Page 18 of The Wedding Fake
The demand—and it was certainly a demand—felt very much like my first day at Glen Valley Middle School. My family moved to Cranberry Falls halfway through sixth grade, and on my first day, teacher after teacher asked me to come up with some interesting fact worthy of sharing with a classful of overly critical eleven-year-olds.
“Mom,” Claire protested.
“I grew up not far from here—” I offered, knowing that impressing Juliet Davis was important to Claire’s plan. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass Claire.
“Hudson, you don’t have to do this.” I realized Claire’s cheeks were a little pink, as if her mother were embarrassing her in front of her real boyfriend, and I squeezed her thigh under the table, just above her knee. She wore leggings today, but I could still remember the feel of her soft skin.
I shot her a smile and continued. “In Cranberry Falls, but I live in the city now. I’m a paramedic.” Next to me, I was aware of Claire shooting her mother a look, but I couldn’t say for sure what it meant. I assumed it was a silent demand that she ask no more questions.
“A paramedic? Interesting,” Juliet said, although her tone suggested she didn’t approve, which irked me just a little. “What made you choose that line of work?”
“Mom,” Claire protested once more.
“What?” the older woman asked. “I’m always curious when someone chooses a job like paramedic instead of some other medical field…like doctor,” she added.
“Mom!” This time both Claire and Tessa spoke simultaneously, their voices combining into one shrill, horrified tone. “I’m sorry, Hudson,” Tessa said, although she was looking at her mother instead of him, “my mother is clearly over-stressed by this wedding.” Tessa shot daggers at her mother, who looked only mildly contrite. “Right, Mom?”
Juliet waved her hand through the air. “Of course. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. Did I offend you, Hudson?”
I wasn’t offended, but she hadn't endeared herself to me either. Claire had, thus far, been nothing but sweet and charming, so I had assumed her mother would be similar. Now I couldn’t help but worry I was ill-prepared for this woman.
Still, based on both Claire and Tessa’s wide-eyed mortification, and the fact that Claire hadn’t warned me to be wary of her mother, I guessed there was some unknown reason for her current behavior. “You haven’t offended me. I’m a trained firefighter paramedic, but a couple years ago I made the move away from firefighting.” There was so much more I could say, except I knew I’d never be able to say it. Even saying this much had caused a lump to form, and if I tried to think back to that time—to think about my brother—I didn’t stand a chance at holding it together. It didn’t matter, though, because I didn’t owe Juliet Davis that story. I hadn’t even been able to tell her daughter.
“When is the fitting?” Claire asked, not bothering to feign subtly with her topic change. “Nora said I had to be here today.”
Juliet nodded, adequately sidetracked from her interrogation. “They should be back any minute, and then you three will head to the boutique.” She pinned her sights on me once more. “Will you stay here with us, Hudson?”
Claire grabbed my thigh before I could reply, but unlike the gentle squeeze I’d given her a moment earlier, Claire grabbed frantically, managing to land on my inner thigh so near my dick it jumped against my zipper in anticipation. I pressed my lips together, and she turned pink, but said, “You’ll come with me, right?” The words—“You’ll come with me”—were almost breathless, and between that and the fingers still a hairsbreadth from my junk, I had to take a measured breath to remain focused. “There’s a nice downtown area,” she explained more slowly. “Bookstores and coffee and the sort. Will you?”
The impulsive invitation had likely been offered to save me from her mother, but with each word, Claire’s tone grew more vulnerable, as if she’d only just realized I may turn her down. “That sounds lovely,” I replied, removing her hand from where it was currently tormenting my dick and lifting it to kiss her knuckles.
“We’re going to go upstairs and get settled before we head out,” Claire said, still holding my hand as we stood, and for a single beat I had a vision of her dragging me upstairs and stripping me down, but that wasn’t what was happening.
Back in the foyer, I let her grip slip so I could lift both suitcases and follow her upstairs.
Claire didn’t look back, but I did, noticing Juliet had followed, stopping to watch us climb the stairs, concern etched in every one of her features.
11
CLAIRE
Disappointment flared in my chest as Hudson dropped my hand to pick up the suitcases. I was tempted to take one from him just to free up said hand, but that was not the agreement. It might seem fun to engage in a torrid affair with Hudson, but I was the kind of person who grew feelings very easily in a relationship. Every time my brain even considered a no-strings relationship, my heart began tying men down like they were ships coming into port. “This one,” I said, leading Hudson into the first door on the left.
He set down my suitcase as we entered, propping his against a chair. “That’s disappointing. I thought maybe I’d get to see your childhood bedroom.”
I looked around, trying to see the space through Hudson’s eyes. “This is the room, but my mom wasted no time in redecorating when I moved out.” It had been turquoise with all white trim, but now we were surrounded by beige walls and rattan furniture. It was pretty, but it wasn’t my style in the least. Then again, turquoise walls weren’t exactly my style anymore either.
Hudson slipped a garment bag out of his suitcase, smoothing it out and hanging it up in the closet. “It’s pretty, but I imagine it’s not your taste.”
I jolted. There was no way for Hudson to know he’d plucked the words nearly verbatim out of my thoughts, but it felt like he kept doing that. “What do you imagine my style to be?” I asked.
He puckered his lips thoughtfully, and my eyes were drawn to them. They were so excruciatingly kissable, and my one shot at having them had been interrupted by the fire department. “Transitional,” he said, and my brow pinched tight, trying to remember what we were talking about. “I don’t think you buy into the whole farmhouse trend, but I bet you like a few rustic pieces tossed in with your more traditional look.”
I blinked a few times, pleasure filling my chest as I remembered the conversation and realized Hudson had perfectly identified my preferences in a single, probably-not-made-up word. And while I knew I should smother this excitement, I didn’t. “That’s pretty close,” I admitted. “I’m not familiar with the term ‘transitional,’ though. Did you make it up?”
His lips tipped up in a smile that was more sweet than sexy, and which, alarmingly, made my heart flutter more than all the sexy smiles I’d seen to date. “Fun fact about your boyfriend,” he said, and my brain screamed “Boyfriend!” like an excited fourteen-year-old. “My mother is an interior designer.”
“Really? So you're intimately familiar with decor styles.”