, eyes beaming with mischief.
I couldn’t hold back my smile. “A trip down memory lane? Sign me up.”
SAM
“How many times did I tell you not to bring your toys home, Hugh MacLeod?”
He laughed, impenitent, and marched into the living room carrying two ancient-looking swords. Of course, I was familiar with them, had seen swords like those before—they were the props he used on set during fight scenes.
They weren’t dangerous, but they had been made as heavy as real swords to make the fight scenes more realistic. As a result, wielding one of those fuckers could give you some severe arm and shoulder pain if used the wrong way.
“What are you doing with those things? You’re not supposed to steal from the set, you know that. I might have to report you,” I teased.
“Uh-huh, you do that,” he replied, unfazed. He walked to where I was sitting on the couch—relaxing, mind you—and handed me one of the swords.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Humor me, Sam.”
I gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t think I understand. Do you have a scene to rehearse? I don’t think I’m the best person for it.”
“You’re the best person for everything.”
“Well, love, I can’t say I’m not flattered, but you’re mistaken.”
“I disagree.” He started moving the furniture in the living room. First the coffee table, then the two armchairs, and when he still wasn’t satisfied with the space he’d cleared, he pushed the couch back while I was still sitting on it.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he leaned down and kissed me on the lips.
I didn’t reciprocate the kiss, so naturally he kissed me again and again until I gave in to whatever charade this was.
“I was reading, you know,” I grumbled.
“And I need your help. I need to rehearse this scene and someone distracted me last night and made me forget I had lines to learn.” He winked at me, and I blushed, thinking about the night before. Yes, I might have been guilty of keeping him up too late.
I laughed and shook my head.
“You didn’t seem opposed to my plans last night.”
“How could I have been?” he replied with a wicked, teasing look. “But I do have lots of lines to learn, and I need your help. So, be a good sport and help me out, aye?”
He handed me the sword again—I had refused to grasp it before—and I discovered this one wasn’t as heavy as I remembered.
“Uh, this one isn’t as heavy as the one you normally use,” I said as I swung the sword around, feeling the weight of it.
“That’s because we have different ones depending on the actor’s build. I’m surprised you don’t know this already, Ms. Hollywood,” he teased.
“Har har! I’ve never worked on a historical or fantasy drama before,” I reminded him.
“True,” he agreed. “Up you go. Come on, Sam. Help me out. Besides, didn’t you tell me you took fencing for a while?” He smiled and stretched a hand toward me, and I finally got up.
“I knew I should have never told you that! I took fencing when I was fourteen! Besides, the weight of the fencing bow can hardly be compared to this thing!” I’d told Hugh the story of when, inspired by a summer of watching Valentina Vezzali’s accomplishments in the fencing disciplines during the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney, I had decided to take up the sport. I regretted telling him that now.
I was fourteen when I took up fencing, and although I was truly enthusiastic about it for a year, I had become self-conscious as my body started changing and I became curvier. I felt exposed in the white fencing uniform, especially against the rest of my teammates, who were mostly slender California blondes, and I gradually talked myself out of it.
I loved the sport, but I honestly believed I got started too late.
“Okay, so what do you need me to do?”
He handed me a script and told me whose lines he needed me to read.
In this scene, Abarath was facing off with an old frenemy who had been trying to undermine his reputation across the kingdoms.
For the next hour, I read and fed him lines when needed. I jumped on the couch and tried to fight him with all my strength. We dueled, we laughed, and minute by minute, I enjoyed it more and more. I loved the life we were making together.
We were two souls from very different backgrounds, but ultimately, we loved the same things, and loved our jobs so much, even when it was hard, even on the days it reduced us to grumbling, tired shadows of ourselves.
I got caught up in my thoughts and soon he disarmed me, a wicked grin plastered on his face as I knelt down to retrieve my sword.
“You’re going off script!” I protested after taking a better look at t
he lines just as he managed to pin me down to the floor.
He pointed the fake sword to my neck, albeit gently. He towered over me, breathing heavily, a mischievous look brightening his eyes.
“Now that you’re my prisoner . . .” he started.
“Again, off script,” I mumbled, looking at the stage directions once more.
“Shhhh, Sassenach. Now that I disarmed you, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
I frowned. “Meaning? If this is about Fern again, might I remind you I’m in the perfect position to kick you in the groin.”
He huffed. “Nah, this isn’t about Fern. This is about you and me.”
“I don’t understand,” I replied.
HUGH
“I know you’ve been keeping secrets from me. Fine, I was wrong, verra wrong about Fern, but you . . . you have been hiding something. I can feel it, Sam,” I told her, still catching my breath.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” she replied with a certainty that made me suddenly question my motives, but I had to know. She’d been evasive for weeks. “If there’s anything I’m hiding from you, it’s stuff that you don’t need to know to begin with.”
“Like what?”
“Like my wedding dress, you moron!” she yelled.
My face fell, and it took me a few seconds before I could say anything.
“I didn’t know you’d been looking.” It was all I could muster.
“Of course I have! These things take time, and in case you forgot, we kind of work and live in a place at the edge of society, where things are not exactly accessible.”
I nodded. She was right . . . but there were other questions that came to mind.
“So, you’ve been dress shopping, but what about setting a date? And what about the attorney and the paperwork? Any time I ask you about it, you change the subject.”
“Can I get up yet? Or do we have to keep having this conversation with me at your mercy?” She shot me an angry look.
“Of course. I’m sorry.” I gave her a hand and pulled her up.
A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2) Page 11
