I squeezed her hand. “When did this happen?” And how is Hudson handling it?

“Last night. She didn’t want to hear it, of course. But when I told her she couldn’t be a part of my life anymore if she didn’t get help, then she agreed. She checked into a long-term facility upstate this morning. Hudson, Dad, and Chandler drove her out.”

“Wow.” My chest ached in a way that was different from the past several days. Instead of hurting because of Hudson, I hurt for him.

“You know, I’ve never seen my mother sober—she might still be a bitch. But at least I could trust her not to drop my baby.”

I pushed thoughts of Hudson out of my mind yet again and studied the beautiful woman in front of me. Though I was twenty-six to her twenty-four years of age, she struck me as the most genuine, mature person I knew. Such a contradiction to her brother. Such a contradiction to myself.

She blushed under my stare. “What?”

“I’m just really amazed by you. That’s hard to stand up like that for someone you love and today you have your event…how are you dealing with all of this?”

“Honestly, except for being tired, I feel really good.” It was her turn to squeeze my hand. “The only thing I’m worrying about now is you and my brother.”

I pulled my hand away from hers. “I’m miserable enough without the guilt trip, thanks.” I studied my shoes, afraid that any more show of emotion might wreck me.

“He told us what he did to you.”

My eyes flew back up to meet hers. “What?”

“During mom’s intervention. He said that if we had any hope of being a family, then we needed to face our flaws and own up to our mistakes. He went back to therapy this week, and I think his doctor encouraged him to be open with us. So he owned up to what he did to you.” Her expression grew serious and sad. “I’m sorry he did that to you, Laynie. Really sorry. I’m not going to defend him. But I will say that he is full of regret.”

“I’m…” My throat tightened. “Dammit, Mira, you’re making me cry.”

She grasped my upper arms. “Don’t cry! Then I’ll cry and that will be a disaster. No more serious talk, except to say I love you. Thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

There was a little more to the modeling gig than standing and smiling. I also had to walk down the short runway, pose, and return. While the place seemed to be crawling with models, there were only seven of us in the show. We were able to run through it enough times in rehearsal that by the time the actual event started, I wasn’t so nervous that I couldn’t perform.

Frankly, I was happy for an emotion other than grief. I clung to it. Wrapped it around me like a blanket.

At two, the doors were opened and the event began. It wasn’t a big hurrah like the charity fashion show Sophia Pierce had hosted, but was elegant and important in its own way. Mira was a beautiful bird, floating around the room, talking to big name fashion designers and top clients that had been invited.

Then there was the press—they’d been limited to invitation only and were sequestered in an area near the stage, which made them less intimidating. I never got close enough to them to be hounded with their questions. If they wanted to know about me and Hudson, they’d have to ask him.

Would they even ask? When the next girl showed up on his arm in the limelight, would they ask what happened to that nightclub manager the same way they asked about Celia in front of me?

There were so many awful things about that scenario that I had to block it out with a glass of champagne.

At a quarter to three, I lined up with the other models along the horizontal length of the stage. This is where we stood while each person walked the runway. My placement as last in the show made me wish we were walking on from offstage instead of waiting there the whole time. It felt like hours that I had to stand still and smile while the other women walked and posed. Stacy described each item, crediting the designer and then explaining the individual alterations done by the boutique to make the outfit perfect for the wearer.

Finally it was my turn. I walked to the end of the runway with a smile that was surprisingly authentic. Butterflies stirred in my stomach as I stood at the end while Stacy talked about my dress. Photographers were flashing bulbs at me, but the room wasn’t dark as in a typical fashion show, and I could actually see the faces of the onlookers as I cast my gaze around the room.

That’s how I spotted Hudson so easily.

There, in the back, leaning against the wall. His hair was mussed and he was underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were pinned on me—hell, the whole room’s focus was on me—but his were the only eyes I felt. Even across that distance I could sense that electrical current, the simmer in my belly that spurred the butterflies to dance more frantically than before.

Our gazes locked and without thinking to let it happen, my smile widened.

God, it was good to see him.

Then Stacy finished her speech, the crowd applauded, and it was time to turn around and walk back to my place along the back of the stage. With my back to him, the momentary elation disappeared, and all the shit rumbled back over me like a Mack truck. The deceit, the hurt, the garbage—and he wasn’t supposed to be there!

Though I was the final model, I had to remain on stage while Stacy introduced Mira, and then while Mira spoke about her renovations and made her acknowledgements. I was still in the limelight, but I couldn’t stop fidgeting and wiping my sweaty palms along my skirt.

He’s here, he’s here. What do I do?

I tried to keep my attention on Mira, but my eyes kept darting back to Hudson. Every time, he was already looking at me. It wouldn’t be easy to escape. Especially because I couldn’t just run out—my purse and belongings were still in the back. I could leave my clothes, but I needed money for a cab or my subway card. He was across the room, though, and there were lots of people—perhaps I could sneak away before he got to me.

The minute the final applause began, I took off. As discreetly as possible, I slipped off the stage and to the back hall, hoping Hudson didn’t see me and follow.

Or hoping he did follow. I couldn’t quite decide.

