Page 45 of The Rehoboth Retreat
She raised her glass. “Miles. He’s the best son ever, really. No mother could ask for a more wonderful boy…”
I braced. What was she going to say?
She tilted her head and sighed. “But he’s going through a rough patch right now. He and his husband—excuse me,ex-husband—are divorced, and Miles hasn’t made that news public yet. I was surprised when he told me, because in person—and also online—he and Owen were presented as this perfect couple. He even portrayed that to me.”
I shrugged. “Divorce in Hollywood has a shelf life. Google doesn’t show what happens behind locked doors or after midnight.”
She nodded, eyes serious. “He caught his former husband, Owen, cheating. That’s why he’s out here in Rehoboth this weekend. Resetting.” She paused. “I just thought you should know. He’s…fragile.”
For a moment, I felt something sour in my chest. Empathy? No. It wasn’t exactly, but whatever it was, it was something. But I nodded. “Thanks.”
She changed the subject. “Your turn—spill. What’s your scandal, Hudson? I mean one that Page Six and any media outlet hasn’t already covered, if there are any, but sure, try and surprise this old lady.”
I chuckled and waved a hand like Cinderella pushing off a glass slipper. “No. They pretty much hit all of them. But sure. I’ll talk about one or two of my not-so-proudest moments you probably heard of. Let’s say the tequila sunrise at the Beverly Hills Hotel bar escalated. My PR team had to clean up lipstick fights with someone wearing stilettos.” I smirked. “Then there was the yacht incident. That one—never let me live it down.”
Cecilia laughed, bright and unguarded. “I love that for you.”
“Drama’s the lifeblood, woman,” I confessed. “But I pay for it later—like literally getting stabbed in a back alleyway by a fucking shell. What the hell did I ever do toit?” I rubbed my foot, still hurting from this morning. “I promise—my agent was beside herself once I told her about what happened after I got home from the hospital. She scolded me and said I should have gotten my foot insured. ‘If Heidi Klum can get her legs insured, you could have easily gotten those beautiful OnlyFans feet insured too,’” I said in a high-pitched voice, mocking my agent, Celeste.
Cecilia took a sip. “Gay men do drama well.”
“You can say that again,” I said with a smirk.
We were silent then, nosing our glasses; the muffled house DJ vibrated behind us. I felt calmer. Unexpectedly. Who knew privacy between two people could be… nice?
I cleared my throat. “Where’s Miles now?”
She checkedher phone. “He texted saying he… drove into town.” She looked surprised. “He didn’t say where.”
Hmm. Potential cliffhanger? I tried to read her face, but she just shrugged.
We lingered. The beat thumped, and we sipped. I felt oddly… human. Balanced somewhere between chaos and calm. Between self-destruction and self-awareness.
My eyes hovered near hers. “I admire how relaxedyouare at a rager like this.”
She gave me a warm and almost knowing smile. “We all need new experiences. Again, this is research for me, darling.”
Maybe tonight wasn’t just about loud music and shock value. Maybe it was about edges softening—mine and maybe, just maybe, his across the way.
“Ugh. Maybe it’s the liquid courage talking, but I kind of want to go find your son right now, Cecilia. Fuck all this mess behind me.”
Cecilia then let out the loudest laugh. “Oh, honey! Miles is a special man. These caterwauling fools don’t hold a candle to that catch. I knew it all along. Go ahead… go find him.”
“Really? You think I should?” I check for reassurance.
“It’s not about what I think. Go with your gut or your heart… certainly not your liver.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Those quick quips.
The apple didn’t rot far from the tree.
I’ve never been one for abrupt endings, but tonight was different. I stumbled outside and told the DJ to shut down the music. I took the mic from him as I cleared my throat. “Okay, everyone!” My voice rattles the place. Heads turn.
“Party’s over,” I say, sweeping my hand like a doomed emcee. “Pack it up. Finish your drinks in the car. Delaware has an open container law for passengers. So, you’ll be fine. The cops won’t bother you. Fetch your shoes. We are done here!”
A chorus of groans and complaints—but mostlycompliance. Rehoboth devotees of anything-but-boring just rolled their eyes, shrugged, then shuffled toward the exits.
