7. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
The morning of the championship, I wake to an empty bed and the sound of trailers rumbling down the drive.
Max left before dawn. He kissed my forehead in the dark and whispered that he’d call when it was over. I made a sound that could have meant anything and let him go.
The six weeks since the championship program arrived have disappeared into training. Somewhere near the beginning of them, Max entered the pairs exhibition with Giselle. He told me a few days afterward, sitting across from me in the library.
“You’ve already entered?” I close my book, keeping a finger between the pages.
“They needed the names.” He sets the program on the table. “It’ll be a simple routine. Something she can manage.”
“You could have talked to me first.”
“Elle, I didn’t want you feeling pressured to take part.”
“I’m not asking you to enter me. I’m asking why I only get to hear about these things after you’ve decided.”
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “She’s been working hard. I thought you’d be pleased for her.”
“I can be pleased for her and still wish you’d thought about how this might feel.”
“I did think about you.” His voice softens in the way that makes me feel worse. “You can come and enjoy the championship without anyone expecting you to perform.”
I look down at the book in my lap. He keeps explaining what I won’t have to do, as though being relieved of everything I once loved should come as a comfort.
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you want me to do? Withdraw?”
I lift my eyes to his. Somehow, we’ve arrived at a choice between accepting it and taking something away from my sister. What I wanted was to matter before there was an entry to cancel.
I can’t find a way to say that without starting the argument again, so I say nothing.
Max comes around the table and takes my hand.
“Come with my mother. Let us look after you for once.” He kisses my knuckles, waiting until I meet his eyes. “It could be a good day, Elle.”
I’m too tired to explain that I don’t want another day of being looked after. His thumb strokes my hand, and when I don’t pull away, his shoulders ease.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I knew you’d understand.”
We haven’t spoken properly about it since.
We’ve tried to have pleasant evenings. Sometimes he comes home for lunch, and I ask about training because I still care about the answer. But Giselle’s progress has become part of nearly every answer, and lately I’ve had less to say afterward.
Max has noticed. He thinks I need space, so he gives it to me. I hate that my silence has become another reason for him to leave me alone, but I’m tired of trying to explain myself and ending up feeling unreasonable.
I’ve been going to the bookshop, answering neglected letters, filling my afternoons instead of keeping them clear for the day he promised me. It helps to have things of my own. It doesn’t stop the old, unwelcome feeling when I hear them laughing about a morning I wasn’t part of.
She gets to learn, to improve, to give him something to be pleased about. He asks me whether I’ve rested.
I’m not used to feeling useless. I hate how easily it follows me into rooms where I used to belong.
Another trailer rumbles past the window, and I turn toward the empty side of the bed.
I want him to do well today. Whatever is happening between us, that hasn’t changed.
And I want to go for myself, too. I miss the horses and the people who can spend an entire lunch arguing about them. I miss being there with Max. Being angry with him hasn’t stopped me wanting to stand beside him.
Going won’t mean I’ve agreed to everything. But staying here would mean another day spent wondering what I’m missing, and I’ve had enough of those.
I push back the covers and go to the closet.
The cream silk dress is toward the back, behind the everyday things I’ve been wearing around the house.
I pull it out and hold it up to the light from the window.
The bodice is fitted without pinching. I bought it because the skirt swung around my legs when I turned, and because, for once, I liked the dress before I wondered whether anyone else would.
I put it on and twist my hair up, pinning it loosely so it won’t give me a headache by afternoon. I turn sideways to check the fastening, then leave the mirror before I can start looking for reasons to change. The dress is comfortable. I like it. That will do.
I find Maria in the kitchen, reviewing the week’s menus with the cook. She looks up when I come in, and something in her expression shifts when she sees the dress.
“Could you arrange the car for me?” I put my bag on the counter beside the menus. “To the championship grounds.”
Maria doesn’t ask questions. She never does, which is one of the reasons I’ve grown to appreciate her over the past year. “I’ll have Paolo bring it around. Twenty minutes?”
“Perfect.” I pour myself a cup of coffee and drink it standing at the window, watching the morning light spread across the courtyard.
