Текст книги "The Redhead Revealed"

Автор книги: Alice Clayton

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 11

The next morning we woke to the sound of phones ringing. Mine rang first, then his, and in the confusion we bonked heads in the middle of the bed.

“Ow!” I rubbed my forehead while I answered the phone. He mumbled a similar hello into his.

“It’s a big day for your boy, now wake the fuck up,” I heard Holly’s merry voice say.

“Asshead. So good to hear from you so early in the morning. Exactly how early is it?” I settled back against my pillow and squinted my eyes at the alarm clock. Jack had a perplexed and still-half-asleep look on his face, his curls everywhere.

“Holls,” I mouthed to him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Holly, why are you calling both our phones at—Christ, woman, it’s seven a.m.!” he exclaimed, lying back on his pillow as well. He yawned and rolled on his side to look at me. I smiled at him, rolling my eyes as well. Holly’s loud morning voice screamed through both phones.

“I wanted to make sure you were both up. This is a big, big day, and there’s no time for sleeping in. Besides, I need to be sure you’re up before I come over for breakfast. I’m bringing bagels and coffee, since I know you have nothing in the house,” she continued. Jack chose that moment to hang up on her. “Did he just hang up on me? I swear that boy is getting too big for his britches,” she said.

Jack chuckled, still able to hear her chirping. He let his eyes travel down my body, and they stopped on my leg, exposed by the tangled sheets. He grinned sexily, then danced his hand across my skin, starting at my ankle and working his way up. His hand dragged up my leg, making circles on my knee. My skin tingled.

I shook my finger at him as I attempted to listen to Holly. It was getting very hard to concentrate. His hand moved higher, ghosting across my thigh. Then he slipped lower on the bed, bringing his head down to my tummy and pushing up my shirt. I gasped as I felt his mouth brush my skin. It felt wonderful. Holly heard me.

“You okay, Grace? What’s going on?”

“Hmm? Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I sputtered, as he grinned into my skin. He was determined to push it.

He looked back up at me, his chin resting on my belly as his hands snuck to the band of my panties and began to slowly push them down my legs. I shook my head no at him, and he nodded his head yes right back.

Demon…

He settled down lower on the bed and nudged my knees apart with his nose, grinning wickedly.

I mouthed the word “no” one more time, but he just rolled his eyes as if to say “oh, please.” His tongue touched me, and my back arched immediately.

That motherfucker.

Someone fucker, that’s for sure…

Holly had switched topics and was now going on about the dress she was wearing to the premiere. I tried, really tried, to listen, but between the tongue and the fingers and the lips and the vibrating moans he was directing at my oonie, I never stood a chance.

“Holls, I need to…wow…I need to call you….fuuuuck…back….Call you back…I…God damn!”

“Ah jeez, while I’m on the phone, Grace? I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Knock it the fuck off by then,” she instructed.

“Better make it….ungh…I…shit, that’s good…Make it an…hour—hour—hour—Jack!” I dropped the phone and my hands plunged into his hair as he made me come four mother-loving times in a row. It was so good, I almost blacked out. As it was, I lost the ability to see out of my right eye for most of the morning.

When he finally finished, he looked so damn proud.

As well he should be.

“Jesus, George. What the hell?” I moaned as he crawled back up my body, laughing at my noodle arms as I tried to hold him close.

“Don’t die on me now, love. Climb on up here,” he said, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands back behind his head.

I gamely pushed myself up, rolled my neck, and cracked my knuckles. “Climb on up here? Is this what you want me to climb up on?” I asked, gesturing to the very prominent Nice-To-See-You beneath his boxers. I brought him out to see the world on this fine morning. I gave him a quick stroke, then poked Mr. Hamilton with my finger to watch him wag back and forth.

“Are you kidding me with this shit?” Jack asked, raising one shaggy eyebrow at my shenanigans.

I sighed, then cracked my back, rolling my neck again. I really was trying to get some blood moving through my system again after those annihilating orgasms, but I also enjoyed torturing him.

He rolled his eyes. “Grace, you’re not a gladiator going into an arena, you’re about to shag your man. Your man, by the way, who just made you come several times. Now knock it off, and get on top like a good girl,” he said, still keeping his fingers laced behind his head.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I fake-grumbled, planting a knee on either side of his waist.

“That’s what she said,” he teased, and I started to lower myself.

“Wait!” he cried, eyes wide.

