5. Giselle
The paper sheath around Giselle”s bouquet crumpled loudly, pressed into her chest by the unexpected deceleration from her ride for the evening. As the dark SUV dipped into the winding road, Giselle bit hard on her cheek, startled but not enough to yelp from the backseat.
Behind the wheel, the stoic and silent driver corrected their course and brought the car back to smooth cruising down the road. Giselle heard the satisfied hum from the driver”s seat but squeezed further into her corner.
She would”ve driven herself to dinner, but her hatchback had been wheezing during her errands all Saturday. She off-handedly mentioned it to Jude in a text exchange when finalizing dinner plans. The next thing she knew, he scheduled a maintenance check with his mechanic and ordered a car to take her while hers stayed in the shop until Monday.
Giselle wasn’t a stranger to her old friend group offering to pay for things on her behalf, turning them down frequently in the past. But, unlike them, Jude made a compelling argument for why this time was the exception to her “pay her own way” rule.
She couldn”t convince him to let her pay him back for the visit either, stonewalled by his nonchalant, ”Kyle owes me a favor or two.” She didn”t want him to spend so much on her, but Jude whipped out his credit card before she could protest.
She planned to write a running spreadsheet of every expense to pay back, willing to trade money for an equal barter in flowers or baked goods. Maybe it was silly, but she had ample time to scavenge her garden or knead bread.
Beside the bouquet in her arms, Giselle entered the evening out of her element. As promised, Jude delivered her dress for dinner the night before. . . and woah. It was unlike anything she had in her closet.
The muted, matte shade of daffodil yellow inspired a twinge of fear when she opened the garment bag. Against her hair and pale skin, she worried about looking like a piece of fruit instead of the elegant girl Jude”s parents expected.
Despite her reservations, Giselle wore the dress. The crepe fabric stretched from the halter neckline to her ankles, only exposing the slim expanse of her back. Simple and free of patterns or designs, the dress accentuated her body with such a flattering shape.
She could understand how it might impress an otherwise skeptical crowd that a girl like her belonged on the arm of a guy like Jude Beauregard.
She”d never share that she snuck a glance at the tag on the dress, searched up the brand, and nearly threw up at the price. Although, she might chalk the unsettled sensation swirling around her stomach to last-minute anxiety bumbling in.
She thought back to the last dress she wore that she felt pretty in–the blue vintage one currently hung up in the back of her closet–and chewed on her cheek when bad memories accompanied it. The dress she wore tonight suited the kind of woman she wanted to be.
But, before she changed her mind, Giselle had slid on her most comfortable Mary Janes and rushed out of her house.
The loud buzzing of her phone from her lap startled her out of her daze. Giselle peeked at the screen, curious if Jude or someone else reached out to her.
MOM: hey. You looked nice. Was that red lipstick one of my old ones?
Giselle flipped the phone over, hiding the screen in the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes flitted to the dark landscape passing by, fixated on the hills and not her mom”s awkward attempts at small talk.
No questions about where she was going or how she”d been in the last few years from either of her parents. Then again, they hadn”t spoken more than two sentences to one another for ages.
Her well-dressed but disorderly stumbling out of the house startled her parents, who had been standing on the porch with their keys, but neither she nor they said a word. She had a car to catch, and they hadn”t told her about their plans to be gone all day.
Call it even.
Giselle straightened the bouquet when the slow itch of a petal slipping down the exposed skin of her collar elicited a squirm out of her, reminding her of its presence. The flowers should last over a week if properly watered and cared for.
The car rolled up to a pair of iron gates, swirling with a gorgeous design in the metalwork; the rounded arches at the top couldn”t hide the stony slate-colored walls of the Beauregard home. The color splashed across the mansion, leaving an imposing smudge on Giselle”s already frail heart.
”I”m about to make a fool of myself, aren”t I?” Giselle whispered into the window, glass fogging around her lips and nose. She cast a sidelong glance at the driver, but he didn”t react to her commentary.
