“He’s not really going to shoot her, right?” I asked anxiously, attempting to push my way past Jamie to rescue Heaven.

“Of course not. Particularly since there is no duel,” Jamie said mischievously, a raffish look in his eyes.

“What now?” I stopped dead in my tracks, right in front of Sir Smirks-A-Lot.

“I’ve been pulled into this torture chamber often enough to know what was going on. I simply created a diversion to facilitate your escape.”

“Well. Thank you. That was a hell of a diversion.”

“In the words of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, go big or go home.”

“I really feel like you’re feeding me a lot of misinformation about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle today.”

“Perhaps.” One side of his mouth quirked up into a funny half smile. “He was Scottish, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that much is true. Now perhaps we should go somewhere else before the crew of ghouls returns.”

“Yes, please. Just—not too far,” I amended, Pamela’s warning about not running out of the camera’s range ringing in my ears. At least if Pamela was busy hunting for Heaven and Kit, she probably wasn’t overly concerned with trailing Dusty.

“How about the library? Would that distance trouble you?”

“I think I can make it.”

We passed out of the small sitting room, Jamie shutting the door quietly but firmly behind us. Still unable to navigate anywhere at Dunyvaig, I let Jamie lead me down the hall to the library. I walked quickly, hoping we wouldn’t bump into any cameras or the one person at Dunyvaig I wanted to see even less than Pamela—Cash Keller.

“So if Heaven and Kit Kirby aren’t trying to kill each other, what are they doing?” I asked.

“They may still be trying to kill each other. They were being very coy about having to practice something for the wedding.”

“Huh,” I said meditatively as we walked into the library. I shut the door—I didn’t think that counted as hiding from the camera. It’s not like I’d locked it. “If they’re attempting to do something together they’ve definitely killed each other. We probably should have just given them the dueling pistols and gotten it over with.”

“Probably,” Jamie agreed.

Inside the library, a fire crackled in the hearth. Someone had hung two red stockings on the mantel. A tartan blanket draped invitingly over the plump leather sofa. I practically dive-bombed it, snuggling up under the blanket.

Jamie joined me on the couch. He kissed me once—slowly, sweetly. It was a happily-ever-after kiss, the kind the prince would use to wake up Sleeping Beauty.

“Are you all right, then, Dylan?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I whispered. “But I don’t really want to talk about him—it—anything. Ugh, I’m sorry.” I sighed. “This is not the kind of thing you should be dealing with.”

“What kind of thing should I be dealing with, then?”

“We just started, um, we just started, uh—”

“Dating, Dylan, I think you can say we’re dating. We did go on a date.” He smiled.

“Right. That we did. Okay, well, then, we just started dating. And you shouldn’t have to deal with any of my runaway dad stuff.”

“I want to deal with all of your stuff, Dylan.”

“How does your dumb accent make even ‘stuff’ sound good?” I marveled, shaking my head. “This is a land of sorcerers.”

“I think the fault lies in your American brain chemistry.”

“Oh yeah?” I swung my legs up and plopped them into his lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

“Yes, yes, something about the way American brain waves receive a British accent. It scrambles the brain.”

“Scrambles the brain?” I laughed.

“I must have scrambled your brain. It’s the only reason I can think of that you seem to enjoy spending time with me. That you want to kiss me. That you like me.”

“If anything, I scrambled your brain,” I said, blushing.

“Perhaps that’s what happens when you meet someone you really quite like,” Jamie said thoughtfully. “You both feel a bit as though you’ve tricked the other person into liking you.”

So many questions were poised on the tip of my tongue. What happens after the wedding? Will I ever see you again? Does this feel as real to you as it feels to me?

But I didn’t ask any of them, because all of the answers I wanted seemed impossible. So instead, I leaned in, and I kissed him.

I scooted closer, almost in his lap, my arms around his neck. The fire was roaring, but it was no match for the warmth of Jamie’s hands pressed against my lower back. It almost made me feel small, which was something I didn’t think was possible. He pulled away for a moment, still with his arms around me.

“I think I could kiss you forever,” Jamie murmured dreamily.

“I have absolutely no objection to that.”

I leaned in again, but he stopped me, searching my eyes.

“For the life of me, Dylan, I cannot figure out why you like me.” He shook his head. “Several weeks ago I could not have imagined having a conversation with a girl for this long, let alone kissing one. This all seems completely impossible.”

“It is kind of impossible. And unreal. This whole situation is. But isn’t this the moment where you bust out some poem about kissing and rook-delighting heavens and when it’s right it’s just right and all that?”

“Ah yes, ‘When It’s Right, It’s Right’—one of Tennyson’s lesser-known works.” He nodded sagely. “I keep wanting to pinch you to make sure you’re real. Or pinch myself to make sure it isn’t a dream.”

“Maybe it is.” I ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. It slid through my fingers like silk. “Nothing has felt real since I got to Scotland. And I don’t care. I don’t want to wake up back in Tupelo. I want to stay in this dream a little longer.”

“Hold fast to dreams,” he said, “for when dreams go, life is a barren field, frozen with snow.”

“Do you think Langston Hughes wrote that end part about Dunyvaig?” I asked.

“Yes, absolutely nowhere in America has barren fields frozen with snow.”

“Shut up,” I said eloquently.

He pulled me closer, until I was practically on top of him, capturing my mouth with his. For two people who had never been kissed until a week ago, we seemed to be naturals.

