Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HUDSON
It’s been like living in a wholesome Saturday afternoon special this entire weekend.
Every morning I wake up, tangled with Violet’s curves, her reaching and us trying to stay quiet during those lazy morning lovemaking sessions has been surreal.
Brushing our teeth side by side, watching her walk naked in the shower, and resisting joining her to run downstairs and get my girls’ breakfast going–all my girls.
Violet’s has seamlessly become part of that equation now.
My three daughters have come to life in ways I can’t remember before this weekend.
Especially, Silvie. Her shoulders don’t carry that heavy strain I’ve become accustomed to seeing on her.
She’s laughing and joking, her personality free to express itself more.
All three of them have taken to Violet. She’s sunshine that pulls you in and invites you to soak into your bloodstream. Freedom.
I’m falling for her. And there’s a constant battle in my mind telling me to block the feelings out. Self-preservation demands walls to protect my heart. But it’s too late to protect the girls from the fallout at the end of six months.
But then she smiles at me from across the room or boldly reaches and kisses me, hugs me, and all thoughts of pushing her away incinerate. I’m incapable of fighting the pull her light gives…but also, I’m finding, I just don’t want to.
It’s Sunday afternoon, and we’re returning after an eventful day on Main Street, shopping for Christmas gifts that no one is doing a good job of keeping secret.
Lucy’s balancing bags of baked goods we don’t need, not with Violet always baking or her best friend sending baked goods over.
Then, of course, the girls wanted to say hi to Santa again.
Pulling into the driveway, my daughters and Vi are all chatting and laughing about the elf that got tangled on a ribbon and hopped over the patch of ice the town installed so kids can ice skate.
Reminds me, I need to schedule driving them next weekend to the ice rink across town. Lucy will never let me hear the end of it if I forget.
Another car sits idle by the garage. Too standard to belong to MC or Kristy. Violet has learned to read my shift in moods already. Her furrowed brow follows my gaze and stiffens.
I squeeze her thigh. “Wait in here with the girls a minute?” I ask quietly.
Her hand rests over mine and squeezes. “Go ahead.”
She’s telling the girls to stay in the car as I exit. At the same time, a woman in a brown pant suit exits the beige Sedan.
“Mr. Hudson Wilder?”
“It is,” I answer, keeping myself between them and my car that contains all I hold precious in this world.
“Orella Barnes,” she steps closer, offering her hand.
I approach and shake it. “What can I do you for?”
She’s folding a thick folder full of documents, and an ID tag hangs off her belt loop, but I can’t make out what it says.
“I’m with CPS. Routine check. As agreed, and I’m sure your lawyer explained, during your custody case with Miss Kristy Abrams, these will be unannounced visits,” she explains, glancing over at the car.
“We just went Christmas shopping. Let me inform my girls and my wife. As you may be aware, with the company my daughter’s mother still keeps, I can never be too cautious of strange cars showing up at our home.”
Her perceptive eyes study me, then give a nod. “Never can be too cautious,” she repeats. “Please,” she waves over at the car.
I walk back and bend inside my open door. I try communicating with Violet the situation, but quickly focus on the girls and grin. “Hey monsters, we have a visit from a nice woman from CPS.” I hate that they’re familiar with the term and how their bodies solidify at the title.
Violet twists in her seat and smiles. “Why don’t we invite her inside and offer her some of the specialty hot chocolate Miss Ava at Sweet Pines convinced us to buy?”
“Will we have to give her all the pink marshmallows?” Lucy worries.
Laughing softly, Violet shakes her head and leans in, lowering her voice. “How about we only give her the little ones we already have in the pantry instead?”
Lucy grins that evil, trouble-making smile of hers and I fear for our future. Silvie stays serious getting out of the car. I press my side up beside her and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, Sil. Look at me.” When I have her concerned eyes, I squeeze her shoulders. “Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”
“I don’t want them to take us away,” she whispers.
My heart breaks into ten. I kneel down and gently cup my baby girl’s face.
“No one’s taking you three away from me.
Ever. I’m working hard on getting you girls full time.
We’ve talked about this. Your mom needs to get some help so she can feel better again.
No matter what happens, I am your father, and you three will come home to me. Okay?”