The gates swung open, and the driver pulled forward, gliding up the vast driveway. She couldn”t fathom the size of the house if the driveway was approximately the same size as her family”s place. Jude didn”t warn her he lived in a mini-mansion. A girl like her didn’t belong at a house like the Beauregards’.
She spotted Jude standing on the stairs through the tinted windows, hands tucked behind his back. With his face turned toward the front door, the light from the nearby windows backlit his strong profile in its welcoming glow. Jude looked, for lack of a better word, perfect.
As a sucker for a sweater vest, Jude”s choice in a warm coffee-colored fabric pulled over a crisp white shirt screamed cozy. Giselle”s eyes ran laps up and down the length of his torso, even after the car stopped. Wow, her fake boyfriend looked very handsome for the evening.
She expected the driver to turn around and gesture for her to leave. Her hand reached for the door handle but paused when Jude jogged down the steps.
”Thank you, Martin.” Jude”s voice hit her right in the nerves when he pulled open the door, eyes pointed above her head. His hand extended to her before he glanced down, but Giselle forgot about his hand when their gazes met. In what she could poignantly describe as, ”deer in headlights,” Jude froze beyond the parting of his lips with a heavy, audible hitch.
Giselle soaked in his shocked face, curious if she had made an egregious mistake. She cocked her head. ”Jude? Are you okay? Do I look alright?”
Her voice physically snapped Jude out of his daze, wiping the sparkling silence from his eyes. Instead of speaking, he grasped her hand and helped her out of the car.
Giselle shuffled forward, careful not to trample over the hem of her skirt or lose the bouquet she brought. She heard the car door shut and tires tread over the cobblestone driveway before Jude turned to her.
He dropped his hand from hers but quickly recuperated his hold on her with a gentle grab of her waist. Giselle would”ve gasped, but the gleam in Jude”s eyes stole the sound from her lips. Maybe it was a trick of the light or the slight seaside chill, but she swore his cheeks darkened.
”I worried that I explained your size wrong, but this dress. . . this was made for you.” The stroke of Jude”s thumbs over the fabric clothing her waist left a trail of electricity in its wake. Giselle”s chest held her breath hostage when Jude”s eyes dropped from hers, taking her all in. As his hands dropped, he said, ”You look lovely. Utterly lovely.”
Basking in his words, Giselle thrust the bouquet of flowers toward him and smiled. ”These are for your mom.”
Jude”s brows shot up like he noticed the flowers for the first time but accepted them into his arms. His mouth twitched at the corners. ”You bought flowers?”
”Technically, no. I might”ve picked the flowers from work this morning and assembled them into something aesthetically pleasing.”
”You wouldn”t be able to tell that these weren”t pre-made. I might need lessons in flower arrangements.”
”Next time I see you, I”ll make one for you. It”s polite to bring something for the lady of the house. After such a generous dinner invitation, it”s the least I could do.”
”She”ll love them. Are we ready to head in?”
“Can we take a minute?” Giselle’s sharp inhale caught Jude’s attention from how fast his hands hovered over her waist. “Tonight is important to me, which is why I need to clear my head before the nerves take over.”
“Important for us. We’re a team, Giselle. I know it might be nerve-wracking, but my parents are thrilled to meet you. I’ll be at your side the whole night, so nothing can go wrong. If you need a breather, I’ll go with you. We’re a team tonight and for the rest of this fake relationship,” Jude assured, speaking in a soft tone that turned her brain to melted butter.
“We’re a team,” Giselle repeated. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Giselle looped her arm with Jude”s and followed him up the stairs to his home. Still simmering under her skin, her nerves prickled harshly like barbed wire. However, she shoved the pesky rush of nausea far down until she forgot about it.
Entering Jude”s home, Giselle tried to catalog the details of the foyer and failed miserably. The signs of a high-priced home jumped out at her, easily identifiable after years of being a guest in her friends” mansions, despite how the aroma of food and warmth brushed against her face.
High ceilings? Check.
Gorgeous furniture? Check.
A chandelier casually hanging over the foyer? Check.
