Chapter 10
For Research Purposes
HUDSON
“Mother,” I spoke in a flat tone as Mari went still against me.
Of all the people who could have called at that exact moment—of all the calls I could have answered while Mari’s legs wrapped around my waist—it had to be my mother.
“Hudson, darling, I’ve been trying to reach you all evening. Are you busy? Why didn’t you answer?”
I pulled slightly away from Mari, though I kept one hand on her thigh. “No, I’m... at the office. Working late.”
“On a Saturday? Well, at least you’re dedicated.” There was a pause. “Your father and I have been discussing the Kussikov-Martin wedding.”
My stomach dropped. “Oh?”
“Yes. It’s quite an opportunity, isn’t it? We’ve decided it’s time we came to see your operation in Chicago.”
“You’re what?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. A whole host of swear words filled my thoughts, thankfully not making it past my lips.
“Coming to Chicago, darling. For the wedding. We’ll arrive a few weeks before, of course, to be around if you need help with the final preparations. Your father thinks it would be beneficial for you to have our expertise, especially for such a high-profile event.”
“When?” I managed, aware of Mari watching me.
“We’ll fly out in a couple weeks. That should give us plenty of time to... assist.”
My parents didn’t assist. They took over. They critiqued. They “improved,” which meant dismantling everything I’d built—everything Mari and I had built—and rebuilding it in their image.
“That’s... not necessary,” I said carefully. “I have everything under control.”
“I’m sure you do, darling, but this is an exceptional opportunity for Gable to hold Mari close, to move with her, to remember exactly how perfectly she’d fit against me.
“Of course,” I said, because what other answer could I give? “When do you want to do this?”
“I booked the Grand Room at the Palmer for an hour this afternoon. It’s empty before tonight’s event, and they owe me a favor.” She glanced at her watch. “We should head over soon if we want to make the most of the time.”
An hour later, I stood in the center of the Palmer’s Grand Ballroom, watching Mari connect her phone to the sound system.
The space was magnificent—with soaring ceilings, gleaming wood floors, enormous windows letting in the late autumn sunlight.
It would have been the perfect romantic setting if not for the knot of dread in my stomach.
“Okay,” Mari said, turning to face me. “I’ve put together a playlist of potential songs. You watched those videos I sent you, right?”
I had not, but that was because I’d had years of etiquette training. Mari did not know that. I was interested to see how she’d react. My parents had insisted on ballroom lessons throughout my adolescence—“essential social skills for our world, Hudson”—and the muscle memory remained.
Mari rolled her eyes, her hands on her hips. “Slacker. Fine, we’ll start with something simple and work our way up.”
She hit play, and the soft opening notes of a ballad filled the room. I recognized it vaguely; something current but classic in feel, with a gentle rhythm perfect for a first dance.
“Shall we?” I extended my hand.
Mari stepped closer, placing her left hand in my right, her right hand settling on my shoulder as mine found her waist. Damn it. Why did she feel so perfect every time I held her?
“This is the standard position,” I said, my voice sounding oddly stiff. “But for a rumba influence, we’d want something more like this.”
I adjusted our stance, drawing her closer, our arms extending more to the side.
“How the hell do you know?” She asked, even as she shifted to mirror my adjustment.
“I was raised by two wedding planners, remember?” I winked at her. “Besides, I like control.” I led her through the movement, a slow side-step with a subtle hip action. “One, two, three, four...”
Mari was a quick study, picking up the rhythm and following my lead with surprising ease. “This isn’t so bad,” she said, looking down at our feet. “I think Lia could handle this.”
“Keep your eyes up. Looking down at your feet is the surest way to stumble.”
She raised her gaze to mine, and the professional distance between us felt paper-thin. Her eyes were bright, with a small furrow between her brows as she focused on the steps.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much,” I managed. “Now, let’s try to actually move with the music.”