Hudson(50)

“I should be scared. It’s not safe. For either of us. You should be scared, too.”

If she only knew how scared I am. I’m terrified of what I’ve done—of what I’m doing—but more than anything, I’m terrified that I will lose whatever it is that I have with her.

But maybe she’s right. This is what I want for her—to be strong like this. I let out a heavy breath and think about what she’s said. And I realize I don’t agree. “I don’t believe that. I think spending time with another person who has similar compulsive tendencies can provide insight and healing.” Because in this brief time with her, I’ve had more insight and healing than I’ve had in three years with Dr. Alberts.

Alayna leans her head back against the seat and stares at the ceiling. I’ve given her a lot to think about, I’m sure. I’ve given myself a lot to think about. But the only word that keeps repeating in my head now is please. Please don’t let me lose this. Please don’t let me lose her.

“I won’t quit.” Her words jump-start my heart. She turns to face me. “But I can’t have a relationship with you, Hudson. All I can give you is the fake. I have to protect myself here.”

I’m sick with disappointment. “I understand.” I say it again to myself, hoping this time I accept it. “Thank you.”

And since she’s ended us—ended the only part of us that matters—I pull myself together, closing myself off. Shutting her out.

Then she places a hand on my knee and leans in. “Hudson, you’re not broken.”

I begin to falter when I catch sight of her cleavage. What I see under her dress surprises me. “What are you...? Is that...?” I swear she’s wearing the corset I’d admonished her for the day we’d first properly met. Though it was inappropriate for work, I’d mentioned how much I’d love to see her in it again, privately.

She blushes. “Yes. I’d worn it for you.”

“Wow. That was…that was very thoughtful of you.” The moment is inopportune, but I’m instantly hard. Actually, I suspect that everything I’ve bared and everything she’s said has helped contribute to how much I want her now. She always turns me on. But now I need her in a way that is all-consuming.

Yet, I can’t have her. Even though her eyes flicker with the same need, I know that I’ll hurt us both if I don’t respect what she’s asked for.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

As if she has anything to be sorry for. “I know. I am too.” I remain caught up in her gaze for a minute. Everything I want to see is there, including the way she sees me.

But it’s not real and it can’t last. I have to move on. “This may be poor timing, but I need to get back to my mother’s show.”

“Sure.”

“And since you’re supposed to be sick, you will need to go home.”

I direct Jordan to drive to Alayna’s apartment and discover we’re nearly there already. It’s a good thing—I can’t be with her much longer without going crazy. But I also wish I could gather every second until she leaves me and stretch them infinitely.

“When is our next show, boss?” she asks.

Celia and I had planned the symphony to be the next event on our agenda. She went off script today, so I don’t feel obligated to stick to our plans. Even though the damage has been done, I’d also like to keep Alayna and Celia as far from each other as possible.

So I don’t mention the symphony to Alayna. “I’m not sure. I have to fly to Cincinnati tonight.” I frown. “And I am not your boss.”

“Cincinnati? Tonight?” She sounds disappointed.

“Yes, tonight. I have a meeting first thing in the morning. My jet’s leaving early evening.” My mother has invited us to the beach house later that week. That I’ll be unable to get out of. “I’ll text you later to arrange the Hamptons. We’ll leave Friday afternoon.”

“So you’ll be gone all week?”

“I’m not sure yet.” I’m supposed to be back by Wednesday, but I don’t tell her that. It’s best for both of us if she thinks I’m not in town.

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. But I’ve turned everything off now. Years of not feeling and it’s old hat to return to numb. So it doesn’t hurt when we arrive at her place and she gets out of the car.

Or maybe it does hurt, but it’s so deep inside, buried so far, that I find a way to ignore it.

I can’t ignore her pain though. It’s written all over her face, all over her carriage. I call her back before she’s gone too far. “Thank you for today. I think you’ve truly made an impression on my mother. Good work.” It’s nothing of what I want to say, but it’s all I allow myself.

Then Jordan drives away, and instead of thinking about all that I’m leaving behind, I concentrate on what is waiting before me until all my emotion—all my rage and anger and bitterness—is focused on Celia.

***

The fashion show has started when I return to the Manhattan Center. I know where Celia’s sitting, thank God, and I’m grateful that it’s near the back of the room. When I reach her, I tap her on the shoulder to get her attention then not so gently assist her up from her chair. She doesn’t fight me as I escort her to the lobby and to the coatroom. It’s summer, so it’s not in use.