18. Chapter Thirteen Georgia Philips
Chapter Thirteen: Georgia Philips
P icking at my salad, I absentmindedly rubbed the spot on my shoulder that still ached in cold weather. After Sergio dumped me over text, I’d been crying and had slipped on a patch of ice while getting onto my motorcycle and bruised my shoulder. It had ached for weeks, and caused me to learn the art of applying body makeup.
“Georgia?” Katerina glanced over at me as I separated a dried cranberry from a piece of kale. “Want to try my sandwich?”
She was eating grilled cheese with a side of French onion soup, both of which smelled delicious.
“I’m good.” I held my breath and tried to ignore the delicious aroma of melted cheddar and brie wafting towards me. I had a shoot on Tuesday and I had to do a good job. My agent had heard about my last shoot from Rachelle Stevens, who had accused me of reacting ‘unprofessionally’ to Sergio’s sudden reappearance, so I couldn’t let Claire give me any more reasons to suspect my work ethic was less than stellar. That included remaining a size two .
Next to me at a round table in the hole-in-the-wall brunch spot, Allie ate a steak-topped eggs Benedict, the smell of which made my stomach growl. I shifted in my seat; even though it was eighty degrees outside, I wrapped my shawl more tightly around my frame. I was only cold because of the air conditioning. Not because a pile of rabbit food was my first meal of the day.
Never mind that Katerina was sweating next to me in a linen shift dress, Allie wore a tank top and shorts, and Abigail was clad in a sleeveless blue slip dress that ended at her knee. Their summery outfits contrasted sharply with the scarf I had draped around my shoulders. However, I was probably just cold because I happened to be seated under the fan.
I took a sip of my coffee and shivered. Why had I ordered an iced Americano? It wasn’t like I enjoyed the taste of coffee by itself anyway—I preferred caramel macchiatos to black coffee.
“So, I didn’t realize George was a professor now,” Abigail said.
“Lecturer,” I corrected her quickly. I wasn’t sure why the difference mattered. It wasn’t like him being a lecturer instead of a professor would mean he was no longer my teacher. “He’s a lecturer.”
“Okay,” Allie said, voicing my thoughts. “Why does it matter what you call his job?”
I still wasn’t sure what to make of my recently returned-from-the-dead (well, essentially the dead) cousin. But today, I was erring on the side of being annoyed by her.
“Professors get tenure,” Katerina pointed out. I was grateful for her as always, but this time more so.
George didn’t have tenure. So after this term was up, he’d have to find a new job. Part of me wanted him to not find a new job here and go back to Canada. To return to Montréal or even Italy for all I cared, or go back to the seedy underground dealings he’d had with Sebastian Cavalli. I wanted him anywhere but here. Yet the thought of him leaving New York and never seeing me again made a rock drop into my stomach. I pushed away my salad with fat-free dressing and gluten-free croutons.
“Okay, moving on,” Abs said. “Georgia, you never told us he was teaching your class. I had to hear it from my dad.”
She looked crestfallen. Since she’d gotten married, I’d felt more and more like the outsider among my group of cousins, with everyone paired off but me. Well, me and Allie.
“I guess we’ve both been busy. I’ve been working a lot, and I have to prepare for graduation.” Never mind that Art History was the last class of my degree.
Abigail asked, “How has your summer semester been?”
I wasn’t taking any other classes but the Art History one, which I’d hoped would be a piece of cake. But ironically, the course I’d thought would be the easiest challenged me the most.
“It’s been alright. I’m just focusing on this assignment for Art History. Apparently, my teacher thinks that I don’t know how to write a personal reflection.” I rolled my eyes like it was a lighthearted thing.
“Well, that sucks. I’m sure your writing is great, Georgia. I’d love to read it sometime,” Allie piped up.
“So what’s my brother like as a teacher?” Katerina asked, an eyebrow quirking up. She fiddled with her long chestnut-coloured braid, her hazel eyes peering into mine.
I got the feeling she was asking about more than George’s teaching style, but I answered the question she voiced. “Okay, I guess. If you ignore the fact that I think half of the girls in the class have a crush on him. Kind of like that scene at the beginning of Indiana Jones where all the girls bat their eyelashes at Harrison Ford.”
Allie chuckled. “ I loved that movie.”
She’d never spoken much about her life outside the Steeles. I tried to imagine her watching Indiana Jones movies with the Cavalli mafia family, but the image never materialized.
“Are you learning anything from him?” Katerina asked.
I took another sip of my cold, bitter coffee. Then I gave up and dumped a packet of Stevia into it, stirring the grains until they dissolved. “He’s… a teacher. I don’t know. He had this idea to take the class on a trip to Italy. Apparently only a handful of people signed up out of a class of two hundred, but that makes sense since most people either can’t afford it or can’t take time off to go.”
“Are you going to go?” Abigail asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on her elbow. She narrowly avoided knocking over her glass of orange juice. “It sounds so fun! I would love to go back to Italy.”
A lump rose from my stomach to my throat at the mention of the trip Abigail and I had taken—the one that had allowed me to meet George. “I don’t know. I might have some shoots scheduled for that week.”
“Georgia,” Katerina said, putting a hand over mine. “Do you really care more about a photoshoot than an opportunity to see beautiful art in Italy with the best tour guide around?”
I’ve already done that once, and it broke my heart. He broke my heart. But no one knew what had transpired between us.
