Hudson

“Always thought you’d end up with my sister.” Alec leans against the bar at Bleu Marina’s, his hand gripped around a cold stein of beer.

“Mari’s great, isn’t she?” Scanning the room, I spot her in the corner, chatting away with my great aunts Tipper and Winnie. I knew Mari would be able to handle herself with dignity and grace under all this scrutiny, but she’s really gone above and beyond tonight.

In fact, shortly after the toast, she decided to make some rounds solo, getting up and personally introducing herself to the rest of the room. I lost her somewhere between my mom’s college sorority sister and our former neighbor from Manhattan.

“There’s something familiar about her,” Alec says, squinting in her direction. “She reminds me of someone.”

“Who?”

“No clue.” He shrugs, taking another drink.

“God, please tell me you didn’t drunk-swipe her on Tinder last time you were in town.”

Alec laughs. “Probably not. But you never know.”

Shaking my head, I place my empty beer glass on the bar. “I should go to her.”

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling. “Do the right thing, man. Don’t make her fend off these upper crust assholes by herself.”

Making my way across the room, I find Mari in the corner with my father’s former business partner’s ex-wife, who is still entangled in the same Hampton’s social circle after all these years.

This place is like a fucking cult for social climbers.

“Hey.” I lean in, surprising her with a kiss in front of Bitsy Hinkler, who clasps at her pearls. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I needed to catch up with Alec. Hadn’t seen him in a while.”

“It’s fine.” She places her hand on my chest.

We’ve been here a while now, at least a good hour, and I know my mother only has the party room booked until seven.

“You want to go upstairs to the roof? Get some fresh air?” I offer.

“Yeah,” she says, biting her lower lip. “That sounds … great.”

We excuse ourselves from Bitsy and head for the stairs, climbing to the rooftop where a small jazz ensemble is setting up. The smell of fried seafood and expensive cocktails mixes with salty ocean air, and we find a small high top table near an isolated stretch of railing.

“You’re doing great,” I say.

She brushes a strand of blonde hair from her eyes, turning to me. “You don’t have to encourage me, Hudson. I’m not a dog.”

“I know.” I smirk. “You’re a smart-mouthed woman. I just wanted to tell you that I see what you’re doing. I notice it. And I appreciate it.”

“Which is more than you could ever say when I was your personal assistant.” She winks, but I know she’s not entirely kidding.

I smirk. “I deserve that.”

“Would we care for anything to drink?” A Bleu Marina server approaches our table.

“No, thanks,” Mari says, and at the same time I say, “Yes, please.”

We exchange looks and she laughs.

“I guess we’re good,” I say. “Thank you.”

“You could’ve ordered something.”

I shrug.

“I have to say, this night isn’t as painful as I thought it would be,” I muse, my gaze settling on her again.

“You thought it was going to be painful?”

“Painfully boring.” I glance at the ocean below and the long stretch of dock leading to rows of boats bobbing in the water. “That said, do you want to get out of here?”

She glances from side to side before resting her eyes on mine. “The party’s not over yet. We can’t just leave.”

“Ninety percent of the guests are downstairs and drunk out of their minds since my mother felt our engagement party required an open bar,” I say. “The other ten percent haven’t so much as said hello to either of us. I doubt they’d care if we just … disappeared.”

“Fine.” She rises, clasping her clutch and placing it just beneath her elbow. Her mouth twists into a relieved smirk. “But only because it’s your idea, and a good fiancée wouldn’t force her future husband to stick around if he’s ready to go.”

“I like the way you think.” I leave the table, resisting the urge to playfully slap her on the ass, and we head downstairs to slip away. If my mother asks tomorrow, we made our rounds and said our goodbyes. It’s not like anyone will remember much of tonight anyway with all the champagne being passed around.

Minutes later, we’re climbing into the front seat of my father’s vintage Alfa Romeo Giulietta and cruising down Montauk highway, the salty wind in our hair and the stark realization that I’m quite enjoying my time with Maribel.

A lot more than I thought I would—actually a lot more than I should.