Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
I T BECAME CLEAR TO DANTE somewhere around Primrose Hill that he’d had gone way too far. Reasonableness seemed a long, long way in his rear vision mirror. He was acting on instincts, and those instincts were making him do something even he acknowledged was not only criminal, it was just utterly and completely wrong.
But what could he do?
Every word she uttered had struck fear into his heart. Not just fear, but something so much worse.
Everything about this situation was an abomination but it was also clear cut. It had taken him two days to get his head around that. Or perhaps it had only taken two seconds, and he’d spent the next two days running from that reality. But running didn’t change a damned thing.
He was going to be a father.
This wasn’t about him, or Georgia, just like she’d said. They were going to be parents and he had to start thinking like a dad again.
Bitterness filled his mouth, and a thousand memories seared his heart all over again. Livvie’s birth, her angry, determined little face, shock of black hair, jet black eyes, perfect little bow-shaped lips, and those fingers, already so capable and affectionate, reaching out and curling around one of his fingers as though she was trying to communicate with him, even then. The joy in her face even from birth, the way she laughed in a way that was gurgling and all-consuming, so that he couldn’t help laughing with her. Livvie’s first steps which quickly became a run, the treehouse they’d built her at his parents’ home. Every breath he took filled him with more and more memories until he wanted to punch something for the injustice of what life had taken from him.
“I’m serious, Dante,” Georgia’s voice drew him back to the present and when he glanced over at her, acid swirled in the back of his throat. They’d barely known one another and yet somehow, without his knowledge nor permission, everything about her had become burned into his brain, so just a quick glance at her made him very, very aware of the way her breasts were bigger and her stomach lightly rounded. His fingertips ached with a desire to reach out and touch her belly—not because it was Georgia, but because his child was growing inside of her.
Livvie, running across the lawn with the sunlight behind her, Bianca sitting cross-legged on the grass, camera poised to take photos, her own smile infectious and huge, so Dante could have wept for how badly he wanted to step back into those memories and grab hold of them.
Then, he’d thought it was just normal life, but he knew better now. Now he understood that those fleeting moments of perfection had been all too rare. He wished he’d appreciated them more, instead of taking for granted the permanence of their places in his life.
He wished he’d loved them more, better. Done something, anything differently.
At a red light, he squeezed his eyes shut, and Georgia evidently mistook it as a reaction to something else.
“You really are a piece of work.”
His eyes opened, pierced her.
“You think you’re the only one affected by this?”
He turned back to the road, stared straight ahead, and when the light changed, took pleasure in accelerating again.
“I haven’t said anything of the sort.”
“No, but you’re acting like it. And where the hell are you taking me?”
The memories in his mind were like sand in a storm, blowing away from him, so he couldn’t catch them. He wanted to punch something, to shout at the top of his lungs that he didn’t want this.
“Somewhere we can talk.”
“We were talking outside my hotel.”
“I am not going to have one of the most important conversations of my life on the side of a road.”
“You’re not going to have it at all if you don’t start treating me with respect.”
His gut churned and something in his mind whipped at the edges of his conscience. He knew she was right. Not just about today, but the last time they’d seen each other. He’d been a very willing participant in what they’d shared—at the time. It was not Georgia’s fault that regret had set in immediately, and yet he’d pushed her away as though she were worthless and meaningless, with no regard for her feelings. He gripped the steering wheel more tightly, weary in a way he thought he’d never recover from, for it was a true weariness of the heart.
“I’m taking you to my place,” he said, grinding his teeth. “ After we have spoken and made arrangements, I will drive you back.”
“Don’t bother, I’ll take the tube.”
He gripped the wheel until his knuckles grew white. A familiar protective instinct surged through him, a need he’d felt, when Bianca was pregnant, to absolutely curate her world so that she was safe and comfortable at all times. He’d presumed it was because she was his wife, and they were in love, but maybe it had been just as much about the life growing inside of her, and his already developed sense of paternal love. Those same needs were drumming into him, so that the idea of Georgia catching a tube, being rammed up against a hundred sweaty post-work commuters, or rushing down the metal escalators, or possibly not minding the gap, as he’d seen her recklessness for himself, and her stubborn pride, forced Dante to realise that this conversation had to achieve more than he thought might be possible. Impossible obstacles were Dante’s specialty though, and he had no intention of letting Georgia walk out of his life until he got her agreement on how they were going to tackle this.
