: Chapter 9

“Shouldn’t you be with your husband right now?” Stacey says as she opens the door to our house.

“He has a meeting,” I say, lumbering into the living room, my purse hanging off my shoulder.

“Why does it seem like you’re no longer living in wedded bliss?”

I flop on the couch and drop my purse to the floor. “I was never living in wedded bliss. Ever since this ring has been slipped on my finger, I’ve been living in purgatory.”

“That seems awfully harsh,” Stacey says as she takes a seat next to me. “It can’t be that bad. You’re living with a billionaire.”

“It is for someone who likes to talk. Who enjoys conversation. For someone who is attempting to get to know the other person. For him, I’m sure he’s having a ball of a time.”

“I see,” Stacey says. “He’s all clammed up?”

“Yes.” I glance down at the coffee table and notice paint samples. I pick them up and start sorting through them as I continue. “He wants to take the marriage seriously, but when I ask him things about himself, it’s as if he doesn’t know how to use words. He just stops talking. And how am I supposed to act like this man is my husband when I couldn’t tell you what his favorite color is?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because,” I say, handing her a green that I really like, “he’s acting like this marriage is real, hence why I’m currently living with him rather than here.” I toss another green at her. “Are you picking colors without me by the way?”

“Just perusing. I wouldn’t make any final choices without you.”

I sink into the couch and stare up at the ceiling. “What am I doing, Stacey? I should be here, helping with the house. I mean, this exciting thing is happening for us, we are working to purchase this place, and here I am, attempting to play wifey with my boss.”

“It’s only temporary,” she says. “It’s not like it’s going to be like this forever.”

“Feels like forever.” I turn toward her. “At dinner last night, we sat in silence for over five minutes. I know this because I checked my phone. Five minutes, Stacey—that’s unheard of with me. But after a while of him not responding, I just kind of gave up. It’s not healthy. This situation is not healthy.”

“Five minutes, wow, I’m surprised you didn’t explode.”

“I know.” I toss my hands up in the air. “And the worst part is that on the drive home, he put his hand on my thigh.” I grip her arm. “My thigh, Stacey. I can’t remember the last time my thigh was touched. It made my insides flip upside down. Then of course I went into a perpetual state of horniness, and let’s just say it wasn’t pretty after that.”

“Yeah, no need to get into the details.”

I groan. “And I have a whole week of this, and then God knows how long we’ll be in London. I can’t…I can’t live like this. The silence. It’s going to eat me alive.”

“Then keep trying to talk to him. If anyone can break him, it’s you, with your constant chatter and nonsense.”

“I would take offense to that if it wasn’t so true.” I sit up taller. “Enough about my sham of a marriage. Tell me what you’re thinking about for the house.”

“Well, before I pull out my binder and show you every little thing that I’ve thought of, let me end with this: Don’t let yourself be uncomfortable with him. If you’re going to make this work and pull it off, he’s going to have to meet you halfway. So keep pushing, okay? Don’t let him dictate how this relationship will work.”

“You’re right.” I sigh heavily. “He’s not the boss of me. I’m the boss of me.”

“Well, technically, he is your boss, but I understand what you’re saying. Take charge.”

I slam my fist into the couch, feeling reinvigorated. “Take charge. That I can do. Now…show me this folder. We have a house to work on.”

“Thanks for bringing home dinner,” I say, as I help Hudson with the takeout bags.

He texted earlier and asked if I liked Thai food. It was an immediate yes for me. While he was gone, I pulled out my phone and started writing down conversation starters, things I thought he would answer without realizing that he was opening up to me.

Not just a hat rack, my friends.

“I’ll grab plates,” he says as he heads into the kitchen while I take the food to the dining room table. I will say this: Thank God I know Hudson well enough to move around in his space like this without feeling too awkward. If this arrangement was with someone else, I don’t think I would feel as comfortable.

While he grabs plates and silverware, I fill up two glasses with sparkling water for us and take two lime wedges out of a Tupperware bin and place them on the side. When I make it back to the table, he’s removing his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

I avert my eyes from his forearms. I’ve stared at them long enough before to know the effect they have on me. Tonight is about business and getting him to open up. Simple as that.

