4. Ivory
IVORY
I wake up in a tangle of sheets, sunlight spilling through the expensive curtains, and for one crazy second, I almost forget where I am.
Then I remember; the hotel, the highly unanticipated upcoming gala, my father’s cold eyes, and Hudson, sleeping down the hall.
My heart flutters, but not in a way that feels good.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling, trying to breathe quietly, so my parents can’t hear me all the way from their suite.
It’s dumb, I know, but I can’t help it. I’m always careful.
Always quiet. And always less than I want to be.
After a shower, I pull on jeans and a soft white tee, brushing my hair until it hangs in a dark, shiny curtain down my back.
I stare at myself in the mirror, tug the hem of my shirt lower, then take a deep breath before stepping out into the hallway.
The rich scent of coffee hits my senses before I even enter the kitchen.
It's dark, bitter, and somehow intimidating, like everything else about this situation.
Hudson is at the kitchen table, sitting with his back to the window, arms folded as he reads something on his phone.
His dark hair has that just-rolled-out-of-bed look, and his shirt is stretched tight across his broad shoulders.
My heart does this embarrassing little skip.
I shouldn’t stare, but I do, soaking up the way his tattoo peeks out from under one sleeve and the way his jaw flexes when he’s reading.
He looks so different in the daylight, less like my bodyguard but rather something dangerous and forbidden that makes my fingertips itch with curiosity.
He glances up as I cross the kitchen, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of every awkward move I make. “Morning,” he says, and his voice is rough, a little softer than I expect.
“Morning,” I echo, sliding into the chair across from him. My hands fidget in my lap, twisting the hem of my shirt. I try not to stare at the way his biceps bulge when he lifts his mug, but it’s basically impossible. I look away, feeling how my cheeks start to burn.
He sets his phone down.
“Do you have a busy day planned?”
“Oh. Um, kind of.” I trace a finger around the edge of the plate that was already waiting for me, trying to avoid making eye contact.
“I have a dress fitting for the gala with the designer. And then I have a wax appointment for…well, you know. Then a mani-pedi.”
The word “waxing” floats in the air, feeling indecent. That’s what happens when I don’t think before I speak, but it just came out. I’ve never been embarrassed when telling my usual security guy. But he’s also not Hudson. Oh my God, I groan internally, wanting to disappear under the table.
He doesn’t say anything at first, then his lips curve upward into that infuriating half-smile that sends a completely different kind of heat spiraling through my stomach down to no man’s land.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the heat in my cheeks, the mortification all the way down my neck. “It’s…umm…you know, for the dress.”
Just stop talking, Ivory. You’re making it worse.
Thankfully, he lets it go.
“Of course, I’ll come with you. We’ll keep it simple, giving you space. But just know, I’m always close by.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I should be relieved he’s not teasing me, but I can’t help the way my body reacts. It’s embarrassing how badly I want him to notice me.
After breakfast, I take my time gathering my things, nerves buzzing the whole time.
Downstairs, the lobby is all polished marble and glass, empty except for a bored concierge and a woman arranging flowers.
Hudson walks ahead, and I follow, watching the way he moves, the way he sizes up every shadow.
I try to act casual while scanning the lobby for potential threats, but honestly, it’s hard to focus when his ass looks that good in those jeans.
What the hell is wrong with me? If my father could read my thoughts right now, he’d fire Hudson on the spot.
Hudson remains on high alert the whole time, eyes focused.
While I struggle not to trip over my own feet as my eyes scatter like marbles across the floor.
He reaches the car first, holding the door open for me.
As I slide in, it feels like I’m being sealed off into a different world, one where the rules feel almost nonexistent and breakable.
We start moving, and I notice the instant shift in Hudson. All business, eyes glued to the mirrors, scanning every car, every person walking down the sidewalk. His jaw is set, while his mouth stays in a hard line. I should be nervous, but with him next to me, I feel safe and untouchable.
I want to reach out and touch his arm, see if he’s as solid as he looks. I want to lean over and kiss him, curious what that would feel like. But, of course, I don’t. Instead, I stare out the window, biting my lip, hoping he can’t read my mind.
