He started in Dunvegan.

One of his friends from school had taken over his father's pizza restaurant. It was suffering from the dramatic economic slowdown, but it still had decent traffic of locals and budget tourists. The pizza place sold alcohol, so it was open well into the night. It was a dated establishment, full of old polyester furniture that had been purchased in the 80s and Coca Cola branded napkin holders and glasses.

They had not spoken in some time, but when he showed up, he was greeted with a hand clap on the shoulder and a brief hug. The two men settled into a small table near the order counter so that James would be able to stand up and help a customer shoulder they come in.

James wore his hair in a low ponytail and donned a plain gray t-shirt and jeans almost every day. He was also a notorious gossip. He listened to everyone on the island who came looking for pizza, news, or absolution and was happy to oblige them.

"How ye daein then, old friend?" he asked, giving him his full attention.

"Fine, fine," he replied. "Busy."

"Aye," James nodded, taking a drink from his recently poured beer. "Anything new or excitin' going on in yer world?"

He cut right to the chase. "Hear about MacDonald have ye?"

James barked out a genuine laugh.

"It's been weeks – it's all anyone has wanted to bloody talk about on this isle. Most of them just love it. They think it's the sweetest story; they think they're bonnie together. No that there are no plenty who are suspicious of the whole matter, though they have started to move on."

"Aye," he replied blankly.

"Whit dae ye ken?" James asked accusingly.

"I should ask ye the same."

James rolled his eyes. "Folks said it was a bonnie wedding. The American lass, whatever her name is, is braw, though there's an agreement that she's older than him. Even though they only had a half a day notice. I'm sure MacDonald dinnae get much in the way of gifts with that type of planning."

"Mmm hmm."

"All I know is what he told his guests. She's an American he met in London a year back and they were planning on getting hitched, it was the aunt's idea to invite everyone last minute."

"Believe it?"

"The story?"

He nodded.

James scratched at his 5 o'clock shadow thoughtfully.

"Well that depends."

He cocked his head. "Depends on what?"

"Whatever ye have to tell me."

"The whole bloody thing is illegal."

James raised both of his eyebrows. He picked up his beer, took a long swig and then nodded. "Ye have my attention, mate."

"MacDonald was evading the banks and the Scottish government. I'm sure she's older than him. She's got money – hell she might even have a rich husband back in the states that she's bored with for all I ken. Might be a sugar daddy might be daddy's money, whatever it is…she's got access to it."

"How much of it?"

"Enough that a quarter of a million dollars was in her bloody checking account."

James let out a low whistle.

"Ye think she has an American husband she's still married to?" he wondered aloud, his mind spinning with the possibility.

His friend was annoyed that James had chosen to latch onto that piece of his statement rather than the fact that MacDonald had been evading financial law.

"The international transfer of funds is illegal – and that's all the whole thing was. He got out of paying his fair share to the government, a share that everyone else has to pay and that the government fucking needs right now!"

Years of inferiority crept into that last statement and James could clearly see the clear resentment.

"They're no really married!" he continued angrily, "I'm quite sure he had never met her until he fucking married her."

James leaned across the table lowering his voice.

"How do ye ken?"

He shook his head. "I was with him the day before they got married. He was no a man about to be married, I promise ye that."

James looked impressed.

"It's all a lie?"

"It's all illegal."

~O~

Sometime later found Edward stoking a fire in the stone fireplace that dwarfed the rest of the living room. As he blew steady breaths of air on the small flames in an attempt to coax them to grow bigger, he heard the steady hiss of the shower in the nearby bathroom turn off.

After her tears had dried, she had pulled hesitantly away from him, a sort of shyness creeping back into her. Or perhaps it was embarrassment, as he hardly doubted she had planned to share so much of her emotions, her confusion, her uncertainty with him. He had gallantly excused himself to build a fire and she had hurriedly gone off to shower and had been under the water for over 20 minutes.

However, he told himself that if she needed to hide a little bit after the most heated conversation the two of them had shared to date, that was certainly understandable.

Therefore, when she emerged in her damp hair, clad in that familiar University of Pennsylvania sweatshirt and a pair of fleece leggings and wool socks, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her.

She returned the smile tentatively, running her fingers through her wet, dark hair.

"Did you still have any of that wine of Lizzie's?" she asked, adjusting her hair as she did so.

Edward granted her a soft smile. "Aye."

Rising easily from his spot on the couch and then nodding to the seat he had just vacated,

he went into the kitchen to dig the Austrian wine out of the very back of the fridge. As he was pulling it out, the home phone rang.

