Chapter 16
16
CLAIRE
My mother and sisters had gone shopping, but I didn’t feel like going with them. I didn’t feel like doing much of anything, which is how I found myself alone in my childhood bedroom, holding a phone that was turned down so low I could barely hear it, watching and rewatching Hudson’s videos.
I couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite. On one hand, I’d pushed Hudson away for making these videos, while on the other, I couldn’t stop watching them. The videos were a taunt—a tease—but I’d had a taste of the real thing. I knew what it was like to have that impish grin or smoldering gaze pointed in my direction. Hell, I knew the spring and give of his lips. I also knew I should stop watching, but I couldn’t.
Of course, it wasn’t the videos themselves I was opposed to. He wasn’t a stripper—the videos were, by all accounts, tame.
What bothered me was the purpose of the videos. They were obviously made to attract women, women who would slide into his DM’s one day and probably his bed the next. I’d been there and done that. I’d fallen for a man, pictured myself in one of those perfect white dresses, walking down the aisle to meet him—all while he’d been filling his time and his thoughts and his bed with other women. And as smart and as logical as I was, I couldn’t deny that I’d been easy to fleece. It was the same reason my mother thought it would be simple to foist Grant upon me. I wanted love. I wanted that happy ending. And, historically, I’d been willing to turn a blind eye to every red flag that should’ve saved me.
I dropped my arms out to either side, laying tired and splayed, the phone still clasped in one hand. I wasn’t looking for a relationship with a man who was playing me with one hand and playing the field with the other, and as much as my foolish heart had begun to hope otherwise, Hudson was exactly one of those men.
A text dinged and I nearly dropped my phone as I sat up, hurrying to swipe away all evidence of the cyber-stalking I’d been doing.
Emily: You dodged a bullet. This is so boring. They’ve got me shopping for headpieces. Who wants to wear headpieces??????
I shrugged at the phone, not having strong feelings on the subject.
Emily: What happened with Hudson?
Another shrug Emily couldn’t see. Nothing had happened with Hudson. He’d been gone all day, and though I wanted to believe Hudson spent the whole day with his family, doubt had crept in. Doubt that started as a tiny ember hours earlier and had slowly burned in my gut all day. After I’d rejected his advances, had Hudson met up with someone else? I didn’t want to think about it, and I really didn’t want to think about the disappointment boiling in the fire currently consuming my heart.
Claire: He’s at his parents’ house. We haven’t talked.
But what if he wasn’t at his parents’ house?
I shut the thought down quickly. If he wasn’t at his parents’ house, it was of absolutely no concern to me, because we were nothing more than a couple of people pretending to be in a relationship. I groaned loudly, wondering what on Earth I’d gotten myself into.
The phone rang in my hand, startling me, but it was only Emily, and I swiped to answer. “Hey. I thought you were shopping for headpieces?”
Emily grunted. “They still are. I offered to go get coffees for everyone because I thought I might scream. I’ve never been so bored.” I laughed, but I didn’t really have much to say, so I let Em continue. “Did you two talk about it?” Emily asked.
I sighed, flipping back on my bed once more. “I don’t want to talk about Hudson. New topic. How’s work? I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night.”
“Depressing. Cases are climbing again. New topic.” Emily lowered her voice to a near whisper. “What do you think of the bridesmaids dresses?”
Honestly? I had a million terrible thoughts about the bridesmaid dresses. Thoughts I would only share with Emily. And maybe Hudson. If I hadn’t driven Hudson out of the house. Still, my voice lowered to a whisper as I replied, “They’re terrible, right? I’d never say anything to Nora, but they’re terrible. Is it just me?”
Emily giggled. “She’s making us wear crushed velvet outside in August. No, it’s not just you. They’re terrible.”
I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face. “She said she wants us to look like wood nymphs.”
“What the hell is a wood nymph?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. A fairy or something, right?”
“Hang on,” Emily said suddenly, and I heard a muffled coffee order that let me know Emily had made it to the front of the line. “A wood nymph sounds like a bug,” she said suddenly, and I jolted out of my thoughts, not having realized she was back.
“I feel like I’m going to the renaissance faire in that thing,” I whined.
Emily laughed once more. “I feel like I’m going to Medieval Times. Are there turkey legs at the reception?”
My smile spread. “Nope. There’s fish. Outside. In August.”
Emily groaned. “Dear God, do not eat that. I’m telling you this as your doctor.”
We both laughed, and I appreciated the single moment of levity. “Do you think she’s happy?” I asked finally.
