“You’ve got that right.” Audrina huffs, angling her body toward me and resting a hand on her hip. “Hudson’s not what he seems. At all. We’re all just … pawns … in his game. You’ll see soon enough.”
Footsteps send her gaze darting past my shoulders, and I turn around to see Hudson entering the hall.
“Everything all right?” he asks, slinking up behind me and placing his hands on my hips.
Audrina’s pouty lips twist into a sneer. “Always.”
She excuses herself, her heels clicking across the hardwood until the sound grows distant.
“What was that about?” he asks.
Exhaling, I shake my head. “I think she’s threatened by me. She doesn’t want us together.”
“Did she say that?”
“In not so many words,” I say.
“That’s not appropriate.” His lips press flat. “I don’t want her giving you any trouble, Mari. You’ll tell me if she’s bothering you, won’t you?”
“She’s not bothering me. I honestly don’t care what she says or does or thinks or whatever.” I unfold my arms. “And it’s weird that you’re being so protective of me.”
“How is that weird? You’re my fiancée.”
“Fiancée,” I remind him, placing air quotes around the word as I speak it. I cock my head. “Anyway, I can hold my own. Trust me.”
He releases a held breath, his blue eyes glinting with relief as his lips tug into a half-smirk. “That’s … kind of sexy, Mari.”
“Come on, let’s go back.” Rolling my eyes, I slip my arm into his. “And you’re still not getting laid tonight.”
Chapter 19
Hudson
She’s out cold.
And this teacup is seconds from burning the palm of my hand.
Placing the steaming mug on her nightstand, the bed shifts under my weight and Mari begins to stir. Pulling the covers to her neck, she releases a dreamy moan before rolling to her side.
It takes her a moment, but the second she realizes I’m next to her, she brushes the hair from her face and sits up with a startle.
“When did you come in here?” she asks, pushing up on her hands.
“Good morning.” I reach for the tea, handing it over. “And a minute ago. You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”
One of the bay windows is cracked open halfway, and an ocean breeze ruffles the gauzy curtains. The sun is just beginning to rise over the water, painting Sea La Vie in a serene glow that feels like the summers of my youth.
“Thank you.” She takes a sip of tea, cupping it in both hands when she’s done and pulling her knees to her chest.
“Sleep well?”
“Like a dream.” Mari nods, mouth tugging up at the sides. “What’s the plan today?”
“Thought I’d take you to the market. We could pick up a few items for dinner later, maybe some local art. I don’t know if you’re into souvenirs or any of that,” I say.
“Really?” She lifts a brow.
“Really, what?”
“Just surprises me that you’re into that sort of stuff,” she says. “You’re so … metropolitan playboy. You’re like an anti-tourist.”
“I’m not into that sort of stuff,” I say. “You’re going to be here for the next four weeks, and I want you to get acclimated. Plus, believe it or not, this place can get kind of monotonous after a bit. Staying busy helps with that.”
“You’re the expert.” She takes another sip before sitting the teacup on her nightstand and climbing out of bed. Stretching her arms overhead, the hem of her nightshirt rises, revealing the soft flesh of her lower belly. She doesn’t have washboard abs by any means, but she’s sexy just the same.
Sauntering to the dresser, she pauses before the mirror, finger-combing her hair into place.
“You just going to sit there and watch me get ready?” she asks, glancing up in the reflection to meet my gaze.
“Isn’t that what couples do?” My mouth pulls into a teasing smirk, and I rise off her bed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you now. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”
“That’s right, I said fifty guests, not fifteen. Five-zero.” My mother places her hand over the receiver of her phone, rolling her eyes. “On the phone with the venue for the engagement party. They can’t seem to comprehend that we’re going to need their largest party room plus full access to the private rooftop patio.”
“I thought you said it was going to be a small gathering?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Fifty people is a small gathering, Hudson.”
Moving to the hearth room just beyond the breakfast nook, I take a seat in an overstuffed chair with a sweeping view of the morning tide as it crashes on the rocky shore. One day this house will belong to me, though I haven’t the slightest clue what I’d do with it. I won’t have children to fill it with laughter. I won’t have “couple” friends like my parents do, at least not ones I’d want to cohabitate with for a solid month straight.
I truly won’t have any need for a place like Sea La Vie, and letting it sit empty for months upon months would be a travesty.
There’s a melancholy sadness yet at the same time a quiet emancipation that floods my senses when I let that reality sink in.
“Good morning, darling.” I hear my mother’s voice from the table, and I glance over expecting to see Mari, only it’s Audrina. “Did you sleep well?”
“Always, Helena.” Audrina kisses my mother’s cheek before turning my way. “Good morning, Hudson.” She slinks toward the hearth room, taking a seat across from me.
Dressed in a short yellow sundress that contrasts against her tan skin, she crosses her legs, letting the hem of her skirt slide up her outer thigh, but I refuse to play her little game. Instead, I focus on the rising tide past the picture windows.
“What are you and your lovely bride-to-be planning for the day?” Audrina asks, lashes batting.