For a moment, he debated on answering it. His wife was waiting for him in the other room, looking very much like she was in the mood to spend time with him.

But, when he realized it could be his younger sister, he sighed and answered it.

"'Ello?"

"Aye, Edward, just wanted to check in with ye," Carlisle said on the other end.

"About what?" he wondered.

"Jasper said a man in a suit showed up to Sleat, everything awright?"

Edward contemplated how much to share. On one hand, it was his uncle, the man who had been working at Sleat for decades. On the other hand, he had just had an argument about the whole conversation with a wife who was sitting within hearing distance.

"Aye, everything's fine. Someone was interested in buying Sleat," he said nonchalantly.

"Hmmm," Carlisle replied thoughtfully. "It would no be the first time that's come up in Sleat's history. How much were they willing to pay?"

Edward was surprised by the curiosity in Carlisle's voice.

"They did no want to buy the whole thing. They wanted some ownership rights but wanted us to keep running it," he explained lowly.

"They would want the MacDonald's to stay involved?" he asked.

"Aye it sounded like it."

"Hmm," he replied again. "What did Bella think about that all?"

The business card from Mr. Andrews was still in his pocket. It suddenly felt like fire against his thigh.

"We're still discussing it," he quickly replied, hoping Isabella would not hear the lie. "Actually Carlisle? I've got to let ye go, in the final stages of finishing dinner," he lied.

"Oh by all means," he allowed easily. "Talk to ye later, Edward."

Edward put the phone in the charging base as if it burned him.

Truth was, Mr. Andrews' offer had not left his mind. And while Isabella was not necessarily for it, she had not specifically barred him from considering it further. And at the end of the day, it was his family legacy.

So he would find a place for the business card.

He took a breath and then turned back to the wine. He took his time uncorking the bottle and finding two glasses before re-entering the living room which was now warmed and illuminated by the bright fire burning.

Bella was on her hands and knees on the rug, peering into the open TV stand that held all of their DVDs.

Edward made an amused sound in his throat, his conversation with Carlisle forgotten.

"Finding anything?" he asked.

"Your collection is dismal."

"Aye."

"I've never even heard of some of these movies."

"Aye."

Isabella narrowed her eyes in a playful manner. Humored, he raised an eyebrow.

"It has to be the Sound of Music…if it's Austrian wine."

Edward grinned.

"Aye, of course," he agreed seriously. "As long as it never has to be Braveheart with Scotch."

"Not a fan?" she asked.

He made a guttural noise in the back of his throat.

"If ye find even a single soul in Scotland who is a fan, I would be astonished."

"They may-

"Dinnae say it."

"- take our lives, but-"

"-they'll never take our freedom, aye, yes ye said it anyway," he deadpanned. "Shall I be starting this 6-hour movie then or shall we continue to discuss American butcheries in pop culture?"

Isabella giggled softly but moved away from the TV set.

After some coaxing on his part, the dusty DVD player was spinning the disc and the Julie Andrews' classic was playing for the first time ever in the house on the Trotternish peninsula. As they settled onto the coach facing the TV, Edward realized that while it was a favorite of his mother and Alice, he had never seen the musical.

Isabella was settled approximately ten inches away from him, her legs folded under her and tucked under an afghan. He sat with his arm thrown on the back of the coach in her general direction, a glass of wine in his other hand. As they watched together, he found himself genuinely enjoying the film, not in small part due to the company

Somewhere between the departure of the dreaded Baroness and her second glass of wine, Edward noted with amusement that Isabella's eyes began to flutter closed for longer and longer stretches of time.

By the time the nuns were once again singing in the abbey, Edward slipped her precariously held glass of wine out of her hand and set it on the coffee table with his. With an amused grin, he tucked her sleeping form into his side, letting her tired head fall onto his chest.

And after the day they'd had and the marriage they so far had built, he found himself finally relaxing.

"…loved that song," she mumbled sleepily.

Edward's eyebrows shot up in unexpected amusement. Emmett had been a sleep talker when they were growing up and sharing a bedroom so talking to the unconscious was not a shock for him.

"Aye?" he asked in amusement as the nun sang, "Climb Every Mountain."

He was fairly certain he was speaking to her last and most unguarded strains of consciousness.

"…mountain…" Isabella mumbled before letting out a tired breath and relaxing fulling against him. "Find your dream."

With a soft grin, Edward pushed aside some of her hair from her face.

"Aye," he agreed gently. "Aye, I hope ye do."

Next chapter finds two brothers arguing about something.

See you soon.