Chapter 18 Like A Regency Romance Novel #3
“Fine. What happened after your deliberate truth-speaking?”
He sighed, running a hand through his shorter hair. “My father disowned me, as expected. Cut me off financially, though that matters less now that I’ve sold the business. My mother still calls when he’s not around. I don’t answer.”
“And the creative director position? The one at Modern Wedding?”
“Gone, obviously. Eleanor Trolio was... not pleased about the public revelation.” A wry smile touched his lips. “Apparently, magazines don’t like it when their new hires confess to idea theft during the announcement press conference.”
“I imagine not.”
“The irony is that she’s been trying to reach you,” he added. “About the position.”
“What?”
“The creative director job. She’s interested in talking to you about it.
” He gestured to the laptop. “The website I made includes all the contact information you’d need, including hers.
She’s called me three times trying to get your number.
I didn’t want to give it to her without your permission.
She’s spoken with Anica, from what I’ve heard, but she wants you. ”
I stared at him, trying to process this information. “You’re telling me that Eleanor Trolio, editor-in-chief of Modern Wedding, wants to offer me the job you confessed to stealing my ideas for?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“But what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Not sure yet. I may go back to school, actually. Computer science and user experience design.” He said it casually, as if switching careers midlife was a minor adjustment.
“Turns out I have a genuine interest in the technical side of your app concept. Not enough to steal it again,” he added quickly, “but enough to want to understand it better. Besides, then I don’t have to rely on Callan’s people. Or Callan.” He shuddered.
“You really are intimidated by him, aren’t you?”
“The guy has a bajillion dollars.”
“That is the exact number, actually.” I chuckled and froze. God, how long had it been since I’d laughed for real? “So that’s what the great Hudson Gable is going to do, then? Be a tech nerd like my best friend’s husband?”
“It’s just Hudson now,” he corrected. “I’m in the process of legally changing my last name.”
“To what?”
“I don’t know yet. Open to suggestions, though.”
Despite everything, I grinned. “Hudson Jerkwad has a nice ring to it. Or Hudson Asshole.”
“Hudson I-Fucked-Up-Spectacularly is a bit long for official documents, but could certainly be in the running,” he offered, and I laughed louder.
It faded as reality settled back in. This man had stolen my ideas, betrayed my trust, and broken my heart. And yet...
And yet he’d also confessed publicly, sacrificed his career, sold his business, and built my app. All to make amends, not to win me back.
“Why are you really here, Hudson?” I asked, my voice softer now. “The website, the client referrals, the app—you could have done all that without flying to New York and showing up at my door.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his expression serious.
“It felt like too much to say over the phone. Besides, I wanted to see you. I don’t expect forgiveness, and I certainly don’t expect another chance.
I just needed you to have what’s rightfully yours, with no strings attached. I guess I needed closure.”
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “Since I saw the video. Even before that, really.”
His eyes widened, surprise and something like hope flickering across his face.
“Not always nice thoughts,” I clarified. “Sometimes they involved voodoo dolls and creative uses for wedding sparklers. I just couldn’t figure out how to keep them lit in moist places.”
That drew a small smile from him. “I’m sure you could figure it out.”
“Sometimes...” I hesitated, then pushed forward. “Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever see you again. If you’d ever try to explain. If there was anything you could possibly say or do that would make what happened... not okay, but... understandable.”
“And?”
The doorbell rang, interrupting whatever I might have said next.
“That must be the pizza,” he said, standing. “I’ll get it.”
As he went to the door, I watched him. He looked different. He seemed different.
But was it enough?
And why was I distracted by how good his ass looked in jeans? Well, I supposed it was a good thing my sex drive hadn’t completely withered away. At least I could still lust after handsome men with great asses.
The smell of pizza filled the apartment as Hudson returned with our food. My stomach growled embarrassingly loud, reminding me just how long it had been since I’d eaten anything resembling a proper meal.
“Plates?” he asked, setting the boxes on the coffee table.
“Second cabinet on the left,” I directed, already reaching for a garlic knot. “And there’s beer in the fridge if you want one.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. I was halfway through my second slice when I finally spoke again.
“Show me the app.”
Hudson wiped his hands and reached for the laptop, reopening it and navigating to the prototype. “It’s still in development, but the core functionality is there.”
He turned the screen toward me, and I leaned forward, genuinely curious despite myself. The interface was sleek and intuitive. Exactly as I’d envisioned it. I reached out, touching the trackpad to navigate through the screens.
“This is... impressive,” I admitted, scrolling through the various features. “It’s almost exactly how I pictured it.”
“I had your original sketches as reference,” he said. “And Callan’s team is exceptional.”
I continued exploring the app, each screen confirming that this wasn’t just a superficial gesture. This was my vision, brought to life with Hudson’s level of attention to detail.
“How much did all this cost?” I asked suddenly, wondering about the financial implications. Professional app development wasn’t cheap, especially at this level of quality.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “The business sold for enough to cover it.”
“Hudson.”
“A little over two hundred thousand so far. With perhaps another hundred thousand to complete development and launch.”
I nearly choked on my pizza. “Three hundred thousand dollars? Are you insane?”
“Probably.” He didn’t seem concerned about the amount. “But it’s your app, Mari. It deserves to be built right.”
I stared at him, truly speechless for once in my life. Three hundred thousand dollars. My app. My dream. Handed back to me on a silver platter by the man who’d stolen it.
“I don’t understand you,” I said finally. “Any of this.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“Why go to these lengths? The public confession was one thing, but this...” I gestured to the laptop, to the legal documents, to the whole situation. “This is extreme.”
Hudson was quiet for a moment. “When I was growing up, my father had a saying: ‘A Gable never admits failure because we’re never wrong.’”
“God, he really is a pretentious ass.”
“Yes, very much so. It was his way of saying that image was everything, and actual integrity meant nothing.”
He took a sip of his beer before continuing. “I lived by that philosophy for years. Everything was about appearance, about maintaining the Gable reputation, about being seen as successful no matter the cost. And then I met you.”
“Me?”
“You, with your ridiculous half thought out plans and your absolute refusal to back down and your complete disregard for whose toes you stepped on as long as your clients got their perfect day.” A genuine smile touched his lips.
“You were everything I wasn’t allowed to be—authentic, passionate, occasionally chaotic but always real. ”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I reached for another garlic knot instead.
“When I stole your app idea, I told myself it was just business. Just strategic repositioning. But it wasn’t. It was theft, plain and simple. And it cost me the one thing in my life that had felt real. The only thing that I actually… Well, that I actually loved.”
Oh shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Hudson No-Last-Name said he loved me.
Our gazes met, and for a moment, I glimpsed the man I’d fallen for before everything had imploded.
The one who’d made me laugh in our shared office and challenged my ideas even as he respected them.
The man who’d stayed late at the office to take things off my plate when I got stressed and gave me the best fucking orgasms I’d ever experienced.
“I know that’s a lot to process, but I miss you.
I miss what we could have been if I hadn’t ruined it.
I’m not asking for another chance, Mari.
I just wanted you to know that what I did wasn’t about you not being good enough.
It was about me not being brave enough to be real. Not until it was too late.”
The sincerity in his voice made my chest ache.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admitted, the words feeling like both a surrender and a victory. “Even while I was hating you, I missed you.”
Hope flickered across his face, quickly tempered with caution. “Mari—”
“I’m not saying I forgive you. Not completely.
Not yet. And I certainly don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.
” I looked him up and down and shook my head.
“Definitely couldn’t throw you.” I set down my pizza suddenly needing my hands free.
“What you did... it hurt. More than I want to admit.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. More than I can ever express.”
“But this...” I gestured to the laptop, to the documents, to him. “This matters. What you’ve done to make it right matters. And that you did it expecting nothing in return... that matters most of all.”
I moved then, closing the distance between us on the couch until our knees were touching.
“I want to try,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “To forgive. To rebuild. To see if there’s still something real between us.”
His expression shifted from surprise to cautious hope. “Are you sure? I don’t deserve—”
“This isn’t about what you deserve,” I interrupted. “It’s about what I want. And despite my better judgment and against the advice of my voodoo doll collection, I want to see where this could go. The authentic version this time, not the one built on lies.”
A smile—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes—spread across his face. “I’d like that. More than anything.”
“But,” I held up a warning finger, “there are conditions.”
“Name them.”
“One, we take it slow. Professionally and personally. I’m not jumping back into anything until I’m sure I can trust you again.”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Two, complete transparency. About everything. If we’re going to do this—the app, us, any of it—no more secrets.”
“Done.”
“And three,” I leaned closer, my face inches from his, “you have to promise to never, ever tell anyone that I actually fainted like some nineteenth-century damsel. I’ll find my own way to blackmail Anica into not telling, but this is how you promise me.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Good.”
And then, before I could overthink it, I closed the remaining distance between us and kissed him because we both fucking knew slow was not in our vocabulary.
And he was still the most fuckable man I’d ever laid eyes on.
When we pulled apart, his eyes were dazed, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“For the record,” I said, feeling my smile bloom, “that wasn’t forgiveness. That was... possibility.”
“I’ll take it,” he replied, his voice unsteady. “Possibility is more than I dared hope for.”
“Well, hope away, Hudson No-Last-Name. Because despite my best efforts to hate you forever, it seems I’m not quite done with you yet.”
His smile widened. “Thank god for that.”
I settled against him, his arm tentatively wrapping around my shoulders as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch me yet. It felt right, somehow. Not perfect, not fixed, but right. A beginning.
“So,” I said, looking at the laptop still displaying my app, “tell me more about this partnership Callan set up. Because if we’re going to do this—really do this—I want to know everything.”
“Everything,” he agreed, pulling me closer. “No more secrets.”
As he began explaining the technical details of the app development, I watched his face and grinned.
He was animated now, passionate about something real rather than something calculated.
This was a Hudson I’d only glimpsed before, one who cared about creating something meaningful rather than just maintaining an image.
This was a Hudson I could maybe, someday, forgive completely.
This was a Hudson I could maybe, someday, love back.
But for now, possibility was enough. Possibility and pizza and the promise of something real, something built on truth rather than appearances.
It was a start. And for the first time in two weeks, two days, and approximately fifteen hours, I felt like myself again.