Page 173 of Jude

The crowd went wild as he pulled away, eyes locked on me, claiming me with such devotion that I had to blink away tears.

‘I love you so much,’ he growled into my ear before he let me go.

I made a heart sign back at him.

Then, with a grin and a wave at his fans, I escaped back into the security of the wings, my cheeks burning.

In no time, our phones blew up with thousands of notifications.

The band’s fan base, the Sinners Army, went wild for our love story, flooding every platform with high-res footage and photos of our onstage kiss.

The next morning, I scrolled through the feeds while sitting at the breakfast bar, letting out a laugh as I read the commentary aloud to Jude.

@SinnersHQ: Jude is fully locked in; we need the full tea on how this legit romance novel unfolded! 😭

@PopCultureVibes: We’re losing our minds over Jude’s mysterious wife after that stadium lip lock. Jude is so gone for her.

‘They’re calling me your mysterious wife,’ I murmured, sliding a piece of whole-wheat toast across the counter. ‘I’d like to keep it that way. However, the same thread with fifty thousand likes then descends into a debate over your sculpted jawline. In two seconds flat, I’m now old news, and you’re back to being the Internet’s certified snack, my love.’

‘Fuck, they need to get a real hobby,’ Jude muttered, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as he buried his nose in his black coffee mug. ‘I’m a thirty-something ex-con who plays the guitar, that’s all. They’re losing their minds over nothing.’

‘I beg to differ. I kinda slobber on that jaw myself.’

He fake-scowled at me as I chuckled.

While the stage crew and the band members handled the bump-in at the ICC, a state-of-the-art waterside arena for the official tour start, Nari took charge of my free time.

She ambushed me at the door of my suite after a group breakfast.

‘Let’s get going, Sofia,’ Nari said. ‘Grab your stuff.’

‘Where are you taking me?’ I asked.

‘I’m dragging you out of the hotel bubble to experience the soul of the harbor city,’ she replied with a grin.

I returned it, then threw on a jacket, walking shoes, and my bag.

She guided me through the historic sandstone alleys of The Rocks, pointing out the ancient masonry details.

Next, she led the way through the Royal Botanic Garden, where giant grey-headed flying foxes hung like leather fruit from the canopy.

We took the water taxi across the bay, our hair whipping into a tangled mess as the vessel hit the open swell near the heads.

She pointed out several key locations, from the bustling stalls of the Sydney Fish Market to the surf culture of Bondi Beach and the seaside cliffs of Watson’s Bay.

‘You’re not allowed to go back to Tennessee thinking Australia is just kangaroos and ripped surfers, Sofia.’

Nari made the announcement as she hand-delivered a flat white coffee into my palm.

We sat on a bench with a stunning view of the heads.

The vast expanse of the Sydney open ocean rolled out before us with the distant silhouette of the Harbor Bridge framed against the horizon.

‘We’ve a great heritage, and history, and we’ve the best caffeine on the planet. Drink up.’

True to word, the coffee was heavenly.

I had to admit it, even for an Italian like me who grew up on it.