“What the fuck, George? I’m trying to get my groove on here.” Oonie had sensed her Mr. Hamilton, and she was anxious to be reunited.

“Shirt off, please. I need to see those fantastic tits.”

Now I was the one rolling my eyes, but I obliged. I heard him hiss as he caught sight of them, then laugh as I got stuck in the T-shirt. It caught on one of the earrings I’d neglected to remove last night. The shirt was stuck halfway up my face, my nose propped up in a very Miss Piggy-like way. His laughter grew, and as he laughed, his hips rose. I shifted my weight, trying to get a better angle on my cotton prison, and Mr. Hamilton and Oonie took that very moment to embrace.

I was on top of him, naked, T-shirt stuck around my head, with Oonie holding tight to her Mr. Hamilton. I must have looked like a cross between a Muppet, Jenna Jameson, and the Flying Nun. Jack could not stop laughing, even as he groaned and pressed into me further.

“A little help here, please? And don’t start without me,” I said, trying to be fierce. Through the fabric I could see him finally unlock his hands and gently pull the shirt off. My nose was released, then my eyes. My ear was still caught, but when the shirt cleared my eyebrows he let go. He was laughing too hard.

“Stop it. Come on!” I said, the T-shirt now sticking straight up and out behind me like Erykah Badu.

“Fucking Nuts Girl,” he gasped between chortles. Tears streamed down his bright-red face.

“You think I won’t sex you up good with this on my head? Watch me,” I threatened, rolling my hips in what I thought was a tantalizing way, but made less impressive by the current ridiculous.

“What the hell else would I watch? This is the best show I’ve ever seen,” he said, resting his hands on my hips as I began to ride him.

“I will totally fuck you exactly like this, with this damn T-shirt stuck to my damn head,” I said, fluffing the shirt out like my hair.

“You’re already fucking me. Less talk. More fucking.” He groaned as I began to move faster.

Jack thrust into me with conviction.

I raised up on my knees, then sat back down fast, taking him into me hard. I felt him go deep, really deep, and I began to moan with him.

It soon became too ridiculous even for us to have this thing on my head, so we managed to get it off before we got off. He crumpled the shirt and threw it on the floor, his hands quickly returning to my hips, urging and guiding me.

“You feel so good, Gracie. Just…like…that…God…” he said, his eyes smoldering as he watched me.

“Mmm, Jack. Tell me I’m your good girl,” I breathed, watching his eyes widen.

“Fucking hell, Grace, you’re my only good girl,” he whispered, his left hand leaving my hips to palm my breast.

He rolled my nipple between his fingers and pinched it slightly. I cried out at the touch, and he increased his pressure. My skin was hot, crazy hot as the morning sun poured in the windows. His body was slick with sweat, and my hands snuck down to tease where we were joined. He watched as I stroked myself, grunting his approval at my touch.

“Jack, oh, God, so good…I…mmm…please…Jack!” I screamed as I came hard around him, clamping down and shaking as I threw my head back. He caught me, sitting up beneath me, driving deeper and further into me as his own orgasm made him cry out.

“Grace,” he murmured as his body shook with rapture.

I cradled him to my chest, feeling him pulse inside me. I wrapped my legs firmly behind his back, making sure to keep him where I wanted him. My hands slid across his back and into his damp hair, rocking him slowly as we settled in. I was thoroughly overwhelmed with feeling for him, this man who was so dear to me. He felt so close, so warm, so mine.

I kissed his cheek, pressing my forehead against his as he smiled. “I love you so much. You know that, right?” I looked him dead in the eye, suddenly serious. I was overcome with a longing—almost anxiety—to hold him here, in this bed, in this room, and never come out. We were perfect, in this bed, in this room.

“I do know that. I love you too, sweet girl.” He sighed, crushing me to him, face tight against my chest.

We were quiet. We were still. We were content. It was the calm before the storm.

***

The rest of that day was…well, it just was. The best word to describe it is surreal.

It began with Holly’s arrival with bagels and the laughing judgment of our performance she’d heard over the phone. She was a dirty girl and hadn’t hung up right away, instead enjoying the free phone sex we so thoughtfully provided.

Jack took an indulgent shower while we had some girl time. She complimented me again on the colors I’d chosen for my kitchen as we sat and talked. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d left for New York.

“I do love how you laid out this kitchen, Grace. It’s perfect. I’m thinking of redoing mine. Maybe next year,” she said thoughtfully, swirling cream cheese on her Asiago bagel.

