“Co-planner, right! With that hot guy in the suit?” She nudged her friend. “Manny said you two are together? That’s so cute.”
Together. We’d never even defined what we were, and now it didn’t matter.
“We’re professional colleagues,” I said, my smile never wavering. “Excuse me, I need to check on something.”
I escaped before they could ask more questions, ducking into the empty bridal suite. Alone, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes, not a hair out of place. I looked like a woman at the top of her game, not someone whose professional and personal life had just imploded.
“Get it together, Landry,” I whispered to my reflection. “You’ve survived worse. Just make it through the night.”
But what came after tonight?
Hudson had stolen my future.
My future. The app I’d been conceptualizing for years. The one I hadn’t even told Anica about. The app that could revolutionize wedding planning. The one I’d spent countless nights sketching out, researching, developing.
The one I’d shared with Hudson, believing we were building something together.
I’d been such a fool.
CHAPTER 15
The Slap Heard ‘Round Chicago
HUDSON
The champagne turned to acid in my stomach as I watched Mari walk away, her back impossibly straight, her exit nothing special. No one would ever suspect the devastation I’d just caused. But I’d seen it. That split second when her eyes had widened, when understanding had struck her, when something vital and vibrant had dimmed.
I’d done that. Me. And for what? A job title? My parents’ approval?
“Such a direct young woman,” my mother said, sipping her champagne. “I suppose that’s the New York influence.”
Mrs. Trolio barely registered Mari’s departure. “The board is quite excited about the direction you’ll take the magazine, Hudson. The creative director position has been vacant for too long.”
Their voices faded to white noise as my temples throbbed. Damn it. I should’ve told her. How many times had I tried and failed to tell her what I’d done? God, I was an idiot. I needed to go after her. I needed to explain, though what explanation could justify what I’d done?
“Hudson.” My father’s sharp tone cut through my thoughts. “Eleanor asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry,” I managed, loosening my tie as a wave of heat crawled up my neck. “I need to check on something with the... DJ. If you’ll excuse me.”
I didn’t wait for their response, ignoring my mother’s disapproving frown as I set down my champagne flute and headed in the direction Mari had gone. The Royal Gardens were sprawling, with countless corridors and service areas where she could have disappeared.
The rest of the reception unfolded in a nightmarish blur. Every time I glimpsed a sparkling black dress—her dress—she’d vanish before I could reach her. She’d appear briefly to direct the cake cutting, consult with the DJ, or speak with Lia’s mother, always staying just out of my reach, always surrounded by staff or guests, never alone, never accessible.
Mari Landry, who had pressed herself against me in our makeshift office just hours ago, was now orchestrating an entire wedding reception around avoiding me. She was damn good at it.
The quartet played on. The cake was cut. Toasts were made. Guests danced. On the surface, everything was perfect and exactly as we’d planned. No one would ever know that beneath the polished veneer, something essential had shattered.
I retreated to a quiet corner, my back against the wall, watching as Mari effortlessly managed every detail from across the room. There was no point in trying to reach her. She’d disappear, like some sort of twisted hallucination. My chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been carved out with a dull spoon. My father approached, martini in hand, shoulders squared in a way that always preceded a lecture.
“You seem distracted,” he said, voice carefully modulated not to carry beyond our conversation. “Hardly the professional standard I’d expect from a Gable.”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling strands coming loose from the careful styling I’d applied before the ceremony. “Not now.”
“If this is about that girl?—”
“Her name is Mari,” I snapped, jaw clenching so tight a muscle twitched in my cheek. “And she’s not ‘that girl.’ She’s my partner. She’s brilliant and creative and?—”
I stopped, the words sticking in my throat. What right did I have to defend her when I’d just betrayed her so completely?
