Chapter 5
SOFIA
Half an hour later, Kian pulled his marked sheriff’s patrol SUV into the gravel lot of a local car rental agency.
He threw a quick salute from the driver’s window as Jude grabbed our bags and his guitar case from the back.
‘Keep your phone on, son,’ Kian called out, adjusting his aviators. ‘And Sofia, my deputies are monitoring your device. So chill, relax, and rest up. I’ll see you both after I get off my shift.’
Jude went into the agency and emerged with keys to a rental truck.
Soon, the tires of a gray Ford F-150 rumbling over the damp asphalt became the only sound in the cab.
I sat pressed into the passenger door.
My fingers picked at a loose thread on my denim jacket.
I let my eyes wander out the tinted window, catching sight of a green highway sign passing overhead.
Route 100 / Willow Creek.
Vermont was picturesque with mist-shrouded rows of sugar maple and apple orchards rolling across hillsides.
While I gazed at the beauty of nature outside, on the inside, I was a mess.
I felt stripped bare, a displaced person whose immediate future depended on the sudden, unearned charity of the man next to me.
My eyes fell on his sinewed, tattooed hands on the steering wheel.
‘Are you sure your mother is OK with me invading her home?’ I ventured.
His face was chiseled, remote, closed off.
His response came in that husky, hoarse burr.
‘She’s fine.’
‘Is she going to interrogate me?’ I asked, my thumbs tapping a nervous rhythm on my safety belt. ‘About why I’m here?’
Jude’s expression hardened. He shifted his posture, shoulders squaring against the seat back.
‘Nobody intends to examine you, and if they ask too many questions I’ll shut it down. Maggie has a generous heart, and she’s discreet. You’re safe with us, Sofia. I told you that. I don’t break my word.’
I opened my mouth to reply, to thank him again.
However, the sudden, rigid set of his jaw signaled to me that the conversation was over as the man retreated behind his walls again.
We veered into a local suburb, one with beautiful, stately homes.
After a few twists and turns, the truck slowed.
Jude drove down a long lane that led into a gravel driveway, lined with towering, ancient white pines that arched over a sprawling, timber-framed farmhouse.
A shaded porch with white wooden railings wrapped the house, featuring cedar planters overflowing with vibrant crimson berries and lush greenery.
It was warm, welcoming, and I gazed at it in wonder at how gorgeous the home was.
Just as Jude killed the engine of the Ford pickup, three more vehicles pulled into the entryway right behind us.
Doors slammed, and voices rose in a rapid-fire chorus as people poured out into the yard.
I stared at their arms, loaded with foil-covered platters, carrying ice chests, and wrapped gift boxes.
Jude got out and hugged them all as they crowded around him with excitement; it was clear everyone adored him.
This was his extended family, most of them resembling Kian: a dozen aunts, uncles, and cousins from the Martinez side.
A couple of teenage boys started kicking a soccer ball across the grass while the girls headed for a pretty swing set.
The older adults shouted greetings over the hoods of the trucks; their loud voices blended with the music drifting from the house.
I shrank back into the truck’s leather seat, filled with angst.
What was I walking into?
Would they think of me as a party crasher and treat me like one?
The screen door opened fully and bounced on its hinges.
A petite, fit, and stunning older woman in her mid-fifties with a short, asymmetric haircut of silver-streaked dark hair came rushing down the porch steps.
She wore an apron printed with wild-hued cockatoos and a pair of colorful canvas sneakers.
Jude gestured at me to get out, jerking his chin through the windscreen.
The woman greeted the other visitors as I exited the truck with trepidation in my step, while Jude grabbed our bags.
When the guests disappeared inside the house in a wave of laughter, the diminutive lady turned to us.
Her bright blue eyes crinkled with deep affection as she swiveled towards my escort.
‘I was saving my best for last!’
She called out in a musical lilt that matched Jude’s Australian accent.
‘Judah! You’re finally home, you oversized gorgeous teddy bear!’
She threw her arms around his torso, her arms scarcely reaching his chest, before turning her gaze on me.
