Page 73 of The Spirit of Love
Was it a mistake to write off Sam so soon? Because Sam would have no problem crying at a wedding. Sam would have kissed me in that bathroom out of victory and the simple joy of being alive.
Or Sam might not have come at all. Jude is the one who’s here. I study him, this new friend of mine, as everyone sits back down. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I wish I had day vision that kicked in after eighteen minutes and let me see Jude with the open clarity I’d seen him with under the Joshua Tree stars. He’s sphinxlike now, like he is most of the time.
And then, suddenly, I can’t see him at all. Because a pretty, waiflike woman wearing an enormous, veiled, Kate Middletonian hat featuring a large, lace-wrapped hummingbird’s nest, sits down directly in front of Jude. Her hat blocks his view of the ceremony entirely. It also blocks my view of him.
Meanwhile, at the altar, Yogi Dan, the same officiant who married Masha and Eli, is making a speech about soulmates. I’m holding back laughter at Jude, who keeps trying and failing to peek out from behind this woman’s hat. He leans left; she leansleft. He edges right; she drifts right in front of him. Finally, he reaches up and subtly parts the hummingbird’s nest from the lace so he has the narrowest crevice of a view—not of the bride and groom, I realize, but of me.
He winks. I smile.
“You may kiss the bride,” the yogi says, and as much as I want to see Jake and Olivia kiss, I’ve only just gotten my view back of Jude and I find I can’t look away.
Later, I’m standingwith Masha at the edge of the plexiglass-covered pool. Both of us are barefoot, but she has the excuse of being pregnant. I’m sipping champagne and she’s got a mocktail, and we cheer as Olivia dips Jake in a choreographed ballroom version of “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
A hand comes around my waist.
The last time someone held me like this was Sam, the night we’d watched the sunset on the secret beach. His touch made me feel naked—and something about this touch ignites a similar yearning in me. When I turn toward the feeling, it’s Jude. He’s tugging me gently against him.
“Oh, are we dancing?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck and beginning to sway.
“I’m dancing you away from that plexiglass death trap,” he says. “You never saw my filmMy Schizophrenic Grandma?”
I shake my head. “Did she meet her demise at a Laurel Canyon wedding?”
“A frozen lake, actually, but to prep for that sequence, Iwatched a lot of YouTube shorts where these kinds of dance floors crack. They can take out entire bridal parties.”
“Your algorithm must be a very stressful place.” I gesture down to the grass beneath our feet. “Look. Solid ground. Can we just dance now? Or do you need to rescue the bride and groom, too?”
I glance over my shoulder to where Olivia and Jake are both about to throw out their backs in time to the chorus of “Once in a Lifetime.”
“I’d honestly love to evacuate them, along with every grandparent out there,” he says. “But you’re the only one I know well enough to indulge my darkest fears.”
“I’m honored. And grateful my life has been spared.”
“I have to spare your life. Without you, I’d be screwed at work.”
“Relax your hips,” I tell him. “Just like that. Hold mine a little closer.” I smile as Jude follows my direction and we ease into the music. Into each other’s bodies. I feel more comfortable being this close to Jude than I expected to. We fit together the way two people on a dance floor are supposed to. I look up at him. Does he feel this, too?
No, I guess not. His brow is furrowed as he looks across the reception.
“What is it?” I ask. “Other threats I need to be aware of? Are the valets coming back for us? Do you see a reviewer who dared to give you three stars?”
“I’m just trying to figure out the color palette here. Why is Olivia wearing a purple dress?”
“It’s rum raisin,” I explain. “An homage to one of Liv andJake’s earliest fights. Their wedding theme is a greatest hits of their arguments. They hated each other for like ten years.”
“Enemies to lovers, eh?” Jude says. My eyes widen in surprise. “What? I’ve seen a couple rom-coms in my day.” He dips me. “You might be surprised to learn that I was tapped to direct a second-chance rom-com.”
“Who in the world would tapyouto direct a rom-com?” I hear myself and grimace. “Sorry. That was harsh. I would pay to see a rom-com directed by Jude de Silva. And yet, you turned down this offer?”
Jude tosses his head. “I’m still looking for a great friends-to-lovers script. Somehow I find those more believable.”
I lean in closer so Jude can’t see my cheeks get hot.
“Do you want all this one day?” Jude asks me as the DJ plays U2’s “Sweetest Thing.” “Big purple dress? Yogi officiant? Shoving cake in some lucky guy’s piehole?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Not in and of itself. I’ve never met someone who inspired me to picture myself in purple tulle.”
“Not even your phenomenal long-distance lover?”
