"I never thought I'd be the Massey twin who found his person first," Hudson said, looking at Kendall with naked adoration. "Hunter's always been the charming one. The one everyone gravitates toward." He raised his glass toward our table. "But I got lucky. I found someone who sees exactly who I am — flaws and all — and loves me anyway. That's what I wish for everyone here tonight. Someone who sees you. Really sees you."
His eyes met Hunter's across the room. Something passed between them — brotherly, complicated, real.
Hunter's hand found mine under the table and squeezed.
"To Kendall," Hudson finished. "The best decision I ever made."
Everyone drank. The orchestra started up, and Hudson led Kendall onto the floor for their first dance. They moved together like they'd been doing this forever, her massive dress somehow not tripping either of them, both of them laughing at something only they could hear.
"Dance with me."
I looked up. Hunter was already standing, hand extended.
"Now?"
"Unless you'd rather listen to Whitney plan her future wedding out loud."
I took his hand.
The dance floor was crowded now, other couples joining after the bride and groom's solo. Hunter pulled me close — one hand at the small of my back, the other holding mine against his chest. I could feel his heart beating under my palm. Steady. Strong.
"You survived the family interrogation," he said quietly.
"Your mom's not so bad."
"She likes you. I can tell."
"How?"
"She didn't ask about your five-year plan." His lips brushed my temple. "That's reserved for women she's trying to scare off."
I laughed despite myself. "Good to know I passed the first test."
We swayed together, bodies close, the music wrapping around us. His hand slid lower on my back, pressing me against him until I could feel the heat of him through his tuxedo. Other couples drifted past — Laverne and some silver-haired man I didn't recognize, May circling with her phone, Hudson and Kendall lost in their own world.
"Dixie." Hunter's voice dropped, rough and quiet. "What happens after tonight?"
"What do you want to happen?"
"That's not an answer."
"Neither is yours."
His hand tightened on my waist. "I know what I want."
"Which is?"
"This." His breath was warm against my ear. "You. Not for a weekend. Not for a deal."
My heart stuttered. "You barely know me."
"I know enough." He pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes. "I know you work harder than anyone I've ever met. I know you're talented and funny and you don't take my bullshit. I know the way you looked at that cake today — like you'd found something you thought you'd lost." His voice dropped lower. "And I haven't stopped thinking about you since Wednesday night."
I should tell him. Right now, before this went any further. The words sat on my tongue —I have a daughter, I'm a recovering addict, I'm not who you think I am.
But his eyes were so green in the candlelight. His hand was so warm on my back. And I wanted one night where I wasn't defined by my past. One night where I was just a woman a beautiful man wanted.
Tomorrow. I'd tell him tomorrow.
