Lachlan seemed grateful for the subject change. “It’s a place in Scotland. In Argyll. Dad said Mum just always liked the name. Arran is a Scottish place name too. That’s why it’s spelled with two r’s.”
“I’d like to see both. I’d like to see everywhere here.”
“Scotland’s in your blood.”
“It is,” I admitted.
“You’re glad you came?”
We hadn’t spoken about my feelings regarding Mac. We’d talked about the time I spent with Mac, which was less now since my father had gotten his way and returned to work. Yet Lachlan seemed wary of broaching the subject of Mac. In fact, I got the distinct impression his and Mac’s relationship had become somewhat superficial these last three weeks. I wasn’t sure what was going on there, but I did know it was about me, and that did not sit well. I knew I should end things with Lachlan. Every time I’d made up my mind to walk away, he’d touch me. And then I was lost.
“Of course, I am,” I replied. “It’s not easy to forgive him for not trying harder, but knowing that he did try makes all the difference. And it’s … we have a connection. There’s no denying the bond, and there’s no denying that I haven’t felt like a complete person until I came here to fix things with him.”
“And now you’ve fallen in love with Scotland. I can see it in your photos.”
I grinned. “It’s difficult not to be seduced by this place.”
“Well, you are easily seduced,” he teased.
“I can be unseduced.” I pulled my hand out of his hold and he laughed. Shaking my head at his nonsense, I continued, “In all seriousness, how could you leave this place for Hollywood? How did that happen? You don’t talk about it.”
Lachlan sighed, tucking his arms underneath his pillows to relax into them. “Not because of any particular reason. I just assumed it was all out there for everyone to know because I’ve done so many interviews.”
“I’m not the type who watches celebrity interviews.”
He grinned again. “No, I suppose not.”
“So, how did it happen for you?”
“It was an accident. I was a second year at St. Andrews Uni, a prelaw undergraduate, and I hated it. The best part was being on the rugby team and getting student discounts at the local pubs.”
“Your first time away from family?”
He nodded. “It was strange. Felt like I was abandoning them but at the same time, I …” Guilt flashed across his eyes.
And I got it. I understood that feeling completely. “You felt free.”
Lachlan’s expression tightened. “I was young.”
“I don’t have that excuse. I felt like a third parent to my sister for so long, and finally I’m doing what I want to do and it doesn’t revolve around my mom and Seth or Regan. So I get it.”
His gaze softened. “I fully enjoyed the experience, let’s say. And one of my suite mates was an aspiring actor. He’d gotten wind that Kevin Pierce, the director behind the comic book movies, was filming scenes for the latest one in Edinburgh, and they were looking for extras. Somehow I got roped into going with him, and the producer picked me out. She liked my look. Asked if I could fake a right hook. Afterward she gave me her card.”
I guffawed. “Just like that?”
“I know,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Actors who have been working for years to get noticed hate that shit when they hear it. I’m not well liked in that regard. But the producer was actually serious. Wanted me to audition for another movie.”
“She wanted to have sex with you.”
He looked away.
“Oh my God, I’m right.”
“It wasn’t tawdry sexual blackmail. I would have gotten the work without it.”
“But you had sex with her, anyway?”
“She was an attractive, confident older woman.”
I chuckled. “So you had sex with her.”
His eyes lit up with humor, and he shrugged. “It led to some smaller bit parts here and there, and I liked it. I enjoyed being on a set. Got myself an agent, some acting lessons, and honestly, it all happened so fast. The next thing I knew, I was in New York filming as a young action hero lead in a sci-fi movie. It was … surreal.”
“But you enjoyed it?”
“For a while,” he admitted. “I spent my twenties traveling the world, working hard, playing just as hard, and making a lot of money. But I missed home, and I missed my family.”
“The Hollywood allure wasn’t enough?”
“I never liked Hollywood. There’s a smell of desperation in the air.”
“Don’t you miss it, though? Acting? Top-level fame?”
“I didn’t pay attention to the fame when it was happening.”
“How can you not pay attention to that?”
“Because for someone like me, it would just have constantly pissed me off to pay attention to it. Some celebrities feed off that shit. They need it. That was never the reason I decided to get into acting. And tabloids are bastards. At the height of my career, I was constantly followed by the paps. They took a photograph and spun it into absolute bullshit that the public bought into. You can’t let it get to you, so you learn ways to ignore most of it. My agent and publicist were constantly on my back to go online and nurture my fandom, but I only had to talk to friends and acquaintances who were doing that to see how quickly it could turn on them.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s why I’m still not online. There’s this eagerness to condemn someone for their actions no matter the severity, or lack thereof, without examining or attempting to understand the circumstances. It’s depressing. I mean, if we applied that lack of compassion and bloodthirsty attitude to real life and the law, Western civilization would still be hanging people for stealing fruit.”
I had to admit, I didn’t think he was wrong. “I have to be online.”
“I don’t mean you,” he said. “You’re on there for your business,