I rounded the cab front as she studied me.
I wondered what she’d think of my pale cheeks, the shadowed circles under my eyes, and the way my shoulders slouched.
‘Oh, look at you, darling,’ she breathed, stepping forward and wrapping me in an embrace that was perfumed with the aroma of baking and an expensive scent. ‘Kian told me you were coming with Jude. Welcome to my home, honey.’
The undeniable force of Jude’s mother wiped out every defensive argument I spent the drive rehearsing.
She was warm and welcoming, without a trace of the awkward energy you’d expect from someone whose house you were just invited to at the last minute.
I let out a breath of relief as she pulled me into a hug, her palms moving in steady, soothing circles between my shoulder blades.
‘I’m Margaret, but everyone calls me Maggie,’ she said, releasing the embrace just enough to look me in the eye. ‘Let’s get you out of this heat before you melt into the gravel.’
I glanced back at Jude to gauge his reaction, but Maggie gripped my wrist.
The older woman’s palm was warm and solid as she steered me past her son.
‘Get her bags, honey,’ Maggie trilled as we entered her home.
It was tastefully finished in creams, whites, and cottage decor.
I took note of the gorgeous printed chairs, pillows, and upholstery in whites, blues, and ocean-themed designs.
Moving at a brisk pace, we passed a spacious living area swarming with people and reached an expansive kitchen.
The air inside was redolent with the rich, savory scent of seasoned food, fresh lime juice, and sweet vanilla frosting.
Copper pots hung from exposed cedar beams, a long butcher-block island sat covered in platters of diced onions and warm tortillas, and family photos lined the refrigerator door.
‘Jude, bring her things down the blue bedroom,’ Maggie ordered over her shoulder.
She poured a glass of ice-cold hibiscus water and pushed it into my hands. ‘Drink that up, Sofia. Then we can get you settled.’
I sipped the drink as Jude prowled past with my measly bag and his things.
Thirsty, I drank all of the refreshment, then followed Maggie upstairs and down a quiet, sunlit hallway into a guest suite.
I tamped back a gasp; it was a palace compared to the drafty apartment I shared with six others in Milan.
A thick, cream-colored wool rug sank beneath my feet.
My eyes fell on a four-poster bed piled high with crisp, white duvets that looked like summer clouds.
Along one wall were the open double windows, letting in a warm breeze fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine bushes from the courtyard below.
The room had an en-suite bathroom too, with ivory and marble tiles.
The pure luxury of the space made me feel like an intruder slipping into someone else’s dream.
‘You’ve a lovely home,’ I told Maggie. ‘The prints especially are beautiful.’
‘They’re batiks, and I make them,’ she announced with a pleased smile.
‘Thank you so much for having me,’ I added, remembering my manners.
She nodded with a generous smile.
‘Don’t mention it. Take all the time you need to freshen up, then come downstairs and meet everyone.
Jude appeared, placing my bag on the bed in silence before giving me a terse nod and easing out with his mother.
I waited until the door clicked shut, then sank to the floor and pulled out my cracked phone.
With a trembling hand, I texted my girl group on WhatsApp.
I gave them a short breakdown of what happened with Luisa and the airport incident.
Sofia: I’m OK and safe. A man, a musician, and his stepdad, a sheriff, got me away from Luisa and Dario. I’m in their home now. I’ll explain why later and text you when I can.
The group was a lifeline linking me to the women who knew my heart.
We maintained a close connection that spanned continents, despite our vast distances.
My cousin Anya texted from Calabria between her high school lesson plans, while Marisa sent voice notes during her grueling nursing shifts in Madrid.
I met Marisa as an actress in the Italian soap opera, La Tempesta dell’Amore.
She and I played sisters on the show, and we became close, remaining friends after we walked away from the studio following its takeover by the mafia.
Tina chimed in after her exhausting factory stints in Bucharest, and Esperanza posted freezing emojis from Norway, of all places, where she worked as an au pair.
