Page 32 of The Spirit of Love

But nothing happened. We’re just friends. Who work together. One of whom speaks fluent Portuguese; may or may not give excellent, bearded head; and has offered to work with me on directing the show we both love.

When the music changes to the opening chords of “I Will Always Love You,” the wedding guests all rise.

And there stands my wonderful friend Olivia at the back of the crowd.

She has both boobs inside her magnificent purple dress.

She’s arm in arm with Lorena. Mother and daughter cry openly as they walk down the aisle, which makes me start to cry, which makes me look toward Jude.

Does he think it’s pedestrian to cry at weddings?

Worse, does he think that it’s pointless?

I know how directors’ minds work. Everything is inspiration.

Is he sitting there now, studying every detail of this wedding until his mind lands on the bleak twist that might turn this whole scene into a Palme d’Or–winning horror classic?

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 leans left. 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 standing with 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 film My 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, I watched 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 and Jake’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 tap you to 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?”

I’m pretty sure I never told him Sam was a phenomenal lover.

“We did have chemistry,” I say.

Jude stiffens in my arms. “I’m failing to see the problem.”

I sigh. “Me, too.”

“You still have feelings for him?”

“It’s confusing. This all happened very recently.”

Jude nods. “So why isn’t he here with you tonight? Why me?”

“Jude?” The waify woman with the hummingbird hat suddenly flings her arms around Jude’s neck and sways. “Hiiiiiiii!”

Hummingbird’s grip on Jude is so tight, and has landed right on top of mine, so it makes it impossible for me to pull away.

Now we’re a threesome dancing to U2.

“I didn’t see you during the ceremony!” she sings.

“Maybe because he was lost in your hat,” I mutter, finally extricating myself.

I study Jude’s visitor. In her sequined dress and minimalist makeup, she’s one of those sculpted, highlighted LA types who could be either twenty-three or forty-three.

“It’s Tania,” she says, pressing a hand to the keyhole of exposed cleavage in her dress. “Do you remember?”

“Of course,” Jude says slowly, his eyes moving toward me as I take a step back. “We shared that—”

“Unforgettable connection.” She winks at him. Now she glances for a fraction of a second at me. “Listen, I don’t want to interrupt—”

Jude gestures at me. “Oh. No. We were just—”

“I saw you from across the room,” Tania says, “and I had to come tell you”—here she drops her voice and giggles—“I did the thing . Remember? What we talked about? What you said I was made for ?” She swats him playfully across the chest. “You changed my life, JDS!”

“Surely not.” He laughs, embarrassed.

Tania looks at me. “He is so humble.”

“Is that the word?” I say.

I can’t help noticing the interest with which Jude is looking at this woman.

And why wouldn’t he? She’s sexy, vibrant, and, yes, makes bizarre hat choices, but who cares when she’s got keyholes full of cleavage and is so clearly into Jude?

He’s looking at her the way I might look at a new near-death experience publication, as if, finally, this one might be the one to unlock all the mysteries of the universe.

I don’t know why I’m jealous. Is it because Jude has very clearly hooked up with this Tania person?

Jealousy toward Tania would make no sense.

Jude and I are just friends, and just barely at that.

It’s been, what, six days since I stopped hating him?

And forty seconds ago, I was extolling my incredible chemistry with Sam.

I have no claim on Jude. I’ve barely even thought about him that way.

At least not for a full, extended fantasy or anything.

And now my mind is going to all the stupid places…

What would Lorena say if she wasn’t tangoing on dangerous plexiglass with her elegant date right now? Would she say that I’m not jealous of the sexual tension between Tania and Jude? That actually, I’m jealous because I want Sam to look at me the way Jude and Tania are looking at each other?

“I’ll let you get back to dancing,” Tania tells us both, taking Jude briefly by the lapels. “But you have my number. Call me . Make. That. Move.”

And then she’s gone, but Jude doesn’t put his arms back around me, and I don’t put my arms back around him. A waiter passes and we both grab more champagne and chug it down.

“She seems nice,” I finally say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Um. What were we talking about before?”

“The periodic table, I think.”

“Right,” Jude says, bringing me back into his swaying arms. “Chemistry.” His voice is a low rumble against my neck. “You were telling me about your last relationship.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he says.

My chest warms, and the feeling spreads to my cheeks until suddenly the dance floor feels very hot and very small.

And I wonder, if I tipped my face toward Jude’s right now, what kind of chemistry would we have?

I look up at him and—yes, his eyes give me the answer I was hoping for.

He’s wondering about it, too. Does he feel the same pull I’m feeling?

Does he suspect that if we kissed right now, we might never stop?

He takes one hand off my waist, but just when I think he’s going to touch my cheek, draw me toward him, he rubs his beard and clears his throat. Something cools between us, and I break a little inside.

“Does this guy know how you feel?” Jude asks. “If he doesn’t, you should tell him.”

“I…” I’d forgotten we were talking about Sam. I don’t want to talk about Sam right now. I want—

But Jude’s not even looking at me anymore. His eyes are across the party, on Tania.

Speaking of people who should tell other people how they feel. I should get out of his way and let him at this woman. We’re friends. I want happiness and beauty and sex for my friends. And Tania is very clearly putting forward all those options for Jude.

Then why does it twist my heart to imagine her getting one of Jude’s foot massages? Why is it so hard to say what I know I should say next?

“You’re right,” I force myself to say at last, hearing Tania’s sultry rasp in my head. “Maybe we should both go ahead and make that move.”