3. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
The house goes quiet by eleven.
My mother retires first, kissing Giselle on the forehead and reminding her not to stay up too late before her lesson.
Giselle follows half an hour later, stopping at my chair to squeeze my shoulder and whisper that she hopes I sleep well.
I manage to smile. I even manage to mean it, a little.
She’s my sister. None of this is simple.
Max and I climb the stairs together, his hand warm at the small of my back. The hallway stretches ahead of us, guest rooms closed and dark, and I’m grateful for the silence. I’ve spent the whole evening performing for an audience, and my face aches from holding expressions I didn’t feel.
“Your mother is something else.” Max closes our bedroom door and rests his head against it. “Does she ever get tired?”
“Of me? Frequently.” I sit on the edge of the bed and work a finger beneath the strap of my shoe. “Of hearing herself speak? We’re still waiting.”
He laughs, and some of the evening loosens its hold on me.
“Let me…” He crosses the room and crouches in front of me, brushing my fingers aside to undo the buckle. “You’ve been limping since we left the table.”
“I was walking slowly. There’s a difference.”
“Of course.” He slips the shoe off and settles my foot against his thigh, his thumbs finding the sore place beneath my arch. “You were being dignified.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t meant to make audible. His mouth curves.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” I brace my hands on the mattress behind me. “It’s unattractive.”
“You’ll have to close your eyes, then.” He presses a little more firmly, watching my face to see whether he’s found the right spot.
“Thank you for dinner.” I look down at his bent head. “For saying something to her.”
His hands pause before he reaches for my other shoe.
“She doesn’t get to decide when you should be better.” He sets it beside the first, neatly enough to make me smile. “You don’t owe her a performance.”
I want to keep that. Put it somewhere safe, where I can take it out the next time my mother makes me feel as though recovering badly is another way of embarrassing her.
Instead, I watch his eyes move past me to the clock on the mantel.
It’s a brief glance, a thing I might not have noticed a year ago, when I wasn’t so aware of how little of the day was left by the time I had him to myself.
His hands are still warm around my foot, his thumb moving absently over the arch, but I draw it back before he has to tell me he needs to stop.
“You should get to bed.” I settle my feet on the rug, keeping them close together so I won’t be tempted to offer him the one that still aches. “Early start for training, right?”
“Unfortunately.” He rises with a small sigh and loosens his collar, rolling his shoulders as though he’s only now allowing himself to feel the length of the day.
“I told the groom to have the arena ready before six. Better to get Giselle settled there before everyone starts bringing the horses out.”
I look down at my knees and smooth the fabric of my dress.
Sometime between offering her a lesson and bringing me upstairs, he’s arranged it.
I can picture him sending the message, perhaps while I was saying goodnight to my mother, and I wonder whether he hesitated over any part of it.
Whether he thought of me at all before pressing send.
“You’ve been busy.” I mean to make it sound teasing, but my hand keeps moving over the same crease long after I’ve flattened it.
“It took a message.” He takes his phone from his pocket and puts it on the dresser, then catches sight of me in the mirror. Whatever he sees makes him turn. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I make myself stop fussing with my dress and look up at him. “I was just wondering when you’d found the time.”
“To arrange the lesson?” His forehead creases as he comes back toward the bed. “Elle, I’ll be down there anyway. I only had to ask them to have a horse ready.”
I know he’ll be there. I know the route he’ll take across the yard, which door he’ll push open with his shoulder, how he’ll stand with one hand on a stall while he speaks to the groom.
I used to walk beside him without wondering whether I was taking up the time he needed for something else.
Giselle will only have to put on her boots and meet him there, and I’m ashamed of how much I envy the ease of that.
“I thought mornings were difficult for you.” I keep my voice mild, my eyes on his face, hoping he’ll understand what I’m asking without making me say it any more plainly.
“They are once training starts.” He sits beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine, and bends his head a little to see me. “That’s why I said dawn. Half an hour getting her comfortable in the saddle, then I can get on with everything else. It won’t hold anything up.”
I nod because he’s waiting for some sign that he’s reassured me.
He’s explained where the lesson fits, and it fits very neatly. I’m the one sitting here unable to account for why that should hurt.
