: Chapter 30

This is easily the weirdest wedding I’ve ever been to.

And listen, I’m not here to judge, okay? I truly believe what you want to do on your special day is really up to you, but the only thing missing from the 1800s’ gilded soiree in this nineteenth-century ballroom is body odor.

Let me paint you a picture.

A hand-painted ceiling sets the scene with flying, naked cherubs, cotton-like clouds, and intimate touching of index fingers. Polished pillars line the perimeter of the room and are highlighted by ambient uplighting. And a combination of white lilies and powder-blue ribbons dress up dramatically sized vases that are centered on each table.

Currently I’m stuffed into an empire-waist gown that has turned out to be itchier than I anticipated, a corset that has my boobs touching my chin, with my hair curled in tight, uncombed tendrils that frame my face. I’m wearing gloves that stretch all the way up to my bicep, flats that are cutting into the tops of my feet, and I’m engaged in a dance with a man who clearly had a shot or two before the wedding according to the scent seeping out of the corner of his mouth.

Meanwhile, the wedding guests flank the perimeter of the ballroom, watching intently as we perform the steps to live music coming from a string quartet playing on a balcony overlooking the room. The bride and groom are smiling widely, newly married, ready to embark on their exciting journey, while the rest of us parade around, hoping this nightmare will soon be over.

At least that’s what is in my head.

I have already plotted my exit. I’m going to fake sick, clutch my stomach, and take off with a twiddle of my fingers and a pat on my back for a job well done, because why would I have to stay? I stood while the couple gave their vows, I swayed back and forth, hoping and praying the corset didn’t cut off all circulation in my body, and I performed the dances.

Nothing else will be needed of me.

Sure, would I like to stay because the cake looks like something I would want to plow my face into and have a feast? Of course.

But no cake is worth this kind of torture.

The kind of torture where your lousy husband stands off in the corner, eyeing you the entire time, never letting his gaze stray. It’s been like that since the moment I walked down the aisle. I could feel his eyes on me. It made my skin prickle and my heart rate accelerate, which of course sent me into a spiral of self-loathing.

This man has put me through a tumultuous time starting from “oh, she can be your bridesmaid” to “on your knees and suck me off” to “oops, forgot how to text,” and here I am, practically panting because he’s looking at me.

I hate him.

I want nothing to do with him.

And yet my nipples are ready to break through my corset to seek out his fingers.

The music ends and everyone claps while I turn to…uh…God, tall guy with alcohol breath, and curtsy while he bows.

Then the dancers start mingling with the crowd. Hudson is in the corner, a glass of liquid in his hand. I glance over to him, wondering if he wants me to come up to him or not, and well, it’s going to be a not.

Leaving-early plan needs to commence.

I bring my hand up to my stomach, ready to hinge at the hips ever so slightly to exhibit pain just as there is a tap on my shoulder.

I turn to find Sheridan standing behind me, tears welling up in her eyes. Her dress is simple and white, with lace details. Her gloves are lace as well, and the florals in her hair complement her dress beautifully. And speaking of tendrils, I think she has at least five hundred all individually curled.

“Oh, Sloane, thank you so much.” She pulls me into a hug that blows up my ability to act sick. “You did such a beautiful job and executed everything so well.”

I slap on a smile as she pulls away, looking like I was the luckiest person to be chosen for such an event. “Are you kidding me? This was so much fun. I’m so glad I could be a part of it.”

“Really? You had a good time?”

“The best. Can’t wait to go home and tell my ballroom instructor that I took part in a cotillion. He will be so proud.”

“Well, I’m glad we could add that to your dancing résumé.”

“You surely did. And the wedding, it was so beautiful. The weather could not have been more perfect.”

“Have you looked outside?” she asks. “It’s pouring. We made it inside just in time. I heard it’s good luck for it to rain on your wedding.”

People just say that to cheer up the couple so they don’t go into a tailspin about a soggy wedding.

“I heard the same thing,” I say with joy I’ve mustered up out of the deep pit of my very soul. “Looks like it’s going to be a long-lasting marriage.”

She smiles softly and then glances over at Archie. “I think so too.” She then takes my hand in hers and says, “Thank you again. You truly saved the day.”

And now I feel bad for having bitchy thoughts in my head. I guess despite being uncomfortable, heartbroken, and just flat-out depressed due to my current state of events, I have to admit that it does feel good that I was able to help Sheridan out. I can only imagine how stressful it is to get married, and losing a vital person for the day can’t be easy.

“It seriously was my pleasure,” I say and then give her a hug. She squeezes me tight and waves bye to me.

Okay, so does that mean I’m relieved of my duties? Because boy would I love to slip out of this corset⁠—

“You looked great out there.” I turn to find Devin standing next to me, looking all proper in his ascot and velvet waistcoat. “Didn’t know you could dance that well.”

Neither did I, but if anything, I’ve learned to rise to the occasion.

