Chapter 13 Not A Sound
Not A Sound
MARI
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mari.”
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror in a suite at the Royal Gardens’, trying to calm the horde of butterflies attacking my stomach.
Tonight, after the Kussikov-Martin wedding reception, I was going to talk to Hudson about our future.
Business partnership. App development. Whatever this thing between us was becoming.
“You’re insane,” I told my reflection, carefully blotting my lipstick. “Certifiably, undeniably insane.”
We’d spent all night preparing for the wedding because of the double booking during the set up time. But it’d been fun. Enjoyable even. There was no denying it now; Hudson and I made an excellent team.
My phone buzzed on the marble countertop, Hudson’s name lighting up the screen.
Where are you? Criss is threatening mutiny over the ceremony arch ribbons.
Be there in 2.
Make it 1. I’m using my diplomatic skills, but I’m running out of compliments for his “artistic vision.”
I smiled, tucking my phone into the pocket of my dress—thank god for dresses with pockets—and took one last look in the mirror. “You’ve got this, Landry. It’s just another wedding. Just another day.”
Except it wasn’t. It was the day everything in my professional world had finally clicked into place, and I was excited and nervous and on the verge of throwing up.
Nearly a week had passed since Hudson and I had crossed the line from business partners to... whatever we were now. Six days of mind-blowing sex and the growing realization that I might have found something special in the last man I’d ever expected.
When I reached the ceremony space, I found Hudson standing with his back ramrod straight talking to Criss, who was gesturing at the ceremony arch on the Royal Gardens’ stunning outdoor terrace.
“—can’t possibly be expected to compromise my artistic integrity,” he was saying as I approached. “The ribbons completely clash with the flowers they’ve chosen.”
“The clients specifically requested white ribbons,” Hudson replied, his jaw clenched in a way I now recognized meant he was holding onto his patience by a thread. “As specified in the contract you signed.”
“The contract allows for artistic interpretation—”
“Hi,” I murmured, sliding my hand down Hudson’s arm as I stepped between them. “Criss! The arch looks gorgeous. Your vision for the floral design is stunning as always.”
Criss preened, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Mari. At least someone understands—”
“And because you’re so talented, I know you can make those white ribbons we discussed look absolutely breathtaking.”
“Of course I can, but…”
“It would mean so much to Lia and Manny.” I squeezed his arm. “And we’ll highlight your incredible work in all the social posts. I was thinking of a dedicated feature on your floral arrangements?”
Twenty minutes later, Hudson and I watched as Criss supervised his assistants in changing the ribbons, his earlier outrage seemingly forgotten.
“You’re incredible,” Hudson said, handing me a coffee he’d somehow procured during the negotiations. “How do you do that?”
“Magic,” I replied, taking a grateful sip. “And shameless flattery. Works every time.”
“I tried flattery.”
“You tried reasonable flattery. That never works with creatives.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You have to go full Renaissance patron. ‘Your work rivals Michelangelo! Your vision transcends mortal understanding!’”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
“See that you do, Gable.” I glanced at my phone. “Four hours until the ceremony. What’s next on the crisis list?”
“We need final approval on the place card display, the DJ wants to review the timing for the special dances, and Manny’s mother is having second thoughts about her speech.”
“I’ll take the DJ and the mother. You handle the caterer.” I moved away, then turned back. “Oh, and Hudson?”
“Hmm?”
“You look good today.” I let my eyes trail down his perfectly tailored navy suit. “Really good.”
A faint flush colored his cheeks, and I silently congratulated myself. Making Hudson Gable blush had become my favorite new hobby.
“Focus, sweetheart,” he said, but his eyes darkened in a way that made my stomach flip. It seemed he had a new favorite hobby too. “We have a wedding to pull off.”
“I’m multi-talented. I can focus on the wedding and on how much I want to rip that suit off you later.”
His flush deepened. “Later,” he promised.
By noon, I’d survived three minor crises (a missing boutonniere, a tear in a bridesmaid dress, a photographer with sudden “artistic differences” about the first look location), consumed two more coffees, and somehow texted Anica throughout.
She’d asked for updates on the day of the wedding when I had time.
Of course, she more than anyone should’ve known that time was the scarcest resource on wedding days.
Still, she was my business partner, and she was understandably anxious about this particular wedding.
I stood in the kitchen coordinating with the catering staff when Hudson found me.
