I wanted to touch him, to caress his face, to make him see. I stretched my hand tentatively toward him, but he stepped back.
“Obviously you do know me,” he spit out, “if you feel comfortable making that kind of statement.” His tone was nasty, sarcastic. He didn’t believe it. He was spinning my words, my meaning.
I turned away from him, processing. I did know things about him—things I’d discovered from spending time with him. I did believe there was more to him than the guy who manipulated women for sport. I saw it in him, felt it when he kissed me, and when he lay between my legs.
And if I really believed his sincerity in those moments, then I had to say I trusted him.
Which meant he was telling the truth now—he hadn’t fathered a baby with Celia. But then why would he tell his parents that he had?
The realization punched my stomach like a ton of bricks. “It’s because you love her, isn’t it?” Voicing it made the weight even heavier. “That’s why you told your parents it was your baby.”
“No!”
His defiant protest spun me back to face him. “There’s no other logical reason.” To assume such a huge responsibility for another person—that required an emotional connection. It was proof he wasn’t a sociopath—that he could care for someone at that level—but that was hardly comfort to me in that moment.
“Stop this, Alayna.” It was a command, a low even tone that I guessed few people argued with.
But I was determined to hear him confirm the truth that would kill me. “You’re in love with her.”
He threw his arms out emphatically. “For the love of God! If I am even capable of that emotion, Celia’s not the one I’d be…” He stopped himself, his jaw snapping shut.
Celia’s not the one…His words echoed in my ears like a song I loved to hear.
He stepped toward me. Cupping his hands at the sides of my face, he lifted my chin roughly toward him. “I’m not in love with Celia. I promised I’d be honest with you, Alayna, but it does no good if you don’t trust me.”
I was still reeling from his slip. Celia wasn’t the one he’d…what? Be in love with? Then who—with me?
But he wasn’t giving that away. For now, his almost statement was enough—it calmed my nerves and steadied my heart.
He smoothed the hair down behind my ear, and I stared into his gray eyes, noting a tenderness that I hadn’t seen earlier. “I’ve never slept with Celia.” His tone was soft but urgent. “I’m not in love with her. I didn’t get her pregnant. Trust me.” Even softer, even more urgent. “Please.”
“Okay.”
His brow creased in surprise. “Okay?”
“Okay, I trust you.”
“You do?”
I thought of how eager I’d been to have Brian’s trust, how disappointed I’d been when I realized I still didn’t. Hudson needed someone, needed me to believe in him. I should have been telling him every second. If I loved him, like I believed I did, then I’d have to do better at building him up.
I smiled at him. “I do.”
His body relaxed like a huge weight had been removed from his shoulders. “Thank you.” He kissed my forehead. “Thank you.”
I was absorbed with him in that space of time, but not so much as to not observe its oddity. We were holding each other close, exchanging assurances that portrayed us as more than casual lovers. What are we doing? I almost asked him; I felt the shape of the words on my tongue, but couldn’t locate the air to push them past my lips. Did he sense it too?
If he recognized it, he hid it from me, pulling my head down to his shoulder where I couldn’t look for it in his eyes. And that was fine. I enjoyed his embrace, the warmth and security it gave me, whatever it meant for us.
After the possibility of addressing the moment had passed, he said, “Look. My mother’s leaving.”
I pulled away to glance at the group we’d left behind. Sure enough, Sophia with her oversized sunhat was walking alone up the pathway toward the house. With her gone, it made the idea of rejoining the group more tolerable. “We should get back.”
“We should.” A hint of reluctance laced his tone and his eyes shifted to my lips. “We should kiss and make up first.” He’d already begun lowering his face to mine. “In case anyone’s watching.”
I didn’t have time to agree before one hand wrapped around the back of my neck and his tongue swept into my mouth. Unlike the majority of our kisses that were generally reserved for sex, this one was sweet and easy. That didn’t mean it lacked passion. Hudson sucked and licked and nibbled first at my top lip and then gave equal treatment to the bottom. Then his tongue was inside my mouth again, reaching and searching, circling mine in a lazy spiral.
He labeled it as a kiss for our distant spectators, but it was completely ours—a harmonic blending of him and me, so thoroughly fused I could no longer remember where he began, where I ended, whose taste belonged to who. And it was more—a love song without words, a promise without fear. It was a spark, a beginning of something new.
We parted hesitantly, both of us afraid to break the spell. Then, I slipped my hand in his and we returned to our roles as girlfriend and boyfriend.
Hudson changed after that, perhaps because Sophia had left, but I chose to believe it had more to do with the faith I had placed in him. He became playful and lighthearted. I witnessed it first in the volleyball match against Adam and Chandler. He skillfully dominated the game, as I was sure he dominated a boardroom. But in between plays he surprised me—giving me high fives and patting me lightly on the behind. It didn’t feel like he was putting on a show—there wasn’t any need to convince Adam and Chandler of our relationship.
I welcomed the development, embracing it perhaps too readily, the line between real and pretend blurring.
After we’d won two sets of volleyball, we took a spin on the Jet Skis—Hudson driving, me clutching to him tightly from behind. He rode confidently across the choppy water, and I thrilled at the speed and the closeness and how easy it was to just be with him.
And when we lost our balance and fell into the ocean, he clutched me to him and laughed then kissed me mercilessly before righting the Jet Ski and pulling me up behind him. “Again, precious?” he yelled over the motor.
“Again.”
Later, after we’d packed up and returned from the beach, we changed our clothes and went down for a BBQ on the veranda that included brats and dogs cooked by Jack. Sophia claimed another insufferable headache and only showed herself momentarily to say goodnight, though I suspected she really came down to fill her glass.