chapter 35
[Angelica]
I didn’t want to doubt Jude, but when I am lined up to follow Christmas down the make-shift aisle, and I can’t see him among the guests gathered in the larger room, my anxiety soars.
He wouldn’t have forgotten. Like Dane, he’d set a reminder. I was certain of it.
Still, a cold sweat dampens my pits as I hold a simple bouquet of white roses.
The first refrain of “A Thousand Years” began to play, and Christmas and I are on standby before we walk to our designated positions. Belle’s two best friends are in line behind us, gushing over the bride dressed in a strapless white mini dress with an elaborate, poofy veil.
Gertie wondered if Belle had gotten the message that today was her wedding day.
I wasn’t here to judge.
I just wanted my date to show up as promised, even though it shouldn’t have mattered.
I’d told Jude weeks ago I didn’t need him to attend.
I could face my family on my own, as I’d done for nearly a decade.
The questions. The stares. The sympathy in some aunt twice removed or cousin I didn’t care about witnessing yet another sibling of mine get married before me, the one who had a long-term relationship that never ended after a broken engagement.
And yet, still, I wanted to show them all that I wasn’t broken. I could get a date. I had a date.
Only, he wasn’t here.
Christmas steps forward on the lyric we’d agreed would lead the bridal party procession.
As I go to take my first step, my elbow is clutched, and I turn my head.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
Tears instantly well in my eyes as I stare at Jude, who looks impeccable in a black suit. Of course, he does.
“All that matters is you are here now,” I say, uncertain where the words come from as I struggle with a rush of emotions within me.
This hasn’t been real, right? A seasonal fling, perhaps. But the relief I feel at Jude’s sudden presence is instant forgiveness.
“See you inside,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the dining room.
“I’ll be the one in green.” I shrug. “Well, one of many,” I note.
“My favorite color,” he admits, letting his gaze roam down my body. “On my favorite person.”
While I want to throw myself at him, making out with him when I should be walking down the aisle isn’t the time, and a throat clearing behind me reminds me what I need to be doing.
With one foot in front of the other, I proceed to the corner of the room set up with the pine-scented garland and take my spot. I should be watching for Belle to make her grand entrance, but I can’t take my eyes off Jude as he stands toward the back of the room.
Beau opted for guests to be seated at the tables instead of chairs in rows on the dance floor for the ceremony. The garland arch will be moved back against a black-painted brick wall and used as a photo prop once the ceremony is over.
Suddenly, “Drunk on a Plane” begins, and the guests shift as Belle makes her entrance.
I glance at Christmas beside me, who only shrugs. “It’s how they met, remember?”
Shaking my head, Jude and I gaze at one another across the room. His crooked smile suggests he’s enjoying this spectacle, and I decide to soak in the moment.
All my favorite people are gathered in one place.
Jude included.
+ + +
Like champagne, weddings can be bubbling with happiness. Or a predictable headache, the one you’ll experience after too much of the fizzy sensation.
Thankfully, Beau and Belle’s ceremony is short.
The drinks start to flow. Dinner is a buffet of bar foods.
Other than the high-top sweetheart table where Beau and Belle are seated, the rest of the room is open seating.
As I’ve waited for most guests to go through the buffet line, I’m quick to learn we’ve run out of most items, especially the cheeseburger sliders I’d been focusing on as my personal reward for throwing together this last-minute wedding.
I’m starving and my first bride’s-choice candy cane martini has slunk through my bloodstream rather easily.
Disappointed, I take my mostly-empty plate to a table in the back corner where Jude is seated.
“You aren’t eating?” he questions as I sit.
My feet ache in the thin, strappy gold heels I’m wearing, and I kick them off underneath the table.
“I’m starving, but they’ve run out of food.” My shoulders sag as I fall back in the wooden folding chair. “I’ll just drink my body weight in martinis. That will fill me up.”
Jude stares at me a second, then stands. “I’ll be right back.”
I have no idea where he’s going, and I don’t ask.
The weight of this wedding is hitting me in the chest. A sense of finality rests there.
