Page 113 of Jude

Tiny bars and family-run trattorias spilled radiant, golden light onto the uneven cobblestone sidewalks.

The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasted garlic, charred wood-fired crusts, and red wine.

We wandered without a plan, with no rush, as we surrendered to the late-night charm of the alleyways.

At one point, as we walked with his arm encircling my waist, I glanced up at him.

He was beyond beautiful, this husband of mine.

Jude caught me staring, and soft lines crinkled around his green eyes.

He reached for me, stroking my hair to tuck the stray strands behind my ear.

His calloused fingertips lingered on my cheekbone, with a light touch that made my knees weak.

Then he kept pulling me close to plant slow, lingering kisses on my temple every few paces.

‘Tell me about what you got up to today,’ he invited in a throaty rasp.

I filled him in on my day.

‘Woman,’ he murmured, his deep voice reverberating. ‘A bike tour and a leather sketchbook? I told you to ruin my credit limit.’

‘I’m a woman who’s learned to be careful with money, honey,’ I teased, leaning into his solid side. ‘You can punish me by picking up gelato for me after we eat.’

He groaned at my reluctance to spend his cash.

‘Let me spoil you woman, I want to.’

‘You already have,’ I murmured, kissing his chin.

JUDE

The cobblestones of Rome glistened under the amber streetlights.

The humid summer air settled over the cobblestone alleys of Trastevere, thick with the aroma of roasted espresso beans, warm wood-fired dough, and crushed basil.

Sofia pulled me along by the hand, her gold hoops in her earlobes catching the golden glint of gas lanterns as church bells chimed seven across Rome.

We squeezed into a tiny tavern, ordering two ice-cold, bitter-orange Spritzes, paired with small wooden plates piled high with salty prosciutto, green olives, and crunchy crostini.

She got a few leers from a couple of men in the venue, and I moved to block them off with a growl.

‘You’re such a savage guard,’ Sofia teased, resting her palm flat against my chest and raising her dark brows.

‘Force of habit, gorgeous,’ I murmured, pulling her waist tight against mine and pressing my lips onto her warm, olive-skinned neck.

She let out a soft laugh, turning her head to capture my mouth in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of sweet orange and liqueur.

Fuck, she was beautiful, I thought, my chest expanding as her slender fingers tangled in my dark hair.

We strolled toward the Tiber, stopping at a lively corner bar where locals gathered on the flagstone pavement to unwind before dinner.

I ordered a bold Negroni, grabbing a bowl of fried arancini balls and roasted almonds off the zinc counter to fuel our late-night trek.

The crispy rice balls exploded with melted mozzarella and rich ragù, making Sofia gasp in pure satisfaction as she chewed.

‘Better than Australian pies?’ she asked, wiping a crumb off her lip with her thumb before offering me the last bite.