Ch.5: The Best Friend

Jude's loft was on St. Edmund's Terrace, at the top of what had once been an old red brick factory, now converted into eight luxury apartments. A black BMW dropped us off outside the building, and then Jude held open the great wooden door that led inside.

Behind the door was a small lobby, with a stone-flagged floor and white walls. Potted plants brought a touch of colour to the space, and a black-suited doorman stood behind a desk at the far end.

"Welcome home, Mr Scott," he said.

He smiled blandly at me, but didn't ask who I was. I wondered if that was because Jude brought a lot of girls back here.

A polished lift occupied one wall – no sign of stairs anywhere – and on our journey to the top floor, I kept fighting the urge to pinch myself again.

A few days ago, I'd been living in a shitty little flat outside London, with a guy that I hadn't managed to fall in love with, and now I was about to move into a swanky London loft with a world-famous rockstar.

The lift opened onto a short stretch of hallway, with a bare-board floor and walls that were a softer shade of white than the lobby. Carrying our luggage, Jude led me to the only door, at the end of the hall, unlocked it, and then stood to one side so I could go in first.

Tentatively I stepped into the loft.

I'd known it would be bigger than the flat I'd shared with Jake, but I wasn't prepared for how much space there was. The kitchen, dining, and living room were all open plan, with exposed brick walls and a polished board floor like the one in the hallway.

On my left was the kitchen, a neat arrangement of copper-handled navy-blue cabinets, and an island unit topped with a slab of grey marble, that had a sink on one side and a breakfast bar on the other. Padded suede barstools were lined up in front of the bar. Track lighting was set in the ceiling, and to the left of the stools was an oak table with built-in benches. An empty beer bottle still stood on the table, and for some reason that made me relax a bit. It made the place feel more lived in, more like a home than just another property in a millionaire's collection.

Next to the sink was a glass vase of fresh flowers, and the feminine touch seemed strangely out of place. Jude didn't strike me as a flowers kind of guy.

The living area was to my right; a dark blue sectional sofa faced a wall-mounted TV that was almost the size of a small cinema screen. Industrial tripod lamps stood here and there, and three electric guitars were displayed on the wall alongside the sofa. Blown glass lights hung from chains of alternating lengths above the coffee table.

The space appeared to continue around a corner beside the TV, which I assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom.

Directly in between the kitchen and living area was a set of wooden steps with glass-panelled sides, leading up to what looked like a rooftop terrace – above the displayed guitars, the brick wall gave way to an enormous window, but I couldn't see much through it, thanks to all the potted trees, plants, and shrubs.

"It's huge," I said.

Jude smirked. "That's what all the girls say."

"You're hilarious. Is that a terrace on the roof?"

"Yeah. Do you want to see it?"

I hesitated. "Can I see it tomorrow? Sorry, I'm feeling really tired again."

I'd slept for so long on the plane, but did that mean I couldn't get jet lag? I had no idea. Before Vegas, I'd never ventured further than Europe, and even then it had only been family holidays to Spain or Italy.

Or maybe the bone-deep tiredness weighing me down was the result of being overwhelmed with everything that was happening. My head was a riot of conflicting emotions. I needed time to process it all.

"Sure," Jude said. "I'll show you your bedroom."

"I get my own room?"

"You sound surprised."

"I guess I thought . . ." I trailed off.

"That we'd share?"

I shrugged. I had no idea what else to say.

Jude treated me to that dazzling grin. "We can if you want. Hell, I'd prefer it, but I thought it might be too soon for you."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

Jude picked up my suitcase and led me through the living area and around the corner, where I found myself looking at three doors, spaced out along the wall.

"Each room has an en suite, but there's also a main bathroom there," he said, pointing to the middle door.

"Okay."

"This is your room." Jude opened the right-hand door and placed my suitcase inside.

This was so weird. He was showing me the spare room like we were strangers, which we were, but we were also married. How was this happening?

"Thanks," I said again. I wished I could think of something else, but my brain was blank. Seeing that empty beer bottle on the table had helped me relax, but now I felt like an intruder.

Jude leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. "Is there something you want to say, or are you staring at me because you like the view?"

"I do like the view. The view really couldn't be any better," I said truthfully.

If I wasn't so goddamn tired, I'd be debating whether or not I should rip off his clothes, find out how far his tattoos went, and trace each of them with my tongue.

Jude smiled, self-satisfied, and just a little arrogant. I didn't blame him. If I was in his position, I'd probably be arrogant too.

"And I do feel like there's something I want to say, but I honestly don't know what it is. I guess I'm still wrapping my head around everything," I said.

"Maybe you'll feel more settled tomorrow."

I made a noncommittal noise.

"Do you need anything?" Jude asked.

"I don't think so." I took a tentative step into the room, then paused and looked back. "Goodnight, Jude."