We pull out the cartons of food and start digging in together, filling up our plates with a plethora of noodles, steamed veggies, and curry chicken.

“Smells amazing,” I say. “Is this where you order from normally?”

Question number one. Simple but hopefully effective.

“Yes,” he answers, falling for it.

I wait for him to say more, but when he doesn’t, I feel an edge of defeat. Okay, it’s fine, it was just a warm-up.

“Where did you find it?” I set down the steamed veggies and pick up my fork.

“On my way home,” he answers and squeezes his lime into his water.

On his way home. Well, that tells me that he’s observant while driving and that this place is near him. So…that’s a whole lot of nothing.

“Wow, this chicken, it’s so good. Is this what you always get?”

“Yes,” he answers and then sticks a piece of chicken into his mouth and chews without looking at me.

Creature of habit. Got it.

Think I wore out the food talk, so I let him sit in silence for a moment while I casually pull up the notes on my phone and look at the next question I can ask.

Clearing my throat, I say, “How was your meeting?”

I know it’s an easy question and I shouldn’t need a reminder in my notes, but I have a process, a slow process to get him to open up. Watch me peel him like an onion.

“Fine,” he answers.

“Talk about everything you needed to talk about?”

He glances up from his food for a moment to look at me, and I nearly lose the air in my lungs from that one quick flash of his baby blue eyes.

“Yes.”

“Great.” I swallow. “That’s really great. Don’t you love it when meetings are successful?”

He eyes me for a moment. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” I say. Oh God, is he catching on to me already? “I’m up to nothing.”

“Why are you acting…weird?”

“You think this is weird? I’m just having a conversation. Nothing weird about that.” I stab a piece of broccoli with my fork. “Just normal conversation is all.” I chew my piece of broccoli, panic surging through me as he stares me down. “So, uh…do you want to talk about the biggest disappointment you ever experienced in your life?”

“Jesus,” he mutters just as his phone rings in his pocket. He pulls his phone out, looks at the screen and says, “Excuse me.” Then he takes off to the balcony where he answers the phone, leaving me alone in the dining room knowing damn well I failed.

“So, this is nice, isn’t it?” I say as we walk together a few blocks from the office for a meeting. I suggested walking since it was close, thinking it would be a great time to try to talk to him.

“Hmm?” he asks as he stares down at his phone.

“Do you think you could put the phone down for a second?” I ask. “You know, watch where you’re going so you don’t get run over by a vehicle. I’m not ready to be a widow.”

“Is anyone ever really ready to be a widow?” he asks, slipping his phone in his pocket.

“Maybe if they’re not a fan of their spouse.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Are you a fan of me?”

He quickly glances in my direction. “What are you doing?”

“Why do you always ask me that when I’m trying to make conversation? Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing?”

“It’s obvious that you’re trying to do more than you have to.”

“Some might say having a conversation with another person is a basic human right. Would you not agree?” I ask.

“I think we can just walk to a meeting without having to engage in any conversation at all. We can walk in silence.”

“That is not ideal for me. I like to talk.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he says.

“So why don’t you indulge your wife and answer her question? Are you a fan of me?”

“Jesus, Sloane.”

I stop, causing him to stop and turn toward me. “I’m being serious, Hudson.”

He tugs on his neck and says, “If I wasn’t a fan of you, do you think I would have married you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I was pretty convenient.”

“With a whole lot of baggage if certain people were to find out about us. I wouldn’t risk everything over someone I wasn’t a fan of.”

Well, when he puts it like that…

*Coyly tucks hair behind ear*

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we got married.”

His expression falls. “That’s sad.”

“Says the guy who can’t give a compliment to his wife. You want to take this seriously, but at any chance of me getting close to you, you back away.”

“I’m not backing away,” he groans. “Just…drawing a line.”

“Not a fan of the line.”

He walks up to me, takes my hand in his, and then leans in. “The line won’t change.”

Then, continuing to hold my hand, we walk down the sidewalk, him not saying another word while I contemplate if this was a small win for me or not.

I mean, he’s holding my hand; I’m going to call it a win.

“I need to find out what kind of laundry detergent you’re using on your clothes.” I sniff his shirt that I’m wearing. “God, it smells so good.”

He sets his phone down on his charger and turns out the light.