“I've already been to Italy with Abigail.” I shrugged.
It was true that modelling was now routine for me, a rut I’d fallen into and wasn’t sure how to dig myself out of. But it was also true that the thought of being in a romantic environment with George, even if other people were there, made me want to tear my heart out.
Or what was left of it.
Fortunately, the conversation changed from the topic of George to the baby and then to how Allie’s new job at the Steele family charity was going. My shoulders slumped in relief as I considered whether I should go on the Italy trip.
What if it wasn’t about George? Maybe I didn’t need to let him dictate my future decisions. The woman I was before meeting George would have gone in a heartbeat.
Because he’d just be another man capable of letting me down, but a man who had yet to do so. Not a man who’d already shattered my heart.
I wavered on my decision. If I did choose to go, I would be doing it for me, and the part of me that had always loved art, long before George Devereaux came into the picture.
***
After brunch, the girls and I found ourselves in my apartment, crowding into the kitchen because Abigail wanted to make brownies. We ended up at my place since it was closer to the brunch restaurant than the Steeles’ penthouse. We also had a larger kitchen, since no one in Aaron Steele’s household seemed to do much cooking. Instead, they often dined at expensive restaurants or ordered takeout.
The sight of cocoa powder, eggs, milk, and sugar laid out in front of us on the counter made my mouth water. Brownies were my favourite. I hadn’t had them in years for that reason.
“Hi, girls!” my mother breezed into the kitchen just as Abigail was cracking an egg. Startled, my redheaded cousin crushed the egg in her fist instead of tapping it gently against the bowl, causing tiny shards of eggshell and splatters of egg yolk to spray across the counter.
We all burst into laughter.
My mother turned to me. “Georgia. ”
She engulfed me in a hug. I’d missed her—despite living in the same apartment, we seemed to keep missing each other. Sometimes I’d been crawling into bed late trying not to disturb her in the next room. Other times, she had gotten up early and left for a morning shift at the cafe, where she worked part-time after retiring from her job at the casino.
We hadn’t had a chance to talk about everything that had happened between me and George since I’d picked her up from the airport.
“It’s good to see you, Mom. Where were you this morning? You were gone by the time I got up.”
“Oh, I just had an early shift at the cafe and then I went to church. What are you girls making? Or I should say, trying to make?”
Katerina chuckled, wiping up the splattered egg bits as Abigail washed her hands.
“Just some brownies,” Allie said. “How are you doing, Auntie May?”
“I’m doing well, how are you?” She and Allie struck up a conversation.
I fixed my gaze on the brownie recipe Abigail had open on her iPad. Hunting through the pantry for the vanilla extract—while I could often be found cooking, I never made anything delicious if it was going to pass my lips—I found it in a dusty drawer.
“You look thinner, Georgia,” my mother observed, turning from her conversation with Allie. “And tired.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I pasted on a cheery smile reserved for intrusive paparazzi.
She sighed. “You know I don’t mean it as an insult.”
I knew that too, but it was easier to be defensive than it was to let her see the truth behind my mask.
“I know you’re concerned, but there’s nothing to be worried about. After I graduate, I’ll start sleeping normal hours again. ”
I pictured myself walking across that stage in my graduation gown. Accepting an award that came not from my appearance but my achievements. Finally having something I could say was truly mine, not because of how people perceived my body or from hitting the genetic jackpot.
“So, did Georgia tell you about the Italy trip her teacher is organizing? We’re all trying to convince her to go,” Abigail said.
I shot her a silent ‘ you traitor’ with my eyes as I whisked the cocoa powder with the sugar and flour. The chocolate scent floated up to me tauntingly.
“No, she didn’t. Georgia, you’ve been holding out on me.” She gazed at me expectantly, blue eyes aglow with anticipation.
“It’s just a glorified field trip. Nothing to get all worked up about.”
“Only a jetsetting model would say that,” Katerina teased.
The comment stung more than it should have and I fought the urge to snap at my cousin-in-law. She couldn’t know how I was feeling; I hadn’t told her. Of course my life seemed perfect from the outside. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it?
“We’re just going to museums and cathedrals, learning about Christian artwork, and eating Italian food. What’s so fun about that?” I said flatly.
“Can I take your place on the field trip?” Allie joked, adding vanilla extract to the wet ingredients.
“Please do,” I said.
We combined the ingredients and mixed the brownie batter, before pouring it into a greased baking dish and placing it in the preheated oven. While everyone else swarmed around the sink, washing and drying the dishes, my mom pulled me into the living room.
“Georgia, how have you been dealing with this whole George thing?” Her eyes scanned mine .
“It’s been fine.” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “We’re just keeping things… professional.”
“Then why don’t you want to go on this trip?” She arched an eyebrow.
“I just don’t want to. It’s not mandatory or anything.”
“Are you trying to avoid George?”
“Yes!” The answer blurted from my lips. “Of course I am.”
She studied me thoughtfully. “You’re not a coward, Georgia. You don’t run away from life even when it’s painful—at least you never have before.”
“So you think I should go?” I had been hoping she would be on my side.
“I think you shouldn’t let fear stop you from something that could be an amazing experience. And you certainly shouldn’t let one man stop you from something you really want.” A slight smile curved her lips. “Don’t you think so?”
I sighed, because deep down, I knew she was right. And deep down, heartbreak be damned—I really did want to go. “You’re right.”