All my siblings are married, although Dane is getting divorced and I don’t know what’s happening with my sister and her estranged husband.
How are we all such a mess? We had loving parents as a prime example of what marriage should look like.
How could we each be so bad at picking partners?
My gaze leaps to Beau and Belle. I hate to admit it, and I’d never say it aloud, but I give their marriage less than a year.
Meeting because they were drunk on a plane.
Announcing their wedding at Thanksgiving.
Getting married weeks later. Their age difference.
Their everything difference. I didn’t want to be a skeptic, but I didn’t see them lasting.
None of us Winter siblings had a perfect track record for long-term relationships.
Your miracle is coming, Gran said.
Poor Gran. She didn’t understand. She and Gramps had been another example of a devoted marriage. One where the big things were important, but the little things mattered most, like—
A set of three cheeseburger sliders and a heap of fries on a plate is set in front of me.
I look up as Jude takes a seat beside me and shifts his chair closer to mine.
“Eat.” He nods at the plate, and I nearly cry again because of this man.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
He simply nods toward the plate again.
Sitting up straighter, I reach for one mini-cheeseburger and bite into it. Instantly, I close my eyes and hum.
“That is so good.” The simple reward I anticipated for throwing this wedding together.
Jude’s hand comes to my thigh beneath the table. He chuckles.
Turning my head toward him, I remind him, “I told you I love food.”
His mouth pops open like he intends to speak, then he slaps his lips shut.
He swallows thickly, like whatever he was about to say is choking him.
With those clear blue eyes on me, he shifts in his seat.
The hand on my thigh is removed, and he rests his left arm on the back of my chair.
He sits sideways and settles his right hand on my thigh instead.
He tips up his chin toward the burger still in my hands. “Eat.”
I take another bite while Jude slips his hand around my thigh beneath the table.
“Jude,” I whisper in warning.
“Scoot to the edge of the chair.”
I swallow the lump of cheeseburger in my mouth and do as he commands. With my backside near the edge of the seat, it’s easy for Jude to force my legs apart, forcing the slit in my dress to spread open underneath the table. His warm hand glides against exposed skin.
“What are you doing?” I ask, placing the final bite of the small cheeseburger in my mouth.
“Getting jealous of the sounds you make while devouring that slider.”
For some reason, the comment spurs me to reach for the second one and take another hasty bite. With my gaze fixed on Jude, I purr around the combination of soft bun, melting cheese, and warm meat.
And Jude’s hand rushes up my thigh toward my center.
Slamming my thighs together, I trap his hand between them.
“What are you doing?” I hiss as my eyes widen a second, and then I glance around the room.
“I’d never let anyone watch the things I want to do to you,” he confirms. “All anyone sees right now is my girl enjoying a mini cheeseburger while her boyfriend watches her eat.”
My head swivels in his direction. I’ve set the slider back on my plate, and I stare at him. His hand is still trapped between my thighs.
“Be a good girl, and open wide for me.” He nods toward the small burger on my plate, but his fingers twitch between my thighs.
Slowly, I spread my legs and reach for the partially-eaten slider. My fingers tremble as I lift the small burger, when I’m now hungry for something other than food.
Jude takes his time to slide his hand all the way up my leg, meeting the damp slip of fabric over where I ache for him.
“So wet,” he hums. “Tell me it’s me and not that burger soaking your panties.”
“Jude.” I choke on a laugh when he nudges the scrap of material to the side and easily slips a finger into me.
I lower my hands, nearly dropping the slider on my plate. I clutch at the edge of the table and spread my legs to the corners of the seat underneath it.
Jude rewards me with a second finger.
“Oh God,” I mutter, lowering my eyelids while glancing around the room again.
Jude slides his fingers in and out, taking my essence from wet to a mess.
“Jude,” I whimper.
“The first night you wore this dress, I wanted to fuck you so badly.”
My head turns in his direction, remembering he hadn’t touched me. He’d turned me down.
“You stole my breath that night. Entered that party like a girl boss, and all I could think about was she’s mine. Like Clara receiving that nutcracker.”
