The Wedding Engagement

Chapter Twelve

The hotel was modern and opulent, all glass surfaces and shiny floors. The room they’d been ushered into for afternoon tea was like something from an upscale Scottish stately home—mahogany tables and gray tartan chairs spiced with colorful cozy throws. Arran glanced across the table at his beautiful “date” and wished that this was a real date.

He bit his lip, wondering for the millionth time that week how Liv’s actual date with Brodie had been. This was their first meeting since then, and a few times he’d started to compose a text asking her how it’d gone but then had deleted it every time. He wanted to know, and yet he didn’t want to know. Plus he was aware of the need to play down his interest in the subject so as not to reveal his jealousy. He’d bide his time and find a way to bring it up in conversation.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that last outing to the photographer’s studio and how it’d felt to have her in his arms along with his son. They’d been in that position before, in the fort, but this time it had felt different, as if they were a real family, and he couldn’t help thinking she felt it too. He was sure Liv found him attractive and that they had real, intense chemistry, plus something more. Something special. And yet he still felt her keeping him at arm’s length. Why? And she’d gone on that date with Brodie. Had she been able to let him in where she wouldn’t allow Arran?

Her green eyes were narrowed through the windows of her cute black-framed glasses as she watched him apply jam and cream to his scone, and for a moment, he was concerned that she knew what he was thinking.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.

Liv’s face broke out into a smile, and it made his breath catch. “You put the jam on first. Thank God. Now we can be best best friends.”

He laughed, feeling relieved. “That’s your criterion for a best mate, Aggie? How they apply the condiments to their scone?”

She sniffed, lifting her cup. “Of course. ’Tis a most important test, Mr. Adebayo. Ms. Bashir has failed on multiple occasions, and now you shall take her place.”

He grinned as he took a bite, licking the crumbs from his lips and catching her gaze being drawn to his mouth. “Excellent. Glad to take on the mantle.” He wiped his fingers on his serviette. “So you’re telling me Maya puts the cream on first?”

Liv nodded, a sage expression on her face. “I am.”

He pretended to gag. “That is appalling. No wonder you’ve ousted her.”

“Right?” she replied. “It really is disgraceful.”

He took out his phone. “I’ve got an idea.” He opened Google and began typing.

Liv leaned forward in an attempt to spy what he was doing across the table. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” The results of his search popped up and he grinned. “Aha! Got it.”

She clearly couldn’t wait for him to elaborate because she got to her feet to come around their low table. He took the opportunity to grab another gander at her gorgeous legs, feeling as if he was burning up inside. She was wearing a black above-the-knee pencil skirt with a white button-down shirt tucked in and black suspenders, which accentuated the curve of her breasts. The ensemble was completed with a black bow at the neckline. She looked like a sexy librarian.

Suddenly the thought of a secret tryst between the bookshelves slammed into his mind—her legs wrapped around his waist and him covering her mouth with his hand so the library patrons didn’t hear her cries of passion and point angrily at the “Shh! Quiet, Please” sign. His heart pumped harder in response to the tangibly clear image, blood rushing straight to his groin.

She settled in next to him on the two-seater chaise-style sofa, her petite form fitting snugly beside him, and her scent exacerbating his inappropriately sexy thoughts. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “See? The late Queen Elizabeth the second used to apply the jam first. So if it was good enough for Queenie…”

Liv took hold of the phone, her hand covering his and sending hot pulses over his skin. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep his thoughts on the former Queen of England and away from the sexy library fantasy.

“Good old Liz, God rest her,” Liv said, releasing his hand and giving him a grin. “Just wait until I tell Maya about this. She’ll be livid.”

Arran gave her a wink and admired the way her cheeks flushed in response. She’s so gorgeous.

His phone vibrated on the table and Jess’s name flashed up, killing his buzz. He could tell Liv had spotted it from the way she immediately put some distance between them on the sofa. Grabbing the phone to check that everything was okay, he read the message, which was a photo of Jayce waving. Jess had taken him back early so that he and Liv could come to Glasgow for their Sunday afternoon tea. Though she’d asked quite a few questions about the outing.

“How’s Jess doing?” Liv asked, reaching across the table to pick up her teacup.

