Found in You(67)

“Yes, you should have.” It was the first time I’d seen Hudson address Stacy in any way, and it was short and clipped. He turned to hang the dress back on the rack and buttoned his suit jacket before turning back to us. “I’ll step out while you change, Alayna.” He nodded back to the magenta dress. “That one.”

Stacy’s face was even, but her eyes flickered with the rejection. I almost felt sorry for her. I’d been her—dejected by men I thought I was into. Part of me wanted to reach out to comfort her.

But then the spite returned to her gaze. “Is that the dress you’d like to start with?” Her voice was cold as she took the magenta Jersey from the hanger without waiting for my response.

I reached behind and unzipped my clothing myself and let it fall to the floor. “Yes. It’s the one Hudson wants.” I used his name as a weapon, claiming him as mine. “He thinks it will be perfect.”

Actually, it was. I could tell as soon as the dress was over my head. The color lit up my skin, highlighting my natural olive tone. It was low-cut enough that it showed off my boobs, an asset I was proud of. Hudson had always been quite fond of my bosom, surely one of the reasons he’d chosen it. The length was short enough to show some leg, but the flowing shape would only hint at my curves rather than hug them like many of my dresses did, leaving more to the imagination. It was a different style for me and that might have been what had prevented me from the same vision Hudson had. But he knew my body well, better than I did.

“He’s right. It’s perfect for you.” I’d been so mesmerized by my reflection, Stacy’s voice startled me.

I turned to her and found her expression had softened. It occurred to me that she was comparing herself to me as much as I compared myself to Celia, that she was measuring her flaws against mine. It was enough to send a person into dark depression. At least, that’s what that kind of thinking could do to me. Again, I felt sorry for her. Or maybe it wasn’t pity, it was something else—solidarity, maybe.

Stacy reached up to adjust a strap. “He has good taste.”

Her tone suggested she wasn’t talking about the dress. It hinted at more. The connection I felt with her, odd though it may be, led me to prod. “But…?”

Her forehead creased. “But what?”

“I sense there was more to your statement.”

She looked away, busying herself with adjusting the breast cups of the dress. “It’s not my place.”


“Go ahead. Whatever you have to say, I can take it.” Did I sound too eager? What I was hoping to gain from the conversation, I couldn’t say. Maybe I was simply curious.

That was a lie. I was obsessed. No matter how “well” I was, no matter how healthy, I’d always be drawn to dig deeper, to find out as much as I could about the people I was attracted to. This was no different. Stacy had something to say regarding Hudson—something that might give me insight into the man I loved. I had to keep digging.

When she didn’t offer more, I nudged her. “I know you’ve dated Hudson before.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Is that what he told you?”

I took a deep breath, hoping the words I chose to speak would keep her talking. “He hasn’t told me anything about you. I’ve seen a picture of the two of you together at an event or something.”

“Right.” She nodded as if she knew exactly what picture I was talking about. “I was his escort for the night. We never dated.”

“Escort?” My mind immediately went to hookers and high-priced call girls.