She shrugged as she shook her head. Then said, “I’ll be okay with whatever.” Her eyes glazed like she was overwhelmed. “I don’t even know if I’m keeping it yet.”

Another thought crossed my mind. “I’m not marrying you, Celia.” I straightened to show my seriousness. “This in no way makes us a couple.”

She looked at me with stark unbelief. “I never thought for a moment it did.” But her tone was layered with the subtext of our past. Of a time when she would have wanted exactly that from me. “Nor would I ever expect it. You, I’ve discovered, are incapable of anything remotely like a relationship.”

Perhaps she’d meant to hurt me with her statement. She didn’t. She’d made our new situation easier. I looked her straight in the eye. “I’m glad you know.”

She held my gaze for several seconds. Then her eyes fell to the floor. She shook her head again, as if she were bewildered. As if she were at a loss for words. Finally, she looked up again. “Hudson, why are you doing this?”

I studied the light smudge on the tip of my right shoe as I tried to figure out the answer to that. It wasn’t for my father. I was disappointed that he didn’t have to face up to his actions. As for my mother...I’d begun to understand that the biggest contribution to her drinking was my father’s infidelity. My relationship with her was strained, at best. Yet I did feel an urge to protect her. Was she the reason?

Then my mind flew again to my siblings. Chandler. Mirabelle.

Ah, Mirabelle.

She was a girl who believed in love and rainbows and happily-ever-after—all the things I detested. The breakdown of my parents’ marriage would strip her of those convictions. And that thought felt like a kick in the stomach. I realized I would do anything to prevent that from happening to her. So the why was for Mirabelle then.

There was another reason, and that reason was standing in front of me—her face thin and ashen. Her eyes heavier than I’d remembered them, her smile not as easy as it had once been. I’d chided her for blaming anyone but herself for her predicament, but wasn’t I also culpable? If I hadn’t set the dominos in motion, she’d never have gone to Mabel Shores that night. She’d never have climbed into my father’s bed. She wouldn’t be pregnant now.

Did I care that I held responsibility? Maybe. Maybe I couldn’t care for people in the way that others could, but I did have some sense of duty. I couldn’t explain it, even to myself.

I’d never try to explain it to anyone else.

“Hudson?” Celia prodded me for an answer since I’d been quiet so long.

“I heard you.” I swallowed and raised my eyes to hers. “The family name.” And because I was uncomfortable with the course of my self-examination, I turned spiteful. “Pierce is my legacy. I wouldn’t want it poisoned by my father’s mistakes.”

She sneered and opened her mouth to likely deliver an equally caustic jab.

But I jumped in before her. “Let’s give our families Thanksgiving. We can tell them on Friday. I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange the details of our announcement.” I turned and straightened my bow tie in the mirror. There would be no going back to the event for me, and I wasn’t going to leave Celia behind. “I’ll walk you out.”

We didn’t say another word to each other until she was seated in the backseat of a cab and I was about to shut the door.

“Hudson?”

I bent toward her. “What?”

“Thank you.” Her lip quivered and her eyes glossed, and I remembered that Celia wasn’t like me. She had emotions, she had feelings. This situation was probably more to her than the inconvenience it was for me. A rush of…something…swept through me. Something not quite comfortable. Like I was listening to Schubert’s Adagio for Strings while battling the flu.

More and more lately, the depth of my own ability to feel surprised me. I didn’t like it.

I nodded once and looked for the thing she needed me to say. “Congratulations, Ceeley,” I managed. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

I didn’t have to try to sound sincere. I was.

Chapter Twelve

After

Alayna’s hand on my back—even through my shirt and jacket—stuns my skin to life. I turn to look at her, wishing we were elsewhere, anywhere but here at my mother’s charity fashion show. This event has been planned for weeks to be the kick-off for the charade within the charade. It was Celia’s choice, not mine. I would have preferred a private introduction for Alayna and Sophia Pierce. Not this extravaganza of people. Celia wanted it for exactly that reason—it gave her the excuse to be present. She wants to see the game in action; I get that. It was always the best part. But her nearness reminds me what this really is. Reminds me that my relationship with Alayna is an experiment.

No, that’s not correct. My relationship with Alayna is not what happens here—it’s what happens in private. That is our reality. This is only a show. And both of us know that.

But it’s hard to remember that when she’s running her hand across my shoulder like this. I should tell her to stop, even though I don’t blame her. I have the hardest time concentrating on anything that isn’t her when she’s near. Even when she’s not near, actually—all I think about, all I long for, is her.

Her touch has awakened my constant desire for her. I don’t care who might see. I don’t care where it will lead. I don’t care that I’ll likely regret the hard-on I’ll get from kissing her luscious mouth. I place my hand on her thigh and lean in to take her lips.

“Oh, you don’t need to be all PDA on my account,” a familiar voice interrupts me. “Remember, I know.”

I stiffen. I shouldn’t be as angry as I am at Celia’s arrival. I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up sooner. There’s no reason for her to interact with us though. No reason for her to take the seat next to Alayna as she is now. I’m not happy about it, and the look I share with my old friend doesn’t hide my irritation.

Alayna removes her hand from my body and I’m instantly disappointed. I can’t withdraw so easily, strengthening my grip on her leg, maintaining our connection.

“I’m Celia,” she says to Alayna. “I thought we should probably meet. Though it doesn’t look like Hudson’s too keen on it.”

Celia’s trying too hard. What is she trying to prove?