Page 50 of The Wedding Fake
Hudson was sweet and attentive. Hell, Hudson was…romantic. He didn’t seem at all like I’d expected a player to be. But then again, neither had Dan. Dan seemed sweet and loving. He seemed romantic. Honestly, he had been all those things…just with too many women at the same time.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to smooth my hair, which had become hopelessly tangled. Don’t get your hopes up, I reminded myself. Men my age were often garbage humans, only looking to get laid. It was best to remember that.
But I didn’t want to think that of Hudson. Sighing deeply, I opened the bathroom door and crept back into our room, closing the door softly behind me. Hudson was in bed, looking sleepy, the used blankets folded up neatly on a side chair. “Thanks for picking those up,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, lifting the covers invitingly.
I climbed into my side and Hudson propped himself up in one elbow. “Everything okay?” he asked, his brow knitting.
There was no way I could explain that I had already begun preparing myself for the moment he let me down—no way to explain how devastating it would be if I put my faith in another man who broke my heart. “I’m good,” I lied. Hudson looked skeptical, but he didn’t press.
“Can I hold you, or is that too much for this kind of relationship?”
“A fake relationship? I asked.
“A temporary relationship,” he corrected, his meaning not lost on me. If only it were so easy, but I knew better than to place my trust in any man, even Hudson North. Especially Hudson North.
Still, I wanted to be held, wanted to know—just this one time—how it would feel to fall asleep in Hudson’s embrace, and I scooted closer. Hud draped a large arm over my middle, hauling me closer until I could feel every inch of his body pressed to mine. He kissed my neck delicately. “Night, Claire.”
“Night, Hud.”
“Have I told you how relieved I am there’s no bachelor and bachelorette parties this week?”
“Why?” I asked, tracing along his shoulder with a single finger, liking the hard slope of muscle. I had expected us to roll apart in the middle of the night, because sleeping in a constant embrace was constricting and annoying, but we hadn’t. I’d slept like a baby, tucked neatly into Hudson’s body. I’d expected we’d wake up and pretend the cuddling hadn’t happened, but Hudson gave no indication he wanted to forget. On the contrary, I’d woken up when he kissed my bare shoulder and hummed contentedly in my ear. “Morning,” he’d said, his voice thick and gravelly and positively delicious. I’d rolled over and we’d begun talking—about home, work, the wedding—regular stuff, and the impulse to remain in bed with Hudson and never face the light of day again was overwhelming.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It seems like there’s always some level of debauchery at bachelor parties. The last one I went to, the groom—well, he did something the bride wouldn’t have approved of.”
I frowned, my imagination going wild with scenarios I hoped hadn’t really occurred. “That’s horrible. It’s gross when men get strippers and shit.”
“It’s not my first choice, I agree” he replied with a shrug, and silence fell over us.
In the quiet, I let my eyes scan over him, subtly trying to judge how honest he was. I felt like I’d learned so much about Hudson in the past week, and yet, in so many ways, he was still a total stranger. When he said he didn’t like strippers, was that honest? I didn’t know.
Hudson brushed a loose tendril of hair back from my face. “Are there events this afternoon or are we free?”
“We’re free, as far as I know.”
“I know an amazing Italian restaurant. Want to get lunch?”
I picked up my phone, then held it up to Hudson. “It’s 9:04 AM.”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “You have a big family. I assume it will take us a while to get out the door, and…” He trailed off, and I lifted one eyebrow.
“And?”
Hudson rolled over, pinning me beneath him and kissing my neck. I giggled as his fresh stubble tickled my chin. “And I may not be ready to go downstairs just yet.”
The bed creaked under us and Hudson grimaced, eying the door suspiciously before giving me his attention again. “You lock the door and I’ll lay out the blankets?”
Cranberry Falls had a lovely little downtown area, and although I’d been born and raised in Bridgeport and had always assumed I’d settle down there and start a family, I could admit that little Cranberry Falls was even more charming than the sleepy town I used to call home.
A river—the Winona—ran through the center of Cranberry Falls, and a small, natural waterfall gave the town its name. Most of the shops and restaurants were on State Street, the road that ran perpendicular to the Winona River.
“I’ve never been here,” I said, looking around me at the stately brick buildings that faced State Street. Trees lined the road, spread every dozen feet or so, and I could see they were festooned with twinkle lights. I was curious to see how they would look at night. I imagined they’d be quite pretty.
“It’s a quaint little town,” Hudson said, his voice sounding thicker than I expected. I looked back at him, surprised to find his brow knitted unhappily.
“Is everything okay, Hud?” I asked, drawing him to a stop.