“I think I can handle her.”
“Her name is Margo,” I say. “My dad is Abel. That’s why they named me Maribel.”
“Adorable,” he chuffs.
“They’ve been together since they were fourteen.”
He kicks a leg behind him, grabbing his ankle and stretching out his quad before repeating it on the other side. When Hudson eyes the clock and grabs a bottle of Smart water from the fridge, I feel guilty for not joining him.
I ate like a heifer last night—a pregnant heifer, that is. I ate three-fourths of the Italian bread loaf on the table plus my kale salad before polishing off an entire dish of chicken marsala and suggesting to Hudson that we split a piece of chocolate raspberry cake.
He didn’t say a word though, bless his cold little heart.
“My dad will probably want to talk to you about college football. Or tools. Or cars,” I say as he makes his way to the door. “So … study up.”
“Will do.” He smirks. I don’t believe him. “Going for a quick run. Be back in a half hour.”
“Okay … I’ll … be here.”
Marta scurries into the kitchen the second he’s gone, fishing a small kit of cleaning supplies from under the sink. With a focused fury, she begins polishing the already-pristine counters and wiping off the already mirror-like stainless appliances.
“Want some help?” I offer. It feels weird just sitting here at the island doing nothing while she cleans like her life depends on it. I haven’t lifted a finger since I got here a few days ago, and it seems wrong.
“No, no.” Marta waves her hand, scrubbing the immaculate counters with a blue rag. “You relax, Miss Collins. I’m just doing my job.”
Ever since Hudson let her in on the plan and informed her I was moving in, she’s been acting different around me.
“You don’t have to call me Miss Collins,” I say. “Just a week ago, I was his assistant and you were calling me Mari.”
“Yes,” she says. “And now you live here. I work for Mr. Rutherford and I work for you. Formalities are expected in this home.”
“You don’t work for me.” I laugh. The idea of me with a servant is ridiculous. “You don’t even have to clean my room if you don’t want.”
“Yes, I do,” she snaps. And I realize that perhaps it was offensive for me to suggest she isn’t needed or for me to come in here and undermine the man who cuts her paychecks. “I have a system, Miss Collins. I clean the bathrooms on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The bedrooms every other day, all floors once a day, and—”
“It’s fine.” I place a hand up. “Totally understand that you have a routine. I was just trying to lighten your load.”
Marta stops scrubbing and glances up at me. “I love my job, Miss Collins. Mr. Rutherford is good to me, and I try my best to be good to him in return. You won’t find a speck of dust in this place or an ounce of spoiled food in the fridge, I can promise you that.”
Hudson is good to her? Never would’ve guessed that.
I watch Marta move from the marble to the stainless to the interior of the microwave and beyond before sliding off the bar stool and tiptoeing back to my suite. I’ve never known Marta to be so distant to me before.
It’s almost as if she doesn’t like me now.
Just weeks ago, we were joking about how particular Hudson is about which dry cleaner he uses right down to the brand of starch they keep on hand, and now she’s acting like we’re strangers.
My stomach rolls when I get back to my room, and I collapse onto the squishy, cashmere-soft bed I’ve come to love these last few nights. I’m either hungry or I have to throw up—maybe both, but I’m too exhausted to move.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I check my usual apps out of boredom before mindlessly pulling up Safari and heading over to a baby name blog. I’ve been doing that lately … thinking about what I’m going to name this little babe.
My plan is to wait until I meet it, see what it looks like, and go from there. But I’d like to have a few options or a short list or something to pull from.
Pulling up my messages, I shoot Isabelle a text.
Me: Adelia?
Her: Nope.
Me: Nuriel?
Her: Pass!!
Me: Cammelia?
Her: Idk... maybe.
Me: Zasarn?
Her: Are you naming a baby or an alien? Seriously, Mar.
Chuckling, I go back to the blog and scan for some new names to pester her with. I like to mix it up and make her think I’m going to name this thing something way out of the left field. Keep her on her toes a bit.
Rolling to my back, I brush my messy hair from my face. I need to shower. I need to get cleaned up and find something productive to do today. I hate not working, but I guess, in a way, this is my job for a while. And it’s pointless to get back out there and search for something when I’m going to be moving back to Nebraska at the end of summer anyway.
There’s a slight rap on the door, which sends a quick shock through my middle.
“Yeah?” I call out.
“Miss Collins?” It’s Marta. Maybe she’s coming to apologize? Or empty my bathroom trash. It could really go either way at this point. “We have a visitor.”
My stomach sinks. I don’t know what to do with a visitor. Should I have her start some tea? Set out some macaroons? Do I greet them in the study or the living room?
Shuffling out of bed and across the room, I pull the door open.
“Is Hudson back from his run yet?” I ask.
Marta shakes her head.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“His mother.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, feeling the pulse of blood as it rushes to my head. Was not expecting that. “Okay. I just need to get cleaned up and I’ll—”
“She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Marta looks me up and down. She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t need to. I look a hot mess.
Lovely.
“Five minutes,” I say, shutting the door and scrambling toward the bathroom.
