Christina’s POV
"That’s fine. Just keep them private," Fabrizio finally agreed with a slight nod.
I planned to show Hudson the reports tonight. Who says a fiancé can’t double as your financial analyst? If he said everything checked out, I’d invest in Valmont & Cie. I had enough money—well, technically Hudson’s money, but he’d said it was mine to spend however I wanted. Still, I’d run it by him first.
Fabrizio’s mood visibly improved after lunch, and I liked to think my potential investnt was the reason. The afternoon flowed pleasantly through Paris, which definitely lived up to its reputation as Europe’s culinary paradise. Fabrizio chose a restaurant without a single Michelin star, yet I still found myself going back for seconds.
Okay, fine. Thirds. Plus two slices of that heavenly mille-feuille that could make anyone’s knees weak.
Which explained why I asked him to drop off several blocks from the hotel. That, of course, ant fumbling through an awkward explanation about why I’d moved out of the lovely, work-adjacent house he’d arranged for and into a hotel instead.
I couldn’t exactly say "My Alpha husband made ." Though that’s exactly what happened.
Thankfully, Fabrizio was too polite to dig deeper. He just gave that painfully gracious smile and let off the hook.
"Thanks for the lift," I said, stepping out of the car. "See you tomorrow."
I walked the rest of the way, hoping to help my overindulgent stomach digest.
"Keep eating like this and you’ll need a bigger wedding dress," I muttered to myself.
Then it hit —I had no idea what my wedding dress even looked like.
Hudson and I had set the date for our formal mating ceremony, and that was the sum total of my involvent before I flew to Paris.
So... who was sorting out the dress? Shouldn’t there be fittings? asurents? Fabric selections? When was I supposed to do that? There were two months to go. That was enough ti... right?
Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t even asked Hudson who he was inviting.
My guest list had about three people: Ysolde, and maybe a couple of colleagues.
Neither of my parents made the cut: one hated , and the other was complicit in that hatred.
Hudson’s family situation wasn’t much better: his grandfather was dead, his father was useless, and his stepmother Gwendolyn had finally learned to keep quiet and stay out of sight.
I doubted he’d want any of them there. And if he did, he’d find a way to keep them in line.
Ysolde was obviously going to be my maid of honor. I hadn’t asked her, but it went without saying. Just like I’d raise hell if I wasn’t hers when her ti ca.
But Hudson’s best man? Probably Cassian. They were close. But Cassian was Ysolde’s ex, and those two still had lingering tension. Her new boyfriend, the young, irritatingly gorgeous internet sensation Cade, was bound to be there too.
Ex ets current. Cue drama.
I pictured it and realized, to my horror, that I was actually looking forward to it.
Not that I wanted a disaster, but a touch of chaos at a wedding made it morable, didn’t it?
"You’re insane," was Ysolde’s response when I called and shared my thoughts. "If anyone causes a scene at my wedding, they’re getting permanently cut from my life. And that’s being generous."
"It was just a passing thought," I defended. "Not like I WANT it to happen."
"Getting cold feet?"
"What? No. Why would you say that?" I frowned, suddenly rembering Hudson asking the sa thing just days ago.
"You’d rather fantasize about a potential fistfight than focus on your actual mating ceremony."
"I said it was just a thought." I was feeling defensive now.
"You haven’t sent out the invitations."
"Hudson’s handling that. You know I’ve got work."
"You haven’t even asked to be your maid of honor."
"You ARE my maid of honor. That’s so obvious it doesn’t need saying."
"You’re missing the point."
"Which is?"
"You’re just waiting for the ceremony to happen like so passive bystander instead of the Luna-to-be. Other she-wolves would be obsessing with only two months left. You don’t even care if the dress fits."
"Hudson’s handling it. I trust him—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s got taste, connections, he runs the largest pack in the Northern Territory and a business empire. Surely he can organize a mating ceremony in his sleep. That’s not the point. It’s always Hudson this, Hudson that. Where’s YOUR involvent in any of it, Chrissy?"
"I..." I stepped out onto the balcony.
I’d showered after coming in, and the night air was sharp against my skin.
Still, I felt suddenly flushed, like I couldn’t breathe. I needed the cold.
"What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Wi-Fi cut out? Or did I just hit a nerve?"
"You don’t have to sound so damn smug about it," I muttered.
"That’s what friends are for, darling. To burst your bubble when you get cocky and slap so sense into you when you’re being blind."
I breathed in the night air, scented with lilacs and wisteria. "Fine. I’ve not really been paying attention to the ceremony. There, I said it. But it doesn’t an I’m getting cold feet, all right?"
"You trying to convince or yourself?"
"I—" My gaze drifted toward the street, and I froze.
A car had pulled up outside the building. Not Hudson’s sleek black Aston Martin, but it was definitely him stepping out of the front passenger seat.
Then the driver erged too.
A tall, curvy blonde in a fitted red dress that made it impossible to pretend she wasn’t stunning. Even from eight floors up. Even in poor lighting.
I couldn’t see her face clearly, but her posture, her clothes, those heels, the way she moved—it was painfully obvious she was the kind of woman who commanded attention.
And right now, that goddess was wrapping her arms around Hudson’s waist and looking up at him like she was expecting a kiss.
"Hello? Chrissy? You still there?" Ysolde said through the phone. "Don’t tell you’re playing the bad signal card. You’re not in a tunnel. Don’t dodge the subject."
"I’m not. I’ll call you back." I hung up.
I don’t know what possessed , but I raised my phone and snapped a photo of Hudson and his mystery woman.
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