The Perfect Illusion Page 10

  Besides, I don’t want his either.

  Clenching my eyes, I ride the wave the first chance I get, letting myself succumb to the seismic orgasm pulsing through my core as he pistons harder, faster, finally finishing.

  I collapse, and he leaves, heading to his bathroom to clean up. When he returns, I drag myself up, brushing my hair from my face and hoping I can make it to the door without my legs giving out beneath me.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, crawling back in bed.

  “Back to my room.”

  “Stay,” he says.

  Chapter 16

  Hudson

  “Mr. Rutherford?” Savannah/Shoshannah taps on my door Friday morning, her fingers fidgety like she doesn’t know where to put them when they’re not in use.

  I glance through the clear glass door, lifting a brow.

  She knows not to bother me when my door is closed, but I’m trying to cut her some slack here because I don’t feel like listening to another one of Mari’s lectures.

  Forcing a modest smile, I nod. “Yes, come in.”

  “Thank you,” she says, exhaling and smiling.

  “For what?”

  “Thank you,” she repeats, “for the flowers. They’re beautiful. And I accept your apology.”

  I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about.

  “And thank you for spelling my name correctly,” she adds with a relieved titter. “On the card. It means a lot. I know you’re not the best with names.”

  Mari.

  All of this screams of Mari’s doing.

  “You’re welcome, Sa … Shoshannah.” I force a smile and politely wave her out. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of something right now.”

  “Of course,” she says, prancing away like a nervous Pekingese at a dog show.

  Turning back to my computer, I flick my pen back and forth and lose myself in thought. I hate the second round of revisions. That township in Jersey felt the library needed a little something extra, though they couldn’t say what. That’s my job, they said. Never mind that I’m not a mind reader, and I don’t particularly enjoy wasting my valuable time playing guessing games.

  Besides, this building is absolutely perfect just the way it is.

  But if they want something extra … I’ll give them something extra. At the end of the day, they’re not my taxpaying dollars going to waste.

  We’re leaving for Montauk this afternoon, and this project was supposed to be finished by now, but so much for that. Looks like I’ll be taking work with me, and I’m sure my mother will find every excuse she can to ensure that I know how disappointed she is.

  Today’s weather is abnormally cheery, which is distracting for me, so I make my way around my office, yanking the blinds down until it’s dark so I can focus. Flicking on my desk lamp, I try to concentrate on this fucking library one more time, but I’m feeling rather uninspired.

  Believe it or not, I’m actually looking forward to spending a few weeks by the ocean with Mari.

  Grabbing my phone, I dial her up so I can chew her ass while I’m thinking of it.

  “Hey,” she answers on the third ring. “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Did you seriously just call me to see what I’m doing? What are you, my fiancé or something?” The phone rustles. “I’m packing. We’re still leaving today, right?”

  “Right,” I say. “Mari, what did you send to my assistant today?”

  “Oh? She got the flowers?”

  “Why’d you do that?” My jaw tenses.

  “Because you owed her an apology. And because I want the two of you to be on good terms before you take off for an entire month,” she says. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “In the future, I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t meddle in my work affairs,” I say. “And before you send any woman flowers in my name, at least have the decency to run it by me first.”

  “Whatever.” She laughs.

  “I mean it.”

  “Get back to work,” she says. “I’m hanging up now.”

  The second she ends the call, my line rings.

  “Yes?” I answer, exhaling. I could have sworn I pushed the “do not disturb” button hours ago.

  “You have a visitor, Mr. Rutherford,” Shoshannah says.

  Glancing at my iCal, I don’t spot any appointments.

  “I thought I asked you to keep today clear? It’s my last day in the office before my vacation. It’s very important that I have zero interruptions,” I say, pushing a breath past my nostrils before rubbing my left temple.

  “She’s not on the schedule, Mr. Rutherford.”

  She?

  Oh, God. Tell me it’s not Sienna.