She was furious. Absolutely spitting chips mad, but even then, Georgia couldn’t fail to appreciate the beauty of this part of London. She’d never been here, and given that her year abroad was supposed to be about discovering new parts of the world, there was a small part of her mind that was still able to admire the lush green trees that grew tall and proud on either side of the road, or the very old, yet immaculately kept buildings they passed. On Hampstead High Street, she watched people milling about in the sunshine—an elderly couple holding hands as they walked, a mother and two children crouched down to look at a duck and some ducklings with faces of wonder and concern for the little amphibious family charting its way down a busy footpath, presumably in search of water. The shops were beautiful and busy, and expensive, Georgia was sure, if the window fit outs and clientele were anything to go by.
Dante stopped at a crossing, and she glanced at him, then wished she hadn’t, because he was the definition of a storm cloud. His face was brooding and drawn, his features tight.
“If you’re so upset about this, why didn’t you just walk away?” She asked, with a shake of her head. “I don’t get you.”
“You don’t have to get me.”
“Don’t I?” She pleated her shirt, frowning. “You said something before about beginning our journey as co-parents. What exactly did that mean?”
He began to drive again, but only a little way down the street, he turned into a side road, drove down it then clicked a button in his door and a wrought iron gate began to slowly sweep open. A man walking his child—a little girl on a scooter wearing a superhero cape—lifted his hand in a wave and Dante’s frown creased larger.
“Dante?”
He turned to face her. “It means we have to figure this out.” He looked as though he was being tortured; his expression was one of absolute agony. “I didn’t want this to happen, but like you, I concede that we now need to act in the best interests of our child.” He turned back to the house, closed his eyes a moment. “I can see only one option.”
“That’s because I’ve already told you what my plans are,” she said carefully, an alarm bell blaring in her mind, warning her that he was about to ride roughshod over not just her afternoon but also her life.
“You cannot go back to Australia to raise my child.”
“This is my child too.”
“Obviously.”
“And you don’t get a say in how I live my life.”
“That’s incredibly na?ve. Do you really think I’d allow you to simply walk away from me?”
Her lips parted. He drove in the gate, along a cobbled drive that was charmingly old but immaculately kept, to a house that was utterly stunning—and enormous.
“You don’t get to allow me to do anything. I’m my own person, and I’m choosing to go home, when the time is right.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase. I will not allow my child to be taken to the other side of the world—where you choose to live is, of course, your decision.”
She gasped, and felt as though she’d had all the air whooshed out of her lungs. Everything stopped. She was aware of the smallest movements of trees, small lifts of leaves, of the way a sunbeam cut through the air, of the smell of his car—like it was brand new, straight off the showroom floor, all leather and polish. She was aware of Dante, aware of his words, and the determination that undercut them. She turned to face him slowly, eyes huge, brain slow, throat hurting. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”
“Can’t you?” His eyes swept her face. “Why did you choose to raise your brothers?”
“It wasn’t a choice,” she responded, shivering. “They’re my family. What was my alternative? Let them go into foster care?”
“Exactly.” His gaze narrowed. “You think I have a choice in this, Georgia?”
She opened her mouth and then slammed it shut again, recognizing how neatly he’d trapped her. She shouldn’t have answered his question—he’d backed her into a corner and she’d surrendered. With a soft, indignant puff of air, she dropped her head forward a little, staring at the center console of the car. It was sheer luxury here, too, with a small screen embedded that looked to manage all of the car’s internal functions. She toyed with her fingers, trying to think, to work out what to say.
“Come inside,” he said on a sigh. “There’s much to discuss.”
Unlike his house at Como, this was a place filled with family memories. Bianca had chosen this house after they’d married. She’d hated his penthouse in Canary Wharf, had wanted something more suitable for a child. Having grown up rough, she’d wanted to give their daughter everything she’d never had—starting with lawn and light. Such simple requests, of course Dante had obliged her. But the moment he opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Georgia to follow, he felt a crushing weight of regret. That same sense of betrayal was back. How could he be bringing her here , of all places, where he’d lived with his wife and daughter? He could not look at a single room without remembering them. Without seeing them, and at times, it was as though the veil between life and death, past and present, grew thin here. He felt them.
He tensed as she stepped inside, closing his eyes as if to blot out this reality.
But Dante was nothing if not a pragmatist. He might regret what had happened, and wish he could undo it with all his heart, but such thoughts were fantasies. All he could do now was deal with the consequences.
He watched as Georgia’s eyes swept over the entrance foyer, something tweaking in her face, emotions he couldn’t comprehend, and yet found he wanted to. Why? Why did he care?
