Chapter 165: Apparently, Scotland Has Roads Too

Chapter 165: Apparently, Scotland Has Roads Too

The moment the car pulled away from the airport, I pressed my forehead lightly against the window and stared outside like someone who had just discovered that other countries actually existed. Which, technically, I knew. I had seen maps. I had watched documentaries. I had even owned a globe once, although I had mostly used it to dust my bookshelf. But seeing Scotland with my own eyes felt completely different. The buildings, the roads, the signs, the unfamiliar landscape—it all looked so aggressively foreign that my brain couldn't decide whether to take pictures or simply stand there and applaud. I leaned closer to the glass as another row of stone buildings passed by. "Look at that." Grayson glanced at me. "What?" "That building." "It's a building." I turned toward him slowly. "I know it's a building. I'm saying it's a very Scottish-looking building." His mouth twitched. "What makes a building Scottish?" I looked back outside. "I don't know. The stone?" He raised an eyebrow. "New York has stone buildings." "Not like this." "How is it different?" I thought about it seriously. "It looks like it knows a secret." Grayson stared at me for a second before looking away. "You have been in Scotland for approximately twelve minutes." "And already I'm an expert."
I continued studying everything outside as if I had been hired by the Scottish government to report on the country's architecture. Every few seconds, something caught my attention. A sign. A church. A row of houses. A street that looked like it belonged in a historical drama where everyone wore complicated coats and had emotional problems. "Is that a castle?" I asked suddenly. Grayson looked out the window. "No." "Are you sure?" "Yes." "It looked like one." "It was a building." "You're very dismissive of my discoveries." He smiled faintly. "You're pointing at ordinary buildings and calling them castles." "I'm experiencing the culture." "You're staring through a car window." "That's how tourism works when you have luggage-induced trauma." I shifted in my seat and glanced at the three suitcases stacked in the back. "Also, I have earned this." Grayson followed my gaze. "You packed three suitcases." "I packed responsibly." "You packed three suitcases for one week." "Scotland is unpredictable." "So you packed for every possible weather condition?" "Exactly." I nodded proudly. "Rain, cold, wind, unexpected elegance, emotional breakdowns..." He laughed quietly. "You planned for emotional breakdowns?" "I'm traveling with you. Of course I did."
For the first time since leaving the airport, I remembered that this wasn't exactly a spontaneous vacation where I could spend the week wandering around Scotland and pretending I was the mysterious heroine in a period drama. There was an actual reason we were here. A book event. I turned toward Grayson. "So..." He glanced at me. "So?" "The book event." His expression became more serious. "What about it?" "What exactly am I supposed to do?" "Attend it." I stared at him. "That's your entire plan?" "Pretty much." "You invited me to another country, and your detailed instructions are 'attend it'?" "Would you prefer a twelve-page itinerary?" I considered it. "Actually, yes." He shook his head. "The event is already arranged. There will be readers, media, and people from the publishing side. You'll be there with me." I blinked. "With you?" "Yes." Something about the way he said it made my stomach perform a small, unnecessary flip. I immediately blamed the food. Obviously. It had to be the food. Seven courses, multiple snacks, lounge sandwiches, and whatever else I had eaten had probably formed a committee in my stomach. "And what exactly am I supposed to say?" I asked. "Whatever you want." "That's dangerous." "Why?" "Because when people give me freedom, I usually say things I regret." Grayson smiled. "I've noticed." I narrowed my eyes at him. "You invited the wrong woman." "I'm beginning to think I invited exactly the right one." I looked out the window before he could see the ridiculous smile threatening to appear on my face. Scotland had officially become dangerous.
The car continued through Edinburgh, and I was beginning to suspect that Grayson had deliberately brought me here just to make me feel poor. Every few minutes, another beautiful building appeared outside the window, followed by another street that looked as though it had been designed specifically for postcards. I was still trying to decide whether I preferred the old stone buildings or the dramatic streets when the car suddenly turned onto a quieter road lined with elegant buildings. I straightened in my seat. "Where are we going?" Grayson didn't immediately answer. He simply glanced at me with that annoyingly calm expression of his. "You'll see." I narrowed my eyes. "I don't like when you say things like that." "Why?" "Because people only say 'you'll see' when they're either planning a surprise or about to ruin your life." His lips curved into a smile. "It's neither." "That doesn't make me feel better." I looked outside again, watching the buildings grow more impressive. "Are we staying here?" "Yes." I turned toward him. "Here where?" "At the hotel." I blinked. "You mean we're going to a hotel?" He gave me a look. "Where else would we stay?" "I don't know. A reasonably priced building with a bed?" He laughed. "I think you'll survive."