Giselle”s hand flexed into a loose fist and almost immediately regretted the sensation of clammy, damp skin. Beside her, Jude strode forward, and she trailed behind him, mimicking the calm radiating off him.
When Jude stopped short of the nearby archway, Giselle”s eyes leaped toward him. She paused, waiting for his instructions or an introduction before they got too far.
Jude whispered, ”Stay here. I”ll give these to my mom since she’s finishing up dinner.”
”Alright.” Giselle released her hold on him and wrapped her arms behind her back. Shifting on her toes, she let Jude vanish into the other room. She tipped her head toward the door and strained to overhear any conversation.
Curiosity got the better of her.
At the approach of Jude”s returning footsteps, Giselle leaned back. She schooled her face into the most innocent look she could muster on short notice. The swift intervention of a raspy yet feminine voice jumped out from inside the other room.
”Remember to give Giselle a tour of the house! Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes or less.”
”Mom, please.”
”Our house is nice, and I don”t want her to be bored while waiting!”
Jude offered Giselle a grimace, but the playful edge undermined any worry bubbling in Giselle”s chest. Jude took her hand without a word, but she tugged him closer.
”Does she need any help for dinner? I”ll help set plates or table settings,” Giselle whispered.
”I”m not sure. My mom gets fussy about people in her kitchen when she”s working.” Jude”s nose scrunched up, but he poked his head back into the kitchen. ”Mom, Giselle wanted to know if you need our help setting the table or anything?”
”I”m alright!” his mom replied, following behind the clattering chorus of pots and pans. Giselle smiled to herself; she understood how the kitchen became a sacred space for alone time. Jude’s mom seemed to embrace it in stride, missing the household staff some of her former friends had in their homes. ”I have everything under control. Besides, Giselle is a guest in our home, and I won”t have her lift a finger or do a single chore.”
Jude met Giselle”s eyes, and she nodded, satisfied by his mom”s answer. She hummed, ”Should we take our tour?”
”We can. . . or we can hang out in my room?”
”Your room? Like the same one you grew up in or a guest room?”
”My teenage bedroom.”
Giselle giggled when Jude”s brows wiggled, laughing with her. Their hands stayed linked as he pulled her down the hallway to their right, climbing the cozy staircase at the end. Their footsteps echoed off the polished hardwood as they rushed up the stairs.
Jude guided her, and Giselle willingly followed him down the hallway, ending outside the third door on the left. The two stumbled inside, with Jude bumping the door with his shoulder, closing it most of the way.
Giselle remembered the ”open door rule” when she first brought a boy home, wanting to laugh. Nothing would happen between her and Jude, so his parents shouldn”t worry about her corrupting their precious son.
Her eyes wandered around the room, studying the muted but mossy green paint on his walls with a few posters of bands taped across the open space. The room appeared spartan beyond a large wooden desk in the corner, a pair of dresser drawers of the same type of wood, and his king-sized bed with its gray duvet and a small mountain of pillows.
Giselle whistled. ”So, this is Jude Beauregard”s teenage bedroom? I don’t know what I expected… maybe some science fiction movie posters, a bookshelf filled with books, or tennis stuff. Did you design your room, or are these posters a rebellion against your mom”s interior decorating?”
She hovered her fingers over the posters on the walls, recognizing album art from Fleetwood Mac and The Mamas The Papas. Giselle approached the edge of his bed, gently flopping to sit on the duvet.
Jude posted up around his desk and fiddled with a rogue pen from the little basket of writing utensils. ”Surprisingly, I picked the colors. I didn”t get overly involved in the design since it didn”t matter to me how my room looked.”
Giselle stretched out, arms behind her on the bed as her back arched a little. ”Really? I remember begging my parents to let me paint my room bubblegum pink from ages seven to thirteen. . . I saw it in a movie and wanted a room makeover so bad.”
”Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”
”I know, I’m so predictable.”
Jude chuckled and slotted the pen into the basket. ”My mom did most of the room. The posters were my compromise since my dad raised me on some of his favorite rock and folk musicians.”
