“Fancy seeing you here,” he says when he approaches and sits down.
“Wanted to do a little shopping before I head back home,” I lie, and my stomach knots at the pathetic deceit.
“You’re going back to the States?”
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Short trip,” he remarks.
“I suppose.”
He takes a sip of his whiskey and sets the tumbler down when he asks, “Any plans on returning?”
“Doubtful,” I reply and take another drink.
I turn to look at Lachlan watching me intently. He’s a stately man in his trousers, button down, and tailored sports coat. His hair is lightly gelled and styled to perfection with a dignified part.
His eyes continue to linger on me with a soft expression.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I peacefully ask.
He takes a moment, and then responds, “You seem down.”
“Just worn out. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“You left abruptly the other evening after your run-in with Declan,” he states. “Perhaps that has something to do with your lack of sleep?”
“Nosey,” I accuse with a playful smile.
“Just observant.”
“Is that all?”
“You want more?” he lightly chuckles.
“You flirting with me?”
“You’re what? Twenty-some odd years younger than me?”
I nod.
“A man like me would be foolish not to flirt with a woman such as you.”
“Such as me? And what’s that? What am I?”
He takes another sip of his whiskey and then leans in a little closer to me, answering, “Exquisite, my dear.”
His flirting isn’t meaningful, but more of humorous banter, so I know he doesn’t think it rude of me when I begin to laugh.
We both take another sip through our smiles, and he breaks his mock flirtation when he says, “Seriously though, is everything okay? It looked like you and Declan were having a much too dire conversation for a party.”
“Just hashing out some unsettled business, that’s all. Do you always make it a habit to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” I tease.
“Always,” he boasts, and we both laugh again.
“Well, at least you’re honest about it.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“What brought you here to Scotland?”
I look up at his face, and I don’t see any ulterior motives in our exchange other than a man who genuinely wants an honest conversation, so I answer, “Him.”
“Him?”
“I came to see Declan. I hadn’t spoken to him since he left Chicago, and I guess . . . I guess I just wanted to see him.”
“Lovers?”
“Again . . . nosey.”
He smirks at my jab.
“Does he have many of those?” I ask.
“Would you feel jealous if I told you yes?”
Straightening my neck, I state, “I don’t get jealous.”
“You’re a wicked woman, Elizabeth.”
“What makes you say that?”
“In my experience, women who don’t get jealous do so because they’d rather get even,” he says and then winks.
“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a woman of revenge?” I question in jest, but secretly, I want to know how he truly perceives me.
“You know what my mum always told me?”
“What’s that?” I laugh.
“She told me that while the rest of the species are descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats.”
“So, I’m a cat?”
“A minx,” he notes.
I shake my head, saying, “You neglected to answer my question.”
“You mean Declan?”
“Mmm hmm,” I hum as I take another drink.
“No.”
“No?”
“I’ve known Declan for a very long time. He will always have a woman on his arm at events, but it’s all a show, strictly business. I’ve only known him to have a couple long-term relationships, but none he was too serious about. I think they were more of convenience than actual love. Declan’s a well-guarded man.”
Hearing this makes my guilt build heavier, knowing that what he gave me was most likely the first time he had given that to anyone. His love, his heart, his moments of sweet softness. Having this information makes the destruction feel even more malicious.
“He’s a shrewd man in business,” Lachlan continues. “I can only assume that filters into his personal relationships as well, but perhaps you might have better insight into my assumptions.”
“You want me to open up and divulge my personal knowledge of Declan?”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I state matter-of-factly, and when he gives me a sly look, I murmur in an honest moment, “I hurt myself.”
I refuse to reveal that I also hurt him. I don’t want to diminish anyone’s perceptions of the powerful, andric man they all know him to be.
“So you were lovers?”
“I hate that word.”
“Why?”
Turning to face Lachlan, I lean to the side, resting my elbow on the bar top when I say, “It’s shallow. That word insinuates a base, sexual relationship rather than intimacy.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re gray?”
“You’re wanting black and white? As if that even exists. There is no black and white, right or wrong, yes or no.”
His eyebrows raise in curiosity, and to lighten the now heavy mood, I tease, “Oh, come on, Lachlan. Surely a man of your age has come to recognize the world for what it is.”