He closed the door, not registering the way she flinched at the sound, or he might have felt sorry for her. He might even have softened a little, at least in terms of how he intended to address this matter. But Dante saw only the fa?ade she quickly assembled a moment later, turning to look at him with eyes that were fired up by her own determination and strength.
“The living room is through there. Would you like anything?” He surprised them both by offering. “Tea, coffee? Some food?”
Her eyes widened. Yes, civility had been the last thing she’d been expecting. “No,” she spat, rubbing her temples with fingers that were slim and elegant. Out of nowhere, he had an image of her hands running down his chest. He’d liked the way her lighter skin had looked against his. And then, when she’d wrapped her hand around his hardness, glancing up at him to see his reaction, and he’d felt as though he might explode then and there.
He looked away, angry with himself for the lack of control he had over his thoughts. Angrier still at the way his body stirred in response to those memories.
“Follow me then.”
“Yes, sir,” she responded with mock meekness. He closed his eyes because the faux subservience only made his blood run faster.
He ground his teeth, gesturing towards the sofa when they reached the living room. Her eyes widened as she looked around, and he did likewise, seeing it now through the eyes of a stranger. Dante was used to this place. It was familiar to him. Bianca had decorated it and he’d kept everything just as it had been—the soft, brown leather sofa and armchairs that were old and worn. She’d loved the history of the leather, the care and precision of the long-ago craftsmen. It was, if he had to describe it, eclectic. A mix of things she’d found at an antique shop on Portobello Road, and some items that were handcrafted but new. Bianca had possessed unique and excellent taste—and an ingrained ability to make a house feel instantly like home.
“It’s very different to your other place,” was all Georgia said.
Dante dipped his head in silent agreement.
“This is nice.” She ran a hand along the back of the sofa, frowning, as though asking the furniture how the hell it happened to be in Dante Santoro’s living room. A moment later though, she turned to face him, and the light from the window caught her in such a way that she looked, for a moment, like an angel, with gold surrounding her, and when his eyes dropped to her stomach, all he could think of was the life growing inside of her. A life that he would die to protect. A life that he would put before his own every chance he got. He stepped forward, mouth dry, his body moving of its own volition.
“May I?” He asked, gesturing to her stomach.
She took a step back, shaking her head quickly. “Absolutely not.”
The angry inflection to her words pulled him out of his reverie—at least, a little of the way. He turned away from her, gut twisting.
“So, Dante? You said you’d take me home when I wanted to go. Well? I’m ready. ”
He closed his eyes on a wave of frustration. Was he really going to do this? Did he have any choice? No. For their baby, he had to do this. He hated it. He would always hate it. But it was the only path to chart. “I said I would take you back when we had spoken, but we have not done so yet. And Georgia? I think from this point on, we should start to think of this as your home too.”
He heard her intake of air, and turned on autopilot, half-worried she’d pass out. But Georgia wasn’t the fainting type. Rather, her cheeks flushed pink with her irritation and he found himself admiring her spark even when he definitely didn’t want to. She folded her arms, eyes piercing him with absolute dislike—if not hatred.
He waited for her to respond, to say something, and when she didn’t, he lifted one brow, as if prompting her.
“Oh, I’m waiting for you,” she drawled with sarcasm. “Please, tell me more about this fantasy plan you’ve concocted.”
“This is the exact opposite of my fantasy.”
“Mine too.”
“So we have that in common.”
He sucked in a breath, aiming for calm. This wasn’t Georgia’s fault. It was Dante’s. He was the one who’d weakened and touched her, who’d had unprotected sex, for God’s sake. And it hadn’t even occurred to him! His only response after being with her was to feel guilt for cheating on the memory of Bianca. He dragged a hand through his hair, angry and irritated and filled with self-loathing.
“I want to be a part of my child’s life; do you find that unreasonable?”
She bit down onto her lip, her eyes flashing to his. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t make it sound as though I’m…as though you’re acting like a nice, normal dad-to-be and I’m the big bad wolf.”
Under other circumstances, he might have been amused by the preposterous idea of this tiny woman being ‘big’ in any way.
“That wasn’t my intent.”
“Wasn’t it? You’re not trying to guilt-trip me into agreeing to whatever madness you’re suggesting?”
He felt the justification of that and ground his teeth. “I am trying to get you to agree to what’s best for this child.”
“You think you have to ‘try’ to get me to do what’s best? I am this baby’s mother. I’m hard-wired to want to do the right thing. It’s just that you and I seem to disagree over what the right thing is.”