Tugging on a pair of barely worn jeans from yesterday and a white blouse, I pat some tinted moisturizer onto my face, swipe on some mascara and blush, and dab a bit of sheer, rose-hued lipstick over my lips to finish it off. Combing my hair back, I tie it into a low bun before spritzing on a modest amount of some fancy perfume with a name I can’t even begin to pronounce.
I’m done in a hair over seven minutes. Close enough. And definitely a record for me.
With my heart whooshing in my ears, I make my way down the hall, toward the foyer where a woman with jet-black hair that stops at her elegant jawline, a swan-like neck, thick pearls, and a pink Chanel dress waits. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a Dior clutch dangling from her manicured fingertips.
“Hello,” I say. I muster a warm smile and walk toward her, extending my right hand. “You’re Hudson’s mother? It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze falls to my right hand, and she pauses before meeting it with her own. She’s hesitant of me. Or maybe she’s in shock, trying to wrap her head around why some strange woman she’s never met is staying at her son’s place while he’s out and about.
“Yes. Helena Rutherford,” she says with a reluctant smile. “And you are?”
“Mari,” I say again. “Mari Collins.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mari.” She squints, studying me. “And who are you in relation to my son?”
“Oh. Right.” My heart thumps hard before falling to my feet. I don’t know how to answer this. I wasn’t supposed to meet her this soon. I don’t even know if he’s mentioned me yet, and I don’t want to screw this up. “I’m his—”
Helena sucks in a shocked gasp of breath, reaching for my left hand. It didn’t take her long to spot the engagement ring.
Oh, shit …
My jaw hangs. I’m searching for the words, willing myself to say something—anything—but I’m at a loss. I’m nothing but a wordless, speechless idiot.
“Mother.” He stops in his tracks, accepting a fluffy towel Marta brings to him and wiping his brow. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the city,” she says, her tone flatter than it was a moment ago. “Thought I’d stop by and pay you a visit.”
He approaches her, pressing a quick kiss into her check. “Wonderful. In that case, I take it you’ve just met my fiancée?”
Helena swallows, her smooth jaw tighter than her creaseless forehead. “I have now.”
Hudson smiles. “I was planning to make the announcement this summer, but since you’re here … meet Maribel Collins, my future wife.”
I nod and smile, forcing myself to stare at Hudson like he hung the moon before glancing back into his mother’s distant brown stare. The apple certainly doesn’t fall far from the tree in the Rutherford family.
And I have no idea what he was talking about when he claimed all I had to do was be myself and his parents would love me. Judging by his mother’s icy demeanor, she’s either in shock or having an internal conniption at this very moment.
I take his side, slipping my arm into his and gazing into his sapphire irises.
“I can’t wait to marry your son, Mrs. Rutherford.” I turn back to her. “He’s everything I could ever hope for in a partner. Intelligent. Ambitious. Hardworking. They don’t make them like him anymore.”
“How long have you two …?” His mother’s gaze passes between us.
“Not long,” I answer.
“I met her in January,” he lies. “I’m afraid it was a case of love at first sight. Who’d have thought that was actually a thing?”
“Right,” his mother echoes softly, as though she’s lost in her own thoughts. “Who’d have thought?”
Hudson leans down, kissing the top of my head. “I can’t wait for you to get to know Mari this summer, Mother. She’s as beautiful inside as she is out.”
Helena watches us with careful, scrutinizing regard before snapping out of it and clearing her throat.
“Yes, yes,” she says, a smile returning to her shock-white expression. Her eyes come alive, and it’s as if she flipped a switch. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order. Hudson, I take it you’ll call your father and share the news before we head to Montauk? You know how he absolutely despises being the last to know.”
“Of course,” he says.
“We’ll plan a little celebration. An engagement party, if you will. Something small,” she says, heading toward the door then stopping to turn back. I find it interesting that she suddenly has somewhere to go. Maybe she needs to process this? “I’m sure the Sheffields will be tickled pink.” Her eyes graze my body, top to bottom. “Audrina in particular.” She chuckles to herself, shaking her head as if she finds something humorous.
Tilting her head high, she marches toward the door, her red-bottomed heels clicking on his marble foyer tile.
The second she’s gone, I glance at Hudson.
“She hates me already,” I say.
He scoffs. “She doesn’t hate you, she’s in shock. And she’s probably suspicious of you, but that’ll fade with time, once she gets to know you.”
“Why?” My face pinches, lips curling. “Why would she be suspicious of me?”
“She’s protective of me. And of the family’s money. But you don’t have to worry about any of this, Mari. She’d be the same way if you were America’s Sweetheart or the daughter of a sitting US president.” He tugs his damp t-shirt off his body, revealing a glistening six-pack complete with two muscled arrows pointing to his … family jewels. “But don’t concern yourself with any of that. Just be yourself and leave the rest to me. By the way, you handled yourself well. Not that I’m surprised.”
He strides down the hall toward his suite, and I follow because I’m not finished with this conversation.
