Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
VIOLET
"So then Trevor pushed me on the swing, and I went so high I almost touched the clouds!" Lucy's eyes widen with the animated retelling of her playground adventures. "Miss Johnson had to tell me to slow down because I was going too high!"
"Too high?" I gasp, playing along with her exaggeration. "Did you see any birds up there?"
Lucy giggles, her little shoulders shaking with delight. "No, silly! But I could see the whole playground. Even the big kids!"
Angie smiles quietly, nibbling on her second chocolate chip cookie. "Lucy always gets in trouble for going too high. Dad says she has no fear."
"Fear is for babies," Lucy declares, chocolate smeared adorably around her mouth.
Silvie rolls her eyes but can't quite hide her smile. She's been warming up slightly throughout dinner, especially after I mentioned some books I loved when I was her age. The ice in her gaze has thawed just enough to give me hope.
I hear Hudson's footsteps returning to the dining room and look up to find him watching us with an unreadable expression. There's something different in his eyes now, something that wasn't there when he left to make his phone call. They seem... softer somehow, less guarded.
"Alright, monsters," he announces, checking his watch. "It's getting late. Time for bed."
A chorus of groans erupts from the table, with Lucy's being the loudest.
"But Violet's still here!" she protests, turning those big eyes on me. "And we didn't even show her our rooms yet!"
"Another time, baby girl," Hudson says gently but firmly. "There’s always tomorrow."
"I can put them to bed," Silvie offers, already standing and gathering empty dessert plates. "I always do it when we're at Mom's."
A flash of something—pain, frustration, anger?—crosses Hudson's face. "Sil, you don't have to do that. I'm your dad. Taking care of you girls is my job."
"But I like doing it," she insists, lifting her chin with a defiance that reminds me so much of her father. "I'm good at it."
Hudson's jaw tightens as he studies his oldest daughter. I can see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes—wanting to let her be a child, yet respecting her sense of responsibility.
"How about this," he offers after a moment. "You can handle bedtime tonight, but tomorrow I do it. Deal?"
Silvie considers this compromise, then nods, a small smile playing at her lips. She's won this round and knows it. "Deal. Come on, monsters. Teeth, pajamas, bed."
Lucy slides dramatically from her chair. "But I'm not even tiiiiired!"
"Tell you what," I say, unable to resist that pouty face. "If your dad says it's okay, I can read you a story before I go."
Lucy's eyes light up like Christmas morning. "Can she, Daddy? Please?"
Hudson looks between his hopeful youngest and me. "One story. A short one."
"Yes!" Lucy pumps her little fist in the air. "I'm gonna pick the best one!"
The girls scamper upstairs, Lucy chattering away about which book to choose, Angie following quietly behind, and Silvie bringing up the rear with an authoritative air that breaks my heart a little. Ten years old, based on what Angie said earlier, and already taking on so much responsibility.
Once they're out of earshot, Hudson runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a slow breath. "Sorry about that. Silvie... she's had to grow up too fast."
"I’m sure she gets that from someone I know," I say softly, meeting his eyes.
He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Who?"
"You," I admit. "That same stubbornness, that need to take care of everything his own way."
Something flickers in his expression—recognition, perhaps. He doesn't deny it.
"Can I help clean up?" I offer, gesturing to the remaining dishes.
"You helped with some of dinner, I clean. That's the rule," he says, stacking plates. "But you can keep me company if you want. Drink? Water? Wine? Something stronger?"
"What are you having?" I ask, following him to the kitchen.
He opens a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. "This, probably."
"I'm usually a bourbon or tequila girl," I admit, enjoying his surprised expression. "But since I have to drive home, water is fine."
"Noted," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with ice water, then pours himself two fingers of whiskey. "For future reference."
My heart does a little flip at the implication that there will be a future reference. Hudson hands me the water glass, our fingers brushing momentarily. That familiar electricity sparks between us, and I see from his quick intake of breath that he feels it too.
He turns away, busying himself with loading the dishwasher. I lean against the counter, watching his methodical movements, the way his broad shoulders flex under his flannel shirt. For a man so large, there's a surprising grace to him.
"Violet," he says finally, turning to face me. "About this... arrangement."
"Yes?" I prompt when he doesn't continue.
