Page 40 of Jude

‘I have three brothers who are itinerant farmers, and my cousin and Aunt.’

Maggie stepped closer, her hand settling over my wrist.

‘I understand that pain, darling. My own mother passed away when I was in my thirties. Even now, as an older woman, I still find myself wanting to dial her number when things get messy. It’s a scar that never fades.’

She gave me a reassuring squeeze.

‘Jude carries his own set of scars, you know. His bio father walked out on us. That’s where his detachment comes from. He learned very early to build barriers around his heart so nobody could abandon him again. For years after that man left, we were lost and broken, functioning like a kitchen chair that’s missing one leg.’

The analogy resonated with me, capturing the fractured reality I survived for the past couple of years.

‘That’s how I feel every morning when I wake up. Like a stool without one support. Just waiting to collapse.’

Maggie’s mouth curved into a warm smile.

‘Well, you don’t have to balance on three legs anymore. Now you have me. As a friend for life, at the very least. I don’t care what the legal documents say or where you end up living after this nonsense is sorted. Whatever you need, whether it’s a shopping date or just someone to curse out the world with, you call me. Understood?’

‘Yes, Maggie. I understand.’

At one point, Maggie insisted I try on a ridiculous, oversized sun hat.

On seeing what I looked like in it in the store mirror, we both dissolved into bouts of breathless, snorting laughter right in the middle of the shop.

We bought more shoes, tees, trousers, a skirt, and shorts for me, plus a few items for her.

Maggie took immense delight in handing Jude’s black credit card to the cashier.

She chuckled to herself as the receipt machine chattered out a long ribbon of paper.

‘Jude’s rehearsing a guitar solo in his room, lost to the world,’ Maggie joked, tossing the shopping bags into my arms with a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘He has no idea he just relinquished a small fortune.’

By the time we got back to her home, Kian had done his magic, and the bureaucratic machinery was well underway.

Our marriage license application was in progress.

He also announced a deal with the feds, provided I made myself available as a material witness at the prosecutor’s request.

24 hours later, I stood in a drafty room deep within the Vermont County Administration Center.

I wore my new cream dress, and Jude was by my side in black from head to toe as we signed our names on a thick decree.

This was happening.

I was in disbelief about being married, and doubts flooded my mind.

Was I delusional for having agreed to this marriage of inconvenience?

Would Jude keep his word and treat me with respect?

I was an extrovert, while I sensed Jude was more the brooding, isolated type.

Would our incompatibility result in strife and chaos?

He was also freakin’ handsome and downright sexy.

Was our transactional agreement sustainable in the long term without losing my dignity?

I jolted from my musings when a state magistrate stamped the paperwork that bound our fates together.