Page 181 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Sloane: Hudson does a lot of work with low-income housingand I thought, what if we turned the house into something of a safe house for families in need? Kind of pass the baton.
Stacey: That’s, God, that’s a really good idea.
Sloane: Right? I know nothing on how to make this work or where to get started, but I think it could be something great. And we can work on it together while still working our current jobs and who knows? We can really make it something and then maybe expand.
Stacey: Only problem with that plan is, where will we live?
Sloane: We can figure out those details later, but wouldn’t this be…something great?
Stacey: It could be so great. Jude would really appreciate it. Oh, we could ask him for help! I bet he’d help us renovate and make it even more suitable for families.
Sloane: Oh, he would for sure.
Stacey: Now I feel like you marrying for money is turning into something even better than we planned.
Sloane: Look at me being a do-gooder with my pussy.
Stacey: The marriage didn’t require you to show Hudson your pussy.
Sloane: I think we both knew it was going to happen.
Stacey: I know, but now you need to distance.
Sloane: Or I can tell him how I feel and see where it goes.
Stacey: That will not end well. He’s a closed-off man. I don’t think he’s going to feel the same way, and I say that with love.
Sloane: I don’t know, I think you could be wrong. He’s different. I think he could be in the same headspace as me.
Stacey: Sloane, listen to me, no matter what, this is not going to end well. The least you can do is keep your heart out of it. Okay? Distance. Give yourself distance.
Talking about distance, Hudson has not looked at me once since we arrived back at the hotel. Not even when I asked him to unzip my dress and I let it fall to the floor, standing there in his ice-blue lingerie that he loves so much.
Nothing.
He has shut down completely as he sits out on the terrace, bouncing his leg up and down, his hand propping up his chin.
I can feel the nervous energy, can practically taste it. Something is brewing and I don’t think it’s going to work in my favor.
Not wanting to let him create too much distance, I head out toward the terrace in one of my matching pajama sets, which I know he’s going to hate because he prefers me in his T-shirts. When I step out onto the terrace, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look in my direction. His gaze remains fixed in front of him. So I move around his legs and take a seat on his lap. But when I sit down and balance myself on his leg, he doesn’t put his arm around me, nor does he look at me.
Uh-oh.
Trying not to freak out because I can see where this is going, I loop my forearm around the back of his neck and remind myself that just an hour ago, he was holding me tightly on the dance floor. How much can really change in an hour?
“Hudson,” I quietly say. “Are you okay?”
His leg that I’m not on bounces.
The tightness in his jaw looks like it could break a walnut.
And the angle of his brows, pointing down toward his nose, it’s all I need to know to know he’s not in a proper headspace.
I bring my hand to his cheek and carefully urge him to look at me. When he finally does, I don’t see anger or sadness…I see nothing.
Like he’s blanked out.
Become almost dead inside.