A weird feeling infiltrated his stomach at the sound of Liv saying his ex’s name. He’d been infinitely confused since Jess had started her calling-all-the-time-to-keep-tabs routine. “She’s okay, I think.”

Liv sipped her tea. “Has she still been calling you as much?”

He ran a hand over the top of his hair. “Yeah. She gave me a bit of a grilling about today, actually. I just changed the subject in the end.”

Liv eyed him for a second, seeming to be thinking about what she wanted to say. “I know how hard the breakup has been for you. But it must be really hard for her too.”

He frowned. “How do you mean?” It hadn’t seemed too hard for her when she’d told him the wedding was off and then promptly taken up with Rory, moving in with him only a few weeks later. He rubbed at the hollowness the memory left in his chest.

She gave him a soft smile, reaching over to touch the back of his hand. “I’m not taking away from your hurt. I just feel she’s insecure, like Elise said the other night. Perhaps she’s always had that tendency, but it must be worse now that she’s with Rory. Sam says he’s a major player without much integrity.” She glanced away for a moment. “Maybe Jess is missing the trust she used to have with you.”

His heart seemed to thud a little more forcefully in his chest. She was missing him? Could that be true? It hadn’t seemed like it thus far. “Really? She’s seemed pretty infatuated with Rory from the word go.”

She nodded, bringing her gaze back to him. There was an odd look in her green eyes, but what was it? Sadness? “Sometimes people need a frame of reference in order to realize what they’re missing. I wonder whether Rory’s example has provided that, and now it’s dawning on Jess that she doesn’t like what she sees.”

A few months ago, he would’ve been delighted to hear someone express that opinion. But now it made him feel uncomfortable and sad. “You think she’s unhappy?”

She winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry about her. I just think that you need to open yourself up to the idea that she might want to rekindle things. I mean, I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then it not come to anything, but if the opportunity arises, you should have a conversation about it.”

Get his hopes up? He hoped for nothing of the sort. He’d tried to seek a reconciliation when they’d first broken up, and she hadn’t been interested. And now that ship had long sailed. He eyed Liv, feeling their connection and his deep, “want her to the depths of my soul” attraction. “I can’t do that.”

She shifted a little closer, her scent distracting him. “Arran. Don’t let your pride get in the way. If there’s any chance of a rekindling and you still love her, you can’t let it slip through your fingers.”

Love her? He didn’t love Jess. Not anymore. But before he could say that out loud, a couple of women walked past the back of their two-seater sofa, and Liv leaned in. “You see those two ladies?” she asked softly.

He nodded, even though he didn’t. He’d been distracted by Liv and for all he knew it could’ve been a couple of wild beasts wandering past the area. Though that was probably unlikely in a five-star city hotel.

Liv smiled. “I overheard them before saying that you look like Regé-Jean Page.”

Arran frowned. “Who?”

“You know.” She leaned closer, bringing her mouth close to his ear. If his playing dumb brought her into this proximity, then he’d pretend to never understand anything ever again.

“The Duke of Hastings,” she finished, pulling back to give him a knowing look.

He gave her a bemused smile in return. “Who?”

Liv rolled her eyes. “He’s an actor. He played the Duke of Hastings on the first season of Bridgerton .”

“I have no idea what any of that means,” he replied, loving the exasperated expression on her face.

She grabbed his phone and fiddled with it, passing it back with an image on-screen. Arran studied the photo of a handsome dude in a smart fitted emerald-green suit, a matching waistcoat under his jacket. “Nice. My suit’s darker, though, and my waistcoat isn’t in a matching material.”

Liv laughed, bumping his shoulder. “Not your outfit . Your face, dumbass.”

He smiled. “I suppose I’ll take that. The guy is good-looking.”

“And hot,” Liv said, her eyes widening as she finished the last syllable and her face staining pink again.

He couldn’t help his smile morphing into a grin. “As in, he’s hot, or I am?”

She cleared her throat and he found himself enjoying her discomfort. Recovering, she flicked a wave of dark hair from her face, her chin raised in defiance. “Both of you.”

He held her gaze, his pulse ramping up. She was looking at him like she’d been having her own sexy fantasies. But could that be right when only a couple of minutes ago she had been telling him he should consider getting back together with his ex?

Her phone buzzed and her whole body jolted, eyes wide with what looked like fear.

