He gives me an embarrassed nod, clutching the pillow harder.
“I had suspected for a while,” Vanessa interjects, “but Hudson confirmed everything yesterday when I caught you two canoodling on the boat.”
“We were not canoodling,” I argue.
“Okay, exhibiting signs of sexual tension,” she counters. “Either way, it was obvious you two had a thing.”
“And now we’ve cleared that up,” Hudson says, shifting his weight from side to side. If he stays hard this long under these circumstances, I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when we’re alone, with no distractions. I might not survive. “What’s so urgent you need to break into our room?”
“Susan is back on property,” she states seriously. “Accompanied by an official-looking woman with a clipboard. And they are both demanding to see you.”
“And it’s gone,” Hudson says, standing up unimpeded.
“Sorry to ruin the mood.”
“It’s fine,” Hudson says, throwing on his shirt. “Can you tell her that I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Oh, I wasn’t volunteering to play messenger,” she snaps back, causing me to cover my smirk with my hand. “I have to get Mira here rehearsal-dinner-ready.”
“I just need to do a quick rinse,” I say, gathering clothes from my bag. “I can be ready in ten.”
Vanessa shakes her head. “Tonight’s dinner isn’t on a river raft. Susan rented a banquet hall at one of those fancy lodges, with five-course meals and gas fireplaces on the patios. It’s bougie. You gotta dress to impress.”
“I don’t count,” I counter, doubting I even have a place setting.
“Yes, you do,” she quips. “You’re just as important as anyone else here. Except maybe Meredith.”
“I second that,” Hudson replies, standing next to me, running his hand along my arm. And I have to admit it feels nice to beincluded. “Why don’t you go get ready, and I’ll meet you by the Jeep in thirty?” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. Although we just partook in more outlandish displays of affection, this simple expression is enough to make my skin tingle.
“Make it thirty-five,” Vanessa says, pulling me out the door.
26 Hudson
I give myself five minutes to brush my teeth, splash cold water on my face, and change clothes before I make my way up towards the main cabins to deal with my mother. Riddled with pent-up energy, I jog up the gravel path.
“You can’t just take over like this!” Meredith declares, fighting with my mother on the main lawn. Meredith’s voice is raw and raspy, her vocal cords having gone through the wringer this afternoon. But at least the swelling on her cheeks and eyes has subsided.
“Someone had to,” my mother replies, dismissive. “This entire event’s been one disaster after another. I might not get a say inwhomy son marries, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get a say inhowhe gets married.”
Across the lawn I spot a fleet of trucks in the parking lot, as men unload wooden tables and chairs underneath a giant clear-top tent that’s been erected in front of the pond. I knew Susan could be a steamroller, but this is a whole other level of takeover.
“I think we can both agree yesterday wasn’t the best,” Grant says, stepping protectively in front of his fiancée, “but this is stillourwedding.”
My mother instantly turns sweet towards Grant, using her soothing voice. “I know that she convinced you that walkingaround barefoot and picnicking in the sunshine is romantic, but it’s not a suitable way for a son of mine to marry.”
“Good thing I’m not your son,” Grant corrects, his voice on the edge.
“I hate it when you say that,” Susan replies, grim-faced. “Now, if you two could go back to your room and peruse the clothing I had the planner organize for you, I’d be very grateful.”
She assesses the cream crochet dress Meredith is wearing with disgust.
“And choose something appropriate for dinner later.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Meredith says, storming off to her cabin. Grant hangs back for a moment, and I wait for him to fight back, to cause a scene, but he just shakes his head before following his fiancée into their cabin.
“Can you believe how ungrateful she is?” my mother says to George, who is scrolling on his phone. “I bring in couture and she still has something to complain about.”
My mother is dressed for an evening at the Ritz, in a sleek black dress, golden hair pulled back in a gold clip, and a string of pearls around her neck. It’s standard attire at the fundraiser events and non-profit galas she attends. Completely devoid of personality and only distinguishable by the price tag.