She glances over my shoulder, then back. “Okay.”
“I love you,” I tell her.
“Love you, Dad.” Never get tired of hearing that. “And I really like Vi.” All three have become comfortable enough to use her nickname. “She makes you laugh. You’re happy.”
Well, shit. Kids are so damn perceptive.
“I really like her, too,” I smile.
“You mean, you love her.”
Like I said.
Swallowing, I reveal a truth to my daughter I can’t hide. I have love for Violet. How deep that is, I’m still afraid to admit.
“I love her, yes. How can I not?”
She grins. Chuckling, I pull her in and kiss her head. Standing, I wrap my hand around her nape.
“Come on, you gremlin, let’s go encourage Lucy to be on her best behavior with this CPS lady.”
Silvie scoffs. “Good luck.”
Laughing, we both head inside.
My stomach is in knots for the next thirty minutes as Violet gives the woman a tour, offers cookies and hot chocolate, and Lucy recalls the entire day to her.
I’ll give it to Ms. Barnes, she’s gracious and listens, then smiles along to every detail.
Her last stop is asking Violet and me questions about our relationship before marriage, which luckily, we’ve talked at length since Kristy’s last visit and agreed on a story.
Our natural affection paints a convincing picture that seems to satisfy Ms. Barnes, who shakes each of the girls’ hands before leaving.
The front door closes, and I finally exhale.
The girls go to unpack things from our shopping trip as I clean up the dishes we offered our unexpected guest. Violet takes them and sets them to rinse in the sink before she walks into me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
My arms envelope her instinctually, her comfort without words already running through my body.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I think it went well.”
“I think it went great,” she smiles. “Honestly, just watching the girls so at home, happy, and free. How could anyone determine they belong anywhere else but with you, here?”
“With us,” I amend, but Violet doesn’t say anything.
Her smile is soft but comes off sad, and she pretends she agrees.
“What was that?” I ask. Does she not want to be an us?
“Nothing,” she smiles brighter. She kisses my cheek quickly. “I should get started and put dinner into the InstantPot so it’s ready in time tonight.”
Not wanting to push, I squeeze her waist and let her walk off to prepare.
Something’s off. Here I am dreaming of what it could look like if I asked Violet to forget our six-month agreement and make this real, permanent…
but maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, confusing my read on her.
I forget she’s young. Real freaking young.
She has her entire life ahead of her. She didn’t plan on being a ready-made mom and wife at twenty-two.
Shit. I run my hand through my hair, looking up at the ceiling, hearing the girls chatter and music.
If Violet walks away, as we agreed, I’ll have to let her go. And I’ll learn to forget the magic I felt with her here. My girls are enough. The four of us are enough. I should start adjusting to that reality.
Two weeks, we’ve been adjusting to this new normal.
Every weekend, the girls are home and we’re thrown into this bubble of Christmas, love, and constant laughter.
When the girls aren’t with us, Violet and I keep playing this weird dance of being all in as husband and wife, then there are pockets of time where she pulls away.
Next thing I know, reminders to create boundaries around my head and heart chime in, and we both pull away.
Nights are the hardest to resist. Both of us almost need the reassurance that what we’re feeling is real, even if it shouldn’t be.
Her pleas for me to give her everything, show her with our bodies we’re good together, drives my need to prove to her we can stay good together, longer than this stupid mail-order bride arrangement that seems ridiculous now.
She calls me husband as she comes and I pant into her skin, calling her my wife.
We both seem to be of two minds about all this.
I don’t bring it up during the day because I want her to choose what’s best for her.
I don’t want to drag her into a lifestyle of caring for everyone around her but herself.
I won’t be like her father. I won’t hold her back from figuring out what she wants for her life.
Violet’s out, checking in on her mother’s house and father.
I’m not fond of her needing to see him alone.
I hope he heeded what I told him that day on the phone, but I also trust Violet’s capable of standing up for herself.
I may not have known her before Sanford plotted against my wishes and put out that ad, but already, she’s different from when we first met.
She’s bolder in asking for what she wants, and she treats this house I painstakingly built as her own.
I love watching her doing her thing, playing music, humming, and dancing while she does house chores.