“And might I remind you that a diamond ring is not the same as a wedding ring.”

“I’m marrying Julian,” she told her in no uncertain terms. “My relationship with Mr. Chase is purely professional.” Allie turned her attention back to the pink slips of paper in her hand. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more to talk about. Subject closed.

Harper took the hint. “Suit yourself,” she said. “But if it were me, I’d drop Prince Pain-in-the-Ass.” Her lips curved into a smug grin. “By the way, you do realize you’ve reshuffled your messages about five times?” Halfway out the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Just sayin’.”

Allie let out a heavy breath and slumped into her chair. Leave it to Harper to point out everything she’d been trying to ignore. She swiveled around, staring out the window and thinking about all that had transpired over the past few weeks. Her physical reaction to Hudson was one thing—she could almost write that off to an unresolved summer of teenage hormones—but now, talking for hours? And the conversation had been so relaxed, so easy—so unlike any she’d ever had with Julian.

Her fiancé.

A pang of guilt burned in her chest as the image of him on bended knee at Buckingham Fountain played through her mind. She’d stepped out of her brownstone that night to find him waiting in a horse-drawn carriage. Her very own Prince Charming brought to life.

Allie’s gaze instinctively fell to the silver frame on the corner of her desk. It was a photo of Julian, proudly holding the flag from the fourth hole at Rich Harvest Farms. Allie wasn’t sure what had pleased him more, the birdie he’d shot on a hole known as the “Devil’s Elbow,” or the mere fact that he’d been invited to play at the exclusive club in the first place. Either way, she’d never seen his smile that wide. They’d had dinner in the clubhouse afterward, recounting the details of every hole they’d played.

Things had been good between them then, but lately she and Julian felt out of sync. Even simple decisions like choosing a restaurant dissolved into tense debates. It had all started to deteriorate shortly after their engagement and had reached a fever pitch just before the gala.

She shook her head. Of course, why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Between her long hours at work and the wedding plans that were now taking over her life, no wonder he was distant. Needing to reconnect, Allie spun her chair around and dialed the phone.

“Allô?”

“Julian?”

“Oui. Why are you calling, Alessandra, is something wrong?”

“Oh no, everything’s fine.” She chewed her lip. Why was this so difficult? “It’s just, I never heard from you. I thought I’d check in, make sure you arrived safely.”

Someone knocked on his door. “One moment, Alessandra.” She heard a muffled voice in the background. “To my liking? If I wanted Cristal, I would have ordered it,” he snapped. There was a tense silence followed by a harsh exhale. “Fine. Come in.” Glassware rattled as the sound of squeaking wheels drew closer to Julian’s phone. “Imbéciles incompétents,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s not his fault, Julian. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“What does that even mean?” he asked. Without waiting for an explanation, he continued his rant. “Peu importe. I’m never staying at the Plaza again. A hotel that finds it acceptable to substitute Cristal for Dom Ruinart, c’est ridicule.” Allie listened to Julian venting in his native tongue while lamenting the substitution of one four-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne for another. “ . . . head so far up their ass, they can’t even spell the name correctly on the menu. It’s Dom Ruinart,” he announced loud enough for the waiter to hear. “Not ‘Ruinard.’”

“It was probably just a typo,” Allie said.

He ignored her comment, his attention focused on the waiter. “Tell your sommelier to correct the name. Fucking insult to the French.”

Allie flinched as the sound of a slamming door echoed into the phone. “You didn’t have to be so hard on him,” she said quietly.

“And just accept the piss they bring me? I’m a French Marquis, Alessandra. I serve only the best France has to offer.”

“Are you expecting company?”

“Business associates.”

“The meetings must be going well if you’re serving champagne.”

“But of course, why would they not?”

“You just seem . . .” She paused a moment to consider her word choice. Julian seemed anxious and on edge, but in the end she settled on “tense.”

“If I am tense it’s because I work hard. There is more to my title than simply tending to various charities, Alessandra. My obligations extend beyond parities.”

Allie flinched. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Was that all you wanted, to check up . . . in with me?” A television blared to life in the background.

She sighed. “I missed you, that’s all.”

“Me too. Miss you,” he said, his tone devoid of any emotion.

It occurred to her that perhaps working on wedding plans as a couple would bring them closer together. It was worth a try. “My mother dropped a box of wedding samples off at the brownstone. I was going to start going through them tonight, but I can wait until you return.”

“No, no need to wait.”

She tried a different approach. “Okay. I’ll sort through them and then we can make the final decisions together.”

Her suggestion was met with exasperation. “Pick whatever you want, Alessandra.”

“Julian?”

“Hmm?”

She hesitated. Clearly he was distracted, but she had to know. “Do you love me?”

“I’m marrying you, aren’t I?”

Not exactly the answer she was looking for.

A lighter clicked near the mouthpiece of his phone. “Is there anything else, Alessandra?”

“No, that’s all. Enjoy your evening.”

“Yes. . . . you too.”

She hung up the phone, Julian’s words replaying in her mind. I’m marrying you, aren’t I? Unbidden, Hudson chimed in. To be honest, I wish I didn’t care. Her heart raced as their voices grew louder, talking over each other in an attempt to be heard. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. She needed to get out of the office. She needed to get out and think. A run, yes, she needed a long, punishing run along the lake if she had any hope of getting to sleep that night.

Allie grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She suspected she could run halfway to Evanston and still not clear her head, but she was damn well going to try.

Chapter Ten

Hudson wasn’t expecting anyone. He finished buttoning his shirt and shoved the tails into his pants while making his way over to the phone. A muscle in his jaw flexed as he picked up the direct line to the front desk. He hoped like fuck it wasn’t another one of those Architectural Digest geeks stopping by on the off chance he’d let her take a look at the place.

“Chase,” he said, holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he zipped his fly.

“Good evening, Mr. Chase. You have a visitor, Miss Alessandra Sinclair.”

Surprise flared in his eyes and tension weaved through his shoulders. “Send her up.” Hudson set the phone back in its cradle and ran a quick hand through his damp hair.

A subtle ping announced the elevator’s arrival as he strode into the main room. When he reached the foyer, the doors slid open and Alessandra was right there, her finger jackhammering the buttons on the panel.

The doors began to glide closed, and lightning quick Hudson stabbed his arm in their way. His eyes darted from her Band-Aid of a sports bra to the tight black running pants, then drifted over every fucking inch of exposed skin, glossy with a sheen of sweat.

Sweet fucking hell.

His hand clenched against the urge to touch her, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked. “I’m a little surprised to see you standing in my elevator, Alessandra.”