  I wouldn’t put it past her to show up here after the string of text messages she sent a little bit ago. She’s got a temper, that one. I used to pick fights with her on purpose because contrary to popular belief, two adults can still have hot makeup sex without being in an actual relationship.

  “I’ll be out in a second.” I replace the receiver and straighten my tie, cleaning up my workspace before heading down the hall to the reception desk. I’m going to have to turn her away, and it’s going to be painful for the ‘old’ me, but it is what it is.

  By the time I round the corner, I see that God has in fact answered my plea.

  It’s not Sienna.

  “Audrina,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hudson.” She slinks past the front desk; lanky arms open wide as her hips sway. Before I can stop her, she’s wrapping herself around me and kissing my cheeks. “It’s so good to see you. Can I steal you away for just a moment?”

  I lead her back to my office and close the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Just in the city for some last minute shopping before I head to Montauk,” she says, her green eyes flashing and mesmerized as she takes me in. “I wanted to stop by and personally congratulate you. I heard about your engagement.”

  “Good news travels fast.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting the lucky woman.” Audrina’s voice falters. She smiles, but her shoulders droop and she glances off to the side for a brief second. “You’re going to be thirty in a couple of weeks.”

  “I know.”

  “Remember what we always said? What you always swore to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “If we were both unmarried by thirty, we’d marry each other.” Her lips pull into a hesitant smile, and she tucks a strand of silky chocolate hair behind her ear.

  “We were kids when we said that, Audrina.”

  “I’d hardly call us kids when we made that promise,” she corrects me.

  “I’m in love. I’m marrying Maribel. I’m sorry.”

  “Who is this girl anyway, Hudson?” Audrina winces. “I saw you last Christmas. You were single and loving it. How could someone pin you down and make you the marrying type in under five months? The timing’s rather suspect, don’t you think? Especially since we both turn thirty this summer …”

  She laughs, though I see the pain in her eyes. Despite it all, I have zero sympathy for her.

  “You’ll meet someone eventually,” I say, monotone, as I direct my attention toward my laptop and take a seat. “I’m sure.”

  Audrina huffs, rolling her eyes and blinking away tears. She looks admittedly lovely today, dressed to the nines in a floral, bare-shouldered sundress, nude espadrilles, and a tiny Fendi clutch, and I’m positive she put herself together for my sake.

  “You know,” she says, her tone wistful. “Your mom is throwing that engagement party this weekend. And I can’t stop thinking about how it should’ve been us.”

  “You’re clearly not hearing me.”

  “This was going to be the summer, Hudson.” She shakes her head. “I thought we were going to finally get back on track. We belong together and you know it.”

  “Audrina.”

 
“Do you know how many men I’ve turned away? How many proposals I’ve walked away from over the years because I was holding out for you?” Her complexion turns ruddy, her eyes misty again.

  “Don’t put that on me,” I snort, shaking my head.

  “You promised, Hudson.” She shakes her head, rising. “Shame on me for thinking you were a man of your word. All you do is lie. All you do is tell people what they want to hear so you can get what you need from them. I hope this Maribel knows that about you.”

  Audrina heads to the door, stopping with her hand on the knob.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “It’s just not meant to be. You need to accept that so you can finally move on.”

  She scoffs. “What am I supposed to do? If I could snap my fingers and fall out of love with you, don’t you think I would? Loving you, Hudson, for all these years, has killed me. And now I have to show up at your parents’ house and smile like I’m happy for you.”

  “You don’t have to go.” I shrug. “Feel free to sit this one out.”

  “Ha.” She rolls her eyes. “You know as well as I do that my absence will only make things more awkward for everyone. Your family, my family, everyone knows it was always supposed to be you and me. If you’re all of a sudden engaged and I fail to show up, it’ll make me look bad. And I refuse to be a laughingstock all because you think you’ve met The One.”

  “I’m glad you can be an adult about this.” I rise, shoving my hands in my pockets and keeping my distance. Audrina has always been a bit of a loose cannon: sophisticated and charming one minute, venom-spewing and tantrum-throwing the next. “I know Maribel looks forward to meeting everyone.”