His eyes roved over me, so intense it was as if he could see beneath my skin. He leaned in and brushed his lips against my cheek, and it was such a faint kiss, but I still closed my eyes and caught my breath.

"'Night, Camden," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

He pushed off the doorframe and closed the door. It took me a full minute to stop trembling.

I looked around my new bedroom. It was probably the same size as the entire flat I'd had with Jake, and a thousand times nicer. The walls were panelled with wood, darker than the floor, and the floor itself was softened with a thick blue rug. The bed occupied the middle of the room, white pillows sitting neatly on top of charcoal grey covers, and on each side was a carved wooden nightstand. Positioned above each nightstand were lamps – single naked bulbs on the end of slim, black bars, protruding an inch or two from the wall.

To the right of the bed was a wrought iron dress rail, currently bare, and next to that was a door that I guessed led to the en suite. On the bed's left side, a wooden table and a small armchair sat by a window.

I could sit there in the morning and look out over London.

Better yet, I could look over London from the roof.

Despite the fear, the uncertainty, and the strangeness of it all, a frisson of excitement shot through me. This wasn't the kind of adventure I'd ever imagined I'd experience, but it was still an adventure, and I had wanted a new life. This was about as far removed from my life with Jake as I could get.

I flopped onto the bed and groaned. It was like sinking into a cloud. At the very least, I could enjoy living like this for the next month.

I'd planned to explore the bathroom too, but as soon as I hit that bed, the exhaustion rushed back with a vengeance. I was asleep before I could even crawl up to the pillow.

***

The next time I opened my eyes, I felt calmer than I had since before Jake had cheated on me, like my body and brain were finally adjusting to my new reality.

I was living in Jude Scott's London loft.

Okay, then.

Rather than becoming overwhelmed with everything, I had to appreciate that I'd gone from the possibility of sleeping on my parents' sofa, to living in an apartment that was bigger than their whole house, and regardless of what happened with Jude, I now had a whole month to re-evaluate my life and plan my next move.

Not many people got chances like this, and I had to make the most of it.

I ran my tongue over my teeth and winced. I'd cleaned up at the Bellagio, so at least I hadn't returned to England with drunken panda eyes, but I hadn't brushed my teeth since then and my mouth was feeling distinctly fuzzy.

I climbed out of bed, unzipped my suitcase, and rummaged through it until I found my toiletries. If only I'd brought some of those Gucci products back with me.

The bathroom was simple, but elegant – sandstone tiles on the walls and floor, and a shower separated from the rest of the room by a single panel of glass. The showerhead was copper, matching the fixtures in the kitchen, and the basin looked like it had been carved from a massive piece of stone.

Bottles of shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner were already lined up on a small glass shelf in the shower, and though I didn't recognise the brand name, they were clearly expensive. I dumped my own cheap products back in my suitcase.

I might as well take advantage of the luxuries while I was here.

The shower felt like a massage, the water pressure gently pummelling my back and shoulders. The shampoo smelled like orange blossoms. The towel that I pulled from a wicker basket under the basin, was soft as silk.

A girl could really get used to this.

I couldn't find a hairdryer, and since I hadn't heard any movement outside my room, I guessed that Jude wasn't up yet. Rather than wake him, I towel-dried my hair, and then twisted the damp mass into a high knot.

My reflection stared back at me in the bathroom mirror.

Most days I really loved how I looked. My hair was long, blonde, and naturally thick and wavy in a way that other girls had to pay big bucks for. It perfectly complemented my hazel eyes, and if I sometimes wished that my eyelashes were a little longer and thicker, a couple of coats of mascara took care of that. At five foot six, I was tall enough that I could reach things on top shelves, but not so tall that I couldn't snuggle under my boyfriend's shoulder. Given the choice, I might have made my boobs a little bigger, but I'd done a lot of running before moving in with Jake, and my legs and ass were taut and toned.

I had little interest in pretending that I wasn't beautiful, but as I stared at myself now, I felt a tiny niggle of doubt.

Women threw themselves at Jude anywhere he went, and many of them were beautiful too – more beautiful than me. I'd seen the supermodels hanging off his arm, with their mile-long legs and bee-stung pouts, or the film-stars with their personal-trainer-sculpted abs. Could I really be enough for him? Even if I was the hottest woman in the world, would a guy who had so much choice ever be satisfied with just one woman?

There was probably a very good reason why most celebrity marriages failed.

As I put on some makeup, and swapped my super-soft towel for faded jeans and an old Def Leppard T-shirt, it occurred to me that I now only had one clean change of clothes. I could wash the dirty laundry I'd brought back from Vegas, but everything else I owned was still at Jake's. Sooner or later, I'd have to go back for it.

Knowing my luck, I'd run into either Jake or Kelly. If I was really lucky, I'd walk in on them fucking, like I had before the Vegas trip.

I shuddered and shoved away the memory of Kelly squealing like a pig.