The stable yard is quiet now, most of the horses already loaded and gone.
Somewhere on the road ahead of me, Max is probably reviewing his freestyle routine in his head, running through the pattern one more time.
He doesn’t know I’m coming. I could call him now, but I want to walk in and find him before anyone can turn my arrival into a discussion about whether I’m ready. I want to see him pleased before he remembers to be careful with me.
My phone buzzes in my bag. Felicity’s name appears above a message that makes me smile: Thinking of you today, cara. Call me later and tell me everything.
She hasn’t followed it with advice. I appreciate that more than I can fit into a message. I type back, I will. I’m going to the grounds, and slip the phone into my bag.
Paolo has the car waiting when I come outside. He holds the door open without comment, and I settle into the back seat with my bag on my lap and my heart beating faster than I’d like.
The drive takes just over an hour. I spend most of it watching the golden hills roll past, the cypress trees lining the roads. I used to love this drive.
Max and I made it together dozens of times before the accident, talking about horses and patterns and what we wanted to work on when we got home. He’d rest his hand on my knee while he drove, and I’d steal sips of his coffee when he wasn’t looking.
I want another drive like that, with somewhere we’re both going and something to disagree about that won’t follow us home. Perhaps we can have coffee after his event. I haven’t told Paolo when to collect me.
The championship grounds come into view around a bend in the road, white tents and flags bright against the summer sky.
My chest tightens at the sight of it. I’ve been here so many times, walked these paths, warmed up in these arenas.
The last time I was here, I rode beside Max in the legacy exhibition in front of the stands.
That was the year before the accident. I remember where we’d waited to go in, and how Max kept moving his knee against mine until I told him to pay attention.
Paolo drops me at the main entrance, and I make my way through the crowd with my shoulders back. A few people glance at me with recognition, and I nod politely without stopping. I look toward the stable buildings, trying to remember which entrance leads closest to the warm-up arena.
The vendor area is busy with people browsing tack and equipment. I’m passing a display of bridles when a voice calls out behind me.
“Georgina Costanzo, is that you?” I turn to find Elena Marchetti approaching with a broad smile. She’s an older woman, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, who breeds warmbloods on an estate north of here.
The first time she watched me ride, she complimented my hands and then spent the rest of the conversation explaining how I could improve my seat. I liked her immediately, though I didn’t give her the satisfaction of saying so.
“Elena.” I accept her embrace and the kiss she presses to each of my cheeks. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I never miss a championship.” She holds me at arm’s length, examining me with the same critical eye she used to turn on my riding. “You look well. Better than the rumors suggested.”
“How disappointing for the rumors.” I return her inspection, pleased to find she still wears the same battered boots with her expensive jackets. “I should have limped.”
“Mm.” She releases my shoulders but doesn’t move away. “I heard about your sister riding in the pairs exhibition. Interesting choice, putting a beginner on that kind of stage.”
Something in my chest tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. “She’s been practicing.”
“I’m sure she has.” Elena folds the program she’s been carrying, covering the list of names. “Though I have to say, I was surprised when I saw the program. I always thought that exhibition was yours and Max’s.”
“It was.” I stop myself from reaching for her program. I already know whose name is there this year.
Elena’s eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she tilts her head toward the refreshment tent. “Come have a coffee with me. You can tell me what you thought of that gray gelding your husband’s been working with. I saw him in the warm-up earlier, and I have opinions.”
Elena always has opinions. I’m usually prepared to argue with at least half of them, and the prospect is unexpectedly welcome. Max will be occupied with preparations. I can spare a little time before I go looking for him.
“The gray with the weak hind end?” I fall into step beside her. “The one who rushes his transitions?”
“That’s the one.” Elena steers us toward the tent. “I think he’s being asked for too much too soon. The grooms are pushing him through the basics instead of letting him find his balance.”
“I said the same thing to Max weeks ago.” The memory surfaces without warning, dinner with my mother, Max loosening my hairpins before I’d even asked. “I told him the boy was pulling instead of waiting. Max passed it on to Marco.”