Page 51 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“No,” he answers while taking a sip of his wine.
“You know, that’s hurtful.”
“Say something funny and maybe I’ll laugh.”
“Challenge accepted.” I take the last bite of my sea bass and then set my fork down. “You know, you were a different person in Bora Bora.”
“Yeah, so were you,” he says. “You barely said two words on that trip, and now it’s like I can’t get you to be quiet.”
“Ever consider that it was intimidating to go on a trip with a family I didn’t know and having to be on my best behavior for my brother? Not to mention, it was the first time we’d ever been on vacation? We were just trying to fade into the background and enjoy ourselves.”
He swirls his wine in his glass. “What about when you first started working for me? You were different then too.”
“Because I was trying to impress. I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my job.”
“And when did that change? Because I fired you over that mouth of yours.”
“You called me young. It’s a trigger for me because Jude has always babied us, and I hate it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the way he protected me and Stacey, but I’ve hated the way he hasn’t trusted our instincts. He’s constantly hovering. I understand him wanting to protect us, but we’re adults now, and he hasn’t quite come to terms with that. Given the way I had to grow up pretty quickly, skipping out on a childhood most get to enjoy, the term ‘young’ aggravates me.”
He slowly nods but doesn’t say anything. Not sure if he’s trying to take it all in or if he doesn’t care, but either way, the nonanswer grates on me. I opened up; a reaction would be good, especially if we’re supposed to be taking this husband-and-wife thing seriously.
“What about you?” I ask. “Why are you different? In Bora Bora you were more carefree. Now, for a lack of better words, it seems like you have a stick up your ass.”
“Life was different then,” he answers.
“Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s not very husbandly. I thought we were supposed to share everything with each other.”
“Sharing everything was never in the contract.”
“Okay, so then what do I need to know, Hudson?” I ask, not liking this one-sided situationship.
“What you already know.”
“Uh-huh.” I lean back in my chair. “Well, I don’t know very much.”
“Exactly,” he says just as the server stops by our table.
“How was everything?” he asks.
“Wonderful,” Hudson says. “We’ll take the check.”
“Right away,” he answers as he motions for someone else to come pick up our plates.
We spend the rest of the time in the restaurant in silence while he pays the bill and our table is cleared.
It’s silent.
Tense.
And it’s obvious that he wants to pretend this marriage is real without doing the work to make it seem real. He can call mewifeall he wants, but that’s not going to bridge the gap of creating a relationship where we can make this deal work and make it work well.
When he’s done, we both stand from the table, and I grab my pursewhile Hudson waits for me. Once I have everything, he surprises me by placing his hand on my lower back once again and guiding me through the restaurant. For anyone else, it’s a subtle touch that I’m sure is not thought of twice, but to me, it feels like he’s palming a scorching-hot pressure point. A move that is sending my mind into a tailspin because I can feel just how large his hand is against my back, the length of his fingers, the pressure of his touch.
There’s a hint of protection, of possessiveness.