“Hide me,” he muttered, positioning himself behind my back like a six-foot-something man could somehow become invisible.
“What are you, twelve?” I laughed, turning to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“My parents have arrived and are critiquing the table settings. Apparently, the salad forks are ‘disappointingly modern.’”
I winced. “Ouch. The horror.”
“You joke, but my mother once made a venue coordinator cry over napkin folds.”
“Wow. She sounds fun at parties. Maybe she and Ani would get along. Ani likes making people cry too.”
“They probably would be best friends in no time.”
“Then they must never meet. I’m the only best friend Ani gets.”
“Isn’t she married?”
“Cal doesn’t count. He’s a guy.” I studied his face, noting the tension around his eyes. “Does it bother you? That they’re here? I could ask them to leave.”
He hesitated, and I could almost see him weighing his answer.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. “And no. I want them to see what we’ve created. I want them to understand why I left California.” He reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. “But I’m also... worried.”
“About what?”
Again, that hesitation. “About their not seeing what I see.”
I squeezed his hand. “Hey. What they think doesn’t matter. This wedding is going to be perfect, and it’s because of us. Both of us.”
He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Hudson,” I said, waiting until his eyes met mine. “We’re good at this. Together, we’re really fucking good at this.”
That earned me a genuine smile. “We are, aren’t we?”
“Hell yes. Now stop hiding from your mother.”
He leaned down and kissed me. “What would I do without you?”
“Crash and burn, obviously,” I replied, but my heart raced as he walked away.
What would I do without him? The question echoed back at me. Six days into... whatever this was, and I was already imagining a future where Hudson Gable was essential to my business. To my life.
We’d been running around all day like chickens with our very stylish heads cut off, so when Hudson and I finally got a moment to ourselves in our makeshift office an hour before the ceremony, I was ready to collapse.
“My feet are staging a revolution,” I groaned, kicking off my heels and collapsing into a chair in the small room. “They’re seceding from the rest of my body.”
Hudson, who was reviewing the ceremony timeline for the thousandth time, glanced up, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “You’d think you’d wear more sensible shoes on days like these.”
“Sensible is ugly. Besides, they make my legs look like they go on for miles,” I countered, stretching said legs out in front of me.
His gaze followed the movement, darkening. “They do.”
“So you agree they’re worth the pain, then?” I wiggled my toes, moaning as the blood flow returned. “I may need to amputate my feet later, though.”
“I’ll find you an excellent surgeon.” He set down his clipboard and moved behind my chair, his hands landing on my shoulders. “God, Mar, you have more knots than a pizza joint.”
“First of all, where did you come up with that comparison?”
“I’m hungry and want garlic knots.”
I chuckled. “And second, weddings will do that to a girl.” I let my head fall back as his fingers dug into the knots in my shoulders. “Oh god, that feels amazing.”
His thumbs pressed into a particularly tight spot at the base of my neck, and I let out a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “Someone might hear you and get the wrong idea.”
“Would it be wrong?” I countered, tilting my head to look up at him. “We have some time.”
His hands stilled, and something shifted in his heated expression.
“Sweetheart, don’t tempt me.”
“Sweetheart, I’m 95% temptation, and 5% champagne,” I mimicked, holding his gaze.
In one smooth motion, he spun my chair around and leaned down, his hands braced on the armrests, caging me in. “We have a ceremony starting in less than an hour.”
“That’s plenty of time,” I replied, reaching for his tie.
He caught my wrist, his firm grip gentle. “Not for what I want to do to you.” Hudson leaned down, and I held my breath as he kissed along my jaw. “Besides. You’re loud.”
I pulled back to look at him, frowning. “Excuse me. I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not,” I argued, though we both knew I was lying. “I can be quiet as a church mouse.”
His eyebrow arched. “Prove it.”
The challenge in his eyes sent a thrill through me. I glanced at the door—unlocked—and back to Hudson. “You’re on.”
In one swift motion, he pulled me to my feet. My stockinged toes barely touched the floor as he backed me against the wall, his mouth hot on my neck.
“If anyone hears you,” he murmured against my skin, “I stop. Immediately.”
“That seems...” I gasped as his teeth grazed my collarbone, “unnecessarily harsh.”
His hand slid up my thigh, bunching my dress around my waist. “Those are the terms, sweetheart. Take them or leave them.”