: Chapter 27

“How was dance class?” my driver, Harold, asks.

“Great, thank you,” I say as I stare out the window.

“Would you like me to take you anywhere?”

“Just the hotel,” I say while I cross one leg over the other.

“Mr. Hopper told me to take you wherever you wanted.” He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I can show you around.”

I shake my head. “No, I have work to do. We can go back to the hotel. Thank you.”

“As you wish,” he says and puts the car in drive.

Dance class was actually boring and not fun at all. I wound up having to dance with Mary Beth, who couldn’t be any drier. It was like dancing with a decade-old saltine. There was no humor, no laughter, and she was stiff as a board. Was she playing the part? Of course, but still, it was so much more fun with Hudson, especially when he forgot to bow before the dance started.

Today was just blah.

My phone beeps in my hand and hope surges through me as I pull it out of my purse in the hopes of hearing from Hudson, but when I see that it’s from Sheridan, all that hope tumbles to the ground.

Not sure why I thought he might text me after the way he left, but I guess despite trying to act like him leaving didn’t bother me, it bothers me immensely.

Tremendously.

He made me feel like nothing.

Like I didn’t matter.

Like I was just a piece in his game.

And maybe I am.

Maybe I am a tool, and I was too stupid to realize it.

But why didn’t it feel like I was utilitarian? Why did it feel like something so much deeper was developing between us? Why did it feel like he was ripping my heart out and taking it with him?

Then again, I should have known I never would have been more to him than just business.

Nothing like a good wake-up call to remind me where I stand.

I open the text from Sheridan and read it.

Sheridan: Hey, wanted to confirm the dress fitting tomorrow. Does that still work for you?

Feeling dead inside, I text her back.

Sloane: Yup, that works. I’ll see you there.

Sheridan: Thank you! I appreciate you so much.

Well, at least someone appreciates me.

I set my phone down and stare out the window, my eyes not really focusing on anything as my mind flashes through this morning and the detached look in Hudson’s eyes.

There is no doubt in my mind that if I didn’t wake up, he would have left without saying bye. And what a shitty thing to do.

Awful actually.

It’s bad enough that he’s left me in a foreign country alone, but to do it without saying goodbye or leaving an explanation? What was I going to do, just wake up and be like…Where’s Hudson? And then find out from the doorman, or the driver—no offense to Harold—that Hudson took off for America?

Jesus!

I bite down on the corner of my lip, trying to steady the emotions pulsing through me. I should have known this is what was going to happen. I should have been mentally prepared, but instead, I got caught up in the fanfare of “my wife” and the touching…and fucking.

God, I’m an idiot.

HUDSON

“Did you just get off the plane?” Hardy says when he walks into my office, looking surprised.

“Yeah,” I answer as I wake up my computer.

“Why the hell are you here?”

“Why else would I be here?” I ask as I click on my email and watch my inbox fill with correspondence. Even though I was working on the plane, it looks like I’ve barely touched anything. That’s the vicious cycle of emails though—the minute you answer one, two more come in.

“Don’t you think you should get some rest first?”

“No,” I answer, staring straight at my screen and skimming through an email from our lawyers.

“Dude, can I have your attention for two seconds?”

I sit back in my chair, fold my arms over my chest, and say, “What?”

“Don’t you think we should talk about all of this? You look a little psychotic and the last thing we need is for you to make a mistake that you’re going to regret later on. Not to mention, did you really leave⁠—”

Knock, knock.

My eyes fly to the doorway of my office where Jude walks in. “Am I interrupting?”

From the sound of his voice, I can feel my balls crawl all the way up my throat.

“No,” I say, my voice coming out squeaky. I clear it and repeat, “No. Come in.”

He glances back at Sloane’s desk and thumbs toward it. “I was hoping to catch my sister. I haven’t heard from her in a bit and thought I’d treat her to dinner. Did she head home early?”

Jesus fuck, he has no idea she’s in London right now. What the hell do I say?

Sweat immediately heats up my lower back as my mouth feels like glue, sticking together as I attempt to come up with something to say. Anything.

“Uhh…”

Nothing.

Not one goddamn thing comes to mind.

Because if I say that she’s at home, he’ll go there. Then he’ll know I lied to him when he finds out that in fact she is not home.

Panic ensues.

More sweat forms.

