Chapter 7 Jude #3
“Not that kind of proposal,” she huffs, color flooding her cheeks.
“I had hoped for a better moment to have this conversation—like, a fully sober, not-in-my-jammies moment,” she says as she stands, wobbles slightly, and then walks to the other side of the living room. “But I guess it’s now or never.”
I don’t register what she grabs off her desk. I barely register what she’s said, because my gaze has zeroed in on the two black bow tattoos just above the backs of her ankles. They’re small, delicate, and there’s a good chance I need to be defibrillated.
When she sits again, she’s holding what looks like a scrapbook. She exhales. “So, I have a new client who wants to get married at Larkwood before August, and I need you to agree to let me plan their wedding.”
My mouth is already forming the word no, but then she lays a gentle hand on my knee. I not only stop but nearly swallow my tongue while I’m at it. “I know you’re just itching to shut me down, but hear me out for a second, okay?”
When I barely manage a nod, she removes her hand. Oxygen returns to my brain.
“The past few days have been…” She bites her lip. “So hard. I’ve spent countless hours on the phone comforting my clients over their canceled weddings. I honestly feel like I should have a license to practice therapy after those calls,” she mutters, and guilt is a rake down my back.
She goes on. “I’m doing what I can for the clients who were going to be married the soonest, and they’re mostly set with new venues.
Public parks and apple orchards and whatever else I could come up with,” she says.
“But this new couple is… well, they’re desperate.
They’re expecting a baby, and they need to get married as soon as possible in a place like Larkwood, due to family expectations.
” She looks up at me with a pained expression that’s difficult to read.
“Usually, I’d never agree to a timeline this tight.
But when you told me you wanted to get rid of the estate, I had an idea.
That maybe, if I were to plan this wedding before you sell, then it could be an opportunity to show you exactly why weddings at Larkwood meant so much not just to me, but also to your nana, our clients, and all the vendors who work here. ”
I look down as Gracie opens the scrapbook in her lap.
My chest constricts painfully as I take in the collage.
Gracie clinking champagne flutes with Nana at the end of a reception, their faces tired but alight with a job well done.
Nana holding a grinning bride by the shoulders, her wrinkled face rapturous over the beautiful wedding gown.
Photo after photo of my grandmother in her element, radiant with happiness.
“There was nothing she loved more than this,” Gracie says in a choked voice, and I reluctantly lift my eyes from the photos to meet her gaze.
“I know you were close with her, but I worked with Agatha for years, Jude. She really believed Larkwood was meant for this. And I realize you have other plans for the estate, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try to convince you to keep it.
“Which is why,” she says, before taking a steadying breath.
“If you want this cottage, you’ll need to let me plan this wedding.
You’ll also need to meet with all the vendors—my friends—who will be financially devastated from the loss of Larkwood.
With any luck, seeing this couple exchange vows might even prove to you that true love does exist.” She swallows, and there’s that complicated look again, somewhere between distress and resignation.
“But if I still can’t change your mind by the wedding, then I’ll consider selling to you. ”
My eyebrows draw together as I try to get control over the guilt and grief she’s fanned to life. “Let me get this right. You want to try guilt-tripping me into keeping Larkwood by making me plan a wedding with you?”
She sits up straighter and attempts to look down her nose at me.
“I prefer to think of it as helping you rehydrate your shriveled little raisin of a heart, but yes. I’d like you to fully understand the scope of your actions before you pull the trigger.
Even if I can’t stop you, at least you’ll know what you’ve done. ”
Well, fuck. When I walked into this cottage tonight, I was convinced I’d be the one comforting Gracie—preferably with a large offer on her cottage—but now I’m the one who needs a goddamn hug.
If I had to pick the last way I want to spend my limited free time, being guilt-tripped for destroying my grandmother’s legacy while planning a stranger’s wedding would be the winner.
But unfortunately, Gracie has the upper hand.
I need this cottage by August, and if she told me I had to be her personal doormat to get it, I’d probably just ask if she wanted me face up or down.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this… but okay,” I finally respond, unable to help admiring how determined she is.
Unfortunately, she has no idea that while I respect all the points she’s made, my reasons for getting rid of Larkwood take priority over anything else—no matter how awful I feel that there will be collateral damage.
Which is why I say, “But if you don’t change my mind, then you have to sell me the cottage. No maybes.”
Fear washes over her features, and self-loathing makes a prickly lap inside my stomach as I consider making her sign an actual contract.
But then she lifts her chin, holds out her hand to shake, and says, “Winner takes all on the day of the wedding. Deal?”
It’s a terrible idea. Not least of all because it means spending more time with a woman who inspires frustration and fixation in equal measure.
But somehow, I know she’ll be true to her word when I eventually win this bargain.
All I have to do is run down the clock. So, with Larkwood’s future hanging in the balance, I take her hand in mine and get the spooky feeling that Nana is looking on, kicking her feet and cackling as she tosses popcorn into her mouth. “Deal.”