Chapter Forty-Seven
“Frankie, I can explain,” George says, stepping closer as I turn to face him.
“Explain what?” My ears feel stuffed full of cotton.
“Let’s sit down. Take a breath before we talk about it.”
“Do not tell me to take a breath. The man I was supposed to marry just told me you know why he left me. Why would he say that, George?”
He reaches for me, but I twist away. “I was going to tell you everything. I’ve been waiting for the right time.”
“The right time for what?”
“That night at the manor.” He grips the back of his neck. “I made a mistake. After you went to bed, I got very, very drunk.”
I remember George and Darwin with large glasses of whiskey and a group of men heading outside, arms slung over shoulders.
Nate was with them. It looked like they were going to smoke cigars.
I’d given Nate a kiss and told him I’d see him upstairs.
I fell asleep before he returned, and when I woke, I found the note.
I love you, but I can’t marry you.
“We were hanging out—Nate, his buddy, your brothers—talking shit, telling stories about the way you were when we were kids. Moby and Darwin were going on about how you were always trying to fight them to prove you were just as tough. I told Nate about the time you called our French teacher a misogynistic asshole after he chewed out some girl you didn’t even like.
Dumb nostalgic stuff. But I could tell Nate was shocked—that he hadn’t heard any of these stories from you.
You hadn’t even told him how you quit your job.
He kept saying, ‘That doesn’t sound like Francesca. ’ And I fucking loved it, Frankie.”
“Why?”
George closes the distance between us. “Because no one knows you better than I do. Not even your fiancé. And I rubbed his face in it. I told Nate all the things I knew and he didn’t know.
About the fire deep in your belly, and how you’re most relaxed when you dance.
I told him how your eyes flare when you’re angry, and that when you cry, the violet looks even more violet. ”
“I don’t understand why you’d do that.”
“Frankie, I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d had whiskey and an edible from Moby, but it wasn’t just that. It was a rush, having power over him. Darwin tried to get me to shut up, but I couldn’t. It finally got to the point that Nate asked me point-blank if I was in love with you.”
I can’t breathe. I can barely ask the question. “What did you say?”
“I told him the truth.” George takes a deep breath and holds my face between his hands. “I told him I loved you in a way he’d never understand.”
I shake my head. My heartbeat is panicked.
“I’m sorry, Frankie.” He looks at me, his eyes pleading.
“I didn’t know he’d call off the wedding.
I never meant for that to happen. I didn’t think I could survive watching you marry another man, but I knew I would if that was what made you happy.
And you were. That night when we danced, you were so, so happy. ”
I step back, struggling to stay calm, to make sense of everything George has revealed. One question is louder than all the others. “You had feelings for me before this week?”
“I’m in love with you, Frankie. I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.”
“No, that’s not possible.” But even as I say this, I see the truth of it in his eyes. “George?”
“I tried to fight it. Frankie, I tried so hard. Our friendship is more important to me than anything. You are more important. I knew you didn’t want a relationship, not with me, not with anyone.
You scoffed at high school sweethearts and your parents for getting married so young.
” He closes the distance between us, taking my shaking hand between his, holding it between our chests.
“What did you always say? That no one was going to be everything to you. I took that internship in Edmonton because I couldn’t keep living together without asking you to be with me. You wanted freedom, and I wanted you to have it.”
My ears are ringing. “So you decided what was best for both of us?”
He shakes his head. “I thought,” he says, his voice breaking. “I thought that when you were ready to share your life with someone, you’d realize that person should be me.”
“But you didn’t tell me.” I’m having trouble catching my breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I told you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Three years ago, Frankie. When I was driving through the fires, I told you then. I couldn’t stand the idea of you not knowing how I really felt if something were to happen to me.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “You told me you loved me.”
Frankie, listen to me. I need you to really hear me, okay? I love you. You have meant everything to me.
“You told me you loved me,” I say again. “You didn’t say you were in love with me. There’s a difference! You know there’s a difference.”
“It didn’t matter, Frankie. When I got to Toronto and I saw you, I knew you didn’t understand, or maybe you didn’t want to. Either way, you didn’t feel the same.”
“You didn’t give me a chance,” I say, my voice catching. “You told my fiancé before you told me.”
My mind is reeling. George was the reason Nate walked away. This whole time, he’s been holding back so many secrets. I thought we were in the same place, that this week was a revelation for both of us.
“I’m sorry,” George says. “I know it was wrong, and I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you.
I wasn’t expecting things to finally change between us this week.
I was terrified that you’d hate me and never speak to me again.
I swear I was going to tell you. I thought about telling you when we were on the beach earlier, but I got scared. ”
The last two months play before my eyes like a horror movie. The hotel room. The note. Being carried out. Throwing up in the car. Aurora’s couch. Barely hanging on. Hating myself. Punishing myself. Crying myself to sleep in my childhood bedroom.
“This whole time,” I say, bereft and furious at once, “this whole time, I thought something was wrong with me. This whole time, I’ve been blaming myself. And you knew?”
George brushes away a tear with the heel of his hand. “I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. I tried reaching out to Nate to explain that you didn’t feel the same way, but he wouldn’t talk to me. I should have told you sooner. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
I turn my head to the silken mist winding through the trees. The sun is somewhere through the foggy veil, turning the water shades of silver and gold. Arguments fly around my brain—reasons why George should have made himself clearer and what he should have done differently.
“Look at me,” George says, his voice desperate. “Would you please look at me?”
The grip I have on my anger is tenuous. I shut my eyes for a moment, trying to keep hold of it. But it’s gone. I turn to face him. Tears stain his cheeks.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
“Everything. Your mind. Your heart. Your body. I want all of it. And I know that makes me selfish. I am so fucking selfish when it comes to you.” His voice hitches. “I love you, Frankie. I want you to love me, too.”
My heart aches. Because I see it. Loving George, being with my best friend. Every day. It’s the most beautiful thing I can imagine. But I’m not sure where to go after he’s kept such monumental secrets from me.
Something else he said scrapes at my mind.
What did you always say? That no one was going to be everything to you.
I think of my dad, crushed and silent when my mom left.
I think of my mom, yearning for her dream so much that she ran from us, and how changed she was when she returned.
I think of Mimi, alone in her castle. I think of how lost I’ve felt, how unsure of myself I’ve been, and I’m terrified by the undertow.
I’ve made some terrible decisions in the past year, and George cannot be one of them.
He presses his lips to my forehead. “Tell me how to make it better. Tell me what to do.”
“I want you to know that you matter more to me than anyone,” I say, crying. “But I can’t do this, George. Not now.”