Page 77 of Last Boy

My eyes fix on who’s walking behind him, and I feel my heart drop, not just out of fear of being recognized, but also for Hudson’s heart.

I mean, the dude’s lock screen is this chick.

I look at Hudson, signaling for him to turn around. Slowly, when he does, their body language is undeniable. They both tense up, and he awkwardly clears his throat.

“Hudson,” she says, not nearly as sweet as she typically sounds.

“Briar.” He gives her a curt nod, but doesn’t seem to look directly at her.

“Didn’t realize you were working today,” she mutters before glancing around him to get a better look at me.

Feeling her eyes zeroing in, I quickly turn and act like I’m going to get something out of the delivery van that the bakery loaned us, but her voice stops me.

“Poppy?” she whispers, and I feel her stepping closer to me. “Holy shit, is that you?”

I slowly turn around to face her, looking at her through my fake glasses and thick black bangs of my wig. “It’s me,” I utter. “Please, don’t say anything.”

“I would never,” she says, taking my hands in hers as her eyes fill with tears. “I can’t believe it’s you. You’re here.”

Swallowing the lump that’s suddenly lodged itself into my throat, I bob my head up and down slowly. “I can’t let him marry her, B. Your brother deserves to decide who he wants in his life and what he wants, too.” I peer down at her. “So do you.”

That only makes her more emotional, but Hudson’s deep voice speaks before she has a chance to respond.

“We need to get this cake inside. It’s the last thing they are waiting for.”

Briar turns to look at him, and I watch the giant, hard, kind-of-scary dude that I’ve gotten to know—but barely—melt into a puddle. His breath hitches, and his eyes soften.

He loves her so much.

When Hudson comes beside me to help with the cake, Briar’s eyes search his. “Whatever you’re planning, he won’t let you get away with it. You know Beckett.”

Lifting the cake, he brushes past her. “Walker doesn’t want to marry into the Romano family. We’re here to stop that because Poppy actually gives a flying fuck about him.” He stops walking, keeping his head straight forward, purposely not looking directly at Briar. “You go on and get married, Dove. I won’t be there to save you; don’t worry.”

And then he marches on, and as much as I want to stop and make sure she’s okay, I can’t. Because today, Walker is the only person who matters.

Never mind whatever the hell is going on between Briar and Hudson.

Walker

I shouldn’t laugh. It’s not funny. I mean, for fuck’s sake, here I am, under an archway of some smelly flowers that have about thirty bees buzzing around them—which, by the way, I hate bees. They are scary as hell. Tack on, my uncle thinks I’m about to marry Gia, when really, I’m just looking around waiting for Hudson to make his big moment. But even with all of this going on, the image of Poppy, standing behind the biggest wedding cake I have ever seen, in a fucking white jacket and a big, puffy baking hat with some crazy wig under it, will not leave my brain.

Right when I saw her, I burst out laughing, which instantly pissed her off. She scowled, poking her lips out and folding her arms across her chest as she threw a silent hissy fit. It was adorable. So was when she held up her middle finger at me.

She might not have the best etiquette or greatest style. But, goddamn, every part of me loves that girl for who she is.

I guess something doesn’t need to glimmer to be gold. Because rough edges and all, that’s exactly what Poppy Wilson is. Gold.

I’m glad we convinced Beckett that it would be tacky to invite people at the last minute so we should only have our immediate families. Otherwise, Hudson’s plan wouldn’t have worked. Because if he ratted out my uncle and Marco Romano in front of a backyard full of people, he’d probably be killed by a hit man the next day. The Romano family is aggressive when it comes to reputation.

The pastor looks between us, seeming uneasy with the entire thing before he sighs. After rattling off a few words, he pauses.

“Is there anyone here who has reason to believe that Gia and Walker should not be wed?”

He swallows nervously when his eyes land on Beckett’s. I’m sure he didn’t like that the pastor included that part.

“Actually, yeah. Yeah, there is,” Hudson’s deep voice drawls slowly. “These two are barely adults. They don’t know each other, oh, and they aren’t getting married by choice either.” He steps closer, glaring at Beckett. “As a matter of fact, both are in love with other people.”

“Jesus Christ,” Beckett growls through gritted teeth, earning a glare from the dude standing with the Bible in his hands.

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