“Whoa there,” he said, touching her hand in concern. “It’s just a message.”

She was staring at her phone on the table as if it were a poisonous snake.

An anxious feeling circled his gut at the wide-eyed look on her face. “Liv? What’s up?” He shifted closer as she leaned over to lift the phone.

Shuddering, she shook her head. “It’s…” Ducking her head, she glanced around. “It’s fucking Dave.”

Arran couldn’t help but smile that she’d checked the coast was clear before swearing in public, though this place was pretty posh and they probably didn’t get that many expletive-shouting patrons. His smile quickly fell away when he registered the name she’d mentioned. “Your dad? What the hell does he want?”

She lifted the phone between them and they huddled round it, Arran absorbing the privilege that she was allowing him to read it with her.

Douchebag Dave

Why haven’t you replied? I’m your father, Olivia. Show some fucking respect.

Normally the fact that Liv had her dad in her phone as “Douchebag Dave” would’ve tickled him, but the nasty words on-screen left him cold and nauseated. He clenched his fist. “What’s he talking about?”

She sighed and crumpled against him, as if she were deflating, and he put his arm around her. “He messaged before, last weekend. And I deleted it.”

Lifting a hand, he tucked her hair behind her ear. This was a big deal. Dave never contacted the twins, and now he was messaging Liv multiple times after recently speaking to Sam? “What did it say?”

She shrugged. “Asking about Sam’s wedding.”

Frowning, he lifted her chin to meet her eyes. “That’s it? Nothing about you?”

Something shifted in her gaze and he could tell he’d tuned in to an important point. “Nope,” she replied. “Not a sausage.”

“Douchebag,” Arran said under his breath.

“Yeah.” She nestled into his side. “Hence the handle I’ve given him in my phone.”

Arran allowed himself a gentle laugh, giving her a squeeze.

She played with one of the buttons on his waistcoat. “I mean, it’s no surprise. Well, him contacting us is. But him not asking about me isn’t. He was never interested in me at all. Not that he showed Sam much more attention, but he kind of saw him as a reflection of himself. When he was forced into taking on a parenting role such as a lift to our clubs, he’d always say he’d take Sam to his and Mum could take me to mine. Said he couldn’t relate to me because I was a girl.” She took a breath. “I always felt like the third, unwanted, wheel.”

Arran stiffened. “What a dick.” If he was ever lucky enough to have a daughter, there would be no way he’d behave like that. He drew Liv closer. “He was privileged to have you as his daughter. I’m sorry he fucked it up.”

Her voice was so quiet that he had to strain to hear her words. “And fucked me up. At least when he left, I didn’t truly feel like I lost anything. Because I never really had a dad in the first place.”

An icy knife dug into his heart, and he grasped her hand.

She gave him a squeeze. “It was worse for Sam, really. Because they’d had some semblance of a relationship before Dave buggered off.”

“There you go again,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “Putting everyone else’s feelings before your own. It was just as bad for you as it was for Sam. You deserve support too, Liv.”

She stayed silent, so he didn’t push it any further.

He kissed the top of her head, his heart aching for her. “Come on, Aggie. Let’s finish the scones and tea, then I’ll buy you something stronger before we catch the train home.”

—

Liv collapsed into the seat by the train window as he placed their takeaway coffee cups on the table. “Blimey,” she said, blowing a wave of hair away from her glasses. “That last cocktail has totally gone to my head.”

He grinned, sitting down next to her. “Are you sure it was the last one, and not the two prior to it?”

She pursed her lips and it made him want to kiss them. “No. It was defo the last one.”

“Okay. Whatever you say, Aggie,” he said, taking off his jacket.

She removed her coat and stretched. Arran toiled to keep his eyes off how her breasts strained against the white fabric of her shirt. It was such hard work that it had him questioning why he was so determined to keep his hands off her. With his inhibitions somewhat eroded by the alcohol, he was thinking that maybe he should stop being cautious and go for it. Lay it all on the line and then if it all went wrong, surely they were grown up enough to still be friends. Surely, with the way we gel, it wouldn’t ever go wrong…

“Arran. I have had the most wonderful day with you out and about town.” Her words were slightly slurred, and with a cold dousing of his feelings, he figured now wasn’t the time to voice his thoughts. He needed her to be sober and of sound mind first.

