And I do not have a sex dungeon.
I park the car behind the main section of the castle.
Emery's eyes have grown so large I keep thinking they'll spring out of their sockets.
My home isn't that shocking. Is it?
On the opposite side of the drive lies another walled space, but this one holds a garden and isn't one-fifth as large as the wall that surrounds the castle compound. Emery can see into the garden from here, so I imagine she's admiring the naturalistic way my gardener, Tavish, has cultivated the flowers and bushes, not to mention the large pots that hold more blooms. He chose a variety of plants and colors, turning the once dying garden into a spectacular oasis. The wooden arbor holds more flowers that have wound their vines through the latticework.
Since Emery seems incapable of moving or speaking, I get out and stride around to her side, swinging her door open.
My wife yelps and jerks upright, bumping her head into the windscreen.
I offer my hand to her.
She places her palm in mine, letting me help her out of the car, and she stumbles on the gravel because she's too busy gawping at my home to notice where she's walking. Emery shakes off my hand, spinning in circles as she gawps a bit more. "Holy shit. This is amazing. I assumed you were pulling my leg when you said you live in a castle, but this…" She throws her head back and whoops. "I love Scotland!"
A smile tries to tug at my lips, but I can't quite let it take hold. Aye, my wife is adorably thrilled to see my castle. It makes me want to shag her right here on the hood of the Mercedes.
"The garden," she says, swinging an arm in that direction. "It's so…freewheeling. Did you design it?"
"I gave Tavish, the groundskeeper, a few instructions. Then I told him to do what he wanted and have at it."
"The garden is gorgeous. This whole place is stunning."
"It's home," I say as I shut the car door. "Come inside. You'll have plenty of time to explore the grounds later. Let's get you settled."
Although I march toward the main door, she lags behind me because the lass can't stop staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at my home. Our home. She will be living here for one year. We reach the wooden door to the vestibule, which juts out from the rest of the building, and I reach for the knob.
The door bursts open. My housekeeper rushes out to drag me into an overly firm hug, her grey hair tickling my chin.
I pat her back. "Hello, Mrs. Darroch."
She releases me, grabbing my face with both hands, and aims her blue eyes at me. "Rory, ye naughty chuilein. Sneaking off to America to bring home a bride and not telling anyone until the deed was done."
Mrs. Darroch always makes me feel like a bairn, especially when she calls me her laddie in Gaelic. I duck my head, shoulders slumped. "Well, I…"
She looks as if she's been baking, since her apron has streaks of flour on it.
I seize my bride's hand, hauling her into my side. With my arm latched around her, I clear my throat. "This is my wife, Emery Granger."
"MacTaggart," Emery corrects. "I may be unconventional in many ways, but I have a traditional streak. My mother raised me to believe a woman should take her husband's name."
I stare at her, not blinking, surprised that she wants to take my name when we'll be married for only one year. But I shake off my shock and nod toward the other woman in my life. "Emery, this is Mrs. Evelyn Darroch, my housekeeper."
Emery holds out her hand to Mrs. Darroch. "Pleasure to meet you."
Mrs. Darroch clasps my wife's hand, the lines around her eyes deepening as she beams at Emery.
Why is everyone so bloody thrilled that I've brought home a wife? They don't even know her. I don't know her.
"Lovely to meet ye, dearie," Mrs. Darroch says. She wrests Emery away from me and into a hug as fierce as the one she'd given me. When she lets go, she takes hold of Emery's upper arms, apparently so she can size up my wife "My, ye are a bonnie wee thing."
"Emery is intelligent," I say. Do I sound defensive? "And very…adventurous. She was a computer programmer, but she's taking time to find a new vocation."
"No need for excuses, mo luran," Mrs. Darroch says. She winks and adds, "Ye must love her, or ye wouldnae have made sure to tell me how clever and adventurous she is."
Love? She assumes that because we're married. No one will ever know the truth about our relationship.