Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“ W E NEED TO TALK.”
Dante glanced up from his screen, midway through reading an email from his Asia Pacific Regional MD.
“What is it?”
Portia strode into his office, an expression on his face he hadn’t seen before.
“I met her.”
Dante’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
Portia expelled an angry sigh. This was new. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Portia angry, even when he’d gotten involved in her relationship with Marco and almost ruined the whole thing. “Georgia.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and it took Dante a moment to catch up. How would Portia have met Georgia?
“I went to your house,” she continued. “Yesterday. She didn’t mention it?”
Dante was silent. Georgia hadn’t said anything, but then again, when might she have done so? He had made a habit of arriving home late in the night, usually after having eaten dinner at some restaurant or other. He presumed she was in bed. Sometimes he glimpsed her around the house, but not often, and he was glad for that, even when there was something inside of him that seemed to make him want to look for her. Ludicrous.
“Of course she didn’t mention it. You don’t speak to her.”
Dante kept his emotion blanked of expression with difficulty. “Did she complain to you?”
“Complain? Dante, wake up. I’ve never met anyone with a sunnier outlook on life. She’s quite remarkable. Surely you’ve noticed at least that?”
Something like shame flashed in the pit of his gut and he resented this. Not that Portia had met Georgia, but that she was evidently completely in her thrall. “She is reckless and foolhardy, stubborn and infuriating.”
“You’re an idiot.”
It was the most un-Portia-like thing he’d ever heard. “I beg your pardon?”
“No need to beg my pardon, it’s Georgia you should be doing that to.”
“I don’t know what you think this is,” he said, reaching for his water glass and taking a sip, wishing it would cool his temper. He had to take a breath to remind himself that not only was Portia a friend and very loyal and capable employee, she happened to be married to his brother. “But my situation with Georgia,”—he couldn’t even bring himself to call it a relationship— “is none of your business.”
“She’s pregnant with my nephew,” Portia responded with narrowed eyes. “And your parents’ grandchild.”
Dante sat a little straighter. He hadn’t thought of it like that. When Livvie had died, they’d all grieved. His parents had lost their first and only grandchild, and now, Georgia was pregnant. It wasn’t just about him.
“Not only that, she’s a lovely person, who deserves better than to be kept locked up in that gilded cage just because you can’t bear the thought of anything happening to the baby. She’s more than just a bloody breeding machine, you know.”
Dante almost swore. “I never said she was.”
“You didn’t say it, but look how you’re treating her,” Portia responded, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly not letting this go anytime soon. “Do you have any idea what this pregnancy means to her?”
Dante glared at Portia, a sense of inadequacy growing in his belly, a feeling he desperately didn’t like.
“She had hopes and dreams of her own, you know, things she wanted to do and put aside to raise her brothers. Now she’s wound up pregnant to you and her whole life has changed, she’s living in a foreign country where she’s knows nobody, and you’re treating her as though…as though…like you don’t even care.”
He couldn’t care. He refused to. “I don’t.” He said it because it was like an incantation, a reflexive reminder that he was on his own in life.
Portia’s jaw dropped.
“I barely know her.” He muttered, to himself, cementing the reality of their situation, or at least the reality as he needed it to be. “We had a one night stand. Not even! It was a stupid, stupid mistake that I bitterly regret.”
“So what? That’s not her fault. Two of you made that mistake. You think she doesn’t regret it too?”
He hadn’t thought about that. His throat felt as though it were flooded with acid and his mind churned slowly.
“Did she say she regrets it?”
Portia rolled her eyes. “She didn’t have to. As I said, she’s the most optimistic woman I’ve ever known and she’s clearly trying to put a brave face on things, but how could she feel anything but regret when you’re acting like this?”
“I’m just getting on with my life.”
“Then why can’t she get on with hers?”
“What do you mean? I have put no restrictions on her.”
“Other than requiring her to live in your home, in a country that’s all new to her, where she has no friends or family?”
“She chose to travel.”