  Audrina’s mouth pulls up at one side, though it isn’t a happy smirk. It’s more devious.

  “And I look forward to meeting her,” she says.

  With that, she’s gone.

  Chapter 17

  Mari

  “Do you think we’re ready for this?” I climb into the back of Hudson’s limo as Rocco loads our bags Friday afternoon. “I feel like we’ve been spending all this time together, but I still don’t feel like a couple. It doesn’t feel authentic. What if they see through us?”

  Hudson takes my hand, kissing the top before pulling me closer.

  “Relax,” he says. “This isn’t like you to be so … worked up.”

  “How would you know? You’ve only known me two months.”

  He chuckles. “I’ve come to know you well these last couple of weeks, Mari. You’re intelligent. You have a great sense of humor. And you tend to go with the flow. All you have to do is be yourself these next few weeks—in addition to pretending to be madly in love with me— and the hard part will be over.”

  Rocco closes the trunk with a gentle push and slips into the driver’s seat, merging into traffic a minute later.

  Hudson’s right.

  This isn’t like me to be so nervous. I just have a bad feeling that I can’t explain. It’s like this heaviness is sinking into me, weighing me down. My stomach was churning earlier, and I found myself unable to stop pacing the confines of my bedroom, my skin on fire and my breath shallow.

  I called Isabelle, but she insisted it was probably pregnancy hormones and that I should call my doctor, which I was in the midst of doing until Marta barged in with a question about Hudson’s packing list—like I would have the answers anyway.

  But I don’t think it’s hormones.

  It’s nerves. Or maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling me it’s not too late to back out as long as I do it now.

  “Here.” Hudson hands me a chilled bottle of Fiji water from a built-in cooler.

  I remove the cap and try my hardest not to chug the entire thing in one go. The forecast today was calling for a high in the upper seventies, but it may as well be a scorching ninety-nine degrees the way my body’s behaving.

  Fanning myself, I press the window button until the glass drops and I’m greeted with a burst of tepid city air.

  “Mari.” Hudson laughs. “Good God. You need to stop getting yourself worked up. My family doesn’t bite. I promise.”

  Turning to him, I swallow a lungful of air and take a generous swig of water. “It’s one thing to toss a ring on my finger and buy me a new wardrobe and meet my parents and take me on a few dates and kiss me and … everything else … but—”

  “Mari, Mari. Stop.” Hudson scoots closer, placing my water in a nearby cup holder and taking both of my hands in his. It’s sweet, the way he’s trying to calm me down, and I still find myself wondering if I’m imagining this kinder side of him or if it’s been here all along. “Everything’s going to be fine. We can do this. You and me. We’ve got this.”

  The limo crawls to a stop outside a wrought iron gate about three hours later. I can’t see beyond the wall of manicured shrubs and towering foliage, but I imagine what lies on the other side is nothing short of majestic.

  A sign on the left reads Sea La Vie – A Private Residence. Rocco presses a call button, and within seconds, the heavy, polished gates welcome us in.

  “Sea La Vie.” I read the sign quietly. “Cute.”

  “It was my great-grandmother’s idea,” Hudson says. “This home has been in the family for generations.”

  He gives my hand a squeeze before clearing his throat and narrowing his brows. It’s taken me this long to realize he changed out of his suit and tie get up and into a pair of crisp navy chinos and a white button down covered in a gray cashmere sweater. He’s finished the look with a pair of boat shoes, and he looks every bit the part of a Hamptons resident.

  Glancing down at my ensemble, which consists of a white eyelet shift dress, nude sandals, and a floppy beach hat, I realize I do too.

  Rocco navigates the limo around a circular drive. A bubbling sculpture fountain temporarily distracts me until we pass into the shadow of the mammoth estate. Covered in weathered shingles and three times as wide as it is tall, I have to wonder if Sea La Vie comes complete with its own zip code.