“Don’t you dare! Your kitchen is perfect. You just miss me cooking in it, which I’ll do as soon as I get home. Michael and I cook all the time in my kitchen in New York, but it’s nothing like this one,” I added, spreading butter on my own everything bagel.

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?” she asked, looking around for Jack.

“He’s in the shower, why? What’s up?” I looked at her carefully.

“Well, do you think the show’s going to be picked up? If it does, are you ready to move across the country? If it does well you could be there a year, maybe even longer,” she said, arching an eyebrow and taking an obnoxiously big bite. Cream cheese oozed out the side of her mouth.

“You’re disgusting. You know that, right?” I frowned as I handed her a napkin.

“Shut it, and don’t change the subject. What will you do? Are you prepared for that? You sure this is what you want?” she asked again, wiping her chin.

I sighed and leaned on my elbow. I’d been thinking a lot about this lately. When I first got to New York, it was just so busy and exciting and thrilling. But now that we were getting close to the previews, and there was a real shot at this becoming a fully mounted production, I realized things could change. For real. But Michael made things easier. He made me feel at home in New York. Like I belonged there.

“This is the single most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d be an idiot to turn my back and walk away,” I answered, putting down my bagel and laying my head on the counter. My stomach had felt strange all morning, and now it was fluttering like crazy. Must be nerves about tonight.

“Grace?” Holly asked, placing a hand on my shoulder and shaking me a little.

“How could I walk away?” I asked, almost to myself.

“From the show or from Jack?” she asked quietly. I heard her bagel thunk down on the plate—a plate from the set I’d ordered and never even eaten a meal off of.

“What does Jack have to do with this?” I asked the countertop sharply.

“Grace, look at me,” she commanded. I peeked at her through my arms.

“Where’s your head? Why does it sound like you’re making a choice all of a sudden?”

“Well, don’t I have to? I mean, it’s going to come down to that eventually, right? How the hell can we keep this going like this? This is insane…” I began, surprised by the words coming out of my mouth.

Where was this coming from?

Where do you think? You have a giant mental drawer of “I will think about you tomorrows” you’ve piled up and never gone through. Someone asks you one little question and Now It Will Rain Shit.

“Grace? You really want to do this now? What else is going on?” she asked.

I looked at my best friend. The one who’d taken care of me so many times, looked out for me, and opened her home to me. The one who helped me get back on track and never, ever asked for anything in return, other than my friendship. She knew me as well as anyone, and the knowledge that I wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her made me lose it.

The tears came in a rush, flooding my eyes and dripping onto my cheeks and my shirt—his shirt. He’d cut a slit in each side of the neck hole so it would never get stuck again, making it mine now. When I’d said something about it, he smiled and said, “Heh-heh, you said neck hole.”

I sobbed silently, with no idea exactly why I was crying. All I knew was it had to come out. My thoughts were swirling, not letting me take a breath.

Holly just sat and watched me. Neither one of us was big on the sister hug. She patted my hand, then wiped my snot when I began to calm down.

“Okay, start at the beginning,” she said, her eyes kind.

“I don’t even know where the beginning is! I didn’t even know I was upset. I—I—” I began to wail again.

“Grace! Grace, get control. Calm down, ya dillhole,” she instructed.

Her words broke through my wail and made me laugh a little. I took some deep breaths and laid my head back down on the cool granite.

“Just talk, fruitcake, and we’ll see what sticks to the wall,” she said.

So I talked. And I talked. And I was terrified at what came out of me. I talked about how amazing the show was, and how happy I was in New York. I talked about how glad I was to be back up on a stage again, thrilled to be working with such amazing people. I talked about Michael, and how glad I was we were friends. I talked about Michael, and how close we’d gotten again.

I closed my eyes in sudden exhaustion. I was frightened by the images playing in cinemascope on the inside of my brain. My own little highlight reel:

Snapshots of Jack and me driving up the coast, happy and carefree.

Michael and me arguing over lunch. Him stealing my fries when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Jack and I sexing it up on the floor of the closet together.

Michael walking away with Abigail, her tiny hand in his.

I stopped suddenly.

“Holly, do you ever think about having kids?”

“What?” she asked, her face astonished. Neither of us had ever wanted kids. It was one of the things we’d bonded over right away. We both promised we’d never turn into breeders.

“I mean it. Do you ever think about it?”