“Yes, to travel, not to be bound to one place with a man who acts as though he hates her, and with no prospects of her own. What’s going on with you, Dante? This really isn’t like you.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You’re not selfish,” Portia insisted, coming around to sit on the edge of the desk, softening a little in her manner, as though she was worried about him. “You’re not mean.”
His gut fell to the floor. Portia’s faith in him made a part of Dante curl up in shame and wither away. Worse, he thought of what Bianca would say about this, about how he was treating Georgia, and wanted to bang his head against the desk.
“You can fix this,” Portia said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Dante’s eyes lifted to hers. She meant well, but how could he explain it to her? That even thinking about having a conversation with the woman he’d slept with was a greater betrayal to Bianca?
“I understand the complexities of this, but you can’t keep treating her like this. If nothing else, she’s the mother of your child, and that child deserves to see two parents who treat each other with respect. Who like one another.”
He closed his eyes on a wave of despair.
“I’ve invited her to Italy next weekend,” Portia stood, evidently content she’d gotten the message across. “Naturally, it would be appropriate for you to come too, but if you can’t bring yourself to do it, she’ll travel with Marco and me.”
“Portia,” he spoke sternly, shocked at how he was being boxed into a corner. Portia whipped around, more defensive than he’d ever seen her.
“No, Dante. This is non-negotiable. She is the mother of your child, and she belongs with us. How dare you make her think otherwise for even a second. You realise she lost her parents when she was just eighteen?” Portia stared at him, as if waiting for him to concede the point. And while inwardly, the burn of shame swirled through him, he showed no visible acknowledgement. “We are all she has, and I’m going to make damned sure she knows we have her back, even if you’re determined to keep acting like…acting like…honestly? I’m so disappointed in you, Dante.”
And with that, Portia swept from his office, leaving a shocked Dante staring at the wall, trying to manage the tsunami of feelings she’d managed to evoke in him.
Georgia eyed the last container of gelato with a sinking feeling. She knew she should ignore it, but really, how much gelato was too much gelato? And the hazelnut flavour she’d discovered was so delicious, and just exactly what she wanted at the end of a warm spring day.
Rather than staying in the house, she’d set off to explore the area, finding her way to the Main Street and idling down one side, looking in shop windows, then walking back up on the other side, pausing to get a takeaway decaf coffee from a lovely little French patisserie near the crossing. She enjoyed it as she ambled down a little cobbled lane and around to a small school. She stood outside the gates, sipping her drink, marveling at the noise and happiness of the children, imagining her own son in the same uniform one day, imagining him playing hopscotch and football as the little ones beyond the gates were doing now.
By mid-afternoon, she’d returned home with a couple of books from Waterstones and a ready-meal from a convenience store, too tired to contemplate cooking, but still finding herself hungry. First though, the gelato was calling to her.
Removing it from the freezer and cursing her lack of will-power, she was just digging a spoon into the first delightful layer when the front door closed. She jumped, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall in alarm.
It was way too early for Dante to be home. But surely no one else had a key? If they had, even Dante—inconsiderate and rude—would have mentioned that.
She bit down on her lip, looked around for a hiding space, just until she knew what he was doing home—maybe he’d just come to retrieve something he needed for work? Grabbing her gelato—the evidence—she stepped into the large Butler’s pantry and pulled the door closed behind her, forcing herself to take in shallow, silent breaths, her ears trained for any noises beyond.
Footsteps overhead sounded, and then he called out for her, so Georgia’s heart jammed into her throat and she considered going to him, or ignoring him. She didn’t know what to do! It was just so unexpected to have him home. And looking for her? Her temperature spiked and she groaned under her breath. Her hand was on the pantry door, about to pull it inwards, when it opened from the other side, revealing Dante standing there, looking as surprised as Georgia was embarrassed.
His eyes dropped from her face to the ice cream then back again, scanning her flushed cheeks and parted lips, before he took a step backwards, his own expression arranged to conceal everything.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, rushed and husky. “It’s the afternoon.”
