“Five-minute warning,” Hudson says from down the hall, and I grab my clutch. “Coming!” I answer, making sure I have my phone and lipstick before I slip out of my room. When I round the corner into the living room, my tongue almost falls out of my mouth. Hudson is wearing a tuxedo that hugs every curve of his body. His blond hair is styled neater than it is when he’s around the house, and his beard looks freshly trimmed. There’s a silver watch clasped around his left wrist, and his white bowtie is decorated with dozens of Christmas trees. I carefully touch my lips to make sure I’m not drooling.
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