“Nowyou,” Betty says to me, snapping us both back to the present moment, “are citrus and rose Battenberg. Sweet and almost too pretty to eat.”
I glance up at Jude and feel his heart kick beneath my palm.
“She is, isn’t she?” he murmurs, lifting his hand from mine tosmooth the collar of my blouse. His fingers dip between the fabric and my skin, brushing my collarbone, and game or no game, scorching heat draws a fiery line from the spot he’s touching directly to my low belly. I draw in a shaky breath.It’s all just for show, a distant voice in the back of my mind insists.Just for show.
Betty laughs and places the slices of cake in front of us. “Okay, let’s see if I guessed right. Would the groom like to try first?”
Groom. The word lights firecrackers in my blood as I lose myself in the world’s most reckless game of make-believe. Jude seems just as lost because he doesn’t make a move. Telling myself it’s just part of the game, I pick up the fork and cut a lush bite of chocolate cake. Rising onto my tiptoes against him, I raise the piece to his mouth.
“Open up, sweetheart,” I say, barely registering how breathy my voice sounds. But he does as he’s told, and carefully, I slip the chocolate cake into his waiting mouth. His lashes shudder.
“Christ, that’s good,” he rasps after swallowing.
I’m trying not to pant as he cuts a piece of Battenberg for me and raises the fork. “Your turn,” he says, and obediently, my mouth falls open for him. The restless shift in his hips seems involuntary while his expression straddles the line between pained and hypnotized.
When he puts the fork into my mouth and I slide the cake off with my lips, a small hum of pleasure escapes me at the taste of the delicate sponge. All at once, Jude’s eyes become hungry in a way that has nothing to do with cake.
“Good?” Betty asks.
“Delicious,” Jude responds, eyes still on my mouth.
Betty laughs. “You look at her like she’s the cake!”
Jude doesn’t seem capable of replying, and I’m barely better off. Ifeellike a piece of cake, incapable of thought and ready to be devoured.
“You twomustbe on our Wall of Love,” she says, gesturing to the giant collage of Polaroids behind us before grabbing the camera off a small table.
Immediate, nervous heat bolts through me as my eyes snap to allthe photos of couples kissing. There isn’t a single picture of a couplenotlocked at the mouth. I look up at Jude, heart thumping wildly. There’s no way we’re going to do this, right? But Betty is already holding the camera up to her eye. Jude quickly glances from me, to the door, and back, clearly asking,Do you want to make a run for it?I swallow hard, giving him the tiniest head shake to say that it’s fine. I’ll just give him a quick peck. Friends pretending to be engaged do this sort of thing all the time, right?
“Okay, on three, you kiss,” Betty instructs with a smile behind the clunky camera.
“One…”
Jude’s hold around me tightens.Is this actually happening?
“Two…”
My toes strain to lift me a little higher as Jude’s hand comes to cradle my upturned jaw.Is face-touching a form of foreplay?
“Three!”
He leans down, close enough for me to reach his mouth, but pauses just short of my lips to give me a last, searching look.Is this okay?
It’s his perpetual concern that finally breaks me. Body trembling, I tilt my face to brush my lips against his in a single, chaste kiss.
But I don’t count on the way it feels. In an instant, I realize I’ve grievously miscalculated how warm and deliciously soft his lips would be. How precious and wanted his hand on my face would make me feel. I need to pull away, but then his thumb is stroking my cheekbone, his mouth pressing so tenderly to mine that my heart is convinced he’s adored me this whole time. My arms come up to drape around his neck, and a low sound emanates from the center of his chest. It travels directly into mine, and I’m pressing closer, needing this to never end.
Vaguely, I hear the click of the camera, but it only occupies one percent of my awareness as all the feelings I’ve worked so hard to repress stage a mutiny. Jude breaks the kiss for half a breath before his lips are pressing back to mine at a new angle, like he needs to feel that moment of first contact again. My hand slides to the back of his powerful neck, and I realize I’ve never felt this kind of achebefore—the kind that melts walls and denial like they’ve been tossed into the sun.
The camera clicks again, and Betty is saying something, but I don’t hear it because Jude is pulling his mouth away, breath ragged as his bewildered eyes find mine. I can’t let go of him. If I do, it means it’s all over.
Betty’s knowing chuckle reaches me like I’m hearing it underwater. “I’m going back to the kitchen, but call me when you’ve made your choices, lovebirds. I took an extra photo for you to keep.”
She leaves, and my eyes shut as I try coming back to myself. But then Jude takes hold of my chin, and I’m forced to look directly at him. His eyes are desperate, and my vision goes dark around the edges when his other hand slides to my lower back.
“You’ve got a little something. Just here,” he says hoarsely, bringing his thumb to the edge of my bottom lip. The stroke is slow and feather-light. When he brings the pad of his thumb to his own mouth, sucking off the offending jam, I cease being a person and accept my new identity as one giant nerve-ending.
I run my tongue quickly over the spot he touched, still tasting sticky sweetness. “I think you missed some.”