“Are you…hiding from me?”
Her blush darkened and he swore under his breath.
“I wasn’t hiding from you at first.” She bit into her lip and then laughed, despite the tension that came from being near Dante. “But yes, kind of. I guess I am.”
Dante though didn’t see the funny side. “We are overdue for a conversation.”
His tone sobered her. “Oh.”
“Please.” He gestured to the bar stools that sat at the counter. She glanced at him, then the stool, her heart not slowing down. She stepped out of the pantry and towards the counter. Dante watched her the whole time and his gaze on her back warmed her in a way she didn’t completely hate.
When he spoke, his voice was a deep growl. “It’s been pointed out to me that you’re unhappy.”
Her eyes widened. “Who said that?”
“Nobody, actually. Portia says you’re too optimistic to be truly unhappy. She feels however that I’m treating you badly.”
Georgia looked away, mortified. “I had no intention…I didn’t say that.”
“No, but I suppose Portia saw enough to understand.” He expelled a breath. “And she’s right.”
Georgia’s heart turned over with surprise.
“This isn’t your fault.”
She dug the spoon into the ice cream, as a form of keeping her hands busy, of buying time to think.
“I took advantage of you that night. I forgot to use protection. And I treated you—afterwards—because I was so ashamed of having betrayed my wife—I acted like an asshole. I’m sorry.”
It was the very last thing Georgia had expected. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “You didn’t take advantage of me.”
A muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw, fascinating Georgia.
“What would you call it?” He demanded. “You were injured, stranded in my home, younger than me, less experienced. In every way, I took advantage of the situation.”
“Why?” She asked the question that had been burning inside of her since he’d revealed how long he’d been celibate for.
“Why?” He repeated, as though he’d suddenly lost his command of English.
“Why me, why that night?”
His eyes met hers then glanced away, towards the garden beyond the kitchen. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t exactly an answer but perhaps that was best. Better than if he’d said ‘because you were there’ or ‘because you were throwing yourself at me’.
She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. “It happened, and it’s okay.”
“How I was with you afterwards,” he winced a little. “Was not okay. I behaved as though you were not a human, not worthy of respect or explanation. I just wanted—needed—space.” He frowned, flexing his fingers into his palm, his throat shifting. “I don’t want a relationship, Georgia. I need to be clear about that. I was in love, once, and I intend to only ever love one woman in my life. There is no space in my heart for anyone else.”
“I don’t want you to love me,” she couldn’t help saying, immediately, like a knee jerk response to his insult to her pride. She almost laughed at the very idea, but there was pain too. Pain because she’d been alone so long. “You really are arrogant, you know.”
He dipped his head.
“I am saying, I would like us to work out how to do this better. While we are not friends, exactly, we can be something more than two people who walk around ignoring one another, and hiding in the pantry.”
At that, she pulled a little face, close to a grimace. She wasn’t aware of the way his eyes zipped to her face and hung there as though he was physically incapable of looking away.
“What do you think?”
Georgia toyed with the spoon, the cold metal against her fingertips strangely grounding. “You’re right,” she murmured.
“I often am.” His attempt at humour didn’t impact Georgia. He’d started this, and she was going to have her say, now that she had an opening.
“All of it. The way you were with me that night wasn’t okay.” She bit into her lip, surprised by the honestly. “It hurt. I was surprised by how much.”
His features tightened. “It wasn’t about you.”
Anger flared in her belly. “For you , it wasn’t about me. But I obviously didn’t feel that way.”
His Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed. “All I could think about was her.”
Georgia’s heart throbbed strangely.
“I panicked.” His voice had a raw quality to it, as though the words were fresh from his soul, with no time for intonation or modulation to take effect. He stared into her eyes and her heart thumped hard. “I want to start again.”
She bit into her lip.
“I know that sounds ridiculous. But I’m asking if we can draw a line in the sand beneath that night, and start from now. Get to know one another a little.”
