Page 14 of The Surrender

“I would never lay a finger on her. I lo—”

“Jude, for God’s sake, shut up!” I snap, and he recoils, wounded, shrinking where he’s standing. He’s just making it worse. “He didn’t do this,” I affirm with grit as I take the bandages from the nurse. “He’s an idiot, but he’s not a monster.”

Jude blinks, shrinking more, and the nurse bats her eyes between us before she eventually nods and backs out of the room. Whether that nod be acceptance or not, I don’t know. I stuff the dressings in my bag and get down off the bed. “You can take me home.”

“It’s Sunday, so I believe you’re on my time right now.”

“You’re taking mehome,” I say surely, ignoring my body’s demand to let him at me. To fix this. To take us into that wonderful bubble of perfection. His body. My body. Connected.

“I said I’d think about your proposal, and you can’t even give me the last few hours left of the weekend, when you just told me weekends are mine.”

“I said one day on the weekend,” I remind him as he takes my good hand and opens the door.

“Jesus Christ, Amelia, it gets worse.”

“Jude, come on,” I breathe. “I can’t just run off to Arlington Hall with you like nothing’s happened. Besides, I have to pack.”

“Pack for what?”

“I’m moving out of Abbie’s.”

He recoils, looking down at me as we walk. “Moving out?”

“I finally found an apartment. I get the keys Friday.”

“You have a new apartment? Where?”

“Plaistow.”

“That means nothing to me. Is it on the right side of London?”

“For what?”

“Oxford.”

I shake my head. “It’s West London.” And will add at least another half an hour onto the journey to Arlington Hall.

“Jesus, Amelia.”

“It’s what I can afford, where I can afford.” And it’s gorgeous, a cute little ground-floor flat in an old Victorian terrace with a courtyard garden, which is something I never imagined I’d get for my budget. “I need to finish packing and—”

“You said you’d let me fix this. How can I fix it when you’re over an hour away from me?”

It’showhe plans on fixing it that worries me. Falling into bed with him is not the answer. Building trust is. “Jude—”

“Please, Amelia.” He stops us when we make it outside and cups the side of my face in his big palm. “I’ve missed you so fucking much. I just want to be with you.”

I look at him, this tall, godly, stunning man, begging me, and my heart melts. And, really, I desperately want to be with him too. “Okay,” I whisper, ignoring my head, seeing him fold with relief.What am I doing?“Fine.”

“You’re talking like you don’t want to.”

“You know I want to. I’m just not sure if I should.”

“You should.” I let him get me in the Rolls-Royce when it rolls to a slow stop. “Given you’re incapacitated, I think it’s wise for you to stay with me until you’re better.”

“Didn’t you hear the conversation we just had?” I pull the armrest down. “We start slowly. Weekends.”

Jude pushes it straight back up, reaching for me and tugging me close. “I heard, and I told you”—he kisses my hair—“I’m thinking about it.”