Chapter 25 Gracie
Three Weeks Before the Wedding
When I get back to Larkwood after leaving Sofia, the grounds are dark, but a light coming from the main house draws my eye to an upper level. Jude.
Turning the car off, I swipe my fingers beneath my puffy eyes.
Sofia and I have had fights before—you can’t love someone that much without accidentally hurting them once in a while.
But tonight feels different. The shock of learning her parents have separated—and the sting of how long it took her to tell me—has hardened into a painful knot behind my rib cage.
But worst of all is the realization that I’ve been so insensitive to my best friend for years.
For nearly my whole life, every win or loss I’ve faced has been celebrated or soothed by her kindness.
Foolishly, I thought if anything truly terrible were to happen to her, she would lean on me, too.
But she was right not to trust me. When she finally opened up tonight, I made it about myself instead of supporting her.
A shameful lump forms in my throat. Somehow, I think she knew that would happen.
Just like she knew how desperately I’ve wanted to believe her parents were soul mates—just to prop up my own hope for Happily Ever After.
But after witnessing the pain around that table of women tonight, I can’t help wondering if the kind of love I’ve dreamed of is only found in romance novels.
I lift my head from the steering wheel and look at my dark cottage through bleary eyes.
For once, it doesn’t feel like a refuge, but a bunker.
A place to cower from hard truths like the one I learned tonight.
But right now, I don’t want to be alone.
I want to be with someone who might actually understand what I’m going through—someone else who’s decided that it’s safer not to trust love at all.
The soft yellow glow from Jude’s window blurs as tears well in my eyes again.
I was so convinced he was wrong—that everyone could find their person if they just tried hard enough.
But now, committing to anyone ever again feels like choosing delusion, and tonight, I’m craving a different kind of certainty.
Even if it’s only a flame destined to leave me in deeper darkness when it dies.
A sob breaks free from my chest as I open the car door.
Before I can talk sense into myself, I’m running to the kitchen garden door.
As usual, it’s the one lock that never seems to get fastened, and I let myself into the dark kitchen.
Feeling like a thief in the night, I mentally map where the lighted window might be and decide which staircase to take.
With my shaking phone flashlight, I carefully pick my way through the dark, cavernous rooms, ignoring the judgmental eyes of dimly lit portraits and statuary.
Thankfully, I don’t have to search for long before I see a radiant line of light coming from beneath a closed door.
Every nerve ending in my body jolts to life.
I swallow hard. Last night, Jude laid it all on the line for me, and I turned him down for Henry. For everything I thought I wanted. If anything is going to happen between us now, it will be up to me to cross that line, and there won’t be any going back.
I close my eyes and, for a moment, wish I could ask Agatha what to do. But then realize I already know exactly how she’d respond. Who do you want, Gracie?
And while the consequences might be anything but, the answer is easier than my next heartbeat.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door.
Immediately, I consider sprinting in the opposite direction.
But before I can turn on my heel, the door opens, and Jude is there—but not any version of Jude I’ve seen before.
His disheveled hair looks like it’s been in one too many disagreements with his hand, and the glasses I suspect he specifically wears to break me down are slightly askew.
But it’s his outfit that instantly kills the volume on all my inner turmoil.
A plain white T-shirt stretches over a torso far more sculpted than I’m mentally, physically, or spiritually prepared for. His bare arms are exposed to me for the first time, but more pressingly, so are his tattoos.
The twin swallows are there, but there’s also a patchwork gallery above them, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt in a way that begs the question—Are there more?
They’re all done in the same simple black linework.
I see glimpses of an olive branch. A grinning skeleton mid-escape from its closet. A pair of roller skates.
“Gracie.” His surprised voice jerks my gaze upward. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, still half-distracted by the unexpected ink and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. “I know it’s late, but I saw your light on, and—”
And I chose your best friend over you. I’m probably the last person you want to see for the rest of your life.
Now that I’m standing here, it becomes painfully obvious: just like with Sofia, I’ve selfishly gone seeking comfort from someone I’ve hurt. What is wrong with me?
