ONE

"Miss Ashlyn Grace?"

A man in his early fifties approached me, wearing a pair of faded jeans, a checkered shirt, and a leather jacket to complete the outfit. His salt and pepper hair stood in all directions as if he had just woken up, but his blue eyes were smiling warmly.

"Yes, that's me," I responded quickly, fidgeting with my coat, and keeping a death grip on my suitcases. Not only do I despise wearing so many layers, but I also feel my throat tickle with a dry cough since the moment I got off the plane.

"Ah, good!" He grinned, his Scottish accent sounding foreign yet pleasant to the ear, "I'm 'ere to take ya to the weddin'."

Without warning, he grabbed my suitcases and wheeled them down the sidewalk towards a sleek black limousine parked across the street. With a humorous bow, he opened the door to the snazzy vehicle for me to get into. I blinked, wondering if my eyes were betraying me or if this man maybe got his cars mixed up.

My mother always warned me never to talk to strangers or get into strange cars - that's how they catch you and sell your body parts to witch doctors who use it to perform their weird hoodoo-voodoo rituals.

"Well, what are ya waitin' for?" the man's voice interrupted my thoughts, "Nothin' to be afraid of, lass, it's only leather seats and fizzy juice in there."

"I was..." my eyes shifted from the limo to him, taking in his casual attire again, "You just don't look like the limousine-type of driver to me."

"Don't let the hair fool ya," he waved it off, "Now get in. We've only got an hour to get ya there."

That was the end of it.

I made myself comfortable on the leather seats, relieved to be out of the cold and rain while the man loaded my cases in the trunk. After slipping behind the wheel, he turned in his seat to grab a glass to pour me a drink of champagne, muttering how they'll have his balls if they found out he didn't follow through with the instructions.

"I didn't catch your name," I attempted conversation as he reached over me to place the glass in the cupholder.

"Craig," he replied straightforwardly and waved his finger at the glass, "Now don't get too blootered b'fore the weddin' now, hear? I have a reputation to upkeep."

I couldn't help but grin. If he was a kidnapper, at least he had a sense of humor. He started the limo with a lighthearted chuckle and cruised through the parking spaces, leaving the airport at our backs.

As we drove through the breathtaking city of Glasgow, I checked my phone for any messages. There were two from my mother, one from Gran, one from the studio owner - no doubt to remind me to pay the rent - and none from Matt. I checked Mom's first.

'Hi, honey? How was your flight?'

In the second one, she asked me about the weather.

I quickly typed a reply, 'Flight was long and stuffy, I hate small spaces. Weather is just like Aunt Izzy said, piss cold and wet.'

She sent me a laughing emoji and I could already imagine her cackling at my message. The two of us had a strange sense of humor.

I hesitated whether I should ask her about Dad. The last conversation we had ended in an argument. That was yesterday, a few hours before I boarded my flight. He just couldn't accept that photography was the only thing I wanted to do with my life. For him, it was a means to an end with smartphone technology improving. And just like any other argument we had regarding my future, he compared me to my older sister.

"Just look at Madison; she only has one year to go before getting her degree. That's what I call 'having a plan'. You can't take pictures for a living, Ashlyn, you have to start putting down the lenses and see reality for what it is."

However, I don't believe that's all reason why he's pissed at me for coming to Scotland. Apparently, my unexpected job offer here was just an excuse to ditch my upcoming engagement this weekend. Dad and Matt's father have been planning this for a few months now. If Matt and I were to get married, our fathers' law firms could merge, and Matt could someday take over the business.

Matt's a great guy. We've been dating for almost a year now and things were... great. I just don't think I'm ready for the next step yet.

After checking my phone one last time, I slipped it into my coat and chose to focus on the scenery outside instead. Who knows when I might get the chance to see Scotland, or any other country for that matter, again.

We drove past miles upon miles of dense woodlands. I pressed my face flush against the window, my breath fogging up the glass as I gawked at the outside world blurring past us.

Behind the wheel, Craig was singing at the top of his lungs. I didn't know the song, but I swayed and tapped my feet along the rhythm. My breath caught in my throat when the next turn revealed a glittering lake below us, stretching too far for me to see where it ends.

Craig continued singing heartily until he noticed my awestruck expression in the mirror, "Ah, yes, suppose I should introduce ya to the scenes. If you look to your left, you'll see the Loch Lomond, not to be confused with the Loch Ness. And, no, there's no such thing as the Loch Ness Monster. That's what we like you to think anyway."