And as he looks between us, I can watch his jovial expression slowly turn sour.

“Where is she?” he asks, looking none too pleased now.

Fuck.

Throat dry.

Hands clammy.

I look toward Hardy, who is trying to cut me in half with his eyes, begging me to say something, but I’m fucking lip locked.

Tired.

And I wasn’t ready for this.

I watch Hardy roll his eyes and then turn toward Jude. “She’s in London.”

Jesus Christ!

Is he going to tell him the truth?

“London?” Jude’s brows cinch together. “What the fuck is she doing there? And why didn’t she tell me?”

Great question.

An obvious oversight on our end.

We were so worried about keeping the marriage a secret that we forgot about telling Jude that she was going there for work.

“She’s a bridesmaid,” Hardy says. “In the program.”

“Oh.” His brow knits together. “When did that start?”

“A little bit ago,” I answer, finally finding my voice. “It’s uh, it’s for Sheridan and Archie Wimbach. They needed help, and she stepped up.”

“Oh.” He scratches the top of his head. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Because I married her.

Because she’s been busy getting on her knees for me.

Because I’m the worst fucking business partner on the face of this earth.

“It happened pretty fast,” I say.

He studies me for a moment and then says, “Weren’t you in London?”

“Yup,” I say, swallowing the lump of nerves that’s forming in my throat. “Uh, just back here to deal with the lawsuit.”

“What lawsuit?”

Fuck, we didn’t even tell him about the lawsuit?

I look at Hardy, who winces. “We, uh, we weren’t saying anything because we didn’t want to worry anyone until we figured out exactly what we were going to do, but our dad finally served us with papers.”

“What?” Jude asks, hands on his hips. “You should have fucking said something.”

“Like Hardy said, we didn’t want to worry anyone,” I say, trying to remain calm. “And like I said, there’s nothing to worry about because the lawsuit is erroneous. I’m going to speak to my father about it and put an end to this feud.”

Jude looks between us, clearly not happy about any of the information he’s received in the last five minutes. “So you came here to deal with the lawsuit and left my sister alone to fend for herself in London?”

Yup.

Because I’m an ass.

“She, uh, she said she was fine and could handle it,” I answer, feeling my balls start to shrivel into dust.

“She’s fine? She’s not fucking fine, Hudson. She shouldn’t be out there alone. Why the fuck would you just leave her there? She’s never traveled to London before, and it’s a big fucking city.”

Hardy looks at me, eyes wide, clearly just as terrified as me.

“Look, man.” I tug on my hair. “I appreciate how protective you are over your sister, Hardy and I are the same way with Haisley, but there is a time where you kind of have to let her do her own thing.” Because Sloane is more than capable of doing things on her own. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. I’ve seen it firsthand.

“Don’t tell me how to handle my sister.” He points to his chest. “I’m the one who needs to protect her. She doesn’t have parents⁠—”

“Neither do we,” I say, pointing to me and Hardy. “Sure, they exist and they’re breathing, but they have no problem sitting back and watching us fail; they have no problem trying to destroy everything we’ve been able to create. I appreciate you and your need to protect your sister, but she chose to go to London for work. You told me to treat her like an employee, so I treated her like an employee.”

The stress has gotten the better of me because I know and Hardy knows that’s not entirely the truth. She didn’t choose to be a bridesmaid; I forced it on her. Sure, she could have said no, but I made it hard for her to decline. And sure, she chose to go to London, but she also had to because that’s where the wedding is and because I needed her to be at the club with me…after we got married. And yes, getting married was her choice, but I didn’t stop it from happening, I went along for the ride because it benefitted me.

The whole thing is so convoluted. So wrong.

But given the amount of stress that I’m under, I can’t seem to force myself to take any of the blame at the moment.

Jude looks off to the side and exhales. “Fuck, you’re right. I did tell you that.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “Sorry, I think I’m just bundling up my emotions and taking them out on you. Both of my sisters have kept me out of the loop on things. The other day I went by the house and saw a bunch of empty boxes and paint cans by the trash, and I wondered what they were doing and why the hell they didn’t say anything to me or ask for my help. When I tried contacting Stacey, she didn’t return my call. I feel like they’re hiding something from me and…well, being in London was one of them. Not your problem though.” He blows out another heavy breath. “Okay, I think I’ll try contacting her. Thanks, man.”

Fuck do I feel guilty.