His gaze drops to my neck, and he reaches behind me.
“Hold your hair up a moment. You’ve caught the chain in it.” His fingers brush the nape of my neck as I gather my hair out of the way, lifting the weight of it over one shoulder. He moves closer to work the clasp free, his knee pressing against mine. “Does that pull?”
“No.” I tip my head forward and try to concentrate on the care he’s taking.
He could tug it loose and apologize afterward, but he doesn’t. He works the strands free one at a time, patient with something this small, and I want so badly to turn into him that I have to remind myself to keep holding my hair.
“She doesn’t need much yet,” he says, still occupied with the clasp. “Someone beside her while she finds her balance. It’s simple.”
My fingers tighten in my hair before I make them relax.
He’s talking about a beginner’s lesson, and I know that.
There’s nothing cruel in his voice, no suggestion that he’s comparing what she needs with what I need.
I do that for him, sitting quietly beside him while he helps me take off my necklace.
If he offered to stay, I’d know I’d made him feel guilty. If he asked me to come with him, I’d have to admit that I might not make it across the yard.
There was a time when being with me didn’t require him to think about any of that.
I would have been dressed before he was, waiting at the door and calling up the stairs that a champion ought to be quicker with his boots.
I miss being able to give him an easy morning.
I miss it so much that, for a moment, I can’t bear the kindness of his fingers against my neck.
“There.” He eases the necklace away and waits for me to open my hand before lowering it into my palm. “Your mother made enough of it at dinner. Let’s not give her the rest of the evening.”
“I wasn’t talking about my mother.”
The answer comes before I can soften it, and I feel him pause beside me. I lower my hair, letting it fall between us while I stare at the little pile of gold in my hand.
Max is trying to give us a pleasant end to the night. I know he is. But I can’t agree that this feeling belongs to my mother just because it would be easier for both of us to leave it downstairs with her.
“All right.” He shifts toward me, his knee drawing away from mine so he can see my face. “Then what are we talking about?”
I lift my eyes to his. He’s listening now, with the same concentration he gave the tangled necklace, and I wish I could show him something equally clear. A caught clasp, a strand to loosen. Something he could put his hands to and fix while I sat still and trusted him.
But I have to explain why his being kind to my sister has left me feeling lonely in a room where he’s done nothing but be kind to me.
“I suppose I just liked having you to myself yesterday.”
His face softens, and for one foolish second I think he’s heard everything I couldn’t say.
“So did I.” He slides an arm around my waist. “We’ll do it again.”
“When?” It escapes before I can make it sound light.
He draws a breath, and I wish I’d let his promise stand without asking when. A moment ago, he was smiling at the thought of yesterday. Now his thumb has stopped against my waist, and I can almost feel him going through the coming days, looking for somewhere to put me.
“Let me get through this week.” He resumes the small movement of his thumb, rubbing gently through the fabric of my dress. “I’ll look at what’s coming up.”
I lower my eyes before he can see how much that answer costs me. He hasn’t refused. There are people depending on him, horses that need work, commitments he made long before I asked for another afternoon beneath a tree. I know all of that. I knew it before I asked.
Still, tomorrow’s lesson is already arranged, and the next day we might spend together doesn’t have a date.
“Of course.” I close my fingers around the necklace in my lap, feeling the clasp press into my palm. “I know you’re busy. I didn’t mean to make it sound like a demand.”
“Elle…” He bends his head, trying to catch my eyes. “Yesterday was good. I thought we had a good day.”
“We did.” I look at him then, because I don’t want him doubting that. I’ve carried pieces of yesterday through this entire evening, remembering his laugh whenever the conversation at dinner became something I wanted to escape. “You know we did.”
“Then why do you sound like that?” His hand settles more firmly at my waist, and I can see him going back over the day, looking for something he missed.
I don’t know how to tell him that yesterday was good partly because I spent so little of it feeling useless.
Because I hate that word.
I would be furious if anyone used it about me, yet it’s been finding its way into the smallest parts of my day. I hear the horses being brought out and know exactly which one is going to give the groom trouble, but I stay at the window.