Page 69 of The Surrender

“Oh, does it affect your driving?” His hand starts to drift under my dress.

“Jude,” I breathe, tingles chasing up my leg with his hand.

“Sorry.” He releases me and slips his hands under his thighs, restraining himself, and I laugh again, loving the cheeky, easy smirk he flashes me. Today is a fine day.

“Where are we?” I ask, spotting a church up ahead.

“You’ll see. Pull up over there.” He points to a huge cedar tree outside the church gates, so I roll around the gravel path and gently brake, leaning forward to see the beautiful, ancient structure.

“Pretty,” I muse, letting myself out and taking in the countryside, breathing in the fresh air. Meadows bursting with wildflowers blanket the surrounding fields, the sun hazy past the clouds above.

Jude holds his hand out for me, then leads me towards the church, and I can tell by his small smile that he knows I’m bursting with curiosity. He stops by the church doors, and I take in the old, cracked, heavy wood, waiting for him to clue me in as to why we’re here. “I thought,” he says quietly, moving in, hunkering down to get his face level with mine, “I’d show you where I want to marry you.”

I jerk so much, I practically fly out of his hold. “What?” I gasp, my mind running at a mile a minute. Married? But he just made this official. “Jude, I—”

He starts laughing hysterically, and if I wasn’t so relieved, I’d admire the outrageously gorgeous sight.

“That’s not funny,” I mutter, slapping his bicep.

“Noted.” He chuckles, grabbing my hand and pulling me on. “No marriage.”

I scowl at his high eyebrows as I let him lead me, my thrumming heart piping down. “I’m hardly wearing the shoes for this,” I say, looking down at my heels as I tiptoe across the long grass, trying to stop my stilettos from sinking in.

Jude says nothing, just smiles down at my feet as he pushes his way through a gate. A sea of headstones come into view. “Oh,” I breathe, realizing where we are.

Bringing us to a stop before a beautiful marble gravestone, he smiles across at me. “My mum and dad.”

Everything in me deflates, my heart becoming heavy. This is big.Sobig.

Kent & Evelyn

It Was True Love.

“It was true love,” I whisper.Oh God.

“It really was,” Jude says quietly, emotion ruling his tone too. Then he laughs under his breath and sniffs, clearing his throat. I look up at him, just catching the tail end of a rough sweep of the back of his hand across his eyes. My heavy heart cracks for him.

Stepping forward, he drops to one knee and faffs with the vase of flowers, eventually pulling them all out and resting them aside. Tipping the water out, he rises and walks across to a water barrel under a beautiful stained-glass window and fills it with fresh rainwater, returning and putting the flowers back in.

“Peonies,” I say, joining him, helping to pull some wilting leaves off the stems.

“Mum’s favourite. Dad used to get them for her every Friday from April to June.” He cocks me a wry smile, rising and dusting off the top of the headstone. “And a bottle of Chablis.”

I smile, albeit sad, when I spot a bottle of wine set to the side with two glasses. I reach for them and blow some debris from the bottom, replacing them just so.

“Wait,” Jude says, taking the bottle and starting to pull the foil off from around the top. “Get the glasses.”

“What?”

He nods at them. “This bottle needs to be drunk. I’ll replace it.”

Jude reveals the bottle’s cork, then rummages through the grass and pulls out a corkscrew. “Ta-da,” he says quietly, getting to work.

Laughing, I get the glasses, watching him, wondering how many bottles he’s drunk while sitting here with his parents.God damn you, Jude Harrison, you just keep giving me more reasons to love you.He pours us each an inch while I hold out the glasses and puts the bottle back by the headstone. Handing one over to him, I link an arm through his and rest my head on his upper arm, smiling when I see him lift his winea little in toast to his mum and dad. I follow his lead, giving my own silent thanks to them. People I don’t even know, and yet feel like I do. Or, at least, his mother.

I take a breath and take the plunge. “You’ve never really talked about your dad.”

“It’s hard,” he says, after a few moments of silence, staring ahead at the gravestone, his jaw definitely pulsing a touch. Naturally, I want to ask why, and inevitably, I think about the pills again. And what Rhys said. I can see that anger now, just from mentioning his father. “He died suddenly,” he goes on. “Heart attack.” Another clear of his throat. “He suffered with angina, but it was controlled with medication. I found him.”