Page 122 of The Wedding Engagement

He gave her an empathetic look. “A couple of conversations don’t wipe out a lifetime of trauma, Liv. Remember what you told me at Christmas—that I needed to face my past and work through it with Maya. Oh, and I believe you also said, ‘Get some therapy,’ ” he added with a smile.

“I know,” she said, fiddling with her throw. “But that was different.”

“Different as in—do as I say, not as I do?” He raised an eyebrow.

She stayed silent.

“Being strong for others doesn’t mean neglecting yourself, sis,” he said gently. “There’s a lot to unpack.”

She bit her lip in an effort to hold back the tears. “Thanks for speaking to Mum for me.” She nudged his arm. “You’re all right, as far as twins go.”

He nudged her in return. “Same goes for you.” He lifted his wrist to check his watch. “I need to head out. Few more errands torun apart from delivering messages of love from my bestie to my sister.” He stood.

Messages of love.Had Arran told Sam he loved her? She thought about his letters, all signedLove, always, Arran. Had he meant that literally?

She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, when he’d told her that he was going to tell her how he felt—once she was ready. Or at least once he could no longer hold out. She hoped he meant that his feelings ran as deep as hers, that not only did he want a relationship but that he loved her too.

She got up to follow Sam to the front door, where she waved him off.

“Thanks for sharing your scones with me,” he said as he departed. Then he gave her a wink over his shoulder. “And don’t worry. I have a feeling that everything’s going to come together at the wedding.”

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Liv didn’t bother to getup any earlier than her normal on Monday, now that she knew the person delivering her messages and treats was Sam and not Arran. But she still headed straight for the letterbox before having a shower.

The envelope contained a picture of Arran dressed like Regé-Jean Page’s depiction of the Duke of Hastings, and she let out a gasp when she saw it. “That is amazing,” she said out loud. He looked hot AF. She unfolded the letter.

Dear Aggie,

I hope you enjoyed the scones and that they reminded you of our afternoon tea. Another confession—that afternoon your outfit had me fantasizing that you were a hot librarian and I had my wicked way with you amongst the stacks. Speaking of which, I’ve watched the first series ofBridgertonas research after you told me I looked like the dude from the show. I’m thinking of investing in a library ladder…

Love, always,

Arran

“Holy shit.” He’d watchedBridgertonfor her. And referencedthatscene. A romance reader’s dream. Liv pulled at the collar of her T-shirt as her core temperature rose by a couple of degrees.

Then, all day, images of that very scene kept passing through her mind, except she was the one on the ladder with Arran’s face buried between her legs.

—

The next morning, when theenvelope contained her nude charcoal sketch, Liv very nearly got out her phone to call him to come over. But something still stopped her—apart from the desire to see what the rest of the week brought in terms of his messages. It was clear he felt something for her. But was that enough? Was she enough? Did she even deserve him when she was so…dented, as her mother had put it? She opened the letter.

Dear Aggie,

This is an image I really, really hope I get to see again. That day was the hottest experience of my life. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever painted or sketched. More so than any spectacular view in Glenavie or the whole of Scotland. The world even. I want to paint you every day. Then get paint all over you and wash it all off in the shower.

Love, always,

Arran

—

Wednesday brought a beautiful photoof the May blossoms in Japan.

Dear Aggie,

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