Emily sighed thoughtfully. “Nora? Who can ever tell?”
I stared at the little glow-in-the-dark stars that dotted my childhood bedroom’s ceiling. “I hope so. Would you ever do something like that whole van-life thing?”
“Thank you,” Emily said, and by the muffled quality of her voice I assumed she was thanking the barista. “Someone at work took a trip where you ride a horse across France from castle to castle,” Emily said, her voice clear again.
“That sounds cool,” I replied.
Em chuckled. “She said her ass hurt and castles are creepy.”
“Oh.”
“And no, I’m not looking for vans or horses.”
“What's your dream trip, then?” I asked.
Emily’s sigh was uncharacteristically dreamy. “Anywhere, with the right person.”
“Anywhere?” I shot back skeptically.
“Yes,” Em replied emphatically. “If I was holed up with the right guy, I could enjoy anything.”
“Like, a roadside motel in Scranton?” I joked.
Em hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. Don’t be cynical just because your dream guy turned out to be an online stripper.”
My dream guy. I rolled the words around in my head, afraid they were accurate. “I already told you he’s not a stripper, but Em?” I hesitated, the need to keep my secret warring with my need to talk through all my thoughts.
“What’s up, Claire Bear?”
I inhaled deeply. “We aren’t dating. I met Hudson when I was trapped in that elevator and he’s really nice and I wanted some way to keep Mom off my back with Grant…” I trailed off, positive this explanation wasn’t good enough to explain why I decided to bring a fake boyfriend to stay with the family for a week.
“I thought you got stuck in the elevator after you told me about him?” Emily asked. Trust Emily to remember every tiny, little detail that made up my big, embarrassing lie.
“I did. Hudson lives in my building, so I knew of him before the elevator thing.”
“Oh, so you had a crush on him?” I could hear the smile in her voice, and it irritated me.
Because I certainly hadn’t had a crush on Hudson. He’d been the asshole who left his mail out front. That was all. I shook my head, knowing it wasn’t worth trying to explain to Emily. “No, I didn’t. I just knew him.”
“Okay,” she said, her tone suggesting she didn’t believe me but wouldn’t press. “But he’s obviously interested in you. This isn’t all fake.”
A memory of kissing Hudson flashed into my mind, and another of Hudson asking me on a date. Nothing about last night had been fake. “That was before the videos,” I said flatly.
“If he’s not actually a stripper, who cares about those videos?”
“He’s not a stripper,” I reiterated, pursing my lips. Of course Emily couldn’t understand. She’d never had someone betray her the way Dan had betrayed me. “But he’s obviously a player. I can’t develop feelings for him.”
“Because of Dan?” Emily asked cautiously, and I hated how well she knew me.
“Because of me ,” I stressed.
Emily sighed, a tiny hum of a noise I knew meant she was unhappy. “It’s your call, Claire. I should go. I’m back at the shop—” She let out a low wail. “—and for fucks sake I can still see them in there looking at headpieces. Wish me luck,” she grumbled.
“Good luck. I’ll see you soon,” I replied with a levity I didn’t feel, then hit the button and let the phone drop out of my hand. I was staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if it was okay to call Hudson, when the phone dinged again. I scrambled to grab it once more, scolding myself for still hoping it was Hud.
Emily: You should go out somewhere—I just overheard Mom invite Grant to dinner
My stomach lurched. Why wouldn’t Mom just leave well enough alone?
Claire: Hudson has my car. I’m trapped.
Emily: Ugh
Yes, ugh was right. I chewed on my lip for a minute, then pulled up Hudson’s contact.
Claire: Did you actually steal my car and you’re never coming back? Because I would understand.
Was there a polite way for me to ask him to come back?
Hudson: As a matter of fact, I’ve not only stolen it, but I crossed over the Canadian border and I’m making a run for it.
I could be honest—tell him I’d really been enjoying spending time with him and I was surprised to find I missed him today, but I’d been burned before, and I couldn’t help but brace myself for the moment he broke my trust.
But sharing that in a text seemed a bit too real , so I sent a laughing emoji instead. Coward.
Claire: That’s fair. I have also had that reaction to my mother at times.
I desperately wanted to say more, to ask him to come back, but my thumbs wouldn’t type the letters that would ultimately lead to my own stupid, broken heart.
Hudson: Just sat down to eat with my family, but I’ll head back to your place in an hour or so. Is that okay?
It was more than fair. I was shocked he was even willing to stay. God only knew day one of our little ruse had proven disastrous.
Claire: Of course. Don’t rush on my account.
