Chapter 12
NORA
This is all happening so fast.
Literally so fast—outside, the snowy fields of northern France zip by so quickly I feel almost dizzy. Or maybe that’s being cozied up next to Jude in our plush business class train seats on our way to Zurich.
This morning after my shower I felt slightly less sexually frustrated, and the excitement and nerves set in.
I was distracted, briefly, by calling Christian.
Incredibly, he actually picked up the phone, and I told him about my plans.
He’d given me a long pause, then said, “It’ll be good for you to spend time with Cap again.
” A rush of love for my brother came over me at that—we didn’t talk a lot about our personal lives these days—he was busy and had his own life.
But he knew I’d had a single dad best friend, and he seemed to sense my tension.
“Yes,” I’d agreed. “I’ve missed Cap more than life itself. ”
I was a little devastated to miss Cap en route, but I needed the time to pack, and I’d be seeing plenty of Cap over the course of our trip.
This was the right decision, I know it was. But I still had a good ol’ minor panic attack about it with Sasha as she helped me pack my bag. It didn’t help that she threw in a gift bag of lingerie she’d bought recently that she’d never worn. Or the fancy dresses and high heels.
“I’m not going to need any of these,” I said. They also looked ridiculous tucked in next to my hiking boots and jeans and argyle sweaters.
“You’re going to make sure you need them,” she insisted. “Besides, Laila told me the resort Jude booked is beyond five-star. It’s a favorite among European billionaires.”
I groaned. “I still can’t believe we’re not just renting a cottage in town. It would be way easier to do everything from there.”
But I know Jude wants Farrah and Cap to have access to not just all the fun stuff at the resort, but the safety of all its staff, too. “None of us speak a word of French,” he’d said as we were boarding the train.
“Or German, Italian, or Romansh,” I added.
He’d gawped. “They speak four languages there? But the country’s so small!”
After that, we started the train ride with a quick geography lesson, along with some Swiss history. I pulled up all my librarian-only access sites and considered doing a slide show.
By the time the train emerged in France, I was confident he knew twice as much about the country than the average American, and filmed Jude reciting some of the facts he’d learned.
I’d been turning my thesis project over in my mind.
It wasn’t really conventional to do a video project for my thesis in the first place, but my advisor had approved it after I nervously showed her some of the film work I’d done on my own.
I knew making Jude my main focus was the best choice from a documentary perspective, given it was his hotel Eleanor was said to haunt—and that he was such a personality.
Now, though, with my camera away and the day waning into dusk outside, nerves tingled in my stomach. If I had a pen with me, I’d be chewing it. Instead, I wove my braid through my fingers.
“You okay?” Jude asked.
I nodded. “I’m okay.” I pretended to turn back to my book.
I was not okay. I’d been trying so hard to get Jude out of my head over the past year, and now for the next week, I would be with him 24/7.
Worse, I couldn’t get the words friends with benefits out of my head.
Each time he looked at me, I was sure he’d be able to tell, but as I look over at him now, he stretches.
He sets down his book and yawns languorously, looking completely unaffected by anything like the jumble of feelings gnawing at me.
When I’d met up with him again at the station, he’d forgone his usual man bun and was wearing his shiny blond hair down. He looked like Brad Pitt in that old 90s movie Legends of the Fall. All he was missing was an open white shirt, some pec cleavage, and a horse.
“Excuse me,” a woman says now. She’s stopped next to our seats. I recognized her from the pack of middle-aged Canadian women we’d run into at the train station. “I texted my husband in the station that we met you, but he still hasn’t forgiven me for not getting your autograph.”
She says that, but her beet-red face tells me she’s here for herself. I can relate, honestly.
“Of course,” Jude says. “Babe, you got a pen?”
It takes all my strength not to react to that. I smile politely while trying not to break a molar as I reach for my pen in the pocket of my corduroy blazer.
“Here you go, love bug.”
Jude snorts.
I pick up my book again, burying my face in it. He used to do this at home all the time, pretend I was his girlfriend if someone approaching him was particularly friendly. I hated it, partly because I knew no one would buy that nerdy Nora was Jude Kelly’s girlfriend.
This woman’s just nervous though. And she’s not lying about her husband.
Or if she is, it’s an elaborate lie. She’d told us all about his favorite matches of Jude’s for a five full minutes while he took smiling selfies with her and her friends, grinning at me between shots as I glanced increasingly anxiously at the departures board.
“Miss, I just have to know… Are you his assistant?”
I lower the book. I can see the fake girlfriend thing hasn’t seemed to register. Or maybe she thinks this is how celebrities talk to their assistants.
Jude looks like he’s holding in a big laugh.
“No,” I say politely, smiling.
“Oh! His agent then?”
Jude looks more rapt than she does. He’s not going to rescue me.
“I’m his handler.” I smile.
“What’s that?”
“Oh you know, a little bit of everything. I make sure he remembers to go to the bathroom on time. And that he takes his fiber pills, to you know, to keep him on time. I get him his teddy bear at night when he feels scared—”
“Okay,” Jude says, clearing his throat. “She’s kidding.”
The woman’s eyebrows are halfway up her forehead.
“I’m not, actually,” I say under my breath to him. “I believe I’ve done all those things for you at one time or another.”
“Hey, I was sick that time I needed Mr. Glug-glug!”
