Everly After (3 page)

We ride back to my apartment in silence. Hudson spends it glued to his phone, and I make sure to sit as far away as possible. I feel his eyes rake over me a few times, and I hear the way he shifts over the leather seat as if he’s preparing to pounce. And I’m waiting. I’m not holding my breath for Hudson to transform miraculously into someone kinder, someone who would listen. It’s nice to be hopeful about things. I’m trying—I am. But I stood on a ledge last night with the intention of flying off until a stranger interrupted. Being lonely and lost, trapped in the lights of Paris, can do funny things to a girl who’s spent too much of her life balancing on that high ledge. Finding the quiet after that fall, the darkness, promises me peace.

I curl a strand of hair around my finger and glance over to Hudson again. There’s something to be said for the familiar. My heart races with anticipation because the man who kissed me is a brief glimpse of the one I’ve run from. He looks respectable in his suit, cleanly shaven, and his eyes are clear. But his smile, while tempting, is missing the curve that reveals the real Hudson.

A thrill chases down my spine. I’m playing with fire, leading him back where we aren’t being watched by others. We’re not exactly known for our self-control. Page Six is an excellent testament to that.

I’m out the door before the limo comes to a complete stop.

My apartment building is anything but glamorous. It doesn’t romanticize the city like you see in magazines or the movies. The building’s rusty gate stops that grandiose expectation immediately. There are bars over the windows of the ground-floor units. The sprays of dead grass between the cracked cobblestones in the courtyard are the only signs of life this early in the day. I shield my eyes from the stream of sun as I gaze up, my eyes combing over the tall building to my apartment window at the very top.

Hudson chases after me, but I ignore his silent questions and push through the large oak door.

Dim light floods into the stairwell from the dirty skylights above. The walls are yellowed from age, the plaster cracked and split into thousands of designs, like the stained glass at Sainte-Chapelle. The marble stairs are bowed down the middle from years of use. The cage elevator in front of me won’t open without a coin to pry apart the old lock, so we walk up seven flights to my place.

I fumble for my keys, his breath hot on my neck. He smells like cardamom and mint.

“I’ll find them. They’re in my pur—”

“Why are you in Paris?”

I pause when he presses his lips against my neck. If I had an answer, it would fall out between us now, but since I don’t, I remain silent. He licks a line up my neck, stopping just behind my ear.

I let out a rushed exhale, biting my lip as my hand finally curls around my keys. His teeth tug at my earlobe.

“Found them.” I jingle the keys to hide my trembling hand. “I haven’t cleaned,” I add as an afterthought.

“There are people who will do that for you.”

For us, that’s true. We never had to do anything we didn’t want to. There were people to cook and clean and raise us. But I don’t want that to be my truth anymore. I want to live for myself. I want to know that, if the world falls away, I can stand on my own.

I glance over my shoulder, deciding it best to ignore his comment. I’m not sure why I bothered with the keys; my door was never locked. A few strangers are still passed out around my place. I step inside, thankful for the cool air that doesn’t smell like Hudson. Thankful for the small space separating us now.

I don’t look back. I don’t want to see his face as he takes in what I’ve run away to or the carnage from last night. So I stand by the kitchen island, shoving the trash on the counter off onto the floor to make room for my purse.

He pulls in a deep breath, then slowly releases it. “Where’s all your stuff, Ev?”

An empty handle of vodka rolls at my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a disco ball tucked away in the kitchen corner by the overflowing trash can. I pick it up, hugging it in my arms while Hudson nudges some guy on the floor with his shoe.

“This looks like it was fun.” His lips curl up. “Why didn’t I get an invite?”

I spin the disco ball over the counter, but the light isn’t right in the apartment this time of day, so I have a mirrored ball in my hands that refuses to refract light. It breaks my frown into tiny pieces and reflects it back to me instead.

“Can you get rid of these people?” I ask.

“Who are they?”

I shrug. “Just get rid of them.”

He grumbles, but after twenty minutes, my apartment is cleared of hungover strangers.