Giselle wiggled further onto the bed, keeping her shoes over the edge. ”I”m trying to imagine you a few years ago. You must”ve done a lot of thinking inside these four walls. Probably finished a lot of homework here, too. Did you bring any girls home?”
”No way,” Jude scoffed immediately. ”I didn”t get dates in high school. You remember what I looked like, right?”
”I do, but you were cute in high school! I remember a couple of girls gushing about your swoopy bangs and wanting to run their fingers through your hair!” Giselle exclaimed.
”No. I had terrible acne and thick-rimmed glasses that some of the tennis guys used to tease me about. Not to mention, I couldn”t say more than ten words to people because I used to be so anxious,” said Jude. His incredulous tone had Giselle gawking.
”That”s not true!”
”But it is. I didn”t date in high school; I wasn”t dating material.”
Giselle cocked her head to the side. The thought of Jude, the smooth-talking gentleman, leaving high school without a single girl interested in him pierced between her ribs like a knife. But the resigned edge to his words twisted the hilt tighter into her skin. Oh, Jude. If only he knew the conversations she overheard at the lunch table about the shy, lanky boy from the tennis team with the softest brown eyes.
She scooted closer to the edge, perching there quietly. She whispered, ”Was there anyone you liked? Someone who made you consider. . . you know?”
Jude”s eyes flitted toward the walls and stayed there, pointed in his avoidance. He shrugged, propping one of his legs up on the seat of his chair. ”Even if I did, does it matter? High school was years ago.”
He dodged the question, so Giselle let it go.
When the call for dinner floated up the stairs, Jude escorted Giselle to the dining room with their hands clasped together. The conversation recovered after her curious questioning, free of any lingering tension.
While she hadn”t loved high school, Jude”s experience existed in a different world than hers. James never hid his disdain for Jude from their mutual friends, but the conversation in Jude’s bedroom awakened too many unanswered questions for her. How far had James’ torment gone?
Jude brought her to the empty dining room, gesturing for her to sit. He hummed, ”Showtime. Do you need anything before we settle in?”
”I”m good, I think.” Giselle sucked in a breath sharper than someone who was ”good” would but waved Jude”s furrowed brows off. At the table, four place settings waited—the head, the immediate left and right, and an extra one on the right—and Giselle reached for the second seat on the right.
However, Jude”s gentle hand redirected her toward the right-hand seat next to the head of the table. ”You”ll take my usual spot. My parents should be here so—”
The words barely left Jude”s mouth before the door swung open, revealing an older man and woman. She stepped around him, fixing the loose strap of her halter-neck dress while she approached.
”Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard. Thank you so much for the dinner invite. . . and I”m floored by how gorgeous your home is.”
Giselle offered her hand to them, paired with a bright smile. Even if she and Jude were faking their relationship, she thanked the generosity of his parents for some weekend plans. Besides working, she never had anything to keep her busy through the week.
Jude”s mom glanced at her hand. She stepped forward, pulling Giselle into a hug instead. Squeaking, Giselle dropped her hand and embraced Jude”s mom with open arms. James” family treated her well during their relationship, but nowhere as excitedly or eagerly as Jude”s mom did.
”Goodness, Jude wasn”t exaggerating when he mentioned your beauty,” she cooed, and Giselle heard Jude”s pointed cough behind her. But she couldn”t look away as his mom held her at arm”s length. ”You can call me Miriam. I”ve been dying to meet you since Jude”s been stingy with the details.”
”Don”t listen to my wife; she loves to exaggerate.” Jude”s dad leaned in with a charming chuckle and accepted Giselle”s handshake. ”It”s lovely to meet you, though. I”m David.”
”It”s a pleasure to meet you both! I couldn”t turn down such a generous invitation when Jude told me about dinner,” Giselle spoke slowly, focusing on not tripping over her lies or offending his parents” generosity.