“Is she going to be like this all summer?” I ask.
“Why? Does that change things?”
“Maybe.”
He arches a dark brow. “Trust me, she’ll get over it soon enough. Besides, with all the friends and family shuffling in and out all summer, she’ll put on a good face. As for whether or not she truly likes you, well, I don’t see how that should matter given the circumstances. And you really need to get over giving a fuck about whether people like you or not, Mari.”
“I’m not used to people taking one look at me and deciding they don’t like me. We don’t do that where I come from.”
He tugs at the string around his gym shorts, waiting for me to leave so he can get in the shower, but I’m still not through.
“Look, I don’t want to sit here and go in circles with you, Maribel. Believe me when I tell you that whether or not Helena Rutherford likes you is irrelevant. I like you. Even if you don’t like me. I think you’re a good person. A smart person. A beautiful person. And I appreciate the sacrifice you’re making for me. I’m asking a lot of you, and it’s not lost on me.” He glances over my shoulder and toward the doorway.
I’m quiet, soaking in what are possibly the nicest words this man has ever uttered to me.
“All right, fine. It’s just that, if we were a real couple, I would never respect a man who couldn’t stand up to his mother. If we were really in love and you let that go? I don’t know if I’d be able to stay with you,” I say.
“Did she offend you in some way? I don’t see what all this fuss is about.” His fingers trail beneath the waistband of his shorts, stopping. “Did I miss something or are you making this into a thing because you’re anxious about how this is going to play out?”
“She was cold,” I say. “And she stopped by for a visit, supposedly, but she couldn’t get out of here fast enough. It was just odd to me.”
“Should I have asked her to stay?” He lifts a brow. “You seemed uncomfortable, Mari. Like you needed as much breathing room as she did.”
“No.” I pull my bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger, exhaling. “I don’t know. The whole thing left me feeling unsettled. She was polite and all … but I don’t know … I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that,” he chuckles. “You’re nervous. Don’t be. Let me do the worrying. You just need to smile and nod and act like you’re crazy about me.”
My mouth tips up at the corner. Months of waiting on this man hand and foot contradict the way he wants to take me under his wings and bear my burdens. Maybe he’s not such an asshole after all? I could get used to this redeeming side of him.
“Trust me. I intend to stand my ground this summer. You will be my number one. I’ll ensure you’re comfortable in everyone’s presence, and I’ll personally see to it that you’re treated as one of the family,” he says, moving toward me. He places his hands on my shoulders and exhales, and I drag in a lungful of his pheromone-laced masculine scent. “All you have to do is convince them you’re in love with me. Everything else is in my hands. Can you do that for me? Can you leave the rest to me?”
Swallowing the nervous lump in my throat, I nod, exhaling my Hudson-scented breath, and then I show myself out.
“Oh, and Maribel?” he calls seconds before I close his door.
“Yes?” I peek back in.
“Find us a flight to Omaha today, will you? I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
“Omaha?”
“Yes. You’re from Orchard Hill, Nebraska correct? That’s just outside of Omaha from what I understand,” he says. “This morning’s incident has me thinking that I’d like to meet your parents sooner rather than later.”
Chapter 10
Hudson
“It’s so …” I glance out the window as our
plane makes its descent. Checking for the airport, I don’t see it yet. I only see a whole lot of … nothing.
“Farm-y?” Mari finishes my sentence.
“I was going to say flat, but farm-y works.”
The plane begins to shake and dip, every move exaggerated by the impossibly small size of this plane. Mari tightens her lap belt and grips the handles of her seat, closing her eyes. I tilt my head from side to side, stretching my strained neck. I can’t remember the last time I flew coach, and I can’t recall if I’ve ever flown on a plane this small that wasn’t headed toward some tropical island paradise destination, but alas, this was all they had coming out of JFK to Omaha.
“You okay?” I ask as the plane pushes through another bout of turbulence. The door to the lavatory swings open, hitting the wall, and a flight attendant rushes to secure it. I feel the urge to reach for her hand because she really seems to be in distress, but I don’t know if that would make things worse.
Mari nods as the plane drops in altitude. “I’m fine. This turbulence is … making me sick to my stomach.”
The captain’s voice comes over the speakers, telling us it’s a balmy seventy-two degrees over Omaha right now and we’ll be landing in approximately seven minutes.
“Here.” I reach for the airsickness bag and hand it to her, but she waves it away.
“I’ll be fine,” she says.
“You’re yellow. I’ve never seen a yellow person before.” I half chuckle.
Without saying a word, she yanks the bag from my hand and covers her nose and mouth, squeezing her eyes tight. The plane drops once more and Mari empties her pretzel-filled stomach with one sickening retch.
I check the time on my phone as Mari comes out of the women’s restroom just outside our terminal. Her hair is combed, her lips are slicked in balm, and the faint scent of mint trails from her lips.
“Feeling better now?” I ask.
Her hand rests on her lower stomach and she nods.
“Let’s grab our luggage. Did you order a car service for us?” I ask.
The Perfect Illusion Page 6
