7. Alana
It took some time,but finally, the bathtub was clean enough that Alana was willing to forget that anyone else had ever used it, let alone probably had sex in it. “Are you sure you don’t mind if I do this?” she asked Hudson, who had settled on one of the armchairs with a sketchbook.
“I wouldn’t have inhaled that many bleach fumes if I did,” he replied.
“Okay. I’m going to shower quick and then get into the tub.”
“Shower first?” asked Hudson, clearly a man who did not languish in bathtubs regularly.
“I don’t want to soak in my own filth,” Alana replied.
Hudson nodded thoughtfully, and bent down to concentrate on his sketchbook again. Alana took a quick body shower, and then, wrapped in towels, walked over to the bathtub. It took only minutes to fill up, and she tossed in two bath bombs, just in case one would not create enough bubble and color to cover her body.
“Don’t look for a minute, please,” she said.
“Sure,” Hudson replied, sounding unconcerned.
And this was why she had to get her shit back together with quickness. If Hudson had asked her not to look when she knew he was going to be naked? She wouldn’t look, she wasn’t gross, but trust and believe she would be fully imagining what he was looking like.
Alana tried and failed to contain her groan of delight as she sank into the water. “This is the best day of my life,” she said, leaning back with a sigh.
Hudson did not respond.
After a good fifteen minutes of just enjoying floating around in the bathtub, Alana reached over and turned on her Kindle, happy Shannon had packed her waterproof cover.
Hudson brooded in the corner with his sketchbook. Alanna had tried to ask him a few questions. But the look on his face made it very clear that he was in a zone, and that zone was a grumpy artiste at work, and he was not to be disturbed. Finally, he tossed his sketchbook down. “Well, this is a crapshoot,” he muttered.
Alana looked up from her Kindle. “Do you want to do something?”
Hudson sighed. “I’m just feeling pouty.”
Alana snickered. “I never would have guessed.”
He raised one singular eyebrow. “Oh, because you’re never pouty or overdramatic.”
“We’re not talking about me right now.” Alana said. “We’re talking about you, fake husband.”
Hudson rolled his eyes. “Is this now how you’re going to be referring to me now?”
“It’s either that or an artiste who is throwing a temper tantrum.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you.”
“Nobody has ever accused me of being kind.” Alana said.
Hudson gave her a look. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Promise. Never ever.”
Hudson said nothing. “Maybe I’ll go look at the gardens,” he said. He looked over at her, and then very quickly looked away. She glanced down at herself. No, the bath bomb residuals still had her covered. “Wanna come?”
Yes. Yes, she did. But that was not what he meant, and she had to stop seeing sex in every conversation with him or she would die from a lack of sexual fulfillment before they hit their three-month anniversary. Could someone die from a lack of sexual fulfillment? It wasn’t like she could Google that shit and expect an actual scientific answer, which meant Alana would resign herself to never knowing the answer.
“Let me just finish my chapter,” she said.
“Is that what you’ve been doing over there?”
“Yup. Reading the latest book in this series I’m in the middle of.”
“Ah,” Hudson said.
Alana had been mostly behaving herself up until then. But fuck it. This whole trying to be married and pretending to be nice to each other thing just felt weird. It wasn’t like he was behaving, just her. (Yes, she was going to get off to the memory of him threatening to paddle her for the next three weeks. Whatever. No big deal.) It wasn’t how they interacted. And it just felt profoundly uncomfortable for her to pretend to be a person she wasn’t. Mostly because it was giving her too many ideas that she absolutely did not need in her head. And so she decided to fall back on her favorite activity: saying things that would startle Hudson.
“I don’t know if you’d like it or not.”
“Maybe. What’s it about?” Hudson asked, picking up the bait.
What a sucker.
“Oh, it’s a post-apocalyptic book about this girl who accidentally leaves the safe zone she’s made with her friends and gets kidnapped by a guy.”
“Okay…”
“So, said guy is actually a monster.”
There was silence.
“A…monster,” he repeated.
“Yep,” Alana continued cheerfully. “Classic monsters in a romance novel. They’re like seven feet tall. May have extra penises, all kinds of fun sex things.”