I feel like the worst human on earth actually.

Because I know their silence has everything to do with me.

“Sure.” I swallow down the lump forming in my throat.

“Okay, I’m headed out. I’ll let Haisley know you two say hi.”

“Thanks,” Hardy and I say at the same time. Once we hear him leave, Hardy casually shuts the door and then turns toward me, sheer panic in his eyes.

“Dude.”

“I know. I fucking know,” I say, dragging both hands down my face. “Fuck, that was bad. That was really bad.”

“You have me looped into this now. Like…if he finds out about you two, he’s going to be livid, especially after having this conversation. He will murder the both of us.”

“Christ, I know, Hardy!” I yell and then stand from my chair, my nervous energy getting the best of me. “Fuck.” I tilt my head back and try to take calming breaths. After a few seconds, I say, “Let me get through these conversations with Dad, and then I can handle the Sloane situation.”

“Think you can wait that long?”

I nod. “Sloane won’t say anything. I know she won’t. I just have to get through the next twenty-four hours and then I’ll be able to handle the Sloane situation.”

“Hudson,” Hardy says, pulling my attention with the serious tone in his voice. “I’m counting on you, man.”

“I know, Hardy. I know.”

SLOANE

He’s such a motherfucker.

Like the motherest of all fuckers.

Why?

Because he has not corresponded with me once.

For all I know, he could be floating around in the Atlantic Ocean, having never made it to California. The common courtesy would be to send a quick text to let me know that he landed. Maybe let me know that he’s okay. I don’t know…maybe check up on me and make sure that I wasn’t run over by a cab because I was looking the wrong way while crossing the street.

But nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And not only am I pissed about it, but, yeah, you guessed it, I’m hurt.

Yup. I cried.

I cried this morning.

I cried while going for a walk.

And I cried at my dress fitting, which by the way, I’m a saint for squeezing into that thing.

A corset? That was not part of the deal. No need for a plate at the wedding dinner, nope. I can just eat off my breasts, that’s how propped up they were.

And if you’re wondering if I’ve checked in on him, you know, since it goes both ways, the answer would be yes. I’ve sent precisely three text messages that have gone unanswered. I asked him if he landed. Checked in to see if he needed me to do anything for him. And the final one was to let him know I was fitted for the dress.

Nothing.

So, like I said, he is the motherest of all fuckers.

I take a seat on the couch, then lie down across it lengthwise and stare up at the ceiling. Nothing like the guy you like ignoring you to send you into a tailspin of self-doubt and loathing.

I skipped dinner, not interested in food, and I’ve opted to drown myself in water, because I’ll be damned if the motherest of all fuckers causes me to be dehydrated. I know when we left, we both slipped into business mode, but there was a little piece of me that thought he might slip back into the man he was before he left—the man who joked around with me, held me, worshipped me, but I get it.

I see it now.

He doesn’t care like I care.

Our eventual divorce is a given, and I need to accept that.

My phone beeps next to me, sending me into a jackknife flail, where I nearly roll off the couch as I reach for my phone. I fumble it to the ground, and in an embarrassing panic, reach for it, fumble it some more, and turn it over only to see Jude’s name scroll across the screen.

Son of a bitch.

That was…humbling.

And humiliating.

Word to the wise, never become obsessed with a man; it leads to dark moments such as this where you think you’re done with him, only to nearly fall off the couch from the possibility that he might be texting you back.

Unlocking the screen, I read Jude’s message.

Jude: So…stopped by Hudson’s office today.

“Oh dear God,” I whisper as I sit up, my hands trembling, because what the hell?

Did Hudson tell him we were married?

Uh, that would have been good information to know.

Maybe a little heads-up would have been nice? A warning possibly.

And why isn’t Jude reaching through the phone and attempting to lecture me?

Now, I’ve seen things like this play out before, where the person on the other side of the text thinks the person is talking about one thing when in reality they’re talking about something else, only to divulge a secret.

Well, not me.

I’m better than that.

So I play it cool.

Sloane: Oh yeah? Give him a pat on the back? A solid handshake? Maybe brought him a French silk pie to share? Not sure if he even likes that, but what a nice treat for the both of you.

He texts back immediately.

Jude: What do you think I did at his office?

Okay, I don’t like how evasive he’s being. I need to play this right. So I take my chances and I text Hudson again.

