1. Georgina #4
“He was pleased to see me.” My voice catches on the absurdity of it. A horse wanted me, and I ran away. “That’s the part I can’t stand.”
Felicity takes my hand. My own mother would have told me to compose myself before anyone noticed. Felicity shifts her chair closer so I won’t have to speak loudly.
“Max stayed with you?” She glances toward the doors, where we can hear cups being set on a tray.
“He did.” I press my lips together, looking for a fair way to say the rest. “He got me away from it. He always gets me away from it.”
Felicity’s fingers tighten around mine. She doesn’t rush to defend him, and I love her for that almost as much as I love him for the morning.
“I want to ride again. It’s my hobby and one passion…” Saying it makes my throat ache. “I know everyone thinks I’ve accepted sitting here, but I haven’t. I just don’t know how to stop being frightened.”
“Then they shouldn’t be making that decision for you.” She holds my gaze, warm and firm. “Including my son.”
I let out a breath. There is room beside this woman to be grateful and angry at the same time, without having to apologize for either. I turn my hand beneath hers and hold on.
Max comes back carrying the tea, and Felicity releases me so he can set the tray down. He puts my cup nearest me, then pulls his chair close to mine. His knee rests against mine. I leave it there.
“Before I forget, your mother called.” Felicity looks at me over the tray, her hand pausing beside the teapot. “Giselle is coming to stay. Tomorrow, apparently. She wants to help while you’re recovering.”
My fingers stop on the cup’s handle. My sister, here, in the house where I’ve finally had a day that feels like mine. Beside me, Max reaches for the teapot as if we’ve been told ordinary family news.
“Tomorrow?” I turn toward Felicity, my hand still on the untouched cup. “When was someone going to ask me?”
“I thought she had.” Felicity lowers her hand from the teapot. “Your mother told me Giselle was coming to help you. She didn’t tell me you hadn’t been asked.”
“Because asking leaves room for an answer she doesn’t like.” I release the cup before I knock it over. Mother can arrange an entire household from somewhere else, provided nobody inconveniences her by having an opinion.
“I’ll speak to her.” Max sets the teapot down without pouring. His knee is still against mine, and he turns toward me as though we can settle this as easily as choosing where to have dinner. “But it might be good for you, Elle. Having your sister here.”
There goes his careful voice. I have had a whole day of him laughing with me, teasing me, wanting me, and I know he meant every minute of it. Why does he sound like he’s discussing what to do with me now?
Ever since the injury, he sometimes treats me differently.
“Good for me how?” I look at him rather than Felicity. I want his answer, not a kinder version of it from his mother.
“You’d have someone here when I’m training.” He reaches for my hand, opening my fingers where I’ve curled them against the table. “Someone to talk to. Go out with. You wouldn’t be stuck waiting around the house.”
I glance toward the terrace doors. This morning I stole his shirt and shared my jam and let myself laugh without checking whether he was about to leave. I wasn’t happy because there was another person in the house. There are people in this house all the time.
“I was happy today because I was with you.” I make myself say it plainly, though Felicity is sitting right there and I hate how much it sounds like pleading. “You do know that?”
His face softens. He brings my hand closer, rubbing his thumb over my wedding ring. “Of course I do. I was happy too.”
I believe him. That is what makes it so difficult to get the next words out. “I’m not asking you to stop competing. Or take every day off… I just miss being part of your day.”
Felicity reaches for her cup, then leaves it alone. She has gone very still, and I wish we were back upstairs, where saying I wanted him had been easy.
“You are part of it.” Max leans closer, trying to catch my eyes. “I think about you all the time. Even when I’m down there, I’m wondering if you’ve eaten, if you’re sleeping, if you’re sitting up here by yourself.”
I want to tell him he used to wonder whether I’d beat him to the far gate. Whether I’d changed the route just to annoy him. I used to be the person he wanted beside him, not the person he felt bad about leaving at home.
“Then come find me sometimes.” My voice is quieter now, but I hold his gaze. “You don’t have to fix anything when you get here. Just come because you want to see me. Like today.”
He kisses my knuckles, and I let myself lean toward him.
There. Surely he understands that. Surely I’ve finally said it in a way he can hear.
“I do want to see you, Elle.” His hand closes warmly around mine, and the relief on his face makes me start to smile. “And with Giselle here, I won’t have to feel guilty every time I leave.”
My smile stays there for a moment because I don’t know what else to do with it. His thumb is moving over my ring again, and I’m looking at his mouth, waiting for something after that. Something that makes it hurt less.
Nothing comes. He thinks he’s reassured me.
This morning he put his phone in a drawer and laid his head in my lap.
I remember how carefully I asked if I really had him for the day, how badly I wanted to believe the answer.
Then I stopped asking. I let myself laugh, let myself reach for him without wondering whether I was keeping him from somewhere he’d rather be.
He stayed. He wanted to stay. I don’t want to lose that because of a sentence he clearly meant as a kindness. But my throat is closing, and the effort of keeping my face still makes me feel ridiculous. His mother is right here. My husband is holding my hand.
Why do I suddenly want to go upstairs and shut the door?
I have just told him I miss him. Said it plainly, even the embarrassing parts, and he’s pleased that my sister can come sit with me instead.
She can fill the hours I spend waiting. He can go back to the stables knowing someone is here, and everyone can stop worrying about poor Georgina in the big, quiet house.
Where am I supposed to put the part of me that still wants to be the woman beside him?
I look down at our hands. I could pull mine away, but I don’t. I still want him touching me, which somehow makes this worse. Even now, with his words sitting heavy in my chest, I want him to turn my hand over and kiss it again.
Would he stay if I asked him again?
I hate that I’m already trying to find another way to ask.
Because I don’t want it to be easier to leave.