Page 18 of The Promises We Break

I round the island and open the refrigerator, grabbing a small bottle of orange juice off the middle shelf.

This will definitely make me feel better.

I screw the top off and press the opening to my lips just as Hudson walks out from his bedroom door into the living area. Shirtless. Barefoot, wearing tan joggers that hang just below the V line of hips. His hair is identical to when he rolled out of bed, wild and unkempt, with stubble that makes ovaries go feral.

The orange juice picks a fantastic time to go down the wrong pipe as juice comes flying out of my mouth, the orange liquid splashing against the white and gray speckled countertop.

I snatch a towel from the opposite countertop and cover my mouth as I catch a glimpse of Hudson silently chuckling.

“Went down the wrong tube,” I say, as I begin to pat down the mess. “You know, topless men are illegal in some countries,” I point and swirl in his direction.

“I would have worn a shirt if someone hadn’t stolen mine.” He shrugs, sauntering toward me in all his nakedness before grabbing the handle of the refrigerator and reaching for his own juice. “Looks better on you, though.” He winks, taking a sip of juice, not choking on it.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and I don’t know if he’s trying to seduce me or just figure me out. A long silence passes us as he rounds the island and pulls out a stool to sit down across from me.

As I appraise him and glance around the room, a feeling of absolute dread weighs on me. I married a total stranger. I have never done anything so careless in my life. Where the hell were my friends last night, and how did all of this even come to happen?

I was a straight-A student all through high school and college. I never snuck out of my parents’ house when I was a kid. I’ve never broken a law, or even gotten a parking ticket. Yet, my first trip to Vegas and I get blasted drunk and end up married.

My parents should be so proud. Sadly, they would probably be more supportive of this rash decision than my choice to get my degree. If they would have known about the wedding, they both would have shown up in support, unlike my college graduation. My parents would be happy that I’m married and my sole purpose in life, as a housewife and mother, could be fulfilled.

“Youreallylike Elvis.” Hudson’s comment strips me from my thoughts.

I do. I have been obsessed with Elvis since I was six years old.

I open my mouth to protest when the memory of Elvis hits me. We sawElviswhile we were leaving the club. He was heading into the first floor entrance as we were exiting the side entrance from the floors above. I insisted to Hudson that we go say hi, and I think I genuinely thought that was the real Elvis.

“I really thought that he was the real Elvis, didn’t I?” I ask Hudson.

“Yup.” His brows are hitched as he gives me a lengthy nod while pressing his lips together.

“I asked him to marry me, didn’t I?” I lean my elbows onto the island and press my face into my hands for support.

“It was the most adorable proposal I’ve ever seen,” he says, trying to comfort me.

I remember now that the first floor had a chapel and Elvis must have been there to officiate. I asked him to marry me, and when he turned me down, I... Oh, God. I gasp. I lift my head to look at him. “I actually asked you!”

“It was more like begging. Something about how epic itwould be to get married in front of Elvis, so yeah, something like that.” He can’t hide his smirk as he takes another sip of his orange juice. “I couldn’t say no, and I realized last night that you are definitely a woman who always gets what she wants.”

That included multiple orgasms that I recall begging him for, too.

Ugh, really Ember? I silently scold myself.

“Elvis married us,” I whine, coming out as both a fact and a question.

“You got married?” Two men halt their steps as they appear in the living room. A third man, who I had no idea was in the living room, peeks out from over the top of the couch.

My spine snaps upright, and I stand to my full height. Hudson uses the corner of the island to push himself around on the barstool and turn toward the guys. He’s calm as a clam as he looks at his friends, who are frozen in horror, then circles back around, still sitting on the barstool.

“Ember, these are the guys. Seamus and Kobi,” he points to the guys still frozen in step, “and Dane.” He points over his other shoulder to Couch Guy.

“Guys, this is Ember.My wife.” Unable to hide his smug as shit smile that only I can see.

Their jaws are slacked as they share looks between each other, the back of Hudson’s head, and me.

“Temporary. It’s temporary,” I spit out. “I gotta run. I’m just going to… get dressed.” I hike my thumb over to Hudson’s room before side stepping a few, then shuffling my feet faster toward the room.

I quietly shut the door and tiptoe, like an idiot trying to hide, even though they clearly know that I’m in here. I strip off the shirt and throw it onto the bed, step into my pantsuit, and slip on my shoes. Grabbing my phone to get an Uber, I see that I’ve missed a load of text messages from my friends, as well as a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number.

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