“Umm, no. Why? Is there something you want to tell me? You’re not…”

“No! I mean, no. But don’t you ever think about it?”

“Do you ever think about it?” she asked.

I chewed my lip. I hadn’t thought about having kids for years. I always assumed it meant something that I’d made it this far in life without an inkling of thought toward the subject. It meant I wasn’t meant to have children. I’d decided something at twenty-two, slapped a sticker on it that said DECIDED, and filed it away in the don’t-have-to-worry-about-it drawer.

I would have wanted them by now, right?

Kids made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to talk to them, they were weird, and they smelled funny. I hated baby talk, and I never went ass-over-apple cart when I saw a stroller go by, trying to peek inside. Isn’t that what women did when they wanted kids?

Not all women behave that way. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a great mom. No one would be more entertaining.

Had I made a decision about this too long ago—not allowing myself to even consider a different life, a different path? Did I need to think about whether I wanted kids? Could I allow myself to think about it?

I was thinking about it…

Let’s timeline this. You’re thirty-three, about to turn thirty-four. If you want kids, and marriage, and that life—well, hell! Let’s pretend, just for a second, that you’re with someone other than Jack, someone who wants kids.

I flinched thinking about it not being Jack.

You’d need to get married, and that would mean dating for at least a year. Engaged at thirty-five. Then, depending on how long the engagement lasts, maybe married at thirty-six. You wouldn’t want to have kids right away—be a wife for a while. So, maybe Baby Number One at thirty-seven.

Baby Number One?

Wouldn’t you want more than one?

I flashed to a picture in my head that I didn’t even know I’d stored away. It was a family on the beach: a toddler walking in front of the parents, a little one in Daddy’s arms, Mommy smiling. A family of four.

Yes. Yes, I would. I’ll have two hypothetical children with my hypothetical husband. Mr. and Mrs. Hypothetical.

So Baby Number Two at thirty-nine, maybe even forty.

Fucking hell. Pregnant at forty…when did I get so damn old?

“I am thinking about it,” I finally responded. “Not in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that I need to consider things very carefully now. I’m not getting any younger. And neither are you, by the way,” I said slowly.

“Yes, but you look so much older than I do. It’s natural that you’d be there and not me,” she said, deadpan.

I stuck my tongue out halfheartedly, feeling the room begin to spin. “Seriously, Holly. If we want kids, we have to think about this. Maybe not now, maybe not next year. But it’s not like we have twenty years in front of us to consider this shit. We have a finite amount of time,” I said, surprising myself.

That Drawer is full of stuff you haven’t dealt with. You sure you want to shed light on all of it right now?

“Where does Michael factor in to all this?”

I smiled involuntarily, thinking of him with Abigail in his arms. Her questions and his patience. His good, good heart and his strong arms.

Holly caught the smile. “Where does Jack factor in to all this?” she asked.

My stomach clenched at the thought of him. I loved him so much. Did we want different things? Maybe. Maybe we did. Could I spend my last baby-making years with a man who was too young for babies? And didn’t want babies? Do I want babies?

“I love Jack. That’s not in question,” I stated firmly, and my body immediately betrayed me. Fresh tears rained onto my cheeks, and Holly watched in horror as I hunched over, my stomach now convulsing.

“What is in question Grace?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

“Whether or not what we have is enough,” I heard my voice say, and then my body took over. I made it to the sink just in time, my bagel and coffee rushing back up at the realization of what I’d said. My brain and my heart needed a moment to fight. Holly held my hair.

As I rinsed my mouth out, I heard the shower shut off. I could hear him moving in the bathroom, and he was singing. He was singing “People Will Say We’re In Love.” I wiped my face quickly, splashing water. Holly watched in silent resignation.

“Hey, sweet girl! Have you seen my jeans from last night?” Jack bellowed.

I looked at Holly with panic in my eyes, shaking my head furiously. I backed away and ran for the door. She walked toward the bathroom.

“You better have some clothes on, Hamilton. I’m coming in to help you find your jeans. Do you know how many women I could have here in two minutes to help you with that?” she said.

Then I heard the beginning of Jack’s protesting yell as she pushed her way into my bedroom.

I didn’t hear anything else. I was in my car and out of the driveway.

Chapter 12

When I got back to the house, Holly and Jack were holed up in what was supposed to be my home office. They’d turned it into Premiere Central. He was on the phone, she was on the phone, and they both looked up when I came in.