The designer’s studio is in a narrow building with gold on the windows and a name I can’t pronounce.
Inside, it’s all mirrors, mannequins, and the sweet but sickly smell of perfume.
The designer is perfect, with small, framed glasses perched on the end of her nose and a tape measure around her neck.
She fusses over the dress, while her assistant buzzes around like a worker bee at every demand, eyes darting to Hudson and back to me.
I slip behind a curtain into a world of silk and pins. The stunning dress is blue and silver, with sequins catching the light, but as they zip me up, I realize it’s too tight. The bodice crushes my chest, while the fabric presses into my ribs. I can barely breathe.
I can hear my mother’s sharp voice in my head. “Stand up straight, Ivory.”
As if she were here, I do, my jaw clenched, trying to look anywhere but the mirror. My reflection looks different, older, but somehow smaller. I dread what she’s going to say when she finds out the dress doesn’t fit.
The designer struggles with the zipper, finally getting it closed, but I can feel the blood draining from my face. My lungs are seizing, while my head starts spinning.
“Perfect. Now, hold still,” the designer says. “Let me measure the hem.”
I try. I really do. But black spots start dancing at the edge of my vision, and the world tilts.
“Can you…can you please take it off?” My voice sounds strained.
“One more minute, sweetheart, hold on…” the designer says, barely glancing at me.
But I’m drowning. My chest is on fire, my hands numb. My knees buckle, and I sway.
Suddenly, he’s there. Hudson bursts through the curtain, his presence like a thunderclap.
He catches me before I hit the floor with one rock-solid arm around my waist, the other yanking the zipper down so fast I hear stitches pop.
The dress pops open, feeling the icy air hit my bare skin.
Realizing with a shock of horror I’m topless.
My naked boobs and hard nipples are completely exposed for everyone around to see.
I gasp.
Trying to cover myself, while Hudson instinctively pulls my body to his, my pressed against his solid chest, and I grip his shirt, burning with humiliation.
God, he smells so good.
I look up, and Hudson isn’t even looking at me. His focus is all fire and rage, locked on the designer.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hudson growls, his voice booming. “She told you to stop. Are you deaf or have a death wish?”
The designer rolls her eyes. “It’s fashion, my dear. She needs to learn to…”
Hudson cuts her off, taking a step forward, but making sure I’m tucked close. “She doesn’t need to do shit except breathe.” His voice is now a lethal growl. “Next time you ignore her, you’ll have to answer to me.”
The designer goes pale, words stumbling out in a rush. “I…of course, I…I didn’t realize…I mean, I was just…”
“Yeah,” Hudson snaps, jaw clenched hard, “you were just too busy measuring whatever you called it, to even notice someone’s about to fucking pass out.”
Everyone in the room freezes, Hudson still keeping me close, steady and strong. My whole body trembles, heart slamming against my ribs.
He looks down at me, his voice now gentle. “Are you okay?”
Clutching his shirt and letting his warmth anchor me, I try to process what just happened and how safe I feel with him.
I nod even though I’m not sure I am. I’ve never been held like this before. Never been protected. Not by anyone.
He holds me a little longer, until my breathing slows. I feel every inch of him; his rough hands, the heat of his chest, the way he holds me up until he’s sure I’m steady. And for a second, I don’t care that I’m half-naked in a room full of strangers.
He finally turns, “Everyone out. Now. Give her some fucking space.”
The designer and her assistant scatter, the door clicking shut behind them in a panicked blur of apologies.
Now it’s just us. His focus comes back to me. His fingers tremble, as he helps tug the dress up over my chest, half wrapping me back in silk and sequins.
“You good?”
I nod again, tears threatening, not trusting myself to speak. He waits another heartbeat to be certain I’m steady before letting go, taking a step back.
“I’ll be right outside,” he says, voice gravelly and low. “You take as long as you need.”
And then he’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind him, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of his warmth and the echo of safety that’s still wrapped around me.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel invisible. I feel seen. I feel wanted. And even though I know I shouldn’t, I want him to touch me again.
No one has ever cared about me like this. Not once in my whole life.