Sloane: Hey, uh, my brother has texted me and said he stopped by your office. Any chance you want to let me know what you chatted about?

I send the message and wait a few seconds, hoping that maybe he will text me back right away, but unfortunately my husband is being very neglectful at the moment. So I text Jude.

Sloane: Umm, pretty sure I just said what I thought you did. Is that a no on the pie?

To my displeasure, Jude texts back right away.

Jude: Do I look like the type of person who shares pie?

This is very unlike my brother. He doesn’t beat around the bush. He gets straight to the point, and the fact that he’s not doing just that freaks me out. Makes me think that he possibly knows something that he shouldn’t know.

And he’s attempting to sweat me out.

Not going to happen.

Sloane: You’ve shared pie with me before.

The moment I send the text, the phone rings and for a moment, I think it’s going to be Hudson to help a girl out, but instead, it’s my brother, and I know I’m utterly fucked.

All I need to do is deny, deny, deny.

What’s he going to do? Hop on a plane, travel across the Atlantic, and give me a stern talking-to? No, he won’t do that. Worst-case scenario, he strangles Hudson, and I guess right now, better Jude than me, you know, since I’m his wife.

Clearing my throat, I answer the phone, “Hello, Big Brother.”

“Hello, Sister who hasn’t talked to me in a long time.”

Okay, okay, his voice seems relatively normal. If he knew about me marrying Hudson, pretty sure there wouldn’t be any pleasantries. So that’s a nice observation to have.

“Yes, crazy, right? I’ve been pretty busy.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says.

What exactly has he heard?

“Oh yeah? What, uh, what have you heard around the streets?”

“I heard from your boss that you’re in London.”

Okay…he said boss. Not husband. That’s a good sign.

“Why, yes, yes I am,” I answer. “Having a little fun over here in the land of tea and Big Ben, and boy, is he big. Thick. Girthy.”

“Sloane.”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you I was in London?” I ask, just wanting to make sure we’re on the same page.

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Um, honestly, it all happened so fast. One minute I’m taking notes at a meeting and the next I’m signed up to be a bridesmaid in a Regency wedding.”

“Regency?” he asks.

“Yeah, you know, like the olden times. I have to wear a corset, and I needed to learn dances. It was a whole thing. Anywho, yup, I’m in London.”

“You still didn’t answer my question: Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because I was caught up in getting married.

Because I was afraid you would find out.

Because I’m terrified that the man I’ve been crushing on for a long time is the man who is currently breaking my heart.

“Because do I really need to tell you everything?” I ask. “You’re married now, Jude.”

“Just because I’m married, doesn’t mean you should stop including me in your life. Stacey wouldn’t even answer me, and when I went by the house the other day, I saw the trash and it looks like you’re doing renovations. Renovations, Sloane.” Crap. Forgot about that. “You know what my business is? Why would my sisters be conducting renovations without me? Without consulting? What are you two hiding?”

“We aren’t hiding anything.”

“Uh-huh, and why are you taking on a bridesmaid job? Is Hudson not paying you sufficiently? Because last I heard you were getting a decent salary.”

Christ, this is why having a nosy and protective older brother is incredibly hard. You can’t hide anything from him—at least not for long.

“What’s going on, Sloane?”

“Nothing is going on,” I say, remaining calm. “We’re just doing some things around the house.”

“What did I tell you about that? We made some changes when we were living there to make it homier, but we didn’t invest a lot of money into it because it’s not our house. If you’re taking on another job to pay for whatever you’re doing, that’s just fucking stupid.”

“It’s not stupid⁠—”

“It’s a waste of your money. If you want to do renovations, then buy a place of your own.”

“Jude, listen, it’s⁠—”

“I thought we talked about this,” he continues, irritating me because it seems like he’s having a hard time listening at the moment. “I know that house means a lot to us, but just because we had good memories there, doesn’t mean we need to sink our hard-earned money into it.”

“Jude, we aren’t⁠—”

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me about this. Taking on another job to renovate a house you don’t own? That’s not making smart choices, Sloane. You and Stacey know better than that. At least I thought I taught you better than that.”

I don’t know what comes over me.

Blame it on the emotions of not being able to connect with Hudson.

Or getting lectured by my older brother over something he has no idea about.

But I find myself blurting out a truth that I wasn’t supposed to blurt out.

