Late March 1927, Edinburgh Scotland
It wasn’t the life Samira’s parents wanted for her. She was supposed to marry a man like her father, one who could help run the company she would inherit. Yet, here she was, in a small house in Scotland, making dinner for herself and a man she was not married to. Her parents liked Montgomery when she’d brought him to India—though secretly, her father had implied that while she would still inherit plenty of money upon his death if she married Montgomery, her male cousins would get the company, not she.
She didn’t know what was worse, the threat of being cut out from the business her family had worked decades for or the fact she didn’t care if her cousins got everything. Samira supposed that was what love did to someone. She was willing to live in a completely different country, where accents were difficult to understand, and the food was atrocious because she loved Montgomery. Of course, Scots were much kinder to her than most English—perhaps it was over a shared bond of being ruled over by a bunch of culture-lacking idiots, or how Montgomery and his sister Elspeth called them when their English friends weren’t around, numpty cunts.
She tried to spend her free time with the local Indian community in Edinburgh, but most days she was alone in their house while Montgomery treated the poor. She didn’t have siblings or female cousins, so she had grown up mostly alone. It didn’t bother her.
Some days Samira spent hours staring at the photographs of Montgomery and Edeline. When they had moved in, Montgomery set those aside, knowing it was inappropriate to have all those photos of his former wife, but she had insisted on hanging them. She thought it cruel to leave her in a dark corner, gathering dust. She was not jealous of the woman her lover had married years ago. She knew how deeply he felt for her—the quiet weeping in the late of the night he thought she did not hear when it was their wedding anniversary or her birthday and day of death. Samira knew she was loved by him, and therefore found it pointless to deny the presence of Edeline’s ghost.
The door opened, and the Scotsman walked in with a smile on his face—most days he came home upset, groaning over the sick people he couldn’t help.
Samira welcomed the change of emotions as she kissed to greet him. “You’re in a good mood.”
He nodded. “Aye. Today’s a good day.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I dinna ken. Just is.”
During dinner, Montgomery talked her ear off, telling her a humorous thing that had happened at the hospital where he worked. It was the happiest he’d looked in some time, and Samira was sure there was a reason behind his mood. It was nefarious to think so, but for someone who’d dealt with bouts of melancholia often, being this happy meant there was a force behind it.
In the evening, after they’d gotten ready for bed, Montgomery played an old classical song on their phonograph, twirling her into a waltz. While she had learned Western dances for fast-paced jazz such as the Foxtrot and Charleston, she’d never learn how to properly waltz—at Byron and Eleora’s wedding, she’d spent most of the slow dances drinking until proper jazz began to play. Montgomery led them slowly as she tried to clumsily follow along, praying she wouldn’t step on his toes.
“Ya make me wanna do this every night,” he claimed, his blue eyes unfocused without his glasses.
“Step on your toes while I try not to make a fool of myself?”
He chuckled. “No. Just… bein’ with ya. Together.”
Samira stepped away from him and crossed her arms. “What are you plotting?”
“I know you’re up to something.”
At this, he paused before slowly nodding. “Aye, ya’ve got me there, darlin’.”
He walked toward the nightstand on his side of the bed, putting on his glasses and opening the drawer to fetch something. “I’d like to see ya when I do this.”
He smiled, turning around, and she quickly realized he was holding a small box. “I think… I’m ready. To move on. I fuckin’ love ya, Samira,” he began, bending on a knee, revealing a ring adorned with a small diamond. “I wanna marry ya. And… I ken that I’m not the man yer parents wanted for ya. I’m a hypocrite when it comes to me politics and friends, and I’m difficult to live with. I canna offer the life ya deserve, but I love ya, and I’ll do anythin’ for ya. I’ll be yer husband, if ya’ll have me.”
Samira pulled him by his arm to stand. “Oh, shut up you bloody melodramatic Scot, of course I will fucking marry you—I don’t care what people think of us. I love you. And that’s all I need.”