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Chapter 38
Sophie
Saturday Night
What does that mean? What’s happening? He loves me. He fucking loves me. I knew it. But why is he standing? The crab legs were coming. Doesn’t he know that dinner is ready? They’re going to get cold…
Hudson dropped to one knee and my heart nearly stopped.
“Hudson,” I breathed, turning in my chair to face him. He’s tying his shoelace. It must have come undone. He was shaking his leg a lot, maybe that untied it? Oh my god, he has a box.
“Sophia Elizabeth Mitchell,” he started, his voice wavering as he held the little box on his knee. “No one, and I mean no one, has ever made me feel the way you do. I want to do this for real. I don’t want to have to pretend with our parents anymore, and I don’t want to keep confusing Jamey.” He laughed, sniffling as if he was trying to hold back tears, and opened the box.
In the center, on a neat little pillow, sat what may have been the most breathtaking ring I’ve ever laid my eyes on. It looked so similar to the one I’d been wearing. An oval cut diamond set within a gold band, smaller diamonds surrounding it. The ring was beautiful, perfect.
“I want to do everything with you. I want to raise our child together, I want to raise Jamey with you. I want to marry you. I will spend every day from here on out making up for every misstep I might take, every word I might fumble, every stitch of fabric I’ve made—and will continue to make—you mess up on. I will love you for as long as I have air in my lungs, for as long as you let me, and even longer after that. Will you marry me, angel?”
I didn’t realize I was full-on crying until Hudson wiped the tears from my cheeks. It was all so insane, every piece of the puzzle slotting into place. I wanted this, I knew from the depths of my fucking soul I wanted this. We may not have known each other that long but I didn’t care. Hudson was my person, my everything, and although I’d fought it the last few months I knew without a shred of doubt that this was where I was supposed to be. I didn’t even care that his clothes were too tight or that dinner might be getting cold. God, I was starving. His proposal was perfect. “Yes,” I choked, throwing my arms around him and launching myself from the chair. He stumbled backward on his knees, his ass hitting the polished hardwood, and we both laughed as tears streamed down our faces.
“Thank God,” he said, one arm around my waist and the other holding his weight against the floor. “I was still a little worried you’d say no.”
“Ahem. The crab is going cold, Dr. Brady. Would you like me to wait any longer?”
I lifted my head, wiping the tears as best as I could, and chuckled as I locked eyes with the chef. “Should we eat, Dr. Brady?” I mocked, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it onto my finger. Perfect fit.
“I’d rather take you to bed,” he whispered, his shit-eating grin far too wide. “But yeah, let's eat.”
————
Long after the chef had gone and the rain had stopped, Hudson cast off from the dock and captained the yacht out into the harbor. I watched as he steered, my legs laid out on the white leather chaise lounge just behind the wheel and a captain’s hat on my head.
Chef Thomas had brought out a congratulatory bottle of champagne, and although I’d protested to Hudson, he’d insisted on one single glass. “One glass won’t hurt the baby. I promise,” He’d told me. After two weeks of not having a sip of alcohol, I could already feel the buzz seeping into my bones.
“Why are we leaving the dock?” I asked, swaying my bent knees as I watched him.
“Because I doubt the others that live on their boats will want to hear the sounds you’ll be making tonight.” Hudson chuckled as he turned to face me in my captain’s hat. “Not going to lie, that hat only makes you look even more appealing to me right now.”
“Then do something about it,” I teased, pulling it farther down over my brows.
“Don’t tempt me. I have to anchor first.” He crossed the short distance to me, offering his hand. I took it gladly, feeling like a wet spaghetti noodle as he hauled me to my feet.
————
His hands were on me the moment we stepped through the door to the bedroom.
Fingers in my hair, tugging at the tie holding up my bun and releasing the wavy strands in one swift go. His lips met mine, gentle and soft but needy, and every little stroke was enough to set my senses on fire.
Hudson loved me. He’d said the words, he’d given them life, he’d proposed. I could feel the relief from him with every touch, every little movement he made as he edged me back toward the bed. Walls had crumbled, now a little pile of debris at our feet, and we’d clean it up tonight. We’d make it new. We’d build new walls together, not to keep one another out, but to build a life within them.
My back hit the soft, black comforter, my hands fisting the mess of his hair that he’d pushed back, dragging him down on top of me. “This feels so surreal,” I whispered, watching the way his eyes softened as he looked down at me. His hands fumbled along the side of my dress, searching for the hidden zipper, and finally found it.
“I know exactly what you mean.” One swift tug and the zipper was down, the fabric hanging loosely across my body. “I wanted to tell you earlier. That night before my flight, actually. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue. I just couldn’t find the words.”
“I thought so,” I chuckled, pulling him down and kissing him again. His mouth tasted of champagne and butter, his hair smelled like the ocean. I could stay beneath him like this for the rest of my life and be happy.
Wandering hands pushed the straps from my shoulders, baring my chest to him, and as I reached for the buttons on his shirt, one popped off in my hand. “I figured that might happen,” he mumbled against my lips, grabbing his shirt by the collar. “Doesn’t fit me anymore, anyway.” One swift tug and the rest of the buttons popped. I laughed, happy nostalgia flooding me from the first night we’d slept together.
The two sides of his shirt hung limp around him. I couldn’t stop myself from dragging my hands across his chest, from feeling every ripple of muscle, every bit of warmth seeping out from him. This was mine. He was mine, for as long as I wanted him.
