Page 83 of The Rehoboth Retreat
Even my downfall should have had a script.
Instead, I’d let my mother talk me into loosening up. Into doing something reckless. Into feeling something again.
And look where it got me.
I’d let Hudsoncharm me with his roguish smile, foul mouth, and unexpected kindness. I let myself fall under his spell—just for a second. A brief, dazzling second. And that second was now plastered all over the damn internet.
What was I thinking?
I shook my head, dragging a palm down my face.
This wasn’t me. This wasn’t my brand. I don’tdopublic scandal. I don’tdocasual kisses with notorious men in designer sunglasses. I don’tdopaparazzi drama.
That’s Hudson’s world. Not mine.
I stood up, pacing the room, my breath ragged. Every step felt too loud. I pressed a hand against the cool wall, trying to ground myself, but nothing worked.
It was like trying to clean up broken glass with bare hands.
I shouldn’t have listened to my mother. Or tohim.
I shouldn’t have said yes to that boat. Or that lunch. Or thatkiss.
Unpredictable things happen when you go off-script.
And I hate unpredictable things.
I felt my body begin to tremble again. A fresh wave. A building sob that I didn’t have the strength to stop this time.
I collapsed back onto the bed, curling into myself again, the tears coming faster now—hot, ugly, and silent.
I didn’t want dinner.
I didn’t want to talk.
I didn’t want anything.
I just wanted the world to rewind to the time before I ever met Hudson Knight.
Hudson
I checked my text messages for the fifth time.
Still nothing.
No dots, but a notification that my messages had been read. No sarcastic eye-roll emoji that usually followed when I said something mildly offensive but weirdly endearing. Just cold silence. Like my texts were falling into a void lined with shiplap and scented candles.
I tossed the phone onto the marble counter hard enough to make it skitter toward my bowl of overpriced lemons, the ones I bought solely for aesthetic reasons because, apparently,citrus equals sophisticationon Instagram.
This was not how tonight was supposed to go.
I was supposed to be in the middle of my suave comeback arc. Hudson Knight—washed-up, scandal-laced dumpster fire goblin—was finally taking things seriously. I had showered. I had shaved. I had cologned in places no man should cologne. And I had buttoned a shirt all the way to the top.The top.
And he wasn’t even answering.
I leaned both elbows on the counter and stared at my reflection on the glossy surface. My stupid, over-symmetrical face stared back at me. I looked like a rejected mannequin from a Saint Laurent window display—perfectly packaged and completely useless.
But still, I got it. I really,reallydid.