“The Nutcracker?” I choke. Not exactly a reference I’d use as he’s the one toying with me right now. His strokes remain slow, methodical, and torturing. I spread my legs wider, as if it will bring him deeper. He passes his thumb over my clit, and my eyes shutter closed.
“Keep those eyes open,” he demands. “We don’t want someone innocently noticing. Only I can know what you look like when you come. When you make a mess on my fingers beneath this table.”
“Jesus,” I groan.
Jude leans closer to me, pressing a soft kiss to my exposed shoulder, then casually sits up like he doesn’t have his hand between my thighs and his fingers buried inside me. He swipes over my clit again, this time more intentional.
“Take another bite of food,” he commands.
I blindly stare down at my plate. A meal, hot and fresh, and made for me at his request. I pick up the final bite and guide it toward my mouth just as Jude applies more pressure on my clit. My eyes close on their own as my breath hitches.
“You’re doing so good,” he encourages, while I falter, holding the slider mid-air while the intensity of his fingers increases.
“Bite,” he groans, and I place the final piece in my mouth, chewing slowly as Jude works me faster. His fingers glide deeper, curling inside me, and I gasp despite the food in my mouth.
He scoots a little closer, and his fingers from the hand on the back of my chair tickle my exposed shoulder.
“You know what I’d really like to do,” Jude continues. “Place you on my lap, facing this room. Spread you wide and finish you off with my cock buried deep inside you.”
I nearly choke on the burger in my mouth.
“Would you like that, naughty girl?”
I don’t answer him. I can’t. I’m afraid to move, but my hips rock subtly beneath the table. I clutch the edge of my seat and tip my hips. The angle shifts how Jude is touching me. He easily reaches something deep inside while his thumb works circular magic.
“Jude,” I whisper, knowing I’m so close to the edge, and it’s more than balancing on this seat.
“Easy there, sweetheart. I’m right here.” He practically purrs as he leans closer once more and kisses the side of my neck. The touch is featherlight, but his words at my ear are hot and hard.
“Come, my angel. You’re turned on by the thought of being on my lap, stroking my currently hard dick with your slick pussy and—”
My mouth falls open as I pitch forward. Slamming my elbows on the table and covering my lips with shaky hands, I sit straighter and ride Jude’s fingers.
My orgasm hits like The Polar Express gliding out of control on an ice-covered lake.
Hard and fast, I spiral toward a climax that ends all too quickly, screeching to a halt.
I’m not done with Jude. We need that small empty storage room.
Still, I practically sag against the table, and Jude strokes his other hand up my back, beneath my hair to cup my nape.
“Such a naughty girl.” He chuckles before pressing a kiss to my shoulder again. “Letting me finger fuck you at a family wedding.”
I turn my head to witness that sly smile of his grow to a full grin.
“Why would you do that?” he asks, a little too late for regret.
Why did I do this? His question might be rhetorical, but I have an answer.
“Because I trust you.” I trusted him to be here for me, and he showed. I trust him not to let my family see what he’s done to me beneath the table.
And I’m trusting him not to break my heart.
His eyes widen as he slowly removes his fingers and sits straighter in his seat.
He takes his arm from the back of my chair and straightens his suit coat.
With that same hand, he picks up a fry and chews while watching me.
Then he takes the hand previously touching me, and sucks at his fingers, like they contain the salty residue of greasy fries.
Oh, he’s good. The bad take on what he’s doing would only be caught by a trained eye, but like I thought, I’ve trusted him not to expose us. Not to expose me and what he’s just done.
“Now what?” I joke, the sound almost bitter. Because what I’d really love is for us to slip into that small closet-like space and finish this little snack in the position he just suggested.
I’d ride him reverse cowgirl like a woman on Santa’s lap.
Please, Santa, can I have another. I only want orgasms given by him.
He snorts. “Now, you finish eating that last slider while I mentally talk down my dick. Then we’ll dance, knowing you still ache for me.” He leans close once more. “Don’t worry, angel. I ache for you, too.”
He kisses me quickly, then reaches for another fry and pops it into his mouth, smiling like a Dr. Seuss character pleased with the places he takes me.