But nothing pleased Sophia. “It’s not the same. Sitkin-Pierce is not Pierce.” She sighed dramatically. “So the bloodline continues, but not the name.”

It was funny how concerned the woman was with a name that she’d only earned through a loveless marriage. It showed how materialistic she was, how tied she was to appearances. It was the Pierce name that held weight in the world. Any deviation lost the power that the Pierce Industry carried. In her eyes, anyway.

Adam sat forward as if about to go to battle. “Mira’s not the only Pierce offspring. Chandler could have children.”

And Hudson, I thought to myself.

“Then it will be the name but not the bloodline,” Jack said nonchalantly.

My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp. There were rumors that Chandler wasn’t Jack’s child, but I didn’t know it was something the Pierce family discussed openly.

“What?” Chandler looked up from his lap where he’d been trying to hide that he was texting or whatever it was he was doing on his phone.

“Nothing,” Mira called down the table. “Go back to whatever you were doing.”

So maybe it was common knowledge to everyone but Chandler.

Sophia took another swallow of her drink—her third of the evening. “Hudson and Celia’s baby could have been both.”

I tensed. Hudson and Celia’s fictitious baby caused a fair amount of contention in the family. It had happened years ago, yet the weight of it had been so heavy that it refused to disappear. Why Celia didn’t own up and explain the baby wasn’t Hudson’s was beyond me. It pissed me off that she let him continue to save her from humiliation no matter what it cost him. I couldn’t help but throw her a glare.

Celia missed my scowl as her own eyes darted toward Hudson. Or maybe Jack. They were sitting next to each other and it was difficult to tell, but Hudson made more sense.

Jack dropped his fork to his plate, the noise clattering loudly in the quiet restaurant. “Not this again, Sophia. Really? Goddammit, I won’t listen to this.” He wiped his mouth and threw his napkin over his half-eaten food. Then he stood. “Thank you everyone, I wish I could say it has been a lovely evening, but, well, I’ll leave it at that. I’ll take care of the bill on my way out. The rest of you stay and enjoy. Order dessert. As for my wife, I’m not going to invite her to rot in hell as I probably should because I think she already lives there. At least hell is where anyone who spends time with her feels like they’ve been sent.”

He deserved a standing ovation. But he simply got open-mouthed stares as he walked away from the table.

Sophia was the first to speak. “What a drama queen.” She took a bite of her chicken. “I was merely pointing out that we had a chance at a Pierce grandchild and now it’s gone.”

“Talk about drama queen…” Though his head was bowed, Adam said it loud enough that the whole table heard it.

Sophia glared at her son-in-law, but it was Hudson who drew the attention of the table. “I could have a child with Alayna.”

I nearly choked on the bite of food in my mouth. Sure, I’d been thinking that Hudson could have a kid, but it hadn’t for a moment crossed my mind he would have one with me.

Okay, maybe it had crossed my mind for a moment. But a small one. Certainly it wasn’t a thought I’d ever share out loud.

But when Hudson had said it, had said it out loud like that to everyone, a strange warmth spread through my chest. It wasn’t the low, deep burn of desire, but something different. Something related to the love that I felt for the man, mixed with a dash of hope.

I wanted to share that feeling with him, let him know what it did to me that he’d said it, and I tried to catch his eye. But he was focused on the plate in front of him, taking another bite of his crepes as if talking about having children—children with me—was every day and unremarkable.

Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it. I felt the bubble of warmth dissipate as I recognized the possibility that he merely meant it as a line to rile his mother up. In which case, it worked.

Sophia set down her fork and turned in her chair, ire blazing through the cool mask she usually wore. “Are you talking marriage and children already? It’s early for that Hudson. Incredibly early.”

“Oh, Mother, don’t be so old-fashioned. You don’t need to be married to have children.” Hudson took a swallow of his wine, continuing the nonchalant façade. But when he set down his glass again, I caught the twitch of his jaw, the only betrayal that inside he was boiling. “And what Alayna and I are discussing is frankly none of your business.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “You brought it up.”

“I was stating that I could father a child and that would continue both your precious bloodline and your precious name.” His voice was oddly calm and strong all at once. I imagined it was the tone he took in the boardroom. It was powerful. Controlled. Sexy as hell.

Then he delivered his punch line. “And the only person I could ever imagine wanting to have a child with is Alayna.”

The impact wasn’t any less having heard him pronounce the possibility a moment before. It rang through the air as if every other sound had been muted, as if it were the lead violin in a string concerto. A lonely piercing sound that made people notice.

At once, all three Werners shifted in their seats, and even though Celia and Hudson were never a couple, were never meant to be together, the tension his statement created was as extreme as if the violinist’s bow had crossed against a too-taught string. It was so much. Too much.

“Hudson, I…” My voice trailed off. I had no idea what I planned to say. I just wanted the tension to end, to get rid of the general air of hatred I felt rushing at me from so many eyes.

He picked up on my cue. Placing a reassuring hand on my leg, he gave me an apologetic glance before turning back to Sophia. “The point is that you need to let the past go, Mother.” His tone was softer, but still held weight. “There is still a future to look forward to. For all of us.”

He turned back to me, our eyes locking, and then, instead of me telling him how it felt to hear him talk about a future with me, he told me. He told me with that long silent stare, his hand stroking up and down my thigh in a way that was more comforting than sexual. With that look, he said everything—how much he believed in us, how good we were. How much he loved me, even though he couldn’t yet say the words.