“We’re not being stupid,” I say. “We own the house.”

The moment the words fall out of my mouth, I know it’s a mistake because the phone practically goes dead as my brother processes this new information.

“Excuse me?” he says. “You what?”

Did you hear the tone?

Did it send a shiver up your spine?

Because my vertebrae are rattled.

With less bravado, I answer, “We, uh, we bought the house.”

“You bought the house,” he says, his voice so not convinced as to what I’m saying.

“Yes, we bought the house, together. Well, we’re renting to own at the moment.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Sloane?”

Feeling like I need some help on this, I say, “Um, maybe I can merge Stacey in on a phone call, you know, have her explain it with me.”

“You know what? Great idea,” he says. “I’ll merge her. Hold on.”

The phone goes quiet and panic sets in as I turn my phone on speaker and then swipe up to get to my messages where I check my texts with Hudson.

Once again, nothing from him.

I’m offended. You can’t tell me that he doesn’t have his phone with him. This is intentional.

He’s intentionally being an ass.

“Sloane, you there?” Jude says, coming back on the line.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Stacey, you there?”

“Sure am,” she says. “Hey, Sister. How’s old London?”

“London-y,” I answer, not wanting to get into too much because we can’t be having anything slip.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this sibling conversation?”

“Jude and I were⁠—”

“You bought the house?” Jude asks, interrupting me.

There’s silence and then, “Uhhhhh, yeeeeeah.” And then, “You told him?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“Yeah, she told me,” Jude says. “Told me everything.”

“Well, that’s not⁠—”

“Wow, really?” Stacey laughs. “And you’re not marching over to Hudson’s place to choke him with your bare hand?”

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

OH FUCK!

“Why would I be choking Hudson?”

“You wouldn’t,” I say quickly. “There would be no choking of Hudson.”

“Stacey, why would I be choking Hudson?” His voice grows with an intimidating edge.

No, don’t say it, Stacey.

Keep your mouth shut.

I fumble quickly to text her.

To warn her.

That’s what I should have been doing instead of checking to see if Hudson texted me. That motherfucker.

I nearly black out as my fingers move across the phone.

“Stacey,” Jude barks, scaring the phone right out of my hands.

“Um, did I say Hudson? I mean…uh, Hoo-done. Yeah, Hoo-done. It’s uh, one of those young-people terms you wouldn’t know. Anywho, um, what, uh what were we talking about?”

Jesus, Stacey.

Not even close to a good recovery.

“We’re talking about why you bought a house and how that would be connected to Hudson.”

“There’s no connection,” I say, bringing the phone close to my mouth so he can hear me loud and clear. “Yup, none, whatsoever. Don’t know why she said that. I think, wait… Stacey, did you take one of those gummies you were talking about trying?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. Uh-huh, I took a gummy. Silly me. Should have waited until a little later. You know, I’m actually sort of not feeling well, so if I could just jump off this call, that would be great.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jude growls. “Now, someone tell me what the hell is going on.”

Wanting to jump in and make sure Stacey doesn’t say anything, I quickly think of a reason and say, “I got a raise.”

But to my dismay, Stacey says at the same time, “They’re married.”

Oh.

Dear.

Fucking.

Jesus.

My ass puckers and my stomach flops to the ground while the line goes dead. I look down at my screen to see if he hung up, but nope, he’s still there, probably suffering through some sort of conniption.

Finally, very slowly, very deeply, he says, “What the fuck did you just say?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and answer, “Uh, he gave me a raise.”

“Not you,” he yells. “Stacey, what the fuck did you just say?”

I sink down on the couch, tears welling up in my eyes as my sister softly says, “They’re married.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Jude says, the anger of three Scottish clans billowing out of him. “You married Hudson?”

“Sloane, I’m sorry,” Stacey says, her voice wobbling, no doubt she’s crying and feeling like total shit.

“Stop talking, Stacey. Sloane, did you marry Hudson?”

I nod my head even though he can’t see me and then with a weepy voice, I say, “Yes.”

More silence.

And that’s what kills me.

The silence.

Because he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know how upset he is.

How angry he is.

How hurt he must be.

“I’m sorry, Jude. But⁠—”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t… Do not fucking talk to me.”

Then he hangs up the phone, dropping the line between all three of us.

I toss the phone on the coffee table, cover my eyes, and sob.