Chapter 35 Gracie #2
For the next hour, Phoebe and I move like two coordinated blurs, and in what feels like .
3 seconds, it’s time to get everyone to the ballroom for dinner.
I’m so busy that I’ve completely forgotten to worry about the cake or even pester Jude until a passing server says to me, “There’s a delivery for you in the kitchen. ”
The bolt of nerves that shoots through me is so fast and electric, I’m surprised I don’t leave burns on the parquet floor as I take off.
When I reach the door, my stomach is a merry-go-round on warp speed as I smooth my dress.
I’ve never felt so beautiful or more nervous.
But somehow, every racing thought and task on my to-do list disappears when I see him.
He’s leaning against the kitchen island in the tux I asked him to wear to “blend in.” But looking at him now, it’s obvious that “blending in” isn’t going to be an option.
My breath catches as I take in the perfect cut of his black jacket, its peak lapels pointing like arrows to how unreasonably broad his shoulders are.
Below his black bow tie, the crisp white V of his shirt draws my gaze down his impossibly long body, all the way to where his slutty bare ankles are crossed, one over the other.
And suddenly I understand. If I could afford to dress him like this every day, I would.
I’d go bankrupt just to see him like this again and again.
“Baby,” he whispers, his voice perforated as a shooting target as he slowly straightens from the island.
My eyes jump to his, and I’m swallowed by his gaze in one famished gulp.
“It fits,” I say pointlessly. Then, flushing a little, “Everything fits.”
He nods, throat moving in a swallow. “Will you turn for me?” he asks.
I nod, stomach clenching. When I start to rotate, he says, “Slower.”
My breathing ticks up as I hear him cross the room. When I’m faced away from him, I feel the whisper of his touch at my bare nape. Slowly, a single fingertip trails down my completely exposed spine, and goose bumps rise like every inch of my skin is calling out for his attention.
His lips brush my ear as my eyes flutter shut, nipples tightening to an ache. “Jesus, Gracie. How am I supposed to do anything but need you right now?”
His low voice sends a shiver through me as desire gathers hot and fast between my legs. Needing to see him again, I turn around as he captures my hips.
“It’s not too much?” I ask uncertainly.
“It’s way, way too fucking much,” he rasps. Pulling my hips closer, his fingers dig into the silk. “There’s a butler’s pantry,” he says in a coarse rumble. “I just need five—no—fifteen minutes. No more than thirty. Please.”
His hands and lips are the world’s greatest salesmen, but the mention of minutes abruptly reminds me that hiking my dress up in a closet is definitely not on today’s strict timetable of events.
“Jude, the cake,” I say, swinging so quickly from horny to anxious that my body feels like a torch dunked in ice water. “We have to get it to the caterer. Guests are already eating dinner.”
“Cake,” he agrees slowly, like all the brilliant brain cells that help him carry out complicated legal procedures have been reduced to swirling dust motes. “Should I not have brought it to the kitchen?”
I reach up and place a finger on the cleft of his chin like a reset button. “This isn’t where catering sets up—they have their own mobile kitchens parked in the back,” I say, wanting to kick myself for my oversight. Of course he wouldn’t have known that.
But apparently, his chin cleft is a reboot button of sorts, because his eyes are instantly less dazed. “Right. Okay, I know a shortcut, but I’ll need you to hold some doors open for me.”
“Of course.”
“And let me feed you cake later.”
“Sure.”
“And let me fuck up your pretty lipstick.”
“Jude, the cake.”
He makes a frustrated growl before grabbing the gargantuan wedding cake box on the kitchen island. Somehow, we make it to the catering vehicles without a single hormone-fueled mishap, but from the way I felt his eyes on my backside the entire time, it was probably a near miss.
The cake is delivered just in time. Sofia takes photos of Calvin delicately forking a bite of chocolate cake into Brooke’s mouth, and Brooke smashing Battenburg into Calvin’s.
I’m able to spare Jude one heated look as memories of our first kiss ricochet between us before one of the babysitters hired for the event rushes up to me.
“Gracie, I’m so sorry, but one of the toddlers threw up carrot puree all over a rug.” Her eyes dart to Jude and then back to me as she panic-whispers, “A very fancy-looking rug.”
I turn to grab Kit, but Jude gets to it before I do.
“There is no way you’re cleaning up orange vomit looking like that,” he says, slinging Kit over his shoulder like an old pro.
As a server passes by us, he stops him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Can you please bring this woman a plate of food and make sure she eats?” he asks.
“She organized the whole event tonight.”
The young man looks from Jude to me with wide eyes. “Of course.”
“She’s going to need slices of both cake flavors, too. Big slices.”
The man smiles. “You got it.”
Jude reaches into his inner breast pocket and takes out a silver money clip. “Could you also send up some food to the childcare providers?”
After the server accepts his tip and sets off, Jude looks toward me.
“When I’m back from cleaning, do you want me to start distributing checks to the vendors first, or make sure everything is ready to go for the sparkler send-off?
I could also check in with the chauffeur from the classic car rental place.
I’m pretty sure he’s napping in the Rolls out front. ”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. I know he’s asked me a question, but in the face of his sheer competency and willingness to show up for me, the dozens of plates spinning in my mind crash to the ground.
“Gracie?” he prompts, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh, yes. I mean, distributing the vendor checks would be great,” I say, hastily reassembling my thoughts.
“Phoebe is already handling the send-off, but could you also talk to the lighting guy about the individual dances? Brooke specifically requested no blue spotlights to avoid ‘looking like a corpse,’ ” I air quote.
“Got it. Distribute the vendor checks. No corpse lights,” he says, before looking at the babysitter, who’s been watching him, mouth slightly ajar. “Will you show me to the vomit?”
I guess I’m not the only one who gets hot and bothered by a helpful man, because she practically curtsies as she nods and begins quick-stepping away. Jude gives me a look that makes my heart flutter like the pages of a romance novel. “I’ll find you later.”
I nod, and then he’s gone.