“I’m taking Maribel to the market,” I say, still avoiding eye contact.
“Ha.” Audrina rolls her eyes.
“What?”
“That was always our thing,” she says, pushing a quick breath through her nose. “The Saturday morning bazaar.”
“Hey.” Mari places her hand on my shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Absolutely.” I rise, taking her hand in mine but keeping my eyes locked on Audrina’s suspicious glare.
“I want to know more about your childhood.” Mari thumbs through a postcard rack beneath a vintage letterpress company’s white tent. Turning to me, she adds, “I just feel like I’m seeing this side of you I never knew existed, and it makes me wonder what else is there.”
“And my childhood has to do with it … why?”
“That’s where it all begins. That’s where you learn how to love and how to be loved. How to treat people, that sort of thing.”
“You know I absolutely hate it when you try to psychoanalyze me.” I pluck a postcard from a nearby rack and read the inscription on the back. It’s used. Why anyone would want to buy an old, used postcard is beyond me.
“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you,” she says, holding up a card covered in lighthouses and bringing it closer for inspection. “I want to know what makes you tick. I’m beginning to think I had you all wrong from the start.”
“In what ways?”
Mari places the postcard back and secures her bag over her shoulder. I follow her to the next tent, where she proceeds to buy a homemade cinnamon roll from a woman in a white apron.
“We’re splitting this, by the way,” she says, handing me a second fork as we walk away.
“In what ways did you think you had me wrong from the start?” I ask again.
“I don’t think you’re an asshole … on purpose,” she clarifies. “But I don’t think that’s who you are. I don’t think it’s inherent. I don’t think you get off on being a jerk, I think it’s just this suit of armor you wear because you’ve been hurt.”
Clenching my hand over my
heart, I chuckle. “Yes. Poor, broken me.”
“I’m being serious,” she says, shoving the cinnamon roll my way. “Hey, you’re not eating enough of this.”
I take a forkful just to appease her and we continue strolling past stand after stand, weaving through heavy morning crowds.
“I’ve seen this softer side of you, Hudson,” she says, chewing. “I want to know where it came from. And why you try to hide it so much.”
I chuff. “I wouldn’t call myself soft.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” she says. “But you are. You have this kind side. You care for others, I’ve seen it. You don’t make it into a big thing, but you’re a good person—when you want to be. You’re a good son. And you’re a good fake fiancé.”
“I know.”
She laughs.
“Was it hard?” she asks, smile fading. “Being shipped off to school all the time?”
I roll my eyes. “Really? We’re going to talk about this here? Now?”
“I just keep thinking about it and what that would do to a child.” She shakes her head, eyes almost misting.
“It’s quite common in our circles,” I say, posture rigid. “It’s not something I ever cried about, at least maybe not past kindergarten.”
“They shipped you off in kindergarten?” Her jaw falls. “But you were just a baby.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Mari.”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me.”
“But I do. It’s really sad,” she says, sighing. “They kept you at an arm’s length. They loved you from a distance. It explains everything.” She takes another bite of cinnamon roll, chewing quickly before swallowing it all in one lump. “That laid the entire foundation for your adult love life. You realize that, don’t you?”
I laugh. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re thirty years old and you’ve only ever had one girlfriend, right?”
“Right.”
“And you prefer one-night stands, no-strings, casual hook ups, that sort of thing,” she states it like it’s a fact. “You don’t do romance. You don’t do relationships. You don’t want to settle down or get married—at least not in the legitimate sense.”
“What are you getting at?”
She stops cold, pointing her fork at me with a smirk on her face. “You don’t feel worthy of real, true, unconditional love, therefore you push it away before you even have a chance to experience it. Boom. I’m a genius.”
“Mari.” My head tilts. She keeps walking.
“Why didn’t I go into psychology or something? I totally figured you out in, like, under ten minutes.”
“You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” I say.
“Here, finish this. I’m stuffed.” She shoves the roll at me before heading toward a pop up boutique filled with handmade items for women and children. Trying on a hat, she finds a nearby mirror to check her reflection before yanking it off and moving to a display of turquoise jewelry.
Standing back, I observe as she moves from the jewelry to a stack of bangle bracelets before passing a display of muslin baby blankets covered in cutesy animal prints. She stops, as if they catch her eye, and I wonder, for a second, if Maribel wants a family of her own someday.
Maybe it’s wrong of me to hold back her dreams in pursuit of my own. I can only hope setting her up with a lifetime of financial security will make it all worth it. After all, it’s the only thing I really have to offer.
Chapter 20
Mari
“May I come in?” Helena knocks on my door late Sunday afternoon.
“Yes, of course,” I call back, striding across my suite to meet her.
“I have something for you,” she says, entering and closing the door behind her. Unclasping her hand, she reveals a pair of ivory pearl earrings on gold posts, each surrounded by a row of glistening diamonds. “These earrings used to belong to my grandmother.”
Lifting my hand to my mouth, I say, “They’re stunning.”
“They’re for you,” she says, handing them over.
“Helena.”
