Page 95 of Bridesmaid By Chance
God.
I press my hand to my chest. “Hudson Hopper, was that a joke?”
“I do know how to make them.”
And when he does, I feel a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. I see sun peeking through the dark clouds because this is the side of him I’ve always wanted, I’ve always craved.
“Really? Because the only other time I’ve seen you lighten up was when you were at Haisley and Jude’s wedding.”
“That’s because the rest of the time you’ve seen me has been in the office, and I don’t fuck around in the office.”
“That much is obvious,” I reply. “You know, you could lighten up after hours, though.”
“You’re still part of the business,” he admits.
“Not as your wife.”
I can see his mind working on that one, like he wants to tell me differently. He could look at this two ways: he can feed into this not-so-realistic situation where we marry for convenience but sink into the roles, or he can play this off as just another business transaction.
Given how he’s been, I have a good guess on how he’s going to react.
“Being my wife is business,” he replies, not surprising me in the least.
“Is that what you truly think?” I ask, pressing for him to think about it a little bit more. “Do you truly see me as a business transaction, or do you see more?”
He wets his lips as he shifts, his hand slightly moving over my stomach. “I don’t think I can answer that. I don’t think it’s safe to.”
A small smile tugs on my lips, because I’m starting to read him so well now. “Your avoidance of the question is all the answer I need.” I lift up and kiss the tip of his nose. “Night, Husband.”
Chapter Fourteen
HUDSON
“Morning,” Sloane says as she walks out on the terrace where I’m sitting with a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”
I glance to the side, catching her smooth legs stretching out from the bottom of my shirt. Her toenails are painted white, her hair a beautiful mess.
“Better,” I say and take a sip of my water, my mouth suddenly dry.
“I’m glad.” She leans against the terrace wall.
She waits, not saying anything, which is unlike her, makes me think that she still might be giving me the cold shoulder—then again, she’s out here talking to me.
Wanting to break the building tension from the past few days and from last night, I say, “Thank you again for yesterday.”
“You’re welcome.” She’s toeing the ground, but then she looks up at me. “You held me all night. Any time I tried to move away, your grip on me grew stronger.”
I push my hand through my hair. “I’m aware.”
“Why?”
I look away, out toward the rising sun. “I’d rather not examine it,” I answer honestly.
She nods and then quietly says, “You know, some might say it’s because you find yourself becoming attached to me.”
Yeah, I fucking know.
I keep my gaze away from her because I fear what I might do if I catch those big eyes staring back at me. I have a feeling I might stand, slip my hand around the back of her neck, and pull her in close where I can explore…