“Thank you,” I say as I catch him glancing at my breasts.

Jesus, Devin. Guess he didn’t get the hint last time Hudson spoke to him.

“Save a dance for me later?”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I ask. “I think we know what happened last time.”

“We can’t dance as friends?” he asks.

“Would it really be dancing as friends?”

He wets his lips and then takes a step closer. “Do you really love him?”

“She does,” Hudson says, as he slips his arm around my waist. In a low, terrifying tone, he continues, “And unless you want to lose your fucking life, stay away from her.”

Then he guides me away from Devin and toward an open window that catches the breeze from the storm outside but is welcome because I need to cool off.

“You realize once we’re divorced, you can’t keep doing that.”

His grip on me tightens as he says, “I will always protect you, Sloane.”

I turn toward him, keeping up the appearance as if we’re having an intimate conversation. “Really? Where were you the last few days then?”

“I don’t want to do this here.”

I chuckle. “What do you want to do, then? Pretend to be a happy couple and enjoy the evening?”

His eyes soften and he quietly says, “Dance with me.”

Vulnerability laces his eyes, and it’s not a look I see from him often. Usually when he’s talking about his brother and sister but never in a business setting, and that’s what this is. We’re here on business.

“No.”

“Can I ask why?”

Can he ask why? Can I ask why he’s being so polite? Normally, he would demand I dance with him and stupid me would fall all over myself to agree to his command.

“Because the less I have to touch you, the better.”

“You’re my wife, Sloane,” he says quietly.

“And this isn’t actually the eighteen hundreds. I have a mind of my own and can make my own decisions, and my decision is to spend as little time with you as possible.”

He sighs and those eyes of his plead with me. “The problem with that is we’re in a situation where you can’t ignore me. We have to put on a good show. Therefore, you can either stand here with me, hold my hand, and let me occasionally run my lips up your neck, or you can dance with me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He wets his lips, wraps his arm around me, and presses his hand to my lower back, pulling me in tight. Then with his other hand, he tilts my chin up and lowers his mouth only a few inches from mine.

“I would have no problem kissing you all goddamn night, Sloane.”

I stare into his eyes, the same eyes that used to make me feel weak in the knees. “Don’t, Hudson. Don’t try to change my mind with…with this attention. What you did was wrong.”

“I know that,” he says quietly, still holding me softly. “I handled the entire situation so incredibly wrong, Sloane. There is no excuse for me other than I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry I put you through something you didn’t deserve.”

That’s…uh…that’s an apology that I wasn’t quite expecting.

His hand smooths farther up my back. “You have put yourself out there for me, you’ve helped me, you’ve saved me in ways that I don’t even think you know, and yet, I treated you like you meant nothing to me. You deserve so much better.”

“I…I do,” I say, a little shocked.

His nose rubs against mine before his cheek slides across mine and his lips find my ear. “When we get back, I promise you, I will make it up to you.”

Still stunned, I stand there, unsure of where this is coming from. “Wh-why are you saying that?”

“I need to do right by you,” he whispers.

And for some reason, that raises a red flag. What’s with the quick change of heart? He doesn’t talk to me for a few days, and then all of a sudden, he’s here, holding me, saying he needs to do right by me.

That’s not a sentence he would say.

It’s almost like he’s being forced to say it.

But who would force…?

I lean back and look him in the eyes. “You spoke with Jude.”

“I didn’t,” he replies.

“Don’t lie to me. You spoke to him, and that’s why you’re being nice to me.”

“No, I didn’t,” he replies. “I tried to speak to you before I knew that Jude was aware of our marriage. But you wouldn’t let me. This is what I’ve wanted to say; you’re just listening now.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say, my voice trembling.

“It’s the truth.”

“So you didn’t speak to Jude…or Hardy…or Haisley.”

His eyes dart to the side and that’s all the information I need.

“Oh, so you did.”

“I spoke to Haisley and Hardy,” he says quickly. “But what I’m saying to you is what I meant to say to you when I got to the hotel.”

“Spare me.” I roll my eyes. I do not trust this man. I can’t. He’s too hot and cold and he’s a damn good liar. So, no, I’m never going to trust him again. “God, you’re such…you’re such a manipulator, Hudson.”

“I’m not manipulating you.”

“Yes, you are,” I say in a low tone so no one can hear me. “You know damn well I’m attracted to you, that I…that I have feelings for you—” I catch myself as the words fall out of my mouth.

“You what?” he asks, lifting away.

Oh shit.

Did I just say that?

God, why did I say that?

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head as a wave of nausea hits me all at the same time. “Just, just let me go.”

“Sloane—”

“Let me go, Hudson, or I’m going to start screaming.”

He slides his hand off me but leans into my ear and says, “We’re not done talking about this.”

Oh, yes we are.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to Sheridan.

“Oh my gosh, don’t apologize. I totally understand. This corset is cutting into me as well.”