“My gift to you. An engagement gift, if you will.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
“I’ve been holding them aside all these years.” Her red lips spread into a wistful smile. “Patiently waiting until Hudson found the right one. I always knew he’d get married one day. The boy doesn’t like to be alone, even if he won’t admit it. Deep down, there’s a hopeless romantic in there, but I digress. Go on. Try them on.”
Taking the earrings, I move toward the dresser, securing them on my ears and tucking my hair behind my ears.
“They’re absolutely beautiful.” I turn to show her. “Thank you, Helena.”
“Will you wear them tonight? To the party?”
“Of course. Absolutely I will.” I walk toward the closet, pulling out the little black dress I plan to wear tonight. “A match made in heaven.”
A knock at the door interrupts our moment, followed by a woman’s voice beckoning for Helena.
“Excuse me, dear,” Helena gathers her dress in her hands and heads across the suite toward the door. Her voice is low as she speaks with one of her employees, and after a moment, she turns to me after checking her watch. “Alec Sheffield has arrived. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to it that he gets settled. I’ll see you at Bleu Marina’s for the party.”
“You look amazing.” Hudson places his hand on the small of my back as we head toward the black awning outside Bleu Marina’s. The building is sailcloth white with bright blue awnings, two stories tall and backing to the ocean. A covered porch surrounds much of the outside, and gentle music wafts from a rooftop patio above.
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting once we step inside, but Hudson leads the way, taking us straight back to one of the private rooms where a table is already filling with exquisitely wrapped gifts. Helena stands in the corner with a glass of champagne, chatting it up with a small group of women.
“There they are,” she proclaims, lifting her glass.
All eyes are on us—me, really.
I smile, keeping my head high as a woman with sleek white hair and a downturned nose comes at me.
“You must be Maribel,” she says, looking me up and down. “I’m Dianna, Helena’s cousin. Welcome to the family.”
Her words are kind, but her face is frozen. I’m blaming Botox.
“Nice to meet you, Dianna,” I say.
“Uncle Frederick couldn’t make it?” Hudson asks.
Dianna rolls her eyes. “He’s outside on the patio. Your father brought those Cuban cigars he likes.”
“Of course.”
“If you ask me, it’s a bit tacky to light them before dinner, but what do I know?” Dianna laughs, but her eyes don’t wrinkle. “Anyway, I better make my rounds. Congratulations, you two. You make a beautiful item.”
“Champagne?” A young woman holding a tray of sparkling flutes approaches us, and Hudson instantly takes two.
Handing one to me, I briefly panic before realizing I don’t have to drink it. I can simply hold it for a bit … and maybe misplace it as the night progresses.
“I think most of us are here,” Helena announces, her voice growing loud over the steady rumble of delicate conversation filling the room. “I’ve sent for the men. If you’ll all have a seat, I’d like to begin the night with a toast to our future bride and groom.”
A quick glance around the room shows guests arriving by the second, filling in. Laughing. Smiling. Chit-chatting. Some of them stare in our direction with curious gazes, others seem more concerned with making a grand entrance or showing off their latest jewels and red-bottomed shoes.
“Shall we find a seat?” Hudson takes me by the hand, leading me to the head of one of the longer tables where I immediately place my champagne glass in front of my empty place setting.
It feels good to sit.
I’ve been on my feet all day, and while I’m not exactly hauling around an eight-pound unborn child, it took more out of me than I ever could have anticipated.
The men begin to shuffle in, taking spots next to their wives and girlfriends, and Helena stands at the opposite end of our table, smiling proudly and waving them in.
“All right,” she says. “Now that we’re all here, I’d like to start out by first thanking you all for making it on such short notice. Hudson and Maribel’s engagement came as a bit of a surprise to us—a pleasant surprise—and when I found out Bleu Marina’s had a cancellation for tonight, the timing was absolutely divine.” Lifting her flute, she continues, “Anyway, it means the world to me to see my son truly happy and in love, and while we’re still getting to know Maribel, I can already tell she’s going to be an excellent addition to the Rutherford family.”
“Sorry I’m late,” a voice whispers. I glance to my left, where Audrina places her hand on the empty chair beside me. The faint smell of expensive perfume floats from her tight, tan body, and her hair and make up were clearly done by professionals tonight. A tight red dress hugs her body enough so that her cleavage is lifted in the most tasteful way possible.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was trying to show me up at my own engagement party …
I glance at Hudson, but his attention is honed in on Helena, who’s still rambling on several feet away.
“…so if you’ll all raise a glass to the lovely couple,” Helena says. “I’d like to make a toast. To Maribel and Hudson, may you live happily ever after, always.”
A few of the women release “oohs and ahs” and the delicate tinkle of stemware against stemware fills the space.
Glancing down, I spot a glass of water, but as I reach for it, I feel a quick kick under the table … on my left.
Squinting, Audrina says, “It’s bad luck to toast with water, Maribel. Don’t you know that?”
“Lucky for you, I don’t believe in superstitions.” I toss back a mouthful of water, finishing with a boastful smile that clearly annoys the living shit out of the Ice Princess.
The Perfect Illusion Page 12