We all kept a vigilant eye on each other from afar, refusing to let any of us slip into isolation.
I hit send and got a flurry of replies, hearts and thumbs-ups, which made me smile and took away a little of the butterflies dancing in a frenzy in my stomach.
With some relief, I took a quick shower and dressed in my only other change of clothes: jeans, a tee, and a jacket.
I crept downstairs, keen not to be seen as unsociable.
I found Kian downstairs, also showered and changed, deep in conversation with some of the aunts and uncles.
He jerked his chin and grinned at me in welcome as I slipped past him.
I found Maggie in the kitchen and offered to help.
‘I can’t sit around doing nothing,’ I told her.
She smiled at me. ‘I like you, you’re well brought up.’
She soon got me plating platters and filling glasses as neighbors and friends traipsed in and out to wish her happy birthday.
While the house overflowed with cousins, aunts, and neighbors, her son, however, was a silent, brooding shadow lurking alone at the edge of the veranda.
He seemed to like it that way.
As the night progressed, Jude sat apart from everyone, giving off a masculine, brooding gravitas that ratcheted my heart rate each time I glanced his way.
He hunched over an iron patio table, his tall physique dwarfing the recliner, his sinewy fingers hooked around a mug of black coffee.
He was on his phone, eyes down at the screen, with an earpiece in his ear.
His eyes flicked across our way on occasion, but his expression remained solemn, his raw, tattooed masculinity warning me he was not a man to be messed with.
‘He’s just exhausted, love,’ Maggie whispered to me at the sink, noticing my eyes darting toward him at one point.
‘He’s been on a grueling stadium tour for two months straight.
He plays guitar until his fingers bleed sometimes, that one.
He’s got severe jet lag and fatigue because he gives everything to the band, but often forgets to be kind to himself. ’
At the dinner table, the chatter proved her right.
The family talked about Jude’s career with pride, waxing on about his multi-platinum records, arena stages in London and Paris, and screaming crowds of eighty thousand people.
Jude scarcely spoke, as he listened with a closed-off expression, arms crossed over his chest, one boot resting on his knee.
He didn’t touch the beer the uncles offered him; he just drank a glass of lemon water.
‘For his throat,’ Maggie explained.
At some point, his eyelids drooped, and he jerked awake.
‘I’m hitting the sack,’ he muttered in a gravelly rasp as he pushed back his chair, grabbed his plate, and headed to the kitchen. ‘Happy birthday, Mom.’
‘Thank you. Now, go on, honey, rest up,’ Maggie said, kissing his cheek.
I, too, begged off, the exhaustion of my own ordeal and the whirlwind of social activity catching up to me.
When I reached for my cutlery, Maggie shook her head. ‘You go straight up; guests don’t help clear up on their first night in my home.’
Ready for bed, I nodded my appreciation.
Waving at the remaining party, I slipped away from the dining room to seek the sanctuary of my room.
The hallway was dim, illuminated only by the moonlight filtering through the high clerestory windows.
As I walked down the narrow passage, the thick oak floorboards groaned behind me.
I stopped, my heart leaping into my throat as I turned my head.
Jude was walking a few paces back.
His chest seemed to fill the corridor, his shoulders brushing the family portraits hanging on either side of the drywall.
The sheer physical size of him, combined with the shadows catching the harsh angles of his jawline, sent a sudden, electric shiver racing down my spine.
My fingers found the cool brass of my bedroom doorknob and twisted it to half-open it.
By the time I stepped in, Jude was at the threshold of his own door, opposite mine.
I turned to face him, not wanting to be rude, and was jolted as I got hit with the sudden need to stroke his jaw.
The hell?
His dark, unreadable eyes locked onto my face, holding my gaze for one long second before his throat cleared with a rough sound.
‘Good night, Sofia,’ he growled, the timbred, resonant pitch of his voice giving me goosebumps.
‘Good night, signore,’ I whispered.
I slipped into my room, clicked the lock into place, and sank into the bed.
My chest heaved as it hit me that the trajectory of my life had just altered, perhaps forever.