Page 35 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Unsuitable for what?”
“For Glenfield. For the Highlands. For… us.”
The silence that follows is as thick as cold porridge.
“All right,” I finally say. “What exactly do you expect from me?”
Mrs. MacLeish exchanges another look with the others, then folds up her list.
“We thought it might be best if you found somewhere else to stay. It would be better for everyone.”
“You’re asking me to leave.”
“We’re strongly suggesting you leave,” she corrects.
I let out a humorless laugh.
“That’s the same thing.”
“Not legally,” the man in the tweed cap points out. “Technically, it’s a suggestion.”
“A unanimous suggestion,” Moira adds.
“In fact,” Mrs. MacLeish says, suddenly recovering a hint of enthusiasm, “perhaps we should vote. To make it official.”
She taps the table twice like a judge with a gavel.
“All those who think Doctor McLeod should find another place to stay?”
Six hands rise.
All of them.
Simultaneously.
“All those who think he should stay?”
No movement around the table.
Out of pure defiance, I raise my own hand.
“One vote against six,” Mrs. MacLeish announces. “The motion passes.”
“The motion,” I repeat. “You turned my eviction into a parliamentary procedure.”
“We’re civilized in Glenfield,” Duncan Fraser replies.
I stand up, my legs slightly trembling.
Not from fear.
From restrained rage.
Frustration.
Exhaustion.