“So let me explain my perspective,” he said, unable to stop himself from admiring her astuteness.
“Oh, please, do go ahead. I’m all ears.”
He wished that were true. At the moment, he found it hard to get beyond the beauty of her face. Looking back, he’d known her to be beautiful that afternoon, but his frustration with her, his anger at her invasion, had eclipsed his ability to truly appreciate her physical traits. He had noticed without absorbing the evenness of her features, and the sweetness of her full lips, the almost unnaturally large eyes with a striking shade of brown in the centre. He’d noticed her hair colour, but not the way it seemed to shine in the afternoon sun with strands of pure gold, nor the way it was thick and lustrous. But hadn’t he noticed the latter? He remembered curling his fist into that hair, wrapping himself in it, holding her head steady as he’d kissed her. His stomach looped.
When he spoke, his voice was rigid and cold, despite the heated nature of his thoughts. “I believe this will be better—easier—if we live together. I’m not suggesting we need to get married, though it would be my preference, for a number of reasons.” His voice was wooden, and even as he made the pragmatic offer, in his body, he rejected it with every cell. He would only ever have one true wife, and she had died. If he were to marry again, it would be an emotionless, cold arrangement.
“Not bloody likely,” Georgia spat, as though the very idea was outrageous to her. Relief burst through him.
“I agree; it’s not necessary. You can move in here—there’s plenty of space. Once the baby is born, we’ll share child-minding duties, make the relevant decisions together, such as where he or she will go to school.”
“He,” she said, as if by rote. “It’s a boy.”
His eyes flashed with white. Acid flooded his throat and that same sense of relief burst through him. As much as he simply wanted their baby to be healthy, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face parenting a daughter again. To look down into another little face and potentially see Livvie’s features. He swallowed hard.
“I see. We will discuss all matters pertaining to our son together.”
“Our son,” she whispered, and now it was Georgia whose veneer of calm control slipped. The reality of this was sinking in. She moved towards the sofa and sunk down into it, resting her face in her palms.
“Keep going,” she said, the words muffled by her hands.
He strode to the windows, looking out. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her this wasn’t her fault, and that it would be okay. But he couldn’t offer the words. He couldn’t forgive her for this. True, the sex part had been his weakness, and forgetting a condom was a stupid, stupid mistake. But none of it would have happened if she hadn’t invaded his sanctuary. A muscle jerked in his jaw.
“We will find a way to work together, for his sake.”
“And you think that has to be here?” She asked, looking around his house, then landing her gaze on him. The sadness he saw there would have made his heart break, if he had anything like a heart left.
“Here, and in Italy, yes.”
“Why?”
“For the simple reason that it’s where I am.”
She made a scoffing noise. “What about where I am?” She pushed.
“What do you do for work, Georgia?”
She floundered.
“Or are you studying?”
She opened her mouth then closed it again and frustration grew inside of him. Why did she keep doing that? Censoring herself, not telling him what he was asking?
“Neither,” she said, face flushed, after a beat, so his curiosity grew.
“And you said your brothers are at college in the States?”
“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes with obvious sadness. It was the tiniest response. A moment later, her features had been corralled back into a mask of angry determination, but he saw her feelings flicker in her face and knew just where to push her to achieve his ends.
“And you miss them.”
She glared at him. “What do you think?”
“I think that if you live here with me, you’ll be able to see them far more frequently than if you return to Australia.”
“With a baby? Come on, Dante. My life is about to become—,” she shook her head and he took advantage of her pause to interrupt.
“Yes, with a baby. You can fly there on my private jet. I can come with you to care for our child while you spend time with your family, or I can stay here with the baby.”
Her eyes flashed to his. He felt her weakening. “I don’t need your help.”
“Really? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a baby, Georgia? You’ve raised teenagers to adulthood, but a newborn is nothing like that.”
“Oh, says you with all your experience of parenting?” She snapped, jerking to stand now, anger in every line of her body, so he spoke without thinking.
“Yes, actually. You’re not the only one who’s done this before.”
Surprise was evident in the way her lips formed a perfect ‘o’. “Don’t tell me you make a habit of having random one night stands and knocking women up.”
He felt sick at the very suggestion. “Before that night, I hadn’t been with a woman in five years.”
She made a sound, a little ‘oh’.
“I hadn’t been with anyone,” he said, slowly, methodically, when inside it felt as though he was being burned with a blow torch. “Since my wife and daughter died.”