Arran tipped an imaginary cap. “You are welcome. I’ll take you out on the town anytime.”

Liv smiled. “Thanks for listening to my woes.”

Warmth filled his heart. “You are, again, very welcome. I like that you can talk to me.” I love it, actually.

“Me too.” She sighed. “I seem to be quite the motormouth lately. Moaning to you today, and even with Brodie last weekend.”

Ice formed in his veins, freezing him in his seat. It had finally come up in conversation, and this was the bombshell—she’d confided in Brodie? When she hardly knew the guy? His heart clenched and a fiery jealousy consumed the warm, privileged feeling he’d gotten when he’d thought that he was the only one Liv had opened up to. The date must have gone well if Liv had poured her heart out to him. He rubbed at his chest, the hollow sensation feeling deeper than usual.

Arran fiddled with his coffee cup as the train began to move, suppressing the urge to ask her what was going on with Brodie because he couldn’t trust himself to do it in a socially appropriate manner. He wanted to get home, track Brodie down, pin him against a wall, and tell him to keep away from Liv.

He took a breath, his voice tight. “Sounds like you two got along well.”

“Yeah, brilliant,” she said, settling into her seat. “He’s really cool. I’m glad he’s coming on the Skye trip. Hopefully you can get to know him better too, because I reckon you’ll get along great.”

Arran clenched his jaw. Get along great? If that involves me whupping his ass, then yeah. We’ll get along great. “I’m sure we will.”

Hold on, why did Liv want him to “get along great” with Brodie? Because she wanted Arran, as her new “best friend,” to make pals with her new love interest? His heart plummeted into his gut. That must be why she had been trying to get him to rekindle with Jess. She wanted her best friend paired off in the same way that she was pairing off.

Fuck fuck fuck. Typical. The moment the idea of voicing his feelings for Liv crossed his mind, this happened. He’d been right when he’d told Agnes next door that it was a bad idea.

“Speaking of the weekend away,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to his emotional turmoil, “I think we’ve got it all organized now.”

He swallowed, trying to get hold of himself. “Yeah. The transport is arranged, accommodation and dinner booked, and”—he managed a wink—“the most important part, the itinerary, is set.”

“By the A team,” Liv said, holding out her palm for a low five, which he took. She then settled back into her seat and snuggled against his shoulder. Arran took a couple of breaths, trying to compose the words to ask her how serious this thing with Brodie was, but he struggled to find a casual enough manner in which to phrase it. Why him? Why not me?

When he eventually opened his mouth to stutter the start of a sentence, her eyes were closed and her breathing even as she slept on his shoulder.

Arran grabbed his jacket, lifting it to cover her as he put his arm around her. He glanced up, catching an older couple across the carriage giving them a soft smile—clearly laboring under the misapprehension that they were a couple. Something that seemed to happen often nowadays. First with Angela and Sarah, the two brides at the evening reception they’d visited. And then with Henry the photographer. Clearly people were seeing something that wasn’t there, because Liv was going out with someone else.

He’d honestly felt that he and Liv had been coming together, slotting right into a position that was meant to be. But now events were taking them in a different direction. Pulling them apart.

He tried to settle into his seat, feeling her chest rise and fall against him and mourning the fact that she was slipping through his fingers. But he wanted her to be happy, so if she had made the choice to pursue someone else, then he had to respect that. And yet his stupid heart still had trouble with the idea of letting her go.

Perhaps her getting with Brodie had come at the right time—when he had been close to telling her that he liked her as more than a friend. When he’d been close to asking if he could kiss her. Because his getting involved with anyone again was a bad idea, and that person being his best friend was a seriously bad one. Especially since said friend was about to become his son’s nursery school teacher. Even more imperative that he didn’t fuck up their relationship by trying something romantic that might end up going south. He couldn’t let his relationship status affect his son. Perhaps this was for the best, then. He just needed to come to terms with that. And part of that objective would involve not discussing Liv’s relationship with Brodie until he could trust himself not to burst into a fiery ball of jealous rage.

He glanced down at her beautiful sleeping features. The only way he could think of to successfully extricate himself emotionally was to put a bit of distance between them. He’d get her home safely and into bed, then he’d keep away from her for a bit. Just until he could be sure that he wasn’t going to ruin her happiness.