I take out my phone—a mindless distraction. No one has this number. I’ve switched emails. I’m not on social media anymore. It’s been nice to be unplugged from things, but I need something to do so I pretend it’s the most interesting phone in the world.

“You had a party with a bunch of strangers and then left? They could have taken your stuff.”

“What stuff?” I wave my arms around at the trash and tipped furniture I’ve picked from the dumpster. I have nothing but a Louis Vuitton suitcase, and I stashed that under my bed. The important things are with me in my clutch.

Hudson grabs the phone out of my hands, then I hear an answering text from his suit pocket, and I realize my quiet is over. As if I needed his number stored in my contacts to remind me. His kiss was enough.

I’m waiting for him to judge me or cut me down. Or kiss me again. Instead, he surprises me by asking if I want to stay with him, as if I’m some sad charity case who’s destitute. As if my shitty apartment isn’t good enough.

I take back my phone and toss it onto the counter. Staying with Hudson would be a terrible idea.

“If you need money…”

I cross my arms, squaring off across from him. Hudson towers over me. He’s tall and lean, his body powerful from years of soccer. “I don’t need anyone’s money.”

Hudson pries my arms down and hauls me close. His lips trail down my throat, sucking at the spot between my neck and shoulder until I throw back my head, giving in to how he makes me feel…
something.

I hate him, even if he always makes me feel good. And I hate him a little more because of that, too.

“I want to hear you say it.” His voice rumbles over me, shaking me awake.

I slide my hand up his chest, over his tailored gray suit, tracing his tanned neck and cleanly shaved jaw. My fingers cover his lips, still wet from kissing me. “I’m fine.”

This is our game, after all—always pushing each other closer toward that reckless mistake that will destroy us both.

“I’ll get some wine,” I say.

He stays glued to that spot, studying me, as I sway back into the small kitchen. I feel like prey under that hardened stare of his.

No, his attack on me was that kiss. My body warms as it plays over in my head. He didn’t ask because he’s Hudson Wilkes. He never has to ask for anything. And when it comes to me, he knows I don’t care.

I suck in a deep breath, steadying the tremble in my hand before I pour the wine. I stare at the glass, filling it until wine almost overflows over the brim. After a hungry swallow, I pour half a glass for Hudson.

“What are these maps here for, Ev?” Disappointment hangs heavy in his question. I don’t answer. “Where are you going?” He shuffles through the pile of paper continents covering the small coffee table. My paper continents, my escape.

Far from you.

I walk around the tattered couch and hand him a glass of wine. “Why are you in town, Hudson?”

“You’re going to keep avoiding my question.”

I see the way he looks at me, as if my silence is pulling him apart. The adult that Hudson is pretending to be slowly slips for a second. He loosens his tie.

I take another sip of wine, licking the beads of Beaujolais nouveau off my lips with a slow sweep of my tongue. I like the way his breath hitches in his throat, the way his brown eyes blacken, if that’s even possible. All because of me.

He plucks a purple bra wedged between the faded couch cushions and fingers the lacy cup. “Yours?”

I curl up opposite him and tuck my legs beneath me. There’s a reason why he gets what he wants. It has something to do with that narrowed stare of his that makes your skin catch on fire. Hudson’s wild and untamed, fast to ignite and never quick to forget.

I lean over and check the tag, knowing he can see down my shirt, then slowly recline and drag the moment out with another drink of wine. “Too small.”

I’m sure I’ll be finding all sorts of souvenirs when I do cleanup detail later, but a cheap bra from H&M two cups too small? No thanks.

I bet Hudson has some comment to make bordering on harassment and charm. I don’t give him the opportunity. “I haven’t seen you since my graduation party in December.”

His eyes scan over my bare legs in a way that feels like a caress, and then he tosses the bra behind us onto the floor. I bite my lip when our eyes eventually meet. It takes a while. Hudson gets distracted when he reaches my chest.

“It’s only been a few months.” His voice is gravelly. “I’m working at the company for the year. For my father.”

Of course. His dad heads some hedge fund that manages billions in international capital. The company has offices all over the world. I should have thought of that possibility before I decided to start my adventure with a stop in Paris. Thinking things through has never been a strength of mine.