“Mr. Who?” the woman asks.
“It was lovely meeting you,” Jude says. “Please do say hi to your husband for us.”
She seems to finally get the hint and nods.
“I am going to kill you for that,” Jude says as she moves on, looking deeply confused. When she looks over her shoulder, we both smile and wave. “I mean it, Albright. You’re dead meat.” Jude clamps a hand on my thigh and tickles, making me shriek.
“Shh!” he says when I wrench his hand away, barely breathing.
“Not fair,” I gasp as heads turn.
I shrink down in my seat.
“Payback is always fair.” Jude gives me what can only be called a panty-melting grin.
I roll my eyes. “What are you, an athlete?”
The deep rumble of his laughter behind me was even sexier than his grin. But I’d never let him know that.
“I’d almost forgotten how annoying you were.”
“You mispronounced sexy.”
“Oh my God.”
“You don’t think so? What am I doing wrong? Should there be more winking?” He flicks both his eyes open and closed at varying speeds.
I have to work hard to keep from laughing. “You look like you’re having a seizure.”
“How about the grin? Open mouth?” He flashes his pearly whites. “Or closed?” A smirk following that makes my stupid hormones light up like a fire station.
But I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what you do, Jude. I’ve seen you sleeping.”
Jude’s beautiful mouth falls open in mock insult. “I knew it.”
I can’t help laughing. Jude’s ridiculous when he sleeps, and last night just proved it. It’s like his personality can’t stand to be quiet. “You know you snore like a sea lion and take up far more room than even a six-foot-three man needs to.”
“Listen, I can’t help it if I have very vivid dreams.”
“I thought it was bad seeing you passed out on the couch at movie night. With free rein on my bed, you were a nightmare.”
My cheeks prick with heat at the mention of Jude in my bed.
He lifts an eyebrow, clearly amused.
“I’m just impressed you didn’t drool last night.” Despite myself, a bubble of laughter rises in my throat.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re thinking about the tie-dye, aren’t you?”
I lean back in my seat, choking on laughter now.
A couple of summers ago, we’d taken a trip with Cap to a local artisan’s market. He’d become obsessed with this handcrafted tie-dyed bedding and had ignored the seller’s strict instructions to wash them first as we walked away from the booth.
“Why would I wash brand new sheets?” he’d scoffed.
I’d picked him up for brunch the next morning, and when he’d answered the door, clearly fresh out of bed and yawning, I’d had to bite my fist to keep from bursting out laughing.
“What?”
“Jude, your face.”
Jude had frowned, then turned to look in the hallway mirror. His whole cheek was stained blue. Apparently, the pillowcases weren’t colorfast, and he’d done a bit—a lot—of drooling. “‘Why should I wash brand new sheets?’” I’d said while dying from laughter.
I’m crying now I’m laughing so hard at the memory.
“Hey, I’ve seen you sleeping,” Jude said. “Macaroni girl.”
I sit up, wiping my tears away and going serious. “You wouldn’t,” I warn.
“Oh yes.” His voice is a sexy moan.
I shrink down into my seat. “Oh my God.”
I didn’t usually fall asleep away from home—I’d conditioned myself not to, thanks to my sleepwalking tendencies.
Where Jude told me once his dreams were not only vivid, but lucid—sometimes he could control his dreams—I was at the opposite end of the spectrum.
Not only did I not know I was dreaming, sometimes I’d sleepwalk.
And sleep-do other things. But one night I’d fallen asleep next to him anyway, when we’d stayed up too late while having a Ron Howard marathon.
Apparently, he’d only noticed I was asleep when I started moaning and writhing next to him. Intensely.
I’d woken up to Jude leaning over and shaking me. “Nor,” he’d said, his face screwed up in laughter. “You can’t have sex dreams in my living room!”
“Sex dreams!” I’d sputtered, still half asleep.
“Yeah! As much fun as it is to watch, you’ll wake up Cap, and it’d be a weird thing to explain.” I’d peered down at Cap’s door down the hall, which, thank all that was holy, looked closed tight. “It wasn’t a sex dream,” I insisted, still foggy. “I was eating macaroni! It was so good!”
I glare at Jude now, even while trying not to laugh.
“Oh God, yes,” Jude moans. “Give it to me, more!”
He isn’t loud enough to turn more than the closest heads, but they’re the same heads that turned before. “Stop!” I squeal, feeling like I might disintegrate from embarrassment.
“With ketchup!”
I clap a hand over his mouth next. “You do need a handler!”
Then I realize I’m on my knees, my hands on his mouth and my chest pressed up against his shoulder.
Jude seems to realize it at the same time, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
The doors behind us whoosh open in a hiss of pressurized air, and the clinking sounds of the meal car follow. I quickly pull away.
Jude grins. “Well, that was fun. But I could use a drink after that!”
What the hell just happened? Something shifted between us last night at the party. Even though we slipped back into our usual nonsense, I can still feel it. It’s like everything is amplified. “Can you get me some water, please?” I squeak. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
“Water? You sure? You’re on vacation.”
I hesitate only for a moment. Maybe a little alcohol would calm my nerves. Two days of drinking in a row isn’t the norm for me. My headache only disappeared a couple of hours ago. Still, I find myself nodding. “One drink. Your choice.”