Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Brooklyn

Instead, I move to the opposite side of the room, to where the photo albums are.

Some of them are very old-a hundred years or more, even.

The academic in me wants to explore those early photographs, but instead I reach for the newer bindings farther down, hoping for some information about Hudson and his upbringing.

I take a few volumes over to the little chair, flipping through.

I smile, recognizing Hudson's face in a few of the first photos, but then frown when I realize that they're too old-grainy old photos, with fashion from the 1980s...

I blink, shocked, realizing that these must be pictures of Aden when he was a child.

Fascinated, I flip through, looking at the people who must have been his mother and father, his family. His original pack.

I quickly flip to the front of the book where I find a picture of a beautiful, dark-haired woman, who is happily caressing her pregnant belly.

This, I'm sure, must be Aden's mother. I study her face for a resemblance to her but frown when I can't find it.

Aden's looks, like Hudson's, must likewise come from his father.

Hoping for pictures of Hudson as a child, I put this album down and pick up the next one. I'm shocked, when I flip it open, to see that it's actually Aden's wedding album.

Slowly, I flip through the photos and take in all the details of their beautiful Italian wedding.

It looks terribly romantic, situated at a beautiful vineyard, the couple's private table set up under a wide- branching olive tree.

There is a photograph, right at the beginning, of the beautiful bride, her stunning face quite serious as she looks directly into the camera.

I had chosen for my own wedding. Well...the one

intentional choice, remembering that none of the dresses selected for

hair tightly pulled back so as not to distract from her severe expression as she raises her chin

her, curious about this noble-and

word that makes me jump almost out of

"Brooklyn."

I raise my eyes to see him standing at the door, his feet set wide apart, hands in his pockets as he frowns at me.

photo album languidly, holding his

wouldn't take me to the stable. I got bored." I shrug. "You can't expect a girl to stay in

little smile tugs at my lips as I hear a rumble

love to piss him

after he utters my name, apparently needing a minute

flickers in his cheek, making my little smile grow. "You're not to come down to

give him a fake little pout, seeing how far I can

my attention back to the wedding album. "For instance," I say, my voice light, "I had no idea you'd consent

QUMS

out of my hand, glaring at me. Then, he glances down at it, as if

he stares at the album. "I haven't looked at this in

reverence.

study his tall, muscular form while he's

lined with years of worry-perhaps more worry than most men his age. He carries

instance, did he need to come down here to yell at me for looking

to balance out all of the worry, the constant

worry and need for control that, indeed, results in his panic

the photo album,

"Did you love her?"

has run away with me-speaking my

his eyes suddenly, that

doesn't answer my question, just tosses the album back onto the shelf as if it doesn't matter to

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