“Hey, love, where’d you run off to?” he asked, covering the phone and gesturing me over. I went to him, sinking into his lap as he sat at the desk. He was talking to his dad, making plans to meet at the theater tonight.

Holly was trying to get a seamstress over to the house to take up her hemline just a little bit more. The entire day was taking on the feeling of prom: heightened expectations, limo drivers, updos, and just-under-the-surface tension.

“I had to run to the drugstore, pick up a few things,” I lied smoothly. The thirty-minute drive I’d taken had put me in a strangely calm mood. I was very good at squelching things down, and after my breakdown and potentially scary realizations this morning, I was calling on all my squelch-down skills to keep things in check. Were these very skills part of the morning’s problem? Perhaps. But no time for that now. I was in meltdown-management mode.

Holly had one eye on us and one eye on her computer screen as she tried to manage every aspect of the day from this ill-equipped office. My house was not yet ready for someone to be in it on more than a temporary basis. No DSL. No wi-fi. And her air card was not working for some reason. It was driving her batty.

Finally, she’d had enough and threw her cell phone into her bag in disgust. “That’s it! I’m heading back to my house. That’s now the command center for this entire operation. Grace, you’re in charge of bringing your dress, your lunch, and your Brit to my house by noon, got it?” she yelled, getting that wild look in her eye that often appeared just before a big event.

“Yes. No problem,” I said, somewhat numbly. I was curled into Jack’s lap, his arms around me while he talked on the phone. I could barely feel him.

She rolled her eyes at me and waved at Jack. “I’ll see you at my house in a little while,” she said to him, then nodded at me. “Walk me out?”

I peeled myself off of Jack. He kissed me on the cheek as I pulled away, and I followed Holly out to the front door. Once there, she rounded on me.

“Now, look. Whatever you’re planning on doing, do not do it tonight! Not on his night. He’s nervous enough as it is. I’m not convinced of this anyway. You need to really sit down and think about all this before you say or do anything,” she added, hands firmly on my shoulders as if she were physically trying to ground me.

“I won’t. It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said.

“And, promise me you won’t talk to Michael today?” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Not that he has anything to do with this, but whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Mmm-hmm, sure, Grace. I’ll see you at noon. Go take a shower. Remember, not tonight,” she shot back as she walked out to her car.

I gave her the finger and turned back inside. I could hear Jack still on the phone, so I made my way toward the bathroom. If we were going to pick up lunch, we’d need to get a move on.

I grabbed my things and headed in, my mind still racing. I heard him coming toward the bedroom, and I quickly locked the bathroom door. I stood, eyes wide in the mirror as I heard him come into the bedroom and walk across the floor. Then I saw the doorknob turn—once, twice, a third time, followed by a tentative knock.

“Gracie?”

“Yes?” I answered, eyes clinched tight.

“Why did you lock the door?”

He was right to question it. I’d never locked him out before. “Sorry. Habit from New York, I guess,” I said leaning against the door. I took a deep breath. Why was this suddenly so hard? I loved him. I knew this completely.

I could hear him breathing on the other side, probably wondering what was going on.

“Are you going to open it?” he asked, his voice teasing, but laced with something else.

I choked back a sob that had formed quickly and said, “Can you give me a minute? My tummy is a little upset.”

“Oh, hey, do you need anything? I can run and grab something for you. Ginger ale?” I could tell from his voice that his eyebrows were knit together, and he probably stared at the door with a curious look.

“No, no. I’ll be okay. I’ll be out in a bit. Start thinking about what you want for lunch, and we can pick it up on the way to Holly’s,” I said before the tears began to fall again.

I turned on the water and was instantly underneath, the water and my tears mixing together. It was like everything I’d thought before this morning—and the carefully constructed calm I’d felt when I first returned from my getaway drive—was crumbling like a house of cards. Within the last hour, the very foundations of everything I thought I knew had been thoroughly shaken, and it was me who had shaken them! I needed to get this under control fast if I was going to be in any kind of shape to make it through tonight. This was going to be a long evening.

Ninety minutes later, we were at Holly’s. We’d picked up sandwiches from Nate and Al’s in Beverly Hills. Her place was a circus, and as we brought everything in we saw car after car, including Nick’s. Holly had hired hair and makeup for the two of us, and we’d be getting ready here. Jack had brought his suit with him last night to my house and now had it draped over his arm along with my dress, still hidden in a garment bag.

