excerpts from The Cocky Heir
by Ana K. AndersonRevised edition of The Amicable Pact
Hello World!
My name is Dawn Fleming. I am 25 years old with a personality as flamboyant as my hair, which I hate. This cursed heritage has earned me an incalculable number of ridiculous nicknames throughout my childhood. Because yes, I am a redhead of pure Scottish stock, in all her splendor. Single malt whiskey flows through my veins and in those of my 10-year-old twin brothers, who are adorable and of whom I have custody.
Other than that, I have a perfect life these days, worthy of a true fairy tale. I am going to marry an extraordinarily wealthy Scottish laird, Sir Fergus MacFayden, who treats me like a queen. He worships the ground that I walk on and my every wish is his command. We are (almost) going to live happily ever after in a sumptuous manor in the middle of the wild Scotland highlands. We haven’t yet had the good fortune to become parents; in fact, we never will, because my future husband is 91 years old.
You read that right, 91.
He's a crusty old grandpa. And yes, to answer your unasked question, I'm marrying him for his money. Well, not really, but that, well… that’s our secret…
He is my Hugh Hefner and I am his bunny Crystal. The two of us are committed for better or for worse. Mostly for worse since Quinn MacFayden, Fergus’ beautiful, arrogant grandson has decided to come back to the country to protect his financial interests and those of his Playboy Pawpaw. Between Quinn and I, the war over the MacFayden treasure trove has officially been declared…
No rules, no limits! Except that of not succumbing to his well-bred, Highlander charm.
Obviously, I can already hear you judging me, sanctimonious as you are, comfortably seated on your warm cozy sofa, but let me tell you my story. Let me convince you that I’m really not so depraved and that appearances may be deceiving…
[...]
"The list, Fergus. Where are we?"
"Dawn, treasure, I haven’t the time, I’ve got to run. We’ll look at it tonight."
I know, Fergus, we’re running out of time…
"Exactly. Time is running out. We have to finish this list, absolutely. It’ll only take a few seconds, at most. Please."
I give him my best puppy-dog eyes and my biggest smile, and I see him starting to cave.
"You look so much like her sometimes. I miss her terribly, you know. You are a gift from above, like a second chance…"
His voice cracks. This isn’t the first time he’s told me this. How much I resemble his departed daughter, Quinn’s mother. Not physically but in terms of her character, according to my favorite Playboy Pawpaw. I suspect that this family tragedy transformed Quinn—a mischievous, charming child of which Fergus spoke so lovingly—into an insufferable adult.
The emotion is palpable. It seeps from him like the sap of an old, injured tree and resonates within me. Our hearts vibrate in unison for several seconds, like all those who have lost a loved one far too soon.
"All the more reason to make sure this list doesn’t go unfinished. Your daughter wouldn’t want that."
Tears in his eyes, Fergus removes a small piece of paper, yellowed and crumpled by time from his suit pocket.
[...]
Suddenly, I hear that I’m no longer alone and turn to see who is following me. Dawn is there, breathless, cheeks pink, and she stops dead in her tracks when our eyes meet. With her flamboyant mane, she looks like a candle flame flickering in the darkness of the hallway. But I have nothing to say, certainly not to her.
"Quinn, wait…"
"For your own good, leave me alone, Dawn."
"You can’t fight like that, you and Fergus. You’ve only just gotten back together again. Life is too short to quarrel like that. He is devastated, and you don’t look well either. I don’t know exactly what your issues are, but things can always work out once you agree to talk about them."
"Save your dime-store psychology and spare me this sappy sermon. You know nothing and it’s better that way."
"I love Fergus, Quinn. He means a lot to me…"
"I don’t believe that for a second!"
"Don’t say that before you have the facts. He’s the grandfather that I never had. He is my friend; we met six months ago. And I can promise you that I didn’t barge into his life from one day to the next to try and steal his fortune."
I move closer to her without releasing her from my gaze, I tower over her but she does not back down and defies me, standing straight as an arrow. A twisted compulsion seizes me. I want to grab her by the hair and make her submit to my every will, right here on the carpet of this corridor, and rid myself of this oppressive feeling that overcomes reason and blows my mind. Like when she touched my arm earlier.
"So why are you marrying him? Give me just one good reason and maybe I’ll reconsider my position."
She blinks and bites her lip, then finally stares at the ground to tell me, "I can’t. I promised. It’s for Fergus to tell you, not me."
"Of course. How convenient…" I fumed, raising my arms to the ceiling. "Well fine, keep your little secrets to yourselves. More power to you! I’m going to bed."
I'm disappointed in her. I hate secrets, and mysteries, and this tempers my fervor.
"Quinn, wait!"
Dawn grabs me by the arm. Her grasp is hesitant but her palm fiery on my skin. In one quick movement, I snatch my arm away and it’s me who grabs her firmly by the wrist. Her cotton sleeve slides up and reveals a strange tattoo that rings a bell. "What is this, this tattoo?"
She quickly retracts her hand but I was able to read “2.18.3.1.A,” written plainly, in black, on the underside of her wrist.
"Something that I should never forget… And to remind me that living each day as if it were the last is important, no matter what people think. So please, go see Fergus. The two of you need to speak, and then you’ll understand."
The bitterness, which gnaws at my belly like acid, prevents me from turning around.
I abandon her in the corridor, arms dangling and eyes full of tears.
Why does she take things so much to heart? We don’t even know each other; we clearly don’t like each other.
She really seems to be in Fergus' corner, but my anger doesn’t necessarily lessen. I think back to her tattoo.
What could it mean?
———
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