The library door slammed open with a bang, revealing Cash and a camera crew. Jamie and I jumped apart. I drew the tartan up to my neck, like I was a Victorian maiden who’d been surprised in her bedchamber. I don’t know what the impulse was that had prompted me to cover up my not-at-all-revealing sweatshirt, but people do weird things when they’re startled. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be dialing up the romance for the camera crew, so I patted the side of Jamie’s face in what I hoped was a sensual manner. He looked at me strangely. Not romantic, then.

“Oh gosh!” Cash reddened and started to back up, but the camera crew prevented it. “Sorry, kids, I didn’t—well, I, uh…didn’t.”

Words seemed to fail him. Barred from leaving by the camera crew, or maybe of his own volition—who could tell?—he stepped into the library.

“Isn’t this the moment when you’re supposed to yell, ‘Dad, get out of my room!’?” he joked.

“This isn’t my room.” I bit back the “and you’re not my dad” that lingered on my tongue, but I think he heard it even though it went unsaid.

“Real, uh, classic father-daughter bonding moment here, huh?” He laughed awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said coldly.

“So this must be your young man, then!” Cash approached Jamie with his hand outstretched. Jamie scrambled off the couch and up to his feet. “Got to make sure you’re good enough for my little girl, huh? Well, not so little anymore!”

“Yeah, you missed the little part,” I muttered.

“I’m Jamie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Jamie took Cash’s hand. Cash shook it so vigorously I thought Jamie’s arm might pop out of its socket.

“You don’t owe him your politeness.” I sprang up from the couch, ready to remove Jamie from that handshake by physical force if necessary. This was beyond bizarre. I hadn’t even met my father yet. Shouldn’t I meet him before Jamie did?

“I’m British! No matter what I say, it comes out polite,” Jamie said helplessly.

Jamie eventually extricated himself and stood awkwardly to the side, as Cash and I stared at each other. He was tall, like I’d always thought he’d be, and blondish, like we all were. I searched the planes of his face for something, looking for a jolt of recognition—of sameness, somehow, but I couldn’t see myself in him. His eyes were more blue, like Dusty’s, less gray, like mine, but there was nothing in there that I connected to.

“Dylan,” he said simply. Maybe he was looking for something in me, too.

“So you know who I am, then?” I folded my arms across my chest. “Did the PAs finally alert you to the fact that you had a second daughter?”

“Of course, I knew, I just didn’t—Hell, Dylan, you were a baby last time I saw you! I could practically hold you in one hand. You’re so grown-up now. It’s no wonder I didn’t recognize you.”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

“It’s not, baby girl, it’s not—”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.

“It’s not your problem, Dylan,” he said carefully. “It’s mine. I realize I’ve been no kind of father to you girls, but I’m here now. That’s all I can do—say I’m sorry, and be here for you now.”

“Seriously?!” I laughed. “That’s all you can do? Say you’re here now? Well, yeah, of course you’re here now. Awfully convenient that you decided to show up right when family bonding time was being televised.”

“I didn’t—That’s not—”

“Hoping to get a couple nice mentions for your stupid radio show? Maybe parlay this whole thing into an on-camera position at ESPN?”

“Dylan, it’s not about that.” The tone in his voice was so after-school special it made me want to murder him. “I just wanted to be here for Dusty’s big day.”

“This is so transparent, it’s embarrassing,” I said, venom dripping from every word. In that moment, I hated him, hated everything about him, right on down to the Scores Sports Radio 96.5 insignia on his polo shirt. “You just wanted to be here for Dusty’s big day?” I asked sarcastically. “Well, where were you for her high school graduation? Her college graduation? Believe me, she put in a hell of a lot more work to make it to those big days.”

“I know I missed a lot, Dylan.” He was trying his best to ooze sincerity. Probably hoping they’d sound-bite just this part. “All I can say is that I’m here now.”

“Yeah. You said. I get that you’re here now. I just don’t particularly care,” I said flatly. “I hope you enjoy Scotland. And if you and Dusty decide you want to play happy family, that’s fine, but I don’t plan to participate in that.”

“I know I screwed up,” he said, “and I don’t expect you to—”

“Don’t. Expect. Anything,” I said, as clearly as I could. “Because that’s what you’ll get from me. Nothing. Exactly what I’ve gotten from you.”

“Well—All right, then.” Cash tried to smile again, but I was sure even the cameras could see how forced it was.

“Yes. All right, then,” Jamie said firmly as he stepped even closer, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Come on, Jamie.” I grabbed his hand. “Let’s just—let’s just go.”

I probably should have tried to come up with a crushing exit line, but wordplay has never been my strong suit. So instead I left. Luckily, Cash didn’t follow us—only a cameraman did. Good. One less cameraman lurking around Dusty. I decided to just do what everyone kept telling me to do and ignore him.

“Do you think there’s even a remote possibility that he’s sincere?” Jamie asked as he followed me down the hall. I decided to head for the sitting room—it might not have been as private as the library, but at this time of day, there was bound to be a cheese plate.

“No,” I said decisively. “Why did he show up now, you know? It’s too convenient. He just wants the exposure—the publicity.”

Jamie nodded, his brow creased. “I had forgotten that fame via reality television was a desirable occurrence to some.”

“To many. And to one Cash Keller in particular, I think.”

I’d like to believe I wasn’t the biological offspring of a famewhore, but given the rest of my family, it made sense. At least Dusty was honest about it, though. And Mom’s job in front of the camera was actually, you know, a job.

Jamie squeezed my hand. Whatever his agenda, Cash Keller was right about one thing—he was here now. And there was nothing I could do about that.