  “Four … chimneys?” I ask. “Is one of them just for looks?”

  I crack a chuckle, but clearly my Titanic joke falls on Hudson’s deaf ears.

  Rocco wastes no time climbing out and grabbing the door for us, and the moment I step onto the brick-paved drive, the front doors swing open and a smiling Helena ushers her way toward us with open arms.

  “Hudson,” she says, moving toward her son first. She deposits sweet, grazing kisses onto his cheeks before cupping them in her hands. “You look rested, dear.”

  Rocco unloads our luggage and Helena strides toward me. It’s only when she takes my hands in hers and tilts her cherry face that I wonder if this is remotely the same woman I met before.

  “It’s very nice to see you again, Maribel. I’m so glad you could join us,” she says. Hooking her arm into mine, she leads us past a woman dressed in a black and white maid’s uniform and through the main doors, which are even bigger than they looked from the driveway.

  “Thank you for having me,” I say, trying not to gape at the sweeping entrance and the unobstructed view of the ocean. Two curved staircases flank the foyer, and straight ahead lies a wall of windows and sliding doors leading to a covered patio with billion dollar views. “Your home is lovely.”

  “Why, thank you. You’re very kind to say that.” Helena places her hand over her chest, and I wonder how many times she’s had to pretend to be humble in this home. I don’t even think the Dalai Lama could be humble in a place like this.

  “Mrs. Rutherford, where would you like me to take the bags?” Rocco asks from the doorway.

  “Oh, yes. Hudson will be staying in the Roosevelt room,” she says it so nonchalant, like it’s nothing, like everyone names their bedrooms after dead presidents. “And we’ll be putting Maribel in the Kennedy suite.”

  “Separate rooms, Mother?” Hudson chuckles, lifting a brow. “Is that really necessary?”

  Helena’s smile fades. “It’s all in good taste. Anyway, I’m going to s
how Maribel to her room. Why don’t you meet us on the patio in a little while? The Sheffields will be here soon. I know they’re dying to meet our guest of honor.”

  Helena links her arm in mine once more and leads me up the left-hand staircase, past a long hallway with portrait-covered walls, around a corner, down another endless hallway, until we stop outside a polished wooden door flanked by ocean-view windows.

  With a quick twist of the door knob, she flicks the door open, her lips smiling wide as her hands lift at her sides.

  “Welcome to the Kennedy suite,” she says, a proud yet scaled-back beam on her face. The room, shaped like half of a hexagon, has sweeping views of the sea below, a gorgeous four-poster bed, a writing desk, and a sky-high ceiling. “You have a private bath. This way.”

  Helena takes me into a bathroom clearly ripped from the pages of Veranda magazine. I trace my fingertip along the white marble counters before eyeing the sparkling claw foot tub in the corner, resting beneath a crystal chandelier.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Helena gave me the best room in the house. Maybe it’s her way of apologizing for our last encounter?

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable during your stay,” she says, turning to me.

  I don’t realize it until I try to respond, but my jaw is hanging wide open.

  “This room, this suite,” I say, eyes wide. “It’s stunning. Thank you so much, Helena.”

  “Almost forgot,” she says, placing a finger in the air and striding back to the bedroom. “These flowers are for you.”

  I hadn’t noticed the giant bouquet of white peonies until she said something.

  “You’ll have fresh flowers in your room each week during your stay,” Helena bends slightly, bringing her nose to the top of a stem. “If you prefer another type of flower, just let me know.”

  “Peonies are my favorite.”

  “A girl after my own heart.” Helena winks. I think I like Helena now … at least this version of her. I can only hope it’s genuine.

  “I wanted to tell you,” she says, placing her hand over her heart, “how truly sorry I am for the way I must have seemed when we first met. I guess … I guess I was in shock? And I felt somewhat disappointed that my only child had kept such a big, important announcement a secret from me. I didn’t mean to be so cold to you, Maribel. I hope you can forgive me.”