Really, Juliet?!
“I find it gives me good all-over coverage,” he said with a straight face.
Juliet’s lower lip quivered, and she had to turn away to maintain her composure. There it was, that sneaky sense of humor that had always taken her by surprise, she was so used to thinking of him as Callie’s straitlaced choirboy of a boyfriend. But every so often, out he’d come with a zinger.
“Look to the left,” he murmured in her ear, his warm breath kissing her skin and that delicious scent in her lungs all over again.
Juliet did so instinctively and had to grin. The photographer wasn’t done after all—Gabriel and Charlotte were currently posing with Esme and Emmaline, with Gabe holding Esme as if she were a rugby ball he was ready to throw, while Charlotte and Emmaline took positions as if to catch her, their bodies mid-lunge.
“He should do some shots of the entire bridal party as if we’re playing a game of rugby,” Juliet found herself saying. “Bridesmaids against groomsmen maybe?”
“Sometimes, Jules, you’re all right.”
Even as Jake grabbed her hand to tug her to the rest of the bridal party, Juliet muttered, “That’s Juliet to you, Jacob.” But she didn’t pull her hand away—and she really, really should have. Because Jacob Esera was never going to be anything but a mistake for a woman like Juliet.
Everyone loved the idea of joining the girls and the wedded couple in their game of frozen rugby. Teams were chosen, a ball borrowed from the same kids who’d been playing in the rotunda, and the “game” was on.
They took shots with pretend running and the “opposition” getting ready to tackle, others where Gabriel was boosting Charlotte up so she could grab the ball in a line-out, still others with the flower girls “arguing” with the referee—their grandfather, who’d borrowed the limo driver’s red license holder and was holding it up as if sending one of the girls off the field.
Needless to say, the public in and around the shoot were taking some images of their own.
“Is it okay?” Juliet asked Jake at one point, aware the family was justifiably protective of the two young girls in their midst. “The photos by the public, I mean.”
“Things like this, with ordinary folks taking a few shots, it’s not a problem,” he said as the photographer—having a grand old time with this new element of the shoot, told them to organize themselves with their arms over each other’s shoulders—or around waists—depending on position, and bend as if forming into a scrum.
“Women on one side, men on the other,” he ordered. “Girls, you’re playing first five-eighth. Emmaline, you’re on the men’s team. First five-eighth is Jake’s usual position on the—”
“We know!” both Esme and Emmaline cried, the two girls probably far better versed in rugby than the photographer.
“We just don’t want the media stalking them,” Jake added as the girls scrambled to take position. “Luckily the Kiwi public isn’t keen on kids being hounded for photos, especially when we’ve made our position clear, so the mags and tabloids leave them alone.”
“Or we’d burn them dead,” Danny said, tone merciless as he got into formation next to Jake. “No interviews with any of us into eternity.”
Yes, that would be a serious deterrent when their family had such enormous pulling power. Add in the fellow athletes who’d back them in solidarity and it would be a bad business call for any media outlet to breach that unwritten law of privacy.
“One, two, three!” The photographer took the shot.
And Juliet found herself looking straight into a pair of dark brown eyes that were far too intense and far too serious for a woman who was a bad influence. Yet the eye contact robbed her of breath, as if she’d truly played a hard hour of the most unforgiving ball game on the planet.
Afterward, the wedding party—sans the bride and groom—went ahead to the reception venue, a stately old theater with a rich history. Antique chandeliers sparkled overhead as they walked into the space, dripping light across the ornate cornices that ringed the ceiling and falling across the deep blue velvet that lined the walls.
Charlotte had asked her bridesmaids if the color would be too much, given the shade of their dresses, but the hue of the velvet was much darker than their midnight blue. Also, the theater was just stunning in its unashamed baroque glory—every single one of them had sighed at the romance of it when Charlotte brought them in for a sneak peek when she and Gabriel had been looking at booking the venue.
The tables were clothed in white, the centerpieces glass bowls holding flowers and tea lights floating in water. That was Charlotte’s touch all the way. Simple but lovely. Gabriel’s more pushy and bold nature came in on the masses of fragrant flowers piled in every corner. Literally piled, as if a flower truck had lost its load.
Come the end of the night and the kids were going to have a lot of fun with those floral mountains. Juliet, Molly, and the other bridesmaids were already planning a group shot with their bodies flung back against the blooms, and they intended to talk Charlie into joining them.
The newlyweds hadn’t yet arrived, having detoured to their apartment for more photos and so Charlotte could change out of her wedding dress into a dress more suited for the reception and the planned dancing. When Danny—poker face in place—had suggested the bridesmaids should go with the newlyweds so they could help Charlotte with her dress change, his big brother had threatened murder.
From the look in Gabriel’s steel-gray eyes, he’d had plans to do more than just help Charlotte out of her dress. Which was why Juliet wasn’t the teensy bit shocked when the bride and groom arrived at the reception a little later than expected. Charlotte was radiant, a guilty flush on her cheeks but her hair still perfectly in place.
Gabriel just looked gorgeously smug.
He also looked smitten, which Juliet figured excused the smug.
Aroha sent Juliet a speaking look from down the table, her gaze sparkling. Had she been sitting beside Juliet, she’d no doubt have elbowed her into breaking out into a grin. As it was, Juliet had been seated between Jake and Fox. It was tempting to focus on Molly’s tattooed rock-star husband and busy herself with random questions about the rock-star life, but she could hardly ignore Jake when he was sitting right next to her.
Especially when he was sending out that scent of his that wasn’t just deodorant or aftershave, but Jake. She’d figured she’d build up a tolerance after so much exposure, but no, the tingling was still proceeding without hesitation. Pushed to the edge, Juliet decided to talk to him specifically so she could incite their mutual aggravation with each other.
She was going to whack this ludicrous attraction stone-dead.
7
Juliet Nelisi Is Not a Chicken
“So,” she said to him without warning, “you going to date that tennis player with all the red hair?” A serious stunner as well as gifted in her sport, the visiting athlete had, a week earlier, been asked in a radio interview which man she wouldn’t kick out of bed if she had all the choice in the world.
Juliet would’ve bristled at the question if the two interviewers weren’t renowned for such questions; it was their shtick. Anyone who came on their show knew their reputation well in advance, so it was never an ambush—and they were equal opportunity. Gender and sexual orientation didn’t matter; they’d find a way to work sex into the interview.