Page 28 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

“Jude.” I remove my head from his arm and tighten my hold. “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles down at me, then slides his hand into mine, leading me to a bench under a willow tree. “Sit,” he says. The gold plaque on the back of the bench catches my eye.

Evelyn’s Bench

“I had it put here for Mum to sit on when she visited.” He lowers next to me, keeping hold of my hand.

But now Jude sits here. “She used to wear heels.” He peeks down at mine.

“All the time. Even her slippers clicked the wooden floors around the house. It was her thing. Shoes. Dad used to say she’d put Imelda Marcos to shame. ”

I laugh lightly, moving in closer, resting into his side as we sit on his mum’s bench and sip wine.

“She visited him every week. At least, that’s what she told me. I think she came most days.”

“She was lost without him,” I murmur, remembering Jude telling me that.

“She died in her sleep.”

“What?”

“She wasn’t taking my calls,” he says quietly.

“So I went round and found her in her bed.” His voice cracks.

“She was perfectly healthy. There was no explanation. Sudden Adult Death Syndrome, I think they call it.” I know what he’s going to say next, and I’m not sure I can hear it.

“But I think she died of a broken heart.”

“Oh, Jude,” I whisper, looking up at him.

“I didn’t have a chance to miss Dad.” He stares forward, that jaw starting to pulse again, as if he’s biting down on his back teeth. “I was the eldest boy. I had to make sure everyone was okay. But Mum? All I’ve done since she’s been gone is miss her.”

I chew at my lip, once again seeing those pills in Jude’s bathroom cupboard.

Will he use this opportunity to tell me he might have struggled in the past?

But I feel like he’s still struggling. So why isn’t he taking the pills?

This enlightenment does, however, explain his anger since she died.

He was so focused on being strong for his family after his dad passed away, he didn’t have room for grief until Evelyn died.

And now it seems like he’s dealing with a tsunami.

Laughing under his breath, Jude peeks down at me. Smiles. Dips and presses his lips in my hair. “I ended things with Katherine a year after Dad died.”

Every muscle in my face aches to screw up. I don’t want to think that he was going to marry someone. “Why?”

“She was needy.”

I release an unattractive snort of laughter, and Jude looks down at me with another grin.

“And jealous,” he says, wiping away my amusement.

Well, that makes sense. I’ve definitely detected a touch of the green-eyed monster. A touch? But ... “Jealous of who?” God, please don’t hit me with a past of cheating and betrayal.

“Of my relationship with Mum,” he replies. I don’t do a very good job of hiding my recoil. “Katie hated—”

“Wait, Katie?”

“Katherine. She was known as Katie until she got married and decided it wasn’t grown-up enough for her.

Anyway, Katherine hated that I put my mum first. Hated that I would change our plans so I could have dinner with Mum instead.

I just ... I don’t know. I didn’t have the energy or patience for her.

She was always pleasant to Mum, but I sensed the underlying resentment. Mum was oblivious, though.”

“I don’t like Katherine,” I declare, not that he needs to hear it. He knows. And I hate that he still slept with her. Hate it.

“But most of all, I called it off because what I had with her wasn’t a patch on my parents’ love. Seeing them together made my heart so happy. Then seeing how devastated Mum was when Dad died made my heart break. I didn’t feel like that about Katherine. I want what Mum and Dad had.”

I stare forward, feeling like a swarm of butterflies have been released inside me, as Jude gets up, places his wine on the ground, and crouches in front of me.

Relieving me of my glass, he sets that down too and takes my hands gently.

“The way Mum looked at Dad,” he says, his eyes pouring with sincerity.

“I see you looking at me like that, Amelia.” His gaze searches mine, waiting for me to speak.

I have no words. My heart is speeding. “And I know for fucking sure I look at you like I adore you, because I really fucking do.”

I’m not sure it’s acceptable to swoon in a graveyard, but here I am swooning in a graveyard.

And I know, right in this moment, I’m looking at Jude like I adore him.

Because I do. I can deal with his ... quirks.

And maybe now, after years of grief and no direction, only Arlington Hall to keep him going, he sees a future.

With me.

I cannot believe I’m thinking this. I’ve been well and truly swept off my feet, and it isn’t just all-out crazy chemistry that’s blindsided me. It’s Jude Harrison in his entirety. Including his vulnerabilities. Including his quirks.

I reach for his wide shoulders and pull him into my seated body, and he drops to his knees between my legs. “I really fucking do too.”

