My Very Own Scottish Romance

Los Angeles

The silence in the Stone mansion is overwhelming. Even the tiniest sound echos in the big, bright rooms as if the walls whisper among themselves the secrets of the universe any chance they get. 

The rattling of the keys wakes the house in the morning on the first Tuesday of May. The massive door opens with a quiet protest because no one has used it in a long time. It shuts with a bang of relief.   

"Emelia, where are you sweetie?" Syanna's voice resonates in the bright hall. She throws her keys on the nearest table and starts walking towards the stairs. She looks up expectantly, as if she imagined Emelia already waiting for her on the top of the staircase. 

"Are you up there?" She sings happily and when there is still no answer, she moves on as if nothing really happened. She walks into the kitchen and starts making herself a cup of tea, with annoyance looking at the dirty dishes in the sink. 

Suddenly, Emelia emerges from the sofa. All of her movements are slow, her sleepy gaze gives away she has just woken up. She looks bad. Her long ginger hair, once beautiful and shiny, is now in a messy bun on top of her head. Although, a bun is a generous word; the concoction that is on her head looks more like a bird's nest. Her face is visibly tired, the dark circles under her puffy eyes look almost sickly, her nose is shiny and red, just like Rudolph's. 

"Oh, sweetie!" Syanna cries out after finally noticing Emelie and jumps to pull her into a tight hug. "Tell me, what do you need? Did you get your groceries delivered two days ago?" She starts rambling while touching up Emelie's hair. She looks around the room and sighs. "Your house is such a mess. Where is that maid of yours, what's her name again?"

Emelia rolls her eyes and pushes an empty donut box to sit on the counter. 

"I gave her some time off," she says quietly. Over the last weeks, Emelie minimalized any unnecessary contact with other people. The questions about her mother were clearly getting to her and she couldn't stand them any longer. Loneliness is better, safer. 

Syanna gasps as if Emelia told her she had to clean the whole house herself wearing last season's high heels.  

"Time off? Are you crazy?" she screams, genuinely terrified. But one look at Emelia's face is enough to make her change her tone to compassionate. 

"Have you talked to your therapist?" Syanna asks and pours a second cup of tea for Emelia. She takes the beverage with appreciation. 

"Everyday," Emelia answers with a sigh. She can't imagine where she would be without her daily calls with Robert. 

"Good," Syanna pours a cup of tea and sits on the counter next to Emelia. They sit together for a while, each of them appreciating the silence between them.  

"Good news!" Synanna suddenly screams and starts jumping with excitement. "Just yesterday you gained two thousand new followers. You're still on the lips of the whole Internet, every magazine wants to interview the new CEO of the Butterfly! We are still unsure which one to pick for an exclusive!"

"That's... great." But Emelia doesn't sound thrilled at all. Her voice is flat and silent. 

"Great? Hun, that's amazing!" Syanna energetically twists her hair with pure excitement. "You really need to start interacting with your followers again, they're going to love it! You can even make it meaningful, just how you like it. Talk about grief, how you're coping, what's helping you live through this terrible, terrible times!" Syanna sounds way too happy to be talking about mourning someone you loved and lost unexpectedly. 

Emelia nods her head but her mind is miles away. Her management, just two days after her mother's death decided to milk that topic to get her more popular. They even hired an assistant who posted on her i********: every day to keep the momentum going. And, as one can see, they succeeded. 

"How's your book going? You should send the next draft by the end of the month." Syanna pulls her phone out and starts quickly typing something on the screen. She opens up the google calendar and worryingly looks at the date. 

Emelia holds back a painful scream. Are they really expecting she's going to sit down and finish a book while mourning her dead mother? At the thought of Margaret her eyes fill out with tears. She will be forever broken by this accident. Every day she sits at her laptop and tries writing, but it feels as though words escaped from her head for good. Every night she goes to sleep feeling worthless, because she can't do anything. She takes the most important calls from her sofa or her bed and immediately after that she goes straight back to sleep. 

"I'm trying," she finally whispers. 

"I know." Syanna looks at her compassionately for a second before turning her attention to her phone again. "Maybe you should really consider Daphne, she's an amazing writer and she knows how to mimic your style perfectly"

Daphne - her assistant and the ghostwriter of all her recent posts. And now possibly the ghostwriter of her next novel. 

"No," Emelie replies strongly. Writing is something she cannot give up. Everyone is helping her with social media and with the publishing house, and that's fine by her. But Daisy's Baby is her... baby. She is going to finish it the way she wants if it's the last thing she does. 

"Have you even thought about it for more than one second?" Syanna's voice is sweet as always but there is some annoyance hiding behind those words. 

Emelie's chest starts hurting from anxiety. She takes a few deep breaths, just like Robert taught her to, but the pain doesn't want to give up that easily. "You know I did."

"You're just being proud and stubborn. There's nothing wrong with asking for help." Syanna quickly rolls her eyes. "The deadline is final and it's either going to be your version or hers."

Emelie gasps loudly.

"Can they really do that?" 

"They can do everything, sweetie. That's why you need to read your contracts," as if to emphasize her last sentence Syanna loudly bites into an apple. 

"I tried writing, it's like there is this block inside my head that's restraining any words or thoughts. I can't get rid of it just like that," Emelia flicks her hand."My mum died three weeks ago for f***s sake. I have no one left in this world and all they care about is money" 

"That's the industry. And hey, don't complain, thanks to them you're one of the richest twenty-year-olds in the world." There is no denying the bitterness of Syanna's tone. 

"Half of that money is my mum's"

"Was your mum's." Syanna pulls out her laptop unaware of how insensitive that comment was. "And besides, you earned the other still extremely huge half."

Emelia hides her face in her hands desperately trying to hold back the tears crippling in her eyes. 

"What should I do?"

"You should thank God you have me, cause as always I have a brilliant idea." Syanna smiles from behind the screen. " Why don't you go to Scotland? It's the home of the gothic so it should be a great inspiration for Daisy's Baby. "

"Home of the gothic?" Emelia snorts. "Where did you get that phrase from?"

"I didn't study English for nothing, you know! Sooo, what are we thinking?"

"I don't know."

Syanna once again rolls her eyes.  

"But trust me, I know. You'll get your mind off things and might actually get some inspiration from the sights. Google Scotland. Everything there is beautiful. Besides, your followers will love it! You'll post cute pictures and write how a solo trip is teaching you so much about yourself and that you're connecting with nature and history, bla, bla, bla" 

Syanna starts vigorously typing on the keyboard. Her eyes shine brightly with typical for her excitement, now enhanced by the light from the screen. 

"I can put you on the flight to Glasgow first thing tomorrow morning. Business class, just how you like it. Or we can arrange a private jet but I don't think your followers will like it. So business class it is. This has to be an ordinary girl solo trip to Europe." 

Emelia nods but she doesn't share the excitement of her friend. She stares blankly at the screen. 

"Pack warm, sweetie! Scotland is no Los Angeles"