There was still no sign that Jude was awake yet, even when I put my ear to the door and listened. A rockstar like him probably didn't roll out of bed before midday. Maybe that would give me a chance to properly explore the loft without the intense weight of Jude's stare.

I opened the door and peeked out.

The loft was silent. Jude's bedroom door was closed. Somehow that made me feel like an intruder again.

I tiptoed across to the kitchen.

Back at Jake's flat, the floor had always creaked underfoot; unsurprisingly it didn't here.

I found the fridge behind the biggest cabinet door. It was better stocked than I'd expected, with fresh fruit and orange juice above an entire shelf of beer bottles. Had Jude chosen these things himself, or was that down to Annie?

How much was a celebrity PA responsible for, anyway?

I poured myself a glass of OJ that tasted as if pure sunshine had been blended with the oranges, and wandered back into the living area. I hadn't noticed last night, but the walls were decorated with framed oil paintings of famous album covers. I drifted from Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon to The Clash's London Calling to Motley Crue's Theatre of Pain to Angels & Demons' own logo – a horned skull with ragged wings rising up behind it – and paused when I reached the guitars on the wall.

I knew nothing about guitars, electric or otherwise, but these sleek, glossy instruments – one black, one white, one red – looked like they cost a fortune. I didn't trust myself to even touch one.

Testing the sofa with the flat of my hand, I was unsurprised to find it was almost as soft as my bed. The loft wasn't as flashy as Jude's LA home, but he still hadn't skimped on the finer things. Not that I blamed him. If I had his kind of money, I'd be the same way.

The front door opened, and I looked up, expecting to see Jude. If he'd gone out, it would explain why the loft was so quiet.

But it wasn't Jude.

Instead, I found myself staring at a blonde woman about my age, who stopped dead when she saw me, and my eyes widened because I knew that face.

"You're Elle Reed," I blurted.

Rock music owned my heart, but I was still aware of the major names in pop music, and right now, Elle Reed was one of the biggest.

She was also one of Jude's most high-profile exes, whose relationship with him had infamously ended as soon as the word 'marriage' was mentioned.

"Last time I checked," said Elle. Her voice was cool – not exactly hostile, but definitely not welcoming. "Who are you?"

"I'm . . . well, I'm . . ." I didn't know how to answer that.

Over two years had passed since Elle and Jude's public breakup, and all sources said that they'd remained close, but now I was wondering how close, exactly? Jude obviously trusted her enough to give her a key to the loft, but . . . were they still sleeping together? Was that why she was here?

My stomach knotted.

"Elle, this is Camden. My wife," said Jude cheerfully from behind me, and I spun round.

Sweet mother of . . .

Seeing Jude without his shirt had made my heart pound and my blood sing, and now he stood in front of me wearing nothing but black boxer shorts that snugly hugged his hips and thighs . . . and everything else. The air seemed to rush out of the room, and I think I forgot my own name.

Jude gave me a small, cocky smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"I'm sorry, what?" Elle said.

"My wife," Jude repeated, still in that cheerful voice.

He slung his arm around my shoulders, and I tried not to look down, tried not to look at the shape of him pushing against that snug fabric, because I wasn't sure my poor heart could handle it. It should be illegal for anyone to look that good.

"I thought we weren't telling anyone," I said.

"Elle's my best friend. I don't keep secrets from her," Jude said.

"You could have told me that," I muttered.

"And miss seeing how cute you look when you're surprised? Not a chance."

I couldn't stop a smile, even as my mind went back to our discussion on the plane. Jude wouldn't tell his parents about us yet, but he'd tell Elle? Did that mean he and Elle were closer than anyone realised, or that his relationship with his parents was worse than anyone realised?

"Sorry, did I just step into the Twilight Zone?" Elle said. "What do you mean she's your wife?"

Jude lifted my hand so Elle could see my diamond ring. "Met her in Vegas. She made me laugh, so I decided to keep her."

"I'm not a stray cat," I said.

He gave me a grin that melted my insides. "I'm very tempted to make a pussy joke."

"Please don't."

Elle held up a manicured hand. A small bracelet glittered around her wrist. "Could someone please focus and tell me exactly what's going on?" she said.

"I just did. We met in Vegas, got married, and came home," Jude said.

"You were only there for three days!"

He grinned. "I'm a fast worker."

"But she's basically a stranger. How do you know you can trust her?" Elle asked. "Have you told her about –"

"No," Jude cut her off.

There was a strained pause.

"Told me about what?" I said.

Another pause.

Jude and Elle stared at each other. "She needs to know," Elle said.

Jude glanced at me, then looked away. "Elle, can you give us a few minutes alone?"

"Sure. I'll be up on the roof," Elle said. "By the way, you should put some clothes on."

She looked back at me as she climbed the steps that led to the terrace, and her expression was less hostile than it had been when we first met. Part of me wanted to smile at her, break the ice a little more, but I was too scared of what Jude was about to say.