I smile, trying to keep my head above water and save face, even though I’m mentally and internally crumbling. “Thank you. I’m so happy for you, and please, keep in touch.”

“Oh, this is not goodbye. This is see you later. After all, you’ll be visiting the Mayfair Club.”

If only she knew.

“That’s so true. Pencil me in for another afternoon tea.”

“You can count on it.” She kisses me on the cheek, and then with a wave, I take off and head out of the ballroom, down the hall, and straight out the entrance of the building where a doorman flags down a cab for me.

“Hold up,” I hear Hudson call out just as I step inside the cab.

Damn it.

“That’s my wife,” he says as he grabs the taxi door.

The doorman leans in and says, “Do you know this man?”

I glance at Hudson, and I’m so tempted to say no, but that will solve absolutely nothing other than make the situation worse, so I nod, and the doorman allows Hudson to join me.

Hudson gives the driver our address and sits back in the seat and rests his hand on my thigh.

We must look ridiculous in our wedding garb; then again, not sure how out of the ordinary it is. I wonder how many people have United Kingdom weddings, seeking out their Bridgerton dreams.

I don’t say anything because what is there really to say? I thoroughly embarrassed myself in the ballroom, shocked the hell out of the man next to me, then bolted. Remember way back when Hudson said I wasn’t mature enough to handle the situation we are currently in? I’m finding that to be incredibly true at the moment. This relationship with Hudson, it became too much. Feelings got involved. Emotions have been tangled and twisted. And now I just feel lost. I feel unsure. I feel like the man who was once by my side and who I connected with is a distant memory. All I want to do is climb into my most comfy sweatshirt, hold on to my childhood teddy bear, and wish all of this out of my life.

Our hotel isn’t far from the club, and when we arrive, Hudson pays by card, then helps me out of the cab by taking my hand. Continuing to hold it, we make our way to the elevator, then ride in silence, him still holding my hand the entire time.

When we reach our room, he lets go of me to open the door with a key card. Once in the room, I book it straight to the bathroom, where I start undressing, because I don’t want to be in this garment any longer than I need to be.

I feel his presence before I see him. And when I turn to face him, I find him leaning against the bathroom door, arms crossed, no longer wearing his suit jacket or ascot. Just his dress shirt, untucked and unbuttoned.

Knowing I need his help, I say, “Can you undo this corset for me?”

He pushes off the doorway, walks up behind me without a word, and starts undoing the strings. With every tug, the corset gives until it’s fully undone. I keep it close to my chest, though, and move away from him and toward the closet, where I quickly change into a pair of leggings and a loose-fitting top. Then I grab my suitcase and place it on the ground, opening it so I can shove everything I need inside.

“What are you doing?” His gruff voice sounds out through the small space of the closet.

“I can’t stay here tonight,” I say. “I need to leave.” I shove what I can in the suitcase and head into the bathroom, where I start gathering my toiletries, tears brimming, ready to fall over because I feel so incredibly embarrassed. So hurt. So out of my own body that I want to be alone.

He doesn’t stop me; instead, he watches me pack, his eyes tracking my every movement. I feel like I’m the main event, the way he watches over me. It makes me uncomfortable and very aware of everything I’m doing.

“Can you not watch me?” I ask as a tear slides down my cheek.

Once again, without a word, he moves away and heads into the living room, giving me the space I need. I pause in my packing, pull my knees into my chest, and rest my forehead on my knees as I allow myself to cry.

Letting it all out.

This is not how I expected this trip to end. Honestly, I didn’t have a clue how it would end, but one thing is for sure, it wasn’t in tears. It wasn’t feeling lost and so incredibly despondent. What if Jude never speaks to me again? What if this whole farce destroys their business—the very thing we were trying to save? Why did I ever suggest this in the first place?

I take a few minutes to gather myself, to wipe at my cheeks, and to take a few deep breaths. When I think I’m ready to leave, I sit on top of my suitcase, zip it up, lift it up, and drag it out into the living room, where I find Hudson sitting on the couch, leaning forward, his hands digging through his hair. He glances up with just his eyes, and I see the same pain I’m feeling reflected in his irises.

I swipe at my nose with the back of my hand and move over to my sneakers. I put them on, one by one, and then grab my purse from the hook next to the door. Unsure of where I’m going, I turn my back and head toward the door, just as I hear a very quiet, “Don’t.”

It’s so faint, I almost just breezed right over it, but I heard it.

I glance over my shoulder, my eyes landing on Hudson, his hair sticking up in all different directions, his eyes heavy, his expression bleak.

Leave, Sloane.

Leave now.

Stop looking at him and just leave.

But my legs don’t listen as I remain still.

“Please,” he says, his voice shaking. “Please don’t leave.”

My lip trembles from the sound of his voice.

My stomach turns in knots from indecision.

My heart hammers drastically in my heart, begging me to move forward, to go to him.

He swallows and repeats, “Please…please stay with me.”