I set down the phone, hearing my family coming in downstairs. All I wanted was to stay locked in my room, but that wasn’t going to be an option, and so I pushed myself up and out the bedroom door, pinning a smile to my face as I went down the stairs, finding my mother, Emily, and Nora in the kitchen.
“Claire Bear,” Mom gushed, putting a hand on my cheek. “Where’s Hudson?”
“I told you, he went to visit his parents today. They live in Cranberry Falls.”
I saw Mom’s eyebrow twitch. It was one of Mom’s few tells, letting anyone who saw it know she was scheming in some way or another. My sisters must have seen it as well, because both paused what they were doing and were openly observing the interaction. “I do remember you mentioning that now,” Mom said. “Why didn’t you go with? Have you already met his parents?”
As a person who prided myself on being prepared for anything, I was shocked I’d overlooked such an obvious detail. I should’ve gone with Hudson, even if it meant lying and spending the day hanging around Cranberry Falls while he visited home.
But knowing my mother would leap upon the slightest hesitation, I answered quickly. “We planned to stop by his parents on the way home this weekend, and I wasn’t sure if you’d need me around for anything, so I stayed back.” I shrugged as if this were wholly logical. “In retrospect, I mostly hung around here and got some of my work done—” I’d gotten no work done, I’d just stared at pictures and videos of Hudson all day. “— and I may as well have just gone with him. I didn’t realize.” Mom nodded as if this sounded reasonable, and I sighed my relief internally.
“We didn’t need you there,” Emily said with a chuckle. “There were already too many opinions.”
“No, Em,” Nora shot back. “It was just you disagreeing with everything. Just because you want some miserable, black, vampire wedding someday doesn’t mean everyone does.”
“Girls,” Mom warned, and I had the feeling they’d been bickering for much of the day. You could always count on Emily to not bend to anyone’s will, even the will of the bride. “Well, I hope you got a lot of work done,” Mom added.
I smiled brightly, finding the lie slipped off my tongue easier than any truth might have. “I did.”
“Wonderful.” Mom set a bowl of peppers, onions, and squash in front of me. “Cut these, please. Thin strips for a primavera. Peppers and onions can be mixed together, but keep the squash separate.” She turned her attention to Emily and Nora. “Emily, please start the water for the pasta and pull out the sauce. I made it yesterday. Nora, you can help me with the meatballs.”
I brought the bowl of vegetables to the cutting board, glad for the work. I enjoyed cooking. It was one of the few times I could shut off my brain and lose myself in the repetitive actions of cutting and stirring.
There was a knock at the front door and I set down the knife, a bolt of excitement shooting through me that I tried to suppress. Excitement was a bad emotion to feel at the thought of Hudson.
It was also a totally wasted emotion, since before I could take a single step away from the cutting board, a loud “Hello” resounded through the foyer. Ethan’s hello . Followed almost immediately by Grant’s voice. I groaned quietly.
Nora and Mom set about fussing over the brothers, Nora with a kiss for Ethan that suggested she did feel excitement at his arrival and Mom linking her arm through Grant’s and guiding him to the sink. “Wash up. You can get to work helping Claire,” she told Grant.
“I’m doing just fine, Mom,” I protested, despite the fact that the bowl of vegetables had been very large, and I actually could use a second pair of hands.
“Nonsense. Grant’s a doctor. He’s sure to have great knife skills,” Mom replied.
“I’m also a doctor and you’ve relegated me to boiling water,” Emily said wryly, pulling a strand of dry spaghetti from the box and biting into it with a snap.
Mom shot Emily a look. I was rarely on the receiving end of this particular look, but I knew it to mean, Don’t be difficult. “I’m sure you’re wonderful in surgery, but everyone knows you can’t cook worth a lick, Emily,” Mom said. Nora tittered.
“How’s it going?” Grant asked, sidling up next to me.
“I’m good, thanks,” I replied brusquely. He was close enough that our shoulders nearly touched, but my spot was tucked into a corner, leaving me no room to maneuver away.
“I feel like we barely got a chance to talk yesterday,” he said, picking up a zucchini and chopping off the stem. I made a noise in reply that neither confirmed nor denied his assessment. Undeterred, Grant continued. “Hudson seems nice.”
“He is.”
He continued to cut neat coins off the zucchini, moving slowly, his brow knit in concentration. “Are you two serious?”
Grant's directness caught me off guard, and I stammered awkwardly. “We—we are. Serious. Sure. We are.” It was wildly unconvincing.
Grant held my gaze for a moment, nodded once, and then resumed cutting.