“I’m just going to go,” I say, as shame blowtorches my face. “I’m so sorry I bothered you.”
I’m turning away when he says, “Wait, no. Please stay.”
I look back at him and see his outstretched hand, like he was reaching for my wrist. Immediately, he withdraws it with a look of contrition, and my skin prickles with the ghost of his touch. Don’t pull away, I want to tell him. I was wrong. Wrong about everything.
But instead, I say, “Are you sure?”
His Adam’s apple moves heavily in his throat as he looks at me, and I know he understands every layer of what I’m asking. Are you sure you still want me after I turned you away? Even if it means jeopardizing our bargain? Even if it complicates your friendship with Henry?
Guilt wraps me in its familiar embrace at this last thought, but Jude’s gaze is dark and parched as it locks on mine. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Get in here.”
And so, without looking back, I make my choice and step over the threshold.
The door closes behind me, and suddenly all I can hear is my own breathing as I lean back against it.
Jude is looking at me like he’s convinced this is some kind of stress-hallucination, and I don’t blame him.
I try to find my voice, but in all my desperation to get here, I didn’t consider what I’d actually say if he let me in.
What comes out is a slightly choked, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he repeats, dark eyebrows slanting together.
He knows I’m upset—I’m not exactly hiding it.
But before he can ask me what’s wrong and I completely break down, I walk past him into the beautiful room.
It has high, crown-molded ceilings, heavy green drapes, a sitting area next to an ornate fireplace, and most notably, a giant canopy bed.
I avert my eyes, afraid it might throw back its covers in saucy invitation if I stare at it long enough.
But isn’t that exactly why you’re here? To let go of Forever and Always and learn how to be someone’s Just for Now?
At the thought, leaden sadness and electric nerves tangle in my stomach.
The truth is, even though I feel completely safe with Jude, I’ve never had a one-night stand.
I’ve never even had a one-night sit, and I have no idea how to start one.
Do I just kiss him? Tell him that if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to have sex with him on every available surface?
I hear his footsteps approach from behind, and nervous heat floods my face.
“So, where’s Taco?” I blurt, turning around to face him.
He blinks at my super smooth attempt to avoid explaining why I’m here, and points to a darkened doorway by the fireplace. “Her room adjoins the bathroom.”
Unexpected delight cuts through my anxiety. “She has her own room?”
“For my own safety.”
“Stop pretending you’re not completely obsessed with her.”
The way his eyes move over me makes my stomach zip tight. “I never said I wasn’t.”
The atmosphere changes so abruptly, I feel like I’ve been sucked into a vacuum chamber. I go perfectly still as he approaches me, and all my awareness is tugged across the space between us. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Why are you here, Gracie?”
His eyes hold mine as his simple question loops around me like a lasso.
I could tell him that tonight, the Happily Ever After story I’ve been telling myself for years just had all its pages ripped out.
That in the aftermath, I only wanted to be with him—someone else with love in ruins at their feet.
But the dim lamplight is far too bright for that kind of truth, so instead, I whisper, “I didn’t want to be alone. ”
He moves closer, but just like at his door, he stops short of touching me.
“What happened?” he asks, sticking his hands in his pockets like some sort of safety measure.
My heart folds in half as I watch him keep his word not to touch me again.
He doesn’t know that right now, being held by him feels like the only way I’ll be able to get through this night.
But I can’t get the words out. Hold me. Touch me.
Make me forget I ever wanted forever with someone, when I could have right now with you.
“I’m so sorry,” I finally say around the thick wedge of disenchantment lodged in my throat. “I just… would you—”
Stumbling slightly, I take one final step and close the space I’ve tried so hard to maintain.
I press my face to the warm cotton stretched across his broad chest as grief and longing pull taut within me.
He’s frozen, and for one terrifying moment, I wonder if I’ve read the whole situation upside down and backward.
But then his big arms come around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, and a silent sob tightens my chest and throat like a vise.