Hudson blinked slowly. “Aren’t classic monsters like Bigfoot and Mothman?” he asked. “Since when do they have extra penises? How many extra penises does one need?”
Alana grinned. “You’re thinking of cryptids. These are romance monsters, who are much better. Anyway, she gets rescued by one of the monsters, except at first she doesn’t know it’s a rescue, and then they fall in love. Duh.”
“And you’re reading it on purpose?”
God, shocking Hudson kinda made her horny. She was going to have to unpack that little nugget of info at therapy.
“Well, yeah, it’s kinda hard to be reading something like that by accident. There aren’t so many post-apocalyptic monster romances. It’s a cute little subgenre, though.”
“I was not aware that there was more than one.”
“Follow me to the dark side,” Alanna said cheerfully. “I can teach you about all sorts of interesting romance books.”
“I think maybe I’ll stick with nonfiction. If I read the monster book, I would be too concerned about the logistics behind it.”
“Oh, the logistics are mostly explained, though it does depend on the series, ” Alana said. “Though sometimes there are monster threesomes, and that gets a little more…physically complicated.”
“The logistics of that…” Hudson trailed off. “I feel like I’d need to stage a diorama or some shit to follow.”
The thought of Hudson, the same Hudson who made art that moved her down to the depths of her soul, staging a diorama of group monster sex was too much for Alana, and she laughed herself silly.
“It’s not that funny.”
“It absolutely is,” she argued. “And anyway, don’t change the subject. Only nonfiction? I think we might need to have an intervention for you.”
“We have to have an intervention for me?” Hudson repeated. “I’m not the one who’s reading dystopian monster sex books.”
“No, if I need an intervention, it’s not because of my reading habits. You on the other hand, only nonfiction? Hudson. How are you supposed to be creative if you’re not consuming creative shit?”
“I am consuming creative shit,” Hudson argued.
“Nonfiction? What do you read? How to optimize your time?” Alanna pitched her voice lower, mimicking every annoying Hustle Grind bro. “It’s almost as bad as just listening to those gross dude podcasts.”
“The last book I read was about an art heist in Boston in the 90’s. And I don’t listen to that many podcasts.”
“Ooh, art and crime!” Alana grinned. “And at least your podcast listening habits don’t need another intervention, too.”
“The last podcast I listened to was a world history podcast. Each episode was around seven hours long.”
Alana gaped. “How…” she trailed off. “I don’t know if I will understand the inside of your brain.”
“Was that a goal of yours?” Hudson asked.
Alana thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe a little bit just to potentially make this year easier.”
“Is it going to be that difficult?”
“No. Everything’s gonna be fine,” Alana all but tripped over her words. “Everything’s gonna be great. We’re gonna get through this little fake honeymoon thing. We’re gonna go home. And everything’s gonna just go back to the way it was and I’ll talk to HR, and you get to quit your job and make art full time. And then we go to the doctor and you just have to lie one time for me. And that’s it. And everything will be perfect.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Hudson asked.
“Both,” Alana replied. “I’m trying to convince both of us.”
“How’s that working out?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. How is it working out?”
Hudson shrugged. “You want to go to a garden after you finish reading your monster sex chapter?”
“Oh, they’re not having sex now. I think they’re going to rescue another human from a rich guy compound, and she’ll probably be the main character in the next book.”
“I’m not going to think any further into this,” Hudson said.
“It’s probably best for your health if you don’t.”
The gardens were beautiful, but not specifically memorable. It was nice to wander through fields of flowers with Hudson, needling him about his art, his life, and the books she was reading. It felt better. She was on better ground than she had been before, pretending to be nice. Well, she wasn’t pretending, but it was better like this. Let him be reminded of all the reasons he found her unacceptable. And she could be reminded why, as much as she found him attractive, occasionally witty, and smart and funny and extremely artistically talented, he was not in fact, a person she was dating, but a fake spouse. And if she kept telling herself that, maybe she would believe it.
