Page 80 of Jude

Later, we relaxed by the pool, swimming, eating, sunning ourselves, and debating the merits of the musicians we both loved.

My playlist featured Italian, Spanish, and a few Afrobeats artists, while Jude had a sprawling, eclectic rock collection.

We eventually found common ground on the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Queen, Tina Turner, Bad Bunny, Wizkid, and old-school Jamiroquai.

We differed when it came to hip-hop with a reggaeton rhythm à la Vito Salamanca.

‘You only picked Bad Bunny to make me feel better about my track lists,’ I teased.

I nudged his solid shoulder with my elbow as we lounged on a double outdoor lounge bed by the aqua water.

Jude let out a rumble of amusement. ‘Please, Benito has some serious production value on those bass lines, Sofia. I’m a producer, remember? I respect the hustle.’

‘Right, tell that to your classic rock collection,’ I said, laughing and shaking my head. ‘I caught how you winced when I played that latest Samurai Jay track.’

‘That wasn’t a wince, that was focus,’ he countered, a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. ‘Though I’m still convinced you’re trying to brainwash me with all your Italian summer soundtracks.’

‘We call them tormentoni, songs that take the country hostage from June to September, from the bar to the beach. We Italians are blatant romantics, shamelessly cheesy, and always cheeky, Jude. We also like moving our hips when we dance; you should try it sometime.’

He leaned closer, his eyes dancing with a playful, dangerous warmth.

‘Keep pushing, babe, and I just might show you exactly what kind of hip action I can give you.’

I ducked my head and blushed, not quite able to deal with the flirty side of Jude yet.

On Sunday afternoon, Bishop called Jude to invite us to dinner later that evening.

He was planning another of their regular gatherings at Bourbon Steak, a renowned downtown establishment.

Angel chimed in over the speakerphone, announcing that his girlfriend, Evangeline, intended to make an appearance.

I sensed Jude’s brief hesitation at Angel’s declaration, and I wondered why.

Jude muted the speaker and turned to me.

‘She’s a socialite. She’s got 2 million followers on IG,’ he drawled. ‘Her family comes from old money. She hosts a podcast, Rose Without Thorns. Nashville’s daily dose of fashion inspiration and beauty tips, where she shares her latest endeavors as a Nashville resident. She’s also a founder of style brand Rose & Bloom.’

I had no clue what he was talking about, not being with it when it came to local in-vogue people and trends.

‘Still keen?’ Jude asked.

‘Are you sure I should show up?’

Given he and I weren’t a real couple.

His brow furrowed. ‘Of course. You’re my wife; you’re with me. Fair warning though; Evangeline can be a handful.’

I shrugged. ‘I’ll still have you and the band, so why not?’

He jerked his chin with a wry smile and turned the speaker back on, confirming that he and I would join the others for dinner that night.

A nervous flutter zipped through my chest, mixed with genuine excitement about our first real public appearance as a couple.

I dressed in an aqua wrap maxi dress and slipped into nude sandals with a small kitten heel.

Jude chose his customary black denim, pairing the jeans with a crisp charcoal button-down shirt and polished leather boots.

When he came downstairs, he whistled, raking me from head to toe, gliding over my hair at one nape, to the off-the-shoulder design that exposed my neck and golden arms.