He takes a sip of his whiskey, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I need you to understand what you'd be getting into. This isn't..." He sighs, running a hand over his beard. "This isn't a romantic fairytale. I need a wife for one reason only—to get my girls back permanently."
I nod slowly. "I understand."
"Do you?" His eyes search mine. "Because this would be a business arrangement. Temporary. Six months, maybe a year at most. Just until the custody is finalized."
"I get it, Hudson," I say. "You're not interested in the... other aspects of marriage."
He shifts his weight, his eyes briefly dropping to my lips before snapping back up.
"Right. Exactly. This would be in name only. You'd live here, help with the girls, play the part of devoted wife when needed. And I’ll pay you the fifty thousand promised upfront in a cashier’s check on our wedding day. "
"A mutually beneficial arrangement," I say, taking a sip of water to cool my suddenly dry throat.
"Precisely."
We stand in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the dishwasher he's just started. There's a tension in the air between us that betray his words.
"The girls seem to like you," he says finally, his voice softer. "Lucy especially."
"They're wonderful," I tell him honestly. "All three of them. You've done an amazing job with them, Hudson."
He looks down, a hint of color touching his cheeks at the praise. "They make it easy."
"I doubt that," I laugh. "Lucy alone has more energy than a power plant."
A genuine smile breaks across his face, transforming his features. God, he's beautiful when he smiles.
"She'll run you ragged given half a chance," he agrees, taking another sip of his whiskey. "Silvie's the challenging one, though."
"She's protective of you," I observe. "And her sisters. That's not a bad thing."
"She shouldn't have to be," he says, a shadow crossing his face. "She should be worrying about homework and friends, not playing mom to her sisters."
I take a step closer to him, drawn by the pain in his voice. "What happened with their mother, if you don't mind me asking?"
Hudson's expression darkens. "Kristy... has issues. Addiction. Poor choices in men. When I left Black Feral, she couldn't handle the change. Started using more heavily, bringing strangers around the girls."
"That's awful," I whisper.
"Yeah." His jaw clenches. "I tried to get the girls out, but she was vindictive. Had connections. Painted me as the dangerous one because of my past with the MC."
"So, that's why you need a wife," I realize. "To show stability."
He nods, draining his glass. "The court wants to see a solid family unit.
Two parents, stable home, wholesome environment.
" A bitter laugh escapes him. "The irony is, I'm the one who's sober, who built this house for them, who wants nothing more than their safety and happiness.
But because of my past, I'm the risky choice. "
"It's not fair," I say, anger rising on his behalf.
"Life rarely is," he shrugs, setting his empty glass down. "But I'll do whatever it takes to get them home. Even if that means..." He gestures between us.
"Even if it means marrying a stranger," I finish for him.
"You're not exactly a stranger anymore," he says quietly.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly the kitchen feels much smaller, the air growing more charged with something undeniable. Hudson takes a half-step toward me, his eyes dropping to my lips again. My heart thunders in my chest as I tilt my face up instinctively.
Just when I think he might actually kiss me, Hudson reaches for the whiskey bottle, his arm bumping his empty glass. It tips over, knocking into my water glass, which spills directly onto my chest.
I gasp as the ice water soaks through my blouse, the sudden cold making me jump.
"Shit!" Hudson curses, grabbing for a dish towel. "I'm so sorry."
He reaches out with the towel, then freezes as he realizes where the majority of the water has landed—right across my breasts. His face flushes red as his hands hover awkwardly, torn between helping and backing away.
"Here," he thrusts the towel at me instead, averting his eyes. "God, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so... so..."
"Nervous?" I suggest, dabbing at my wet shirt.
"I'm not nervous," he protests automatically, then sighs. "Yeah, okay. Nervous. Like a fucking teenager." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know what it is about you, Goldie."
The nickname makes my stomach flutter. "It's okay, Hudson," I say softly, boldly reaching out to take his hand. "I feel it too. This... thing between us."
His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. "There can't be a 'thing,'" he says, though his fingers tighten around mine. "This has to be professional."
"Strictly business," I agree, even as I feel myself leaning toward him again.
"For the girls," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face.
"Of course," I whisper, my heart racing. "Just to get custody."