Page 219 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Chapter Thirty-Three
HUDSON
I don’t want to let her go.
I want her to stay with me, in our house, in our bed.
I want to cling to her, love her, spoil her, make her mine over and over until our bodies can’t move anymore.
But the closer we get to the house, the more I realize that I might just have to say goodbye to her.
Our hands are linked as our driver makes his way down our street.
My stomach is in knots.
My head is pounding with a stress headache.
And I swear bile keeps rising in my throat from the thought of what the future might hold…or what it doesn’t hold.
The driver pulls up to the side of the house and puts the car in park. He exits and starts unloading our suitcases while Sloane turns toward me.
When our eyes meet, a wave of dread hits me all at once.
“Can I borrow the driver?”
“W-why?” I ask.
Does she want to move her things back to her house?
“I need to go do something.” She cups my cheek and whispers, “But I’ll be back. I promise.”
A lump grows in my throat, feeling like a rock, stuck and cutting off my airway. “Sloane, I don’t think…” I swallow. “I don’t think you should?—”
She places her finger over my lips, cutting me off from finishing mysentence. “Tell me what you told me last night, what you told me this morning.”
I look her in the eyes and say, “I love you.”
“Good. Hold on to that.”
She steps out of the car, and I follow behind her. When we’re on the sidewalk and the driver is taking the suitcases up the steps to the front door, she moves in close to me and slides her hand up my chest before gripping the back of my neck. She tugs me down and kisses me softly.
My hands fall to her ass, and I hold her close as I revel in the way her lips move against mine.
I don’t want this to be the end.
But why does it feel like it?
Why does it feel like this is all going to come crashing down around me?
I know she’s asking me to fight for her, to stay with her, but fuck, what about Jude? What about the business? What about everything I’ve been able to establish with my brother? And now that I’m failing—once again—is my dad going to see it and break apart the very fragile bandage that was placed over the open wound between us?
“Stop,” she says when she pulls away. She presses her hand to my brow, relaxing it. “Stop thinking.”
“Sloane, I’m fucking…I’m fucking sick to my stomach.”
“I know.” She moves her hand up and down my chest. “Please, just go inside, relax, shower. I’ll be back. I promise.”
“He said?—”
