Chapter 36
SOFIA
Between my work shifts, I focused on transforming our new Forest Hills estate into a haven, allowing me to dwell less on missing Jude.
I spent weeks scouring Nashville for unique pieces for the home, alternating between high-end design showrooms and dusty secondhand furniture warehouses.
Via Jude, Angel sent over the contacts for his gifted, soon-to-be sister-in-law, Roxy.
She managed Art Noeaveau, a renowned gallery downtown, where she also exhibited her own work.
When I arrived, Roxy greeted me with a warm smile.
Pretty and self-effacing, with a pixie cut, she radiated a quiet, gentle warmth far removed from her sister’s icy demeanor.
She guided me through her exhibits, and we reviewed her extensive collection, settling on three distinct pieces that spoke to me.
The first was a colossal, dynamic abstract panorama for the entryway feature wall.
Its rich indigo and ocher strokes complemented the architecture of the foyer.
The other two pieces included a serene mountain landscape and a stunning portrait of an indigenous woman from Latin America.
A Peruvian artist’s brushstrokes depicted the woman’s strength on canvas, and the image captured my heart.
I refused Jude’s offer to hire a painting and wallpapering crew; I wanted to do most of it myself and save some money.
‘How hard can it be, with YouTube all things are possible,’ I told him during one of our nightly chats. ‘I’ll get a design team though to add the final touches.’
‘Knock yourself out,’ he rasped with a chuckle.
Camilla arrived on Saturday morning in her stained overalls, hauling buckets of paint, eggshell latex and rolls of textured grass-cloth wallpaper into the primary suite.
We blasted retro Italian music through the house’s speakers, singing at the top of our lungs while rolling clean lines of paint across the plaster.
‘If we mess up this corner alignment, Jude is going to think a raccoon decorated his bedroom.’
Camilla wiped a streak of blue primer from her jawline with the back of her wrist.
‘He won’t spot a single thing,’ I said, laughing as I threw a damp sponge into our utility bucket. ‘The man lived with minimal decor before he met me. He thinks a folding chair is peak luxury.’
By afternoon, we shifted to the kitchen, where we tossed sliced chorizo, yellow rice, and sweet bell peppers into a cast-iron skillet.
Cooking with Camilla was hilarious, our camaraderie making the hours vanish.
Misty dropped by in the evening to help me sort through furniture brochures for the best pieces to complement each room.
Every single night at nine o’clock, the phone on my nightstand rang, and Jude’s gravelly voice filled the quiet room.
Six Sinners was winging across Oceania.
They’d finished off their Australian leg in Perth and Auckland and were now in Singapore, home to some of their most passionate fans.
They had a few more shows in Abu Dhabi, Mumbai, Seoul, and Hong Kong
‘The humidity in Singapore is freakin’ affecting Grace, babe,’ Jude grumbled to me one evening. ‘The strings are not taking it well. How’s the house? You need me to wire more funds?’
‘We’re fine, honey, I’ve got more than enough in the shared account,’ I murmured, leaning back into the pillows. ‘Just focus on your sets and get your butt back to Tennessee.’
‘Miss you much, woman.’
‘Miss you more, tesoro mio.’
Three weeks later, Jude walked through the front doors of our new home and stopped dead.
His duffel bag slipped from his grip onto the floorboards.
‘It’s a freakin’ masterpiece transformation,’ he rasped.
I’d worked with an interior design team to upgrade the kitchen with marble counters, brushed-gold hardware, and furnishings in deep, soft blues.
I’d added a few pieces from our travels, mirroring the boutique hotels we visited during our brief summer trip to Paris and Rome.
The iron windows framed the green canopy outside, uplifting the elegant, sun-drenched home with a stunning view.
‘Babe,’ Jude growled, his eyes scanning the custom barn doors and the lush rugs. ‘You’ve turned this place into a dream.’
‘All for you,’ I quipped, stepping into his arms and burying my face in his shirt. ‘Welcome home, handsome. I missed you so much.’
‘I love you more,’ he rumbled, his sinewed hands holding me close.
We kissed long and slow before I took his hand and pulled him through the entryway to show off the complete transformation.
I pointed out the refinished cedar beams, the new plush velvet sofa, the main feature of the living room, and the gorgeous art on the wall.
Near the dining alcove, I paused beside three oversized abstract canvases, the brushstrokes rich with textured hues.
‘I bought these from Roxy’s gallery downtown,’ I explained. ‘She helped me choose pieces that brought the whole room together.’
Jude walked through each space, his expression shifting from amazement to profound veneration.
He ran a broad palm along the smooth marble kitchen island, a quiet smile breaking on his handsome, rugged face.