We all ate, and then Holly put Jack on the phone to do a few last-minute interviews. I’d managed to avoid any more mini-meltdowns, and I was feeling a little calmer. I was going to be there for Jack tonight. This was the man I loved. I’d figure the rest out later.

As the day progressed, everything seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow down. Jack and I had no time alone together, and before I knew it, I was in my old room, in my bra and underwear, with rollers in my hair and a woman applying my makeup. Holly showed up in the doorway, looking similar, although she’d had the taste to put on a robe.

She plopped down on the bed and watched me get primped. “You ready for this?” she asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Okay, then, I’ll give you the ground rules. Jack, get your British ass in here!” she yelled.

Almost instantly, he popped his head into the room. He raised his eyebrows at my skimpy attire, and I giggled in spite of myself. He made me melt like a thirteen year old every time he did that.

“Here are the rules, you two. No hand-holding, no touching, no kissing of any kind, obviously. You’ll arrive separately, and Grace, you’ll walk the red carpet with Nick. I’ll have one of my assistants working the line ahead of time, and if there’s too much speculation about whether Jack will be bringing a date, or any mention at all of an unidentified redhead, you’ll skip the red carpet altogether. Got it?”

At this, Nick stuck his head around the corner. “I’ll still get to walk it by myself, though, even if this little whore ruins it for herself, right?” he asked, outrage on his face.

“Nice, Nick,” Jack muttered.

“I would never take a red carpet from you, Nick. You can walk it alone if I can’t.” I laughed, seeing his eyes light up.

“So we can’t touch or kiss. Are we allowed to talk?” Jack said with a heavily sarcastic tone.

The tone was ignored by Holly as she considered his question. “Yes, yes, you may talk. But only after everyone is inside, and only once the press clears out,” she answered, in full management mode now.

I was a little scared of her. Jack just looked scared period.

The stylist finished taking the rollers out of my hair, and the makeup artist gave me a final touchup. Holly was next.

“Can you guys give us a few minutes, please?” I asked.

“Yeah, come on,” Holly said. “Let’s get me beautiful in my room. Come on, Nick.” She winked at me, and they all filed out, leaving Jack behind.

“Nervous?” Jack asked.

“Yep, you?”

“Yep, a little,” he answered. He looked more than a little nervous.

“Come here,” I said, pulling him over to my side of the bed and opening my arms. He scooped me up and sat me on his lap. His arms went around me, and I cradled him to my chest, letting his head nestle into my nook. I scratched his scalp and kissed his hair, and hummed something, maybe a Christmas tune. I wasn’t really thinking about it. I could feel him relaxing as the band around my heart got tighter and tighter until I felt like bursting.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he whispered, and I closed my eyes.

I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, and finally his sweet lips. “I love you, George. You know this, right?” I asked, my gaze fierce.

“I do know this, Gracie. Why do you keep asking me that?” He smiled that sexy little half grin, and I almost went to pieces. I heard Holly coming back down the hall, saying something about needing bobby pins from the bathroom.

“I better finish getting ready. See you downstairs in a little while,” I said, standing up and leaving the safety of his arms.

“I’ll see you downstairs, love.” He chuckled and pulled me in for one last kiss. I took a deep breath, centered myself, and began to get ready.

The dress Leslie and I found at Bergdorf’s clung to me like a second skin. I’d been going for extra-long runs each day for the last two weeks, not to mention banishing anything that even looked like a carb to the curb to get ready for this night. I was relieved to see it had paid off. The dress was silk shaded just between champagne and gold with a gathered, plunging neckline. It was tight to the waist, then flared out in a bubble. Thin spaghetti straps kept my cleavage hiked up miraculously to my chin, and the tiny belt with a small emerald-green, rhinestone-encrusted clasp made my waist look practically nonexistent.

I thanked Jesus that I hadn’t made too much of a mess with the self-tanner, and my skin glowed. My hair fell in soft curls all around my face. Jack loved it when I wore my hair down and wild, although it was carefully tamed for this evening.

But the kicker? My kicks. Manolo. Jeweled d’Orsay.

I felt like a princess as I sailed down the hall to find Holly. She was looking hot herself in a little black strapless number paired with tall red heels. When someone mentioned Lane earlier, she’d suddenly decided to change from the more sensible black kitten heels she’d initially been wearing. I was going to have to ask her about that…

As we approached the stairs I could hear Jack in the kitchen laughing with Nick. He was still trying to convince Jack they should at least kiss to make sure he was, in fact, straight.