Jude”s presence materialized behind her, evident by the whiff of smooth cologne. The weight of his arm curling around her stomach and pressing her to his chest pulled a soft squeak out of Giselle. She tipped her head back until it lay against his collarbone, peering at his chin and the faint smile on his face.
”Are we ready to eat?” Jude asked.
”Of course! Everyone sit! I need to grab the food from the kitchen.” Miriam jogged through one of the doors connected to the dining room, leaving Giselle to follow Jude”s lead. She accepted his gentle guidance into her seat and reached for his hand, setting their linked fingers on the table.
Miriam hustled into the room with a giant stew pot. Giselle closed her eyes and welcomed the aroma of herbs and something creamy. In the darkness, she listened to the quiet shuffling of Jude and David on opposite sides of her.
But a light thump against the table pulled her into the present, opening her eyes to the twinkling blue glass vase. In the middle of the food, Miriam added Giselle”s bouquet as a centerpiece for a finishing touch.
”David, did you know Giselle brought these?” Miriam chirped while she hustled to her seat, pointing to the flowers.
David hummed, ”Oh? Giselle, I hope you didn”t spend too much on the arrangement. Flowers can be pricey.”
”Oh, yes,” Giselle giggled. ”But I made the bouquet myself. A bridal party visited the nursery this morning and had a bouquet arranging class. This was the bouquet I made during the demonstration.”
”Are you an avid gardener, dear?” asked Miriam.
”Yes! I love gardens and plants. I grow my own flowers and produce in my home garden. I”ve worked at the plant nursery since high school, so my boss doesn”t mind me taking extras home.”
”How wonderful! I assume your shop gets brides often because of the chapel near the Ridge.”
”We do! Fall weddings are rare but not unheard of. Spring and summer are our busiest seasons for local weddings.”
Giselle passed over her plate to Jude when he wordlessly offered his hand, letting him pour her a bowl of soup. She eyed the creamy mixture with spinach, carrots, and something like chicken or potatoes floating in the sauce.
”There we go,” Jude clicked his tongue, and Giselle accepted her full plate between eager hands. She laid her head close to his shoulder. Let the act begin. ”Alright, please let Giselle get in a few bites before you interrogate her, Mom.”
”I”m not that bad!” Miriam protested, eliciting dry laughs from Jude and David. Giselle took the opportunity to sneak several quick bites of the soup while it was still hot. The perfect mixture of gnocchi, chicken, and veggies in a cheesy cream broth melted on her tongue, leaving her a puddle of fuzzy feelings in her chair.
”Mom, I have an itemized list of all the times you meddled too close to the sun.”
”You”re no fun. But I”ll have some one-on-one time with Giselle if she”s interested in accompanying me to the Ridge someday?”
Giselle stopped mid-bite, caught under the eyes of the Beauregard family. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with a napkin, grimacing at the slight smudge of her lipstick. So much for ”transfer-proof.”
She cleared her throat. ”I would be so grateful. I haven”t visited the Ridge as often as most locals.” What she doesn”t mention is how the last time she did, she left with mascara running down her cheeks. ”If you”re into hiking, I”ve heard the trails are lovely.”
”They are! We should try one of them soon.”
”Sounds phenomenal.”
Giselle held her smile as Miriam and David turned to one another, exchanging silent glances in front of her and Jude. She scooted closer to Jude and grasped his hand, dropping her eyes down.
”Look at you,” Jude whispered into her hair. The skimming of his lips against the shell of her ear attracted her to his closeness more than his words. ”You”re a natural at this.”
”Why, thank you. I have the best partner to lean on.”
”My mom’s going to steal you from me at this rate.”
”I might need to re-evaluate my closet if I go to the Ridge with your mom. Any chance you have more of these magic outfits to rent?” Giselle nudged him with her shoulder.
Jude chuckled, covering it with a cough into the crook of his elbow, ”I can call in some favors, but I bet I”d find some acceptable outfits in your closet if I tried.”
”I”d love to see you try,” Giselle giggled and leaned out of his range. ”Come by my place next weekend to pick up this dress?”
”I”ll be there.”