Page 13 of Highlands Summer Wedding

Caitlin’s reply came too quickly. “That’s different. She did production. Scheduling. Logistics.”

I bit my tongue. Three indie features and crew work on two studio films apparently counted for nothing.

“You know, when my band made videos—” Angus began.

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Wait, I knew you had a band, but you had videos and everything?”

“Ages ago…”

“Oh, I’m definitely watching those later.” Caitlin’s smirk was pure mischief.

Angus winced. “Fine, but listen—we hired film students, and they did brilliant work. Not hobbyists—I hate that term—but people studying the craft.”

“But if Abby’s behind the camera,” Caitlin said, hugging herself against the Highland chill, “who’ll be in the photos with me?”

“I can take a few of you sisters together. Or, you know, I’ve got a mate who lives nearby. Let me ring him and we’ll see…”

Caitlin glanced at the darkening sky. “This whole plan is falling apart, isn’t it?”

I squared my shoulders. “We have everything we need—location, wardrobe. I’ll handle your hair and makeup.”

“There’s the producer I remember,” Caitlin said softly. “You were brilliant at it.”

I managed a smile.

“Let’s work with what we have,” I said. “We’ll catch the light here, then find something even better on Skye.”

Caitlin narrowedthe dresses down to three options. Each dress shared the same understated elegance—clean lines, cream-colored fabric, nothing fussy or ornate—exactly what you’d expect from my sister who color-coded her sock drawer.

She slipped into the first one, tugging at shoulders that drooped despite her perfect posture. The second swallowed her entirely, yards of fabric with no idea where Caitlin ended and the dress began. But when she emerged in the third, even she couldn’t suppress a smile.

My breath caught as I laid eyes on her. “Stunning.”

Caitlin turned in front of the mirror, taking in the dress from all angles. “Wow.”

The borrowed gown hugged her frame like it had been tailored just for her.

“I mean, maybe I could buy this from her or wear it again for the real wedding.”

“If she’s loaned it out, I think she’d be open to that.”

With a light hand, I smoothed a sheer layer of foundation over her skin, brushed a little smoky shadow along her lash line, and dabbed a hint of rosy tint onto her lips. My fingers braided stems of heather and lavender together, weaving in sprigs of baby’s breath until a delicate crown took shape. I placed it on her hair and stepped back.

“Do you want to hold a bouquet?” I asked.

Caitlin glanced at the sky. “The rain’s holding off. I say we make a mad dash before it starts again.”

Then, glancing at Angus in his formal kilt, she frowned. “Maybe this is a terrible idea. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding.”

He planted a kiss on her cheek and took her hand. “It’s just a superstition.”

“Tell that to your family, who freaks out if you try to stir the oats counter-clockwise or you forget to leave some butter out for the?—”

“The Good Folk,” Angus interjected.

I raised an eyebrow.

“The wee people,” he added.