Bedtime for the two of them went a little bit smoother than she had assumed it would. Taking turns showering, brushing teeth, getting ready for bed, actively not thinking about Hudson showering, and concentrating on her monster book. Shannon had made sure to pack her skincare face laser which she found especially amusing, especially when Hudson saw her and asked if she was trying to cosplay as an alien.
It wasn’t like they were actually sleeping sleeping together. So Alana went with her full skincare routine, including a moisturizing face mask at the end. Everything was fine, that was, until it truly hit her. This was an only one bed kind of situation.
She’d read these books. Well, she hadn’t read the books where the bed was the size of three beds. Normally, the only one bed situation was a Duke and his governess or other employee or someone else’s bride, and they were running through the rain or away from an evil person and through the rain. And they get to an inn and there is only one bedroom left. And he offers to sleep on the floor, but that offer isn’t all that serious because it’s not like the floors were heated or comfortable and also what kind of romance novel would that be if there was only one bed, and they didn’t eventually both sleep in it?
Alana had Googled the size of the beds in those inns one time. She’d been curious, and the results weren’t as horrible as the time she googled the actual fashion of the Regency period. Hardest of passes. Those beds, unlike the monstrosity that she and Hudson were sharing, were not very large, which meant that there was no avoiding each other. In this bed? There could have been a whole orgy going on in between the two of them and there still would have been room.
She’d just stick to her side of the bed, and she’d be fine, she told herself.
Alana was psyching herself to climb into her side of the bed when the door to the bathroom opened, and Hudson walked out. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and Alana could see the outline of his dick. This was a bad idea. The whole sleeping on the same bed thing was not going to end well.
Hudson looked over at her as he climbed into bed. “Your face is very shiny.”
“I know. It keeps me looking young and fresh.” She grinned over at him. “Do you want to use some? It has yeast byproduct in it. Great for skin.”
“Yeast byproduct.”
“Well, it was either that or some Elizabeth Bathory shit, and I didn’t want to scare you off yet.”
Hudson raised his eyebrows. “This has been you not wanting to scare me off?”
“Do you want me to work harder? Because I promise you I can.”
“No, I’m good,” Hudson said. “This is acceptable.”
Hudson didn’t snore. Which kind of peeved Alana, because she hoped that there would be something about his physical appearance that would annoy her but no, just deep even breaths, which started almost immediately. What kind of monster just lay down and fell asleep without spending at least an hour or so tossing and turning? Hudson, that was who.
Insomnia, that old bitch, kept Alana company as she stared at the ceiling and then the backs of her eyelids, trying to fall asleep. Finally, after tossing and turning for what felt like forever, she flopped over, smothering her face into the pillow. Fuck the skincare. She closed her eyes again. Within minutes she was fast asleep.
She woke up in a cocoon of warmth. Not like it had been so chilly the night before, and Alana was a whore for blankets. But like she was sleeping next to a fireplace, a very comfortable, cuddly fireplace. She opened one eye, and saw nothing but the lightly furred expanse of one Hudson Miller’s chest.
How had she managed to wriggle her way across seven football fields worth of beds, and plaster herself up against Hudson? Was it her fault? Or was it his fault? Was it both of their faults? She didn’t know. And to be very honest, she wasn’t going to think too hard about it. She tried to extract herself as slowly as possible. But Hudson, who was still fully asleep, clamped an arm around her. Well. She’d made her attempt; she’d tried her best, though, to be honest, she didn’t try very hard. And even though this was a terrible idea, and she was going to deny that she had actively stayed or that she had anything to do with it, Alana snuggled back in, closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
A few hours later, they were woken by a cheerful knock on the door.
“Didn’t you put the Do Not Disturb sign?” Alana mumbled into Hudson’s chest.
He groaned. “I did. We don’t have to check out yet, do we?”
Alana rolled over a couple of times, scrambling to find her phone. “No, that’s tomorrow. And anyway, it’s like nine o’clock in the morning.”
Alana crossed over to the double doors, thankful that there was a peephole on the door, and thankful that whoever was there interrupted what was sure to be a horrifyingly awkward conversation. There was a curvy blonde woman standing on the other side, smiling a little too cheerfully for nine on a Saturday, and holding a clipboard.
