Page 175 of Jude

I turned into his arms, clinging to his jacket.

‘Be safe, amore mio,’ I murmured, my face buried in his chest. ‘Sleep as much as you can, don’t skip your meals, and call me.’

‘Every single day, babe,’ he promised, his hoarse voice reverberating in my ear.

He cupped the back of my head, pulling me into one more hard, lingering kiss that left my head spinning and my lips tingling.

I finally tore myself away, grabbed the handle of my roller case, and walked fast toward the sliding glass doors of the terminal without looking back.

If I did, I might’ve run back to him, my heart never wanting us to be apart.

Chapter 36

SOFIA

Between my work shifts, I focused on transforming our new Forest Hills estate into a haven, allowing me to dwell less on missing Jude.

I spent weeks scouring Nashville for unique pieces for the home, alternating between high-end design showrooms and dusty secondhand furniture warehouses.

Via Jude, Angel sent over the contacts for his gifted, soon-to-be sister-in-law, Roxy.

She managed Art Noeaveau, a renowned gallery downtown, where she also exhibited her own work.

When I arrived, Roxy greeted me with a warm smile.

Pretty and self-effacing, with a pixie cut, she radiated a quiet, gentle warmth far removed from her sister’s icy demeanor.

She guided me through her exhibits, and we reviewed her extensive collection, settling on three distinct pieces that spoke to me.

The first was a colossal, dynamic abstract panorama for the entryway feature wall.

Its rich indigo and ocher strokes complemented the architecture of the foyer.

The other two pieces included a serene mountain landscape and a stunning portrait of an indigenous woman from Latin America.

A Peruvian artist’s brushstrokes depicted the woman’s strength on canvas, and the image captured my heart.

I refused Jude’s offer to hire a painting and wallpapering crew; I wanted to do most of it myself and save some money.

‘How hard can it be, with YouTube all things are possible,’ I told him during one of our nightly chats. ‘I’ll get a design team though to add the final touches.’

‘Knock yourself out,’ he rasped with a chuckle.

Camilla arrived on Saturday morning in her stained overalls, hauling buckets of paint, eggshell latex and rolls of textured grass-cloth wallpaper into the primary suite.

We blasted retro Italian music through the house’s speakers, singing at the top of our lungs while rolling clean lines of paint across the plaster.

‘If we mess up this corner alignment, Jude is going to think a raccoon decorated his bedroom.’

Camilla wiped a streak of blue primer from her jawline with the back of her wrist.

‘He won’t spot a single thing,’ I said, laughing as I threw a damp sponge into our utility bucket. ‘The man lived with minimal decor before he met me. He thinks a folding chair is peak luxury.’

By afternoon, we shifted to the kitchen, where we tossed sliced chorizo, yellow rice, and sweet bell peppers into a cast-iron skillet.

Cooking with Camilla was hilarious, our camaraderie making the hours vanish.

Misty dropped by in the evening to help me sort through furniture brochures for the best pieces to complement each room.