He holds me tightly, and it feels so poignant. I wasn’t prepared for him. He wasn’t prepared for me. “Promise me you’ll always listen to me when I talk,” he whispers. “See me when I’m in front of you. Take my hand when I give it to you.”

I pull out of his hold with some effort, finding his face. I hate the despondency I see. “What’s wrong?” I ask, holding his cheeks.

“You overwhelm me.”

I want to laugh. Don’t.

“Promise me,” he demands.

My forehead furrows, wondering why this is so important to him, thinking perhaps it’s connected to his parents. “I promise.”

He nods. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”

“Can I ask you something?” I immediately bite down on my lip, wondering if I’m making a monumental mistake.

“I don’t know.” He leans back, his expression questioning. “The look on your face tells me you don’t want to ask, so I’m a bit nervous about what you’re going to say.”

I smile. It’s small and guilty. “I found the antidepressants in your bathroom cupboard.” I blurt it all out quickly and hold my breath, watching with unease as his eyes slowly widen. And darken. They definitely darken.

“Oh.”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for eye drops because it was the morning after the night I got a bit drunk and you wanted me to meet Casey.”

“You were more than a bit drunk.”

I shrug. “You were depressed.”

“Apparently.”

My recoil is unstoppable. “That sounds like you don’t think you were.”

“I don’t know what I was.”

“Well, did they help? The pills, I mean.”

“Yes, they helped.” He tilts his head at me when I squint. “What?”

“You don’t take them anymore?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if you should.”

It’s Jude’s turn to recoil. “I’m not depressed. Do you think I’m depressed?”

“Maybe more angry than depressed.”

“You think I’m angry?”

“You don’t ?” I didn’t mean to sound astounded.

“I assume you’re talking about the occasions when—”

“You had my brother by the throat, a member of staff thrust up against a wall, a colleague of mine on the floor after you booted his chair out from under him? Yes. Yes, I’m talking about those occasions.” And more.

His eyes narrow, unimpressed. “Isn’t a man allowed to be pissy if another man tries to come on to his woman?”

I laugh, leaning forward, getting my nose close to his. “Only one of those men was trying to come on to me. The other two were innocent bystanders.”

“So I act first, think later.”

“And your dad,” I continue, taking this opportunity and running with it. “Rhys is right. Every time he’s mentioned, I see something change in you.” Chewing his lip, Jude studies me closely as I watch his irises change colour before my eyes. “Like now. Your eyes change colour when you’re angry.”

He blinks, as if he can change that. “My eyes?”

“Yes, they’re darker when something’s bothering you. Bluer.”

“What colour are they when I’m horny for you?” he whispers, coaxing my mouth open, combing his fingers through my hair and gripping.

“Greener,” I mumble around his kiss.

“You make me less angry.” His tongue circles mine so slowly and delicately, his head tilting and turning to go deeper.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, baby, trust me, I’m sure.”

I retreat slowly, holding his wrist. “Don’t be angry,” I whisper, feeling at his face, my eyes searching his.

“I just need to forgive him for dying,” he says quietly. Because if his dad hadn’t died, neither would’ve his mother. And that explains his anger perfectly. Doesn’t it? “I’m getting there. And that’s all down to you, Amelia.”

And he’s shown me I can have it all. Love and a career. “I love you,” I whisper, feeling at his rough cheeks.

“I’m grateful.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Jude nods, taking a deep breath, looking up to the sky.

“We’d better move.” Getting to his feet, he pulls me up, and I glance up too, seeing a huge black cloud rolling above us.

The sun disappears behind it, dimming the light.

“Come on,” he says, putting the glasses and bottle back by the graveside and reclaiming me, just as the cloud seems to burst directly above us, pounding us with bullets of rain.

“Shit!” I yelp, as Jude starts jogging, tugging me along. “Fuck!” My heels sink into the ground, and a foot slips right out, leaving one shoe behind. I start a wonky hobble, Jude’s hand tight around mine. “Wait!” I yell, laughing. “My shoe!”

He stops and looks back, his face, hair, body, all drenched.

My gaze drops down to my front. I’m soaked too, rain hammering my body.

And I smile, feeling so fucking alive. In a graveyard.

I laugh, my eyes on Jude’s body. His shirt stuck to his chest, his nipples visible.

His hair plastered across his face. Christ knows what I must look like.

His smile stretches into a grin, his hand raking through his wet hair, as he diverts us back and dips to pick up my shoe, removing the other one from my foot as he does. Then he slowly walks us out of the graveyard, in no rush at all.

Both of us drenched.

Both of us not giving a shit.

Because nothing could ruin the feeling inside right now.