“Good morning!” she chirped. “My name is Lauren, and I’m the in-house relationship facilitator. Just here to remind you your mandatory relationship seminar will be starting in twenty minutes.”
“Huh?” was about as intelligent of an answer as Alana could formulate.
“As you know, attending the relationship seminar was a condition for booking this suite at a discounted rate, and failure to attend will result in the hotel having to charge you full price, which will be an additional eight hundred and fifty seven dollars.”
“Of course,” Alana said. “We’ll be down on time.”
She closed the door swiftly, and turned back to Hudson. “Relationship seminar???”
“I call dibs on murdering JP,” Hudson replied. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Alana said. “But also I think that’s a delusional hope.”
“Only one way to find out if you don’t want to spend an additional eight hundred and fifty seven dollars,” Hudson deadpanned, rolling out of bed, looking so rumpled and sexy it should have been illegal.
“That has the same vibe as, ‘it’s an unsinkable ship, Papa! How bad can it be?’ before boarding the Titanic.”
“Well, we probably won’t drown.”
“Tripping and falling over the bar in the ninth circle of hell is not an accomplishment, Hudson,” Alana grumped as she grabbed her things to get ready for the day.
The relationship seminar was being held in one of the business conference rooms on the main floor, and if it wasn’t for the sign on the door, Alana would have assumed she was in the wrong place.
“This feels very professional,” Hudson whispered as they took their seats in the furthest corner of the room. “Why are we getting notebooks with the phrase ‘Never Go To Bed Angry’ engraved on them?”
“Why are there so many other people?”
“Better that than just the two of us.”
Alana laughed. “You’re not wrong.”
“Great, we’re all here,” Lauren said, clapping cheerfully. “Good morning, everyone, my name is Lauren, and I’m the relationship facilitator here at the Ardsley Resort.”
Hudson scribbled something and turned the notebook to Alana. Relationship facilitator?
Idk, she wrote back.
“Please make sure your name tags are filled out and worn, and that all cellphones are off. This is going to be a time for us to focus, not just on our relationships, but on ourselves and our partners as well.”
The consequences of what they were doing hit Alana like a ton of bricks. “What if they ask us how we met?” she hissed.
“We tell them the truth,” Hudson said. “We met through Shannon and JP working for the same show and becoming friends like three years ago. The closer we stick to the truth, the easier it is.”
“Why am I panicking?” Alana asked. “It’s not like we’re ever going to see these people ever again.”
“I hope not,” Hudson replied.
“We’re going to be starting with some deep breathing exercises to calibrate our nervous systems, before moving on to the main presentation. After the presentation, we’re going to break for lunch, and then when we return, we’ll be doing some physical activities to improve our trust with our partners.”
“I am not doing trust falls, Hudson.”
Hudson’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “I am going to murder JP slowly and cheerfully when we get back.”
“Not if I get to him first.”
“Now,” Lauren continued, beginning to pace around the room. “I want all of you to turn your chairs toward your partner, put your hand on their heart, and calibrate your breathing with theirs. Remember to maintain eye contact with your partner.”
This was how Alana died. By ‘calibrating her breathing’ with Hudson while staring directly into his eyes. Mostly because staring directly into his eyes while, for lack of better phrasing, she tried her best not to fondle his pec, was one of the most profoundly horrifying things she’d ever have to do, and there was one time that her mom had taken her to a shop to get measured for bras and she’d bumped into her teacher. This was worse.
“Make sure your breaths are calibrated,” Lauren said, directly behind Alana, causing her to almost fall out of her chair from flinching so hard.
“How about I calibrate my foot to her ass?” Alana hissed quietly. She was not going to think about how warm Hudson’s hand was on her chest. Shannon had packed only the sexiest of her lingerie, which was definitely going to be a conversation once she got home, but it meant that Alana was almost entirely certain that Hudson was only millimeters from grazing her nipple.
“Do you have an additional eight hundred and whatever dollars?”
“Incredible,” Lauren cooed before Alana could respond. “Now, would anyone like to share how that made them feel?”
Alana tried to look as small as she possibly could. Did that mean all but hiding behind Hudson? Maybe, but a girl did what they had to.