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Based on the aww sound coming from around the room, I'm pretty sure he just made every woman in this house fall in love with him. Looking back at me, he says, "We should probably go."
"Yes, please," I say, giving him a ‘get me out of here’ look.
He pushes the front door open, then holds out his arm for me. I reach up and put my hand inside the crook of his elbow as if it's the most normal thing in the world for me to be doing—to be walking out my front door all dressed up in formal wear with one of the world's most famous leading men.
I can see the entire neighborhood has been given advanced warning of this evening’s events, because somehow everyone is out working on their front yards. Actually, now that I look at them, I notice that a lot of them aren’t even pretending to have a reason to be out here, and are instead holding up their phones filming us.
“Wait! Allegra,” my mom calls from the front step.
Hudson and I both turn, only to see her rushing towards us. “I forgot to get a picture of you two.”
“Oh God, Ma,” I start to say, but Hudson wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in, and the rest of my sentence disappears from my mind before I can even think it.
“Perfect. I can get the limo in too,” she says, holding up her phone.
I smile at her, and it’s a real smile, one born of hope and possibilities and the thrill of having the perfect man’s arm around me on a perfect, albeit chilly, evening. A few seconds later, the rest of my family joins them on the lawn, all holding up their phones. Out of the corner of my mouth, I say, “I’m sorry about this.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.”
When they’ve all got their shots, my dad says, “Hey, Mr. Finch. My daughter’s coach turns into a pumpkin at midnight, so have her home before then.”
“Pop, I’m thirty-five,” I hiss.
“And you’re still my little girl.”
“Midnight it is, sir,” Hudson says, not sounding the least bit offended.
Pointing at Hudson’s pants, my dad says, “And the pepper stays in the pepper mill.”
My face flames with embarrassment and rage, and I give my dad the mother of all glares as Hudson carefully spins me to face the car and gestures for me to get in. I step in and slide out of his way, then watch as he settles himself next to me. I’m honestly tempted to slap my own face just to make sure this is really happening because the entire thing feels like a fairy tale. A dream that I never want to wake up from. Well, other than my ridiculously over-protective father. But the rest of it? Incredible.
How is this my life right now?
“I’ve been in a limo exactly one time—on my way to my prom,” I tell Hudson as soon as the driver closes the door. I glance around at the massive light grey leather couch that wraps around three sides of the vehicle’s interior. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s not exactly the type of information that makes me sound cool in any way, shape, or form.”
Hudson smiles down at me. “You know what makes you cool, Allie?”
“Nothing,” I answer with a little grin.
“I’m going to ignore that because it’s categorically untrue,” he says. “What’s cool about you is you’re not afraid to be yourself.”
I look down at my dress. “I don’t exactly feel like myself tonight.”
He tilts his head. “In a good way or a bad way?”
“Somehow both at the same time. I feel a little bit glamorous for the first time ever, but also, I’d kind of love to be in that pair of pajamas Stephen sent you.”
Chuckling, Hudson says, “I completely understand. To be honest, I pretty much hate these types of appearances—award shows, galas, photo ops. It’s the part of the business I could do without. But tonight, being here with you is different.”
“Different in a good way or a bad way?”
“One-hundred-percent good,” he says, leaning over and opening the mini-fridge. “Water? Champagne?”
“Water. If I have any alcohol, I’ll sleep through the last half of the opera, and I don’t want to miss a second of it.”
He hands me a water and takes one for himself too. “Now, tell me about your first time in a limo because I noticed you only said you took it on the way to the prom, and now I’m dying to know how you got home.”
I cringe a little, then say, “My parents had to pick me up because I was so wasted the limo driver wouldn’t let me back in the car. He was not wrong either because I definitely got sick.”