Her eyes widened. “But why?”
“Because we’re going to have a baby together. One way or another, we have to find a way to make this,” he gestured from himself to her, “work.”
He was right, and more than that, he’d apologized, in a meaningful and sincere way. She had a choice—to hold a grudge over what had happened between them, or move on and try to build a civil relationship with the father of her baby. She scooped some gelato into her mouth, lost in thought, unaware of the way his eyes trailed the spoon, clinging to her lips. “Okay,” she said, with a small nod.
“Okay?”
“Sure. Let’s try it your way. I agree, it would be better than this.”
“Good.” He frowned, as if unsure where to go next. “We should eat together tonight. Dinner.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.” It was just a meal. Surely the most benign, easy interaction they could share? But something about his suggestion made her pulse explode. Was it because it could easily feel, if she let it, like a date?
“Okay,” she murmured once more. “We can do that. It’s just dinner. ”
“Great. We’ll leave at six.” And with that, he strode from the kitchen, before Georgia could even clarify why they would ‘leave’ for dinner, when he had a very well stocked kitchen right in the house.
Georgia had packed lightly for her trip. She hadn’t wanted to be tied down, but rather footloose and fancy free for the first time in her adult life. She’d brought only two dresses with her that would be acceptable for dinner in a restaurant, and one of them no longer fit in a way that was flattering. Unless by flattering, she wanted to look like a porn star, she thought ruefully, of the way the dress hung low on her breasts, which were at least a cup size bigger than usual, and hugged her gently rounded belly and hips.
The other option was a simple cotton maxi dress, made special by the ruching around the sleeves and at the neckline, that gave it a sort of boho chic look. It had tiny blue and purple flowers set against a lilac background, and when teamed with a pair of strappy sandals and with a light wave styled into her hair, she thought it was both pretty and flattering.
Just after six, she walked downstairs, eyes scanning the hallway for Dante. She found him in a room with a large pool table in its centre, his body bent forward, eyes trained on the balls and cue as he took his shot. She stood inside the door, watching with curiosity as he struck one ball and set off an easy, almost automated chain reaction, the balls scattering with an appearance of organised chaos that resulted in not one but three being pocketed.
“You’re good,” she murmured appreciatively.
His expression showed that he hadn’t expected her to be there, but his eyes devoured her anyway, going from her long, loose hair to her minimally made up face, to the dress that showed her changing body without wrapping too tightly around it. And she held her breath, waiting for him to say something, to compliment her but also to reassure her, because she didn’t know where they were going or if her outfit was appropriate. He straightened, replaced the pool cue in the rack at the wall and turned to her. “Shall we go?”
Georgia’s heart sank. So much for turning over a new leaf. He was just as cold and formal as he’d been earlier. But at least they were going to share a meal together. At least there was hope, of a sort.
At the front door, he turned to her again. “Do you have a coat?”
“Oh, um. A denim jacket. Do you think I’ll need it?”
“The nights can get cool, yes.”
“Okay. I’ll just go?—,”
“I’ll get it. Where abouts?”
She gnawed on her lower lip. “In my suitcase.”
“Fine. Wait here.”
She almost laughed. Where did he think she was going to go?
He reappeared a moment later, jacket in hand, eyes not meeting hers.
“Ready?”
She sighed. “Sure.” It felt a little, though, like she’d willingly—excitedly even—agreed to enter her own torture chamber. Why had she been stupid enough to think he’d change? That anything would be different about Dante just because he’d seemed to say he wanted a fresh start for them? This Dante was just the same as always. And if Georgia felt as though she were entering a torture chamber, it was clear that he was already there, wanting to keep her as much at arm’s length as possible, and still feeling as though his jaw was being drilled.
When they left the house, each took great care not to touch the other, and at the car, the closest he got was opening the door for Georgia then moving swiftly around to the driver side and sliding into his seat.
She got the message loud and clear: truce or not, his boundaries were firmly in place and nothing and no one was bringing them down.