He rises, presenting his paper in my direction. It appears to be a home of some kind, one with vintage familiarity that would look perfectly content resting on a beachfront lot.
“What’s that for?” I ask. I’ve only ever seen him work on commercial projects.
“My cousin has tasked me with designing her Cape Cod estate,” he says. “What do you think?”
I move closer, taking the paper from his hands and examining it carefully. “I don’t know the proper terms for any of these things, but I like the roof lines. And I like the shake siding. I think it’s called shake, right? And I like how the front porch wraps around the house so you can always find a shady place to sit no matter where the sun is in the sky. The double front doors are a nice touch, and those little windows above the garage. It’s homey yet it makes a statement. If I were driving past this house, I think I’d slow down a little and take a longer look.”
“Perfect.” He takes the paper back. “That’s exactly what I’m going for.”
Placing his drawing aside, he grabs a jacket from the back of his office chair and slips it over his shoulders.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Out.” He lifts a brow, adjusting his sleeves and straightening his posture.
“I thought you said we needed to spend time together?”
“I’m just grabbing a couple of drinks, Mari. It’s my Monday night ritual. The Cypress Taproom on Houston has a table reserved for me.”
“I don’t care if the Queen of England has a table reserved for you at Buckingham Palace … you’re not going out without me.” I fight a smart-assed grin, letting my words slice through his cold demeanor. “You want authentic, Hudson? This is authentic. I’m your girlfriend now. Fiancée. Whatever. You can’t go out for drinks and leave me at home. It’s rude. People in relationships don’t do that.”
He smirks, rubbing his jaw. “I suppose you have a point.”
“I know I have a point,” I spit my words. “You don’t get to pull me out of my world, dress me up like some doll, and sit me on a shelf in your apartment until you’re ready to play with me. If we’re going to do this, let’s do this.”
Hudson places a palm in the air. “Don’t lecture me, Mari. Please. It’s inappropriate.”
“What’s inappropriate is the fact that you insisted I move in with you immediately because we needed to spend as much time together as possible and the second I was settled in, you were going to run out of here to grab some drinks by yourself.”
“Point. Taken.” His jaw clenches, his gaze steely. “Forgive me. Old habits die hard. Not accustomed to my social obligations being attached to anyone else’s. Would you like to join me?”
“No thanks.” Not that I could if I wanted to anyway. I hold my chin high. “We’re staying in tonight. Like a regular, boring couple.”
His expression fades. Clearly the idea doesn’t appeal to him.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Hudson? Like a serious, long-term relationship?” I ask.
“Once,” he says. “In college. It was awful.”
I chuckle. “Figures.”
“So what do we do now?” he asks.
Sighing, I glance up at the ceiling and deduce that there’s only one appropriate plan of action in this moment.
“You’re going to have to teach me how to live in your world,” I say, “and I’ll teach you how to be a good fiancé.”
Hudson smirks. “Obviously. I meant what do we do now … as in tonight.”
“Oh.” My cheeks warm. “Right. We could change into some comfortable clothes and sit on the couch and watch Netflix?”
He stares straight ahead, unable to mask the disgust on his face.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “Don’t you ever just zone out and binge watch some really addictive TV?”
“I don’t have time for … Netflix.”
“You do now.” I take him by the arm and lead him to his living room. “Where’s your TV?”
“Not in here.”
“I forgot. Rich people don’t keep their TVs in plain view.” I roll my eyes, releasing my hand from his arm. “Is it in your room?”
“I have one in the master suite, yes,” he says. “I’ll have to see if I can find the remote. Not sure where Marta put it …”
“Okay, go find it. I’m going to change out of this skirt and into something I can lounge around in. And you should too. I’ll meet you in your room in ten minutes, and then we’re watching Orange is the New Black.”
“Orange is the new what?”
“It’s a show. You’ll like it. Trust me.” I stifle my laughter. The idea of Hudson Rutherford watching a bunch of imprisoned women fuck each other over (and occasionally fuck each other) makes me giggle. It’s so not his style, but damn is that show addictive.
Padding back to my suite, I close the door behind me and change into a set of matching silk pajamas—navy with white piping—and wash up for bed. When I’m almost finished, my phone buzzes on the dresser.
My best friend.
“Hey, Isabelle,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Are you okay? You never cancel on me.”
“Everything’s fine.” I purse my lips together. She’s never going to believe this.
“Is it the baby?” she asks.
I place my hand on my belly. I’ve been so caught up in everything today that I almost forgot …
“The baby’s fine,” I whisper.
“Why’d you cancel?”
“I’ve accepted a new assignment from my boss.” I bite my lower lip and squeeze my eyes, waiting for her lecture. “It’s kept me a little … occupied.”
“You said you were going to quit.” Isabelle sighs into the receiver. “That asshole doesn’t deserve you. You do way too much for him and for what? A laughable salary? Underhanded insults? And you said you caught him staring at your ass once. What a fucking unprofessional douche. Never even met the guy and I hate him.”
“He wants me to marry him,” I whisper.
Isabelle is quiet on the other end. That’s never a good sign.
“It’s a business arrangement,” I say. “He’s basically paying me to take him off the market.”
“Um, why?” Her voice is laced with irritation. She’s not going to understand, so I’m going to have to make this crystal clear.
“His parents are pressuring him to marry some girl and he doesn’t want to. So he’s marrying me instead. I’m spending the summer with him and his family and then we’re going our separate ways. At least physically. Legally we’ll be married for a while. Not sure how long. It’s all kind of complicated and it’s all happening so fast.”
“Mari, you can’t do this.”
“I thought so too, but he sweetened the pot pretty damn good, and I’m not exactly in a position to walk away from what he was offering.”
“Fine. Sell your soul.”
“Izzy.” My heart sinks. This isn’t like her. I know she means well, and I know I’ve filled her head with hundreds of Hudson Rutherford horror stories, but I need her support now more than ever. “Please understand. I’m doing this for my future—for the baby’s future. I’m not selling my soul. He’s not forcing me to do this. It’s really not that big of a deal at the end of the day. It’s just acting. I’m playing a part. Everything’s going to work out.”