He appreciated every small detail, recognizing the immense effort I put into turning the house into a sanctum.
‘You did all this, Sofia?’ he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
‘For us,’ I confirmed, stepping close.
Jude scooped me into his arms as he strode toward the primary.
The bedroom featured a new king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens.
He set me down on it, his piercing eyes burning with an intense devotion that caused my breath to hitch.
We tore off our clothes and made love with a fierce, tender hunger that night.
He held me as if I were his prize.
We rocked each other through the night, renewing our sensual, scorching bond multiple times before the sun crested the horizon.
A week later, we celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday with a gathering of our friends and family.
Maggie and Kian flew in from Vermont, their luggage bursting with East Coast gifts.
The band and road crew also descended on our new home like a joyous invading army.
Camilla, Misty, Sarah, and Maria also came along and worked in the kitchen despite my protests.
‘Woman, you’re feeding an army, and we’re helping,’ Camilla stated.
She and my new amazing friends set about prepping serving dishes for the food I’d cooked the day prior.
Angel and Evangeline brought Roxy with them.
Evangeline pouted as usual, tossing her platinum hair and making disparaging remarks about our high ceilings and open layout.
I ignored the petty digs, turning my back to her so I could catch up with Roxy.
‘The art we picked is perfect, Roxy,’ I told her, pouring her a glass of fresh lemonade. ‘The portrait especially is just so evocative. It makes the whole room feel alive.’
‘It’s so old school,’ Evangeline sniffed as she swept past us, her designer heels clicking over my hardwood floor. ‘Too rustic for my liking.’
Roxy earned major points in my book when she leaned in close and spoke in a loud, sotto whisper.
‘Excuse her, Sofia. She speaks with the certainty of someone unfamiliar with nuance, or with art.’
‘Hey, I caught that!’ Evangeline snapped from the kitchen island, crossing her arms. ‘Angel, tell Roxy to lay off.’
I arched a brow at the woman’s never-ending childishness.
Angel, seated at the dining table, glanced up from his phone, raising his hands in defeat.
‘Babe, I’m a brave man, but I’m not getting between sisters. That’s a death wish.’
‘Smart man, Angel,’ I said, laughing and winking at Roxy.
‘Please,’ Roxy scoffed, casting a look toward her sister. ‘I’ve been managing her tantrums since we were kids. This is amateur hour.’
She then leaned in and murmured in my ear. ‘She’s a brat who’s never been told no in her entire pampered life and has no idea what real art looks like.’
Roxy’s defiance was admirable, but as Angel led her sister away, a flicker of raw sorrow crossed her face.
Her eyes tracked him, and I exhaled as the truth hit me: she genuinely cared for him, the ache in her gaze one of unrequited love.
Damn.
Sensing she needed a distraction and an escape, I pulled her into the kitchen to join my friends.
Soon, her spirits lifted as the house erupted into a beautiful, noisy bedlam of slamming doors, raucous laughter, and overflowing platters carried out to the rustic deck.
Outside by the stone fire pit, the Australian road crew took total control of the food prep, stringing up an improvised Aussie barbecue over the open flames.
They grilled thick steaks, lamb chops, and what they insisted were authentic snags, while unleashing a relentless barrage of hilarious comedy.
‘Hey, Judah,’ Bluey, the master audio technician, shouted as he flipped a sausage with tongs. ‘Why don’t koalas count as bears?’
Judah scoffed. ‘They don’t have the koalafications?’
‘That’s garbage, Bluey,’ Kian yelled back from his lawn chair, tossing a crumpled napkin at the fire. ‘Tell the one about the kangaroo in the Melbourne pub!’
‘Right, so this roo walks into a bar and orders a fifteen-dollar pint. The bartender says, ‘We don’t get many kangaroos in here.’
Bluey maintained a straight face without missing a beat, his thick accent cutting through the air.
‘The roo looks at the bill and states, ‘At these bloody prices, mate, you won’t be seeing many more either!’’
The entire deck exploded into groans, laughs, and shouts.
The party kept pumping, our guests stuffing themselves with creamy arancini, roasted pasta salad, prosciutto-stuffed tigelle, and warm, buttery garlic focaccia until they groaned.
For dessert, the crew introduced a mountain of roasted marshmallows, sandwiched between graham crackers and chocolate blocks for gourmet s’mores that left all of us with sticky fingers.
When it came time for the cake, I presented Jude with a stunning white-and-black gateau in the shape of Grace, his beloved guitar, to the cheers of his loved ones.
‘No way,’ he rasped, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Yes way,’ I told him, pressing a kiss into the corner of his mouth. ‘Happy birthday, tesoro.’
After we sang ‘Happy Birthday,’ he cut into the frosting with a huge grin.