A few minutes later, the car slowed in front of a grand hotel that looked less like a place people slept and more like a building where important historical decisions were made. I stared through the window. The entrance was elegant, the architecture was beautiful, and several people in immaculate uniforms were standing outside as though they had been waiting specifically for royalty to arrive. I looked at Grayson. Then at the hotel. Then back at Grayson. "This is the hotel?" "Yes." "Our hotel?" "Yes." I swallowed. "You know, when you said hotel, I was imagining something with a reception desk and a suspicious carpet." "This has a reception desk." "But does the carpet look suspicious?" He looked toward the entrance. "Probably not." I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. The car stopped completely, and one of the attendants immediately approached. I watched him open the door with such professionalism that I instinctively checked whether there was someone more important sitting behind me. There wasn't. Just me, three suitcases, a backpack, and a bright pink luggage tag featuring a llama wearing sunglasses. Somehow, the llama looked more confident than I did.
I climbed out of the car and immediately tried to act as though staying in a hotel like this was something I did all the time. I straightened my coat, adjusted my bag, and gave the entrance a casual glance. Inside, everything looked polished enough to make me afraid of touching anything. The lobby was enormous, elegant, and far too beautiful for someone who had spent the last several hours eating like she had been preparing for hibernation. I lowered my voice. "Grayson." "Hmm?" "How much does a room here cost?" He looked at me. "Why?" "I just want to know whether I should avoid touching the furniture." He laughed. "You don't need to worry about that." "That's exactly what someone who doesn't know the price of the furniture would say." We walked toward the entrance, and I noticed a chandelier hanging above us. I stopped for half a second. "That's a lot of glass." Grayson glanced up. "It's a chandelier." "I know. I'm just saying, if that falls, I'm not signing anything." He shook his head, still smiling. "You're unbelievable." "I'm cautious. There's a difference."
Inside the lobby, a member of the hotel staff greeted Grayson by name, and I immediately became suspicious. Of course they knew him. Why wouldn't they? Apparently, Grayson didn't simply arrive places. Places prepared themselves for Grayson. I followed him toward the reception desk, trying very hard to look like I belonged there. Unfortunately, my luggage had other plans. One suitcase rolled slightly sideways, the second bumped into my leg, and the third seemed determined to drag me backward into another dimension. I grabbed the handle before it could escape. "Come back here." Grayson looked over his shoulder. "Do you need help?" "No." The suitcase rolled again. "I have everything under control." He raised an eyebrow. "Clearly." I glared at the luggage. "It's been a long day." "Your suitcase is winning." "It's tired too." He stepped closer and took the handle from my hand before I could protest. "I'll get it." I looked at him. "You don't have to." "I know." He started walking. I followed beside him, suddenly feeling strangely relieved and slightly embarrassed at the same time. I glanced around the hotel again. Everything was beautiful. Everything was expensive-looking. Everything made me wonder whether I had accidentally walked into the wrong building and whether someone would eventually appear and ask me to leave.
At the reception desk, Grayson handled everything with the effortless confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times. I stood beside him, trying to look normal while secretly studying the lobby. Then I leaned toward him and whispered, "Do I need to behave differently here?" He turned his head. "What do you mean?" "I mean... is there a special hotel etiquette?" He looked amused. "Just act normally." I stared at him. "This is not a normal environment." "It is." "Grayson, there are people here wearing gloves." "They're staff." "Exactly. That's not normal." He laughed under his breath. "Just relax, Liela." I exhaled and looked around once more. "Fine. I can do relaxed." I paused. "Do I tip people?" He looked at me. "If you want to." "How much?" "Whatever you think is appropriate." "That's not an answer." "You'll be fine." I sighed. Apparently, luxury hotels came with no instruction manual, which seemed like a serious design flaw.
When the receptionist handed Grayson the room keys, I looked at them, then at him. "Please tell me we have separate rooms." He gave me a slow, amused look. "Did you think I booked one room?" "I didn't know what kind of person you were before this trip." "And now?" I glanced around the luxurious lobby. "Now I know you're the kind of person who thinks this is normal." He smiled. "Come on." I followed him toward the elevators, pulling my backpack higher onto my shoulder. As the elevator doors opened, I stepped inside and caught my reflection in the polished metal. I looked exhausted, slightly rumpled, and completely out of place. I smiled at myself anyway. I had made it to Scotland. I had survived the flight. I had survived immigration. I had survived my three suitcases. And somehow, I had ended up in a hotel that looked like it belonged to a billionaire in a movie.
I looked at Grayson as the elevator doors closed.
"Just so we're clear," I said, "if someone asks me whether I've stayed somewhere like this before, I'm lying."
He smiled. "What will you say?"
I folded my arms.
"I'll tell them I own the place."
He laughed.
And for the first time since arriving in Scotland, I felt like maybe this trip wasn't going to be as terrifying as I'd imagined.
Maybe just expensive.