Of course my stuff was in the last dressing room in the hall, but I made it there without anyone behind me. My hands were shaking as I gathered my clothes from the floor where I’d left them. Looking around, I realized I had nothing to carry them in. Shit.

I could change. Or get them later.

Later.

I should have at least folded them, but there wasn’t time for that. Instead, I set them on the dressing room chair, grabbed my purse from the corner of the room where I’d stowed it under my clothing, and turned to go.

But there he was, filling the doorframe.

My shoulders sagged, but my stupid heart did a little dance.

Dammit, feelings were confusing.

He looked even better up close. Was it possible he’d gotten more attractive in our time apart? His blue-gray t-shirt hugged his muscles, which seemed more pronounced than I’d remembered. His faded dark jeans hung low around his trim hips. His eyes were soft and sad with bags underneath them that matched his sister’s. Matched mine.

And the way he looked at me…as if I were more than a silly, emotional, broken girl. As if I were someone who mattered. As if I were someone he loved.

“Hey,” he said softly. His voice was like the pied piper, calling goose bumps to the surface of my skin with just one word. Did he even know he had that effect on me?

The way his hands were stuffed in his pockets, making him look so boyish and innocent, I had to think he had no idea.

Except, no matter how he looked, he wasn’t innocent. Not at all. It was even manipulative that he’d shown up here.

I folded my arms over my chest, as if that could protect me from his piercing gaze. “You’re not supposed to be here, Hudson. Mira promised you wouldn’t be.”

He pursed his lips. “Mira had nothing to do with me coming.”

I started to say something snarky, and then softened as I remembered where he was supposed to be. “Weren’t you taking Sophia to rehab?”

God, that was blunt.

I wanted to say something more comforting, something to let him know I was feeling for him, but I was afraid my compassion might be construed as something else. So I left it at that.

“Already done. I hurried back.” He took a step into the room. “So I could talk to you.”

His quiet tone was so un-Hudson-like, it put me off-balance.

Or his presence in general put me off-balance.

I sighed, rocking from one foot to the other. I should leave. But there were things I wanted to hear him say, whether I could trust them or not. “If you wanted to talk to me so badly, why did you leave yesterday?”

“I had to be at my parents’ for the intervention. If I stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to leave. It was hard enough to leave as it was.” He tilted his head. “And I thought perhaps it was best to let you have your space.”

If he kept saying all the right things, I was screwed.

What am I thinking? I’m screwed anyway.

I leaned against the wall behind me. “But you’re here now.” When he’d promised he wouldn’t be. “How is that letting me have space?”

Do I really want space?

It was hard to answer that question. On the one hand, the walls of the dressing room felt like they were closing in around me. On the other hand, the distance between Hudson and me seemed wider than the Mississippi.

“I couldn’t stay away anymore.” As far away as he was, his words found their destination, piercing through the ice around my heart. “Why were you at the loft?”

I couldn’t stay away anymore. “Because I’m weaker than you give me credit for.”

He stared at the blank wall to the side of us as he scratched the back of his neck. “I was hoping it wasn’t weakness, but a sign that you still cared.” His eyes swung back to me, searching for my reaction.

I almost laughed. “Of course I still care, you asshole. I’m in love with you. You shattered my fucking heart.”

His eyes closed in a long blink. “Alayna, let me fix it.”

“You can’t.”

“Let me try.”

“How?” It was a rhetorical question because there was no answer for it. “Even if I can figure out how to forgive you, I can’t trust you again. I could never believe that you were with me for any reason other than to continue your sick game.”

He flinched only slightly. “I quit all that. You heard me.”

I shrugged. “Maybe it was all a set-up. Maybe you knew I was there the whole time.” He hadn’t known I was there—his expression of surprise when he saw me was genuine. But there were still pounds of bitterness inside me that I had yet to expunge.

“You don’t believe that.”

I made a disapproving sound in the back of my throat. “It’s hard to believe anything after being so totally lied to.”

“For the record,” he bent to catch my eyes with his, “I didn’t lie to you about us. Everything I ever said and did with you was honest.”

“The whole circumstance of our pretend to be my girlfriend sham was a lie.”

“Yes, but that’s all. Every touch, every kiss, every moment between you and me, precious…none of that was pretend. I didn’t want to pretend with you. I wanted every experience with you, every moment to be completely genuine. You’re the first person I have ever let in, the first person who’s ever seen the real me through all the bullshit.” His voice narrowed to a point. “You’re the first person I’ve ever loved, Alayna. And I know you’ll be the last.”

His words hurt. They were everything I’d ever wanted to hear from him and more. But what was the saying? Fool me twice, shame on me.

“I don’t know.” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know how I can ever believe that you really feel the way you say you do.”

He took another step toward me. “I’m sure that’s true. But I thought of a way to prove that I’m devoted to you.” Another step, and we were now only a handful of feet apart. “Alayna, marry me.”

My gaze flipped up. “What?”

“Marry me. Right now. My plane’s already ready and waiting on the tarmac. All you have to do is say yes and we’re on our way to Vegas.”

“What?” I was in too much shock to say anything else.