“IF IT WEREN’T STORMING outside, I’d say it looks beautiful. It’s my first real experience in the snow,” I say, after Mike takes the new route that Damien’s related to him.

Damien turns to me, a wrinkle creasing his forehead. “Really?”

“Well, I’ve lived most of my life in Mumbai where the only seasons are warm, wet and hot.”

“How is it that you never visited up North in India? Don’t the Himalayas have several peaks that have snow all year around?”

“They do and I have seen them. It was fascinating and bewitching to see the snow-covered mountains. We even climbed a slope so I could touch the snow.” I smile recollecting that incident. “But now, to be witnessing such a storm is quite overwhelming. I didn’t even know that it could thunder and snow together.”

Damien glances outside. “Thunder-snow is rare but it occurs at times. The weather here in the highlands has a mind of its own, indeed.”

Earlier in the day, it was just a tad bit cloudy when I landed in Inverness. However, in a short few hours the roads are blanketed with white, the trees are swaying against the heavy wind, the snow is falling in thick clumps and the visibility is getting worse.

Mike is definitely having a hard time navigating the car through this horrible weather and we are moving at a snail’s pace now.

Damien’s once again busy on his phone so I gaze outside the window, my breaths clouding the windowpane as I take in the passing sights. A few seconds later, Jonathan’s estate comes into view and then we cross it entirely and are on a different route.

“Where are we?” I ask Damien. “Seems to me that we’re driving in completely the opposite direction. We just crossed Jonathan’s estate.”

He lifts his eyes from his phone to look at the road in front. He rubs a finger down his temple.

“Mike, take a right from up ahead,” he instructs him.

Damien turns to face me. “You’re correct. We’re going in the opposite direction. I doubt the jet will be able to take off in this storm, that is if we manage to reach the airfield. I’d rather wait out the storm some place warm and cozy rather than be stuck in the car. So, we’re going to my house.”

“What? Your house?”

Once again, I had no clue that he has a house here, in the wildest part of Scotland. And he has a private jet? He owns a Goddamn jet! He spoke of that so casually as if it were an everyday occurrence while I could only gape at him, unable to utter a word. In my life, people in magazines like Vogue and Prestige own jets. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that my husband is so filthy rich.