"Is it true the Balfour family lives in an actual castle?" I recalled the wedding invitation they sent me a week ago. After typing in the location of the wedding into my browser, I was rendered speechless to find it was being held at a castle.

"True," Craig confirmed joyfully, "It's been in the family for generations and soon to be passed down to the next Balfour. Just checkin', you're not allergic to dogs, are ya?"

I shook my head, "No, why?"

"No reason."

Loch Lomond disappeared from view at the next turn. Craig drove us through a small yet homey village. There was a corner cafe and right next to it a bookstore and souvenir shop. When I spotted a quaint little stationery store down the street, my eyes lit up - those were my favorite. Lots and lots of pens and notebooks I'll never use.

"Direfair," Craig said, "You won't find it on any maps 'cos it's not actually a real village. Before the fancy shops, it used to be where the first founder's servants lived. I like it better like this anyway; now we have a pub!"

The drive lasted another ten minutes before Craig announced that we have arrived. At first, I couldn't see anything except the hedge we drove along. But as soon as we reached the end, my thoughts were rendered blank at the mere sight of the castle. Situated beside a lake, it towered far above the ground. It must have been a thousand years old, giving off an ancient feeling with withered stone walls and tiled roofs. And yet, nothing seemed to be falling apart.

Craig parked the limo near the entrance and rushed to open the door for me. Only when I stepped outside, did I realize how small I felt compared to the building. It blew my mind to think that someone lives here, someone calls this place their home.

Besides Craig and the gardeners scurrying about with baskets full of flowers, there wasn't a single soul in sight. I almost believed this was a trick; that there wasn't a wedding after all, and I was the punchline to some very sick and expensive joke.

But out of the blue, the rustic door of the castle creaked open, and a woman peered out, "Thank God, you're here!" I watched her skip down the cement stairs with her white stilettos until she was standing before us. The woman, probably a few years older than me, glared at Craig, "You're ten minutes late! Seriously, Craig, did you stop at a pub on the way here or what?"

"Yes, we did, didn't we, lass?" he winked at me and ruffled his unruly hair. That was a blatant lie, but poking harmless fun seems to be part of his carefree personality.

The woman rolled her eyes and locked her gaze on me, "I'm Reyna, and we're running behind schedule. Come on," she started leading the way back to the castle but paused briefly to look back, "And go put your suit on, Craig, it's my wedding, not a night out with the lads."

Unlike the ancient exterior of the castle, the inside was much more modern with Burma cream marble floors and Bavarian castle walls. Although everything was made of stone, it was surprisingly warm and toasty. I slipped my arms out of my coat, relieved to be wearing one less layer of stuffy clothing.

Reyna led me through a massive living room with a large blazing hearth at the far end. The sofas and love seats were all white with red and grey cushions scattered about for decoration. An old vinyl was playing soothing background music to fill the silence. My eyes locked on the painting above the hearth, briefly making out the shapes of large dog-like creatures before hurrying off to catch up with Reyna.

The bride-to-be ascended a set of wide wooden stairs that led to a long hallway with about five rustic mahogany doors on each side.

"First door on your right is a bathroom," she pointed out as she moved, "Word of warning, don't freak out if you find Craig passed out on the loo after the wedding."

"Noted," I nodded.

"First door on your left is a closet, in case you need more blankets or towels during your stay here. I already take it you're not used to the cold," she winked, eyeing my coat amusingly.

I couldn't agree more, "The winters back home are cold, but this is just crazy."

Reyna snorted and picked up her pace until she reached the end of the hallway. She opened the door to the left and gestured for me to go in, "This is your room for the evening, the en-suite bathroom is right through the door on your right, and the mini-fridge is stocked with ciders and water. Help yourself."

I breathe a laugh of astonishment at the sight of the room. It was bigger than my apartment back home with a queen-sized bed, two floor-to-ceiling windows with a magnificent view of the gardens and lake, and a cozy sitting corner with a desk where I could set up my temporary office. The wooden floor was covered with a thick, checkered carpet that matched the soft beige covers on the bed, and on the wall above the desk hung another painting of a pack of wolves huddled together in the snow.

"After you're settled in, just ask Craig and he'll escort you to my room," Reyna said and checked her wristwatch, "Just don't take too long, though. We should start getting ready in half an hour and I'm already worried about running late."

"I'll be ready in a jiffy," I assured her.

"Good," she turned to leave but paused at the door, "Oh, and Ashlyn, thank you for coming on such short notice. You have no idea how much this wedding means to me and everyone's families."