“I have a job now, too.”

He sets his glass down on the coffee table and shifts over the sagging couch cushions to face me. “Ev?”

A chill hits me as those two letters ring in my ears. I don’t want his questions. “Yes?”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He moves closer. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“I needed a change.” I laugh off my confession, meeting his stare for a moment before I swallow another large gulp of wine.

Hudson grabs the glass from my hand and places it on top of paper Africa. I look at the ring it’s going to leave around Kenya and wonder what it would be like to go on a safari. What would it be like to stare down a lion without the fear of its teeth sinking into you and tearing you apart?

He shakes off his suit jacket and drapes it behind him on the couch’s arm. “You remember everything you have back home, right?” He turns back around. “What you have in Manhattan?”

“Nothing,” I say without thinking. And maybe that’s part of an answer, too, but it’s not entirely true.

A tight expression pulls at his face, a thin mask of control. For some twisted reason, it makes me want him more. This is all so unlike Hudson. He’s never one to care. He’s a cold, heartless asshole, always ready to push someone out of his bed to make room for another without apology. He takes without thinking of the consequences. They never hold to a man like Hudson, anyway.

He curls his fingers over my wrist and tugs hard. The air is suddenly too heavy to breathe and gets stuck in my throat. His perfect face is close to mine, his dark eyes pulling me in until I’m drowning, dizzy with anticipation.

“You don’t have to prove—”

His lips crash over mine, as if kissing me will convince me more than his pointless words can. I won’t believe him. A girl is the biggest idiot in the world if she believes Hudson. That much I know is true.

“Stop pretending,” I say, pushing him away to catch my breath. I smile against his mouth as his body changes, melting into the Hudson I do know. My body remembers this touch well. For all our history, good and bad, I’ve never been able to erase it. He branded me, as first loves often do. If you could consider what we shared love.

“Am I a bad liar?” He kisses my neck, then switches to the other side, nibbling my skin with his teeth and then swiping the pain away with his tongue.

“The worst kind,” I whisper. I arch under his caress, his fingers running down my side to grip my waist.

One hand continues lower, and he strokes my inner thigh, creeping higher until he’s underneath my sequined shorts. “Are you going to forgive me, Ev?” When I don’t answer, he pushes his palm against me. “I’m about to be very bad.”

I rock against his hand, lost to the way my body wakes up, full of heat and awareness. It feels like I’m alive again, that girl in the sun. Not the one who’s been mindlessly waiting tables in Paris to survive.

I shove my hands into his chest until he falls back against the couch. I loosen his tie the rest of the way and shake my head at his arched brow. I toss it to the floor. I don’t want to play that game today.

He doesn’t say anything, only watches me, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips. I unbutton his shirt, then lean down and kiss his chest. I trail my fingers lower until my hand cups him through his pants. His stare is burning me.

As fast as everything started, I break it off and stand. I strip off my silky halter and pad over to my bedroom, unzipping my shorts and letting them glide down my legs. I glance over my shoulder in time to catch him stalking closer.

This time, I want to be caught. I want him to consume me and make me forget. I want to be burned in the fire because there’s nothing left of me, anyway.

He hooks his finger beneath my lacy boy shorts and tugs down so they slip past my hip. I let my arms go slack, fighting the urge to throw them around his neck when he pulls again, and my panties pool around my feet.

“I’m going to ask one more time,” he growls, licking my lower lip. He runs his index finger down the side of my face, the line of my neck, before his fingers rest at the base of my throat over my pulse. My skin is raw, throbbing from his bite marks. “Why are you in Paris?”

I give in and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my naked body against his suit. I want to feel things again, good things. “I want to pretend, too.”

Hudson grabs my waist and lifts me up into the air, shoving me hard against the doorjamb. I slide down until my waist lines up with his, and my legs wrap around him, unrelenting.

I want fire. I want to face the lion and not have him destroy me, to find out if such a fate is even possible. An heiress can’t hide forever, but I’m going to try.