19. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
“Lovely is one word for it.” I keep my hand against the gate, feeling the sun-warmed iron beneath my palm. “I would have chosen others.”
Giselle’s smile tightens. She is dressed for an entirely different kind of visit, her coat too elegant for standing on a gravel road, her shoes wrong for the dust that has already begun to settle on them. I wonder how long she sat in the car before deciding to get out.
“Ever since that interview.” She folds her arms. “People keep calling to ask whether Max has lost his mind. Mother is beside herself. And you’re here playing house as though none of it matters.”
“It matters to me.” I don’t raise my voice. “That’s why he said it.”
“He said I was a fraud.” Giselle’s composure slips, just for a moment. “He told everyone the ride was a mistake. Do you have any idea what that’s been like?”
“I know what it was like to watch it happen.” I feel Max shift beside me, but I keep my attention on my sister. “I was there, Giselle. I saw you on my horse. I heard the announcement.”
“I didn’t write the announcement.” She lifts her chin. “You can hardly blame me for what someone else said.”
“You said you wanted to honor me when you asked for lessons.” I let the words land between us. “Before there was an announcement. Before you ever entered that competition.”
Giselle’s gaze flickers to Max, then back to me. I can see her calculating, deciding how much to admit.
“People liked that.” Her voice is quieter now. “It gave them something to say. It gave Mother something to be proud of, instead of having to explain why you weren’t competing.”
“So it was useful.” I hear the coldness in my own voice and don’t soften it. “Making me into a tribute was useful for you.”
“It wasn’t a lie.” Giselle steps closer to the gate. “I did miss you. I wanted you to see that I could do something you cared about.”
“By taking my place?” I shake my head slowly. “By riding the horse I trained, in the arena where everyone knew I should have been?”
“You weren’t going to compete.” Her voice rises. “You made that very clear. Someone had to do something.”
“No one had to do anything.” I feel the anger building, hot and clean. “I was recovering. I needed time. Instead of giving me that, you turned my absence into a performance.”
Giselle’s expression hardens. “You wanted everyone to wait while you decided whether you still cared. That’s not the same as being left alone. That’s holding everyone hostage.”
“I was frightