Chapter 23
ANDREA
One of the team of people in my room drops a long garment bag on my bed and asks me to get dressed before they can start my hair and makeup. I briefly debate arguing that I don’t need my hair and makeup done. I can manage just fine on my own. Especially after the last time when I let them poke and prod me, only for Hudson to cancel.
But what would be the point? They are here on Hudson’s order, and I doubt they’d listen to my protests, anyway. I sigh as I drag my feet to the ensuite. After a quick shower, where I’m hyper conscious of the people busy setting up their equipment just outside the door, I drag open the sink drawer in search of some lotion. Realizing I forgot to grab the garment bag, I pilfer the laundry basket for one of Hudson’s dirty gym shirts; there’s no way I’m walking out there with just a towel wrapped around me.
I’ve resigned myself to going sans underwear, since I can’t bring myself to put on a dirty pair, when a short knock sounds on the door. I crack the large wooden door open and a hand pops through holding the bag with tonight’s look. There is a stunning deep blue mini dress, matching bra and black lacy underwear, a pair of red–bottomed heels, and a velvet clutch.
“Wow,” I stammer. Someone sure covered all their bases.
The dress is Versace–with a stunning sweetheart neckline with floss-thin shoulder straps. Under normal circumstances, I’d be impressed that a man got me something this edgy–and in my taste too–but fuck him.
“Fuck him,” I say savagely when I slip on the underwear; they fit perfectly. Of course, he knows my underwear size. I have a wardrobe full of clothes to prove it, but this reminder just pokes at the sore wound left brewing from this morning.
I turn in front of the mirror, loving the way the dress accentuates my curves and dips after pulling the zipper. I turn my nose up at my reflection and flip my middle finger to myself–just in case I’m being watched in here too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Then I walk out to where three people are waiting for me.
A woman with pink hair and a nose ring points to a high chair they’ve set in the room, and I take a seat. My butt is barely on the chair before they descend on me; someone is pulling at my hair while another set of hands dance over my face. It feels like a lifetime before they finally step back and declare me “ready”. Before I can even murmur a thank you, they’ve turned away and are packing up. As I get down from the chair, the bedroom door swings open; my breath hitches as I take in Hudson.
He looks extra hot, damn him. I look him over, trying to figure out why. He’s dressed in a bespoke suit as always, with a tie and his jaw clean shaven. I squint, trying to pinpoint exactly what is different.
“Did you get a haircut?” I finally ask, realizing the change must be his hair. The dark mass is brushed away from his face; usually a strand drops over his forehead. Behind me, someone gasps.
“You cut your hair somewhere else?” the guy who styled mine asks.
Hudson scowls, “No, I did not. I just gelled it.” He shifts his feet like he’s not comfortable with the conversation. “If you’re done, you may leave now.” He dismisses the crew behind me.
With their items all safely packed into their bags, they scurry out of the room like silent mice. Now alone, Hudson moves toward me, and I stiffen. He sighs, his gaze searching mine as he lifts up the small shopping bag in his hand. “I got you something.”
“A bribe to make me forget I’m mad at you?” I’m not even mad at him. Not anymore. I’ve had enough time to cool off and come to the conclusion that he’s obviously never been taught to respect boundaries, that is, if he even knows what boundaries are. Sigh.
“Is it working?” he asks seriously, and I shrug.
“I’m yet to see what you got me,” I tell him, deciding to be somewhat friendly tonight. A little practice for when we’re out of this room pretending to be in love. He hands the bag over and I see “Tiffany and co” written on the side. I mean duh what else comes in a bag that shade of aqua blue.My heart turns to mush because he bought me jewelry!
“I hope it goes with your outfit,” he murmurs as I pull out the box. My lips part as I lift the lid, revealing a pink sapphire pendant surrounded by round brilliant cut diamonds suspended from a platinum chain. Stunning. It has matching earrings and a bracelet. How did he know I love pink? Fuck it, he obviously knows more about me than I do at this point.
He takes the necklace out while I just stand there staring at it; he steps behind me to drape it around my neck. His fingers brush the back of my neck, sending tingles down my spine and my nipples harden–the traitors.
“There you go,” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning the shell of my ear. “Gorgeous.”
“Hudson, I don’t know if I can accept this,” I sputter, turning to face him. Sure we’re playing the part of a loving couple and he had bought this dress and my hair and makeup, but that’s all somehow different from the jewelry. If his goal was to scramble my brain, it’s working.
“Sure you can,” he says easily, turning his wrist to check the time. “We have to go. Should I help you put the earrings on?” The determination in his gaze says he will, so I quickly take them out and put them on myself. I clip the bracelet onto my left wrist.
He leads me out of the house, holding the door for me. When we get outside, a limo is waiting. Wow. he’s really going all out tonight. He gets the car door, and I slip inside. He takes the seat across from me and opens the small cooler in the seat to offer a drink.
I accept the champagne gratefully although I would’ve preferred something stronger tonight. We sip our drinks in awkward silence. He breaks it to ask, “Would you rather be handcuffed or blindfolded?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “What?”
He smirks like I’m reacting just the way he expected. “After tonight’s engagement, we’ll have to handle an engagement dinner, where people will try to dissect whether we truly know each other or not.”
“And?”
“I’m trying to get to know you. Or would you rather we continue the drive in painful silence?”
No, but “What kind of question was that?”
“It’s a break-the-ice-with-your-date question,” he answers.
“Uh…what?”
He unlocks his phone and turns it to me to say, “I looked up some questions online.”
He actually prepared for this? I stare at him skeptically. “Isn’t this redundant? You know everything about me already. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you know my credit score and social security number,” I add, narrowing my eyes. He winces and carefully locks his phone. My jaw drops as he avoids my gaze.
“Fine, I’ll play this stupid game of yours. But I’ll ask all the questions. You know enough about me already.” Too much.
He nods and hands me the phone. I glance at the questions and scoff as I read them. What’s your favorite color? Are you religious? What cause are you most passionate about? Would you rather get a lap dance or give a lap dance? Useless. I return his phone to him.
“There’s actually something I really want to know. I’ve asked you before but you dodged the question.” I pause, waiting for him to gesture for me to continue. “I asked why you chose me as your kidnapped bride-to-be; you said if not me, then no one.” Or something to that effect. It made my heart race uselessly. Still does, if my current blood pressure is any indication.
He sighs, “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”
I give him an “obviously” look. He sighs again and tosses back the rest of his drink. “I had a less than stellar experience with the institution of marriage while growing up so I swore off it.” He pauses, debating what more to say. “When the other family members started putting pressure on me to get married, I was sure I could come up with a plan to put them off.”
He pauses again, and I wave my hand for him to continue. “By that time, I was already keeping tabs on you.”
“Stalking me, you mean.” I can’t resist correcting him and his brow furrows. “Sorry, go on.”
“I didn’t plan to kidnap you…at first. I just wanted to watch you and learn everything I could about you. Something about you drew me in. Still does.” His eyes darken and damn it, there goes my heart again. Stop it, heart. I warn sternly.
“Then I heard you telling your father you might travel and I realized if you left town, I’d... lose access to you. That didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t have the time to think things through. I knew I couldn’t let you go, so I took you. I decided to marry you after I had you in my home.”
“Why, though? Why me, specifically? Yes, you had the external pressure to get married, and I happened to be right there in your home…your kidnap victim,” I add snarkily, and he raises a brow.
“Seriously, though, you could’ve had anyone, I mean look at you.” I genuinely want to know, and, damn it, I’m not going to let it go until he gives me a straight answer.