I settle on my pillow and turn toward him. “Want to play rapid-fire questions?”

“I want to go to bed,” he says.

“Okay, Grandpa,” I tease. “It’s just past nine. You can spare a few questions.”

“Go to bed, Sloane.”

I’m met with the normal grumpy answer. It’s the same thing over and over again, but he hasn’t worn me down yet. It’s a battle of wills, and I want to be the one who wins.

“Hey,” I say, poking him in the chest.

His eyes open and they fixate on me. “What?”

“How was your day?”

“Fine,” he answers.

“Want to ask me how mine was?”

His jaw grows tight as he says, “How was your day?”

“Well, I woke up early this morning thinking I was beating you to the shower, but then I noticed you weren’t even in bed. Come to find out, you were out for a run. I enjoyed seeing you all sweaty in the kitchen. Sorry I missed you doing push-ups though.”

“Are you going to recount your whole day?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Thank you for asking. I appreciated you making breakfast for me. It was sweet, and you make some really good oatmeal.”

“Thanks,” he says, the anger easing a little.

Okay, I might have him hooked. Keep talking.

“Even though we ate in silence, I saw you stealing glances at me, and I thought that was a sweet, husbandly thing to do.”

He clears his throat and says, “I liked your outfit today.”

Well, holy shit, color me shocked. A freaking compliment. Maybe he does listen to my constant chatter and suggestions.

Be cool.

Be freaking cool.

Don’t scare him away.

“Thank you,” I say. “Once you were ready for work and we were driving over to the office, I appreciated that you let me pick the music. I also liked that you kept your hand on my thigh the entire time.”

“Just getting you used to my touch,” he says.

“Well, I liked it. Anyway, the day went by slow. Lots of emails and scheduling, which is never fun. Somehow started receiving these weird pigeon emails from JP Cane. Do you know what that’s about?”

“Don’t even ask,” he says as he grows even more relaxed.

I take a risk, and I allow my hand to travel to his chest, where I carefully drag my thumb over his skin. When he doesn’t shoo me away, I remain in the same position and keep talking.

“Lunch was kind of boring, since you didn’t talk to me again but ate in silence. That seems to be a thing with you.” When he doesn’t have a response to that, I keep going. “Then I read an article today about how to please your husband because, you know, we’re doing this for real, and one of the things was to tease him. So I tried teasing you.”

“How did you tease me?” he asks.

“Remember when I was in the closet, about to change, I kept flashing my leg in the doorway.”

“That’s what you were doing? I thought you were trying to get out of your pants.”

Well, that’s one way to pee on my parade.

“No, that was me being teasingly seductive.”

“Didn’t get that,” he says as I continue to rub my thumb over his chest.

“That’s…depressing. Maybe it needs to be my breast next time.”

“Please…keep your breasts to yourself.”

“Can’t hear that enough,” I say, and then for a brief moment, a very brief moment, I swear I see his lip turn up in humor. But it’s too fleeting for me to confirm. “Dinner was fine, watching a show with you was fine as well, and now that we’re here in bed, I like that you’re allowing me to talk to you.”

“Is that all?” he asks.

“I think so. Do you have anything to add?”

“No,” he answers.

“Not even a little something, like…like how you enjoy me touching your chest right now?”

“I don’t enjoy it.”

My thumb pauses and I feel my hope fall flat as I say, “You don’t enjoy it?”

He wets his lips. “What I meant to say was, I shouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Oh.” I feel a smile tug on my lips. “Just like I shouldn’t enjoy your hand on my thigh?”

“Yeah,” he says, letting out a heavy breath. He then takes my hand, removes it from his chest, and places it next to me, but he doesn’t let go right away, instead his thumb rubs over the sensitive part of my wrist. “I’m sorry, Sloane.”

“Sorry for what?” I ask, butterflies erupting in my stomach with every pass of his thumb.

“Sorry for not being the type of partner you want in this.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I just, I just wish that you would open up a little.”

“I can’t,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Because.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Because I just can’t.”

Then he releases my hand and turns away from me, scooting to his side of the bed and shutting down immediately.

Internally, I’m screaming no because I felt like I had him, he was right there with me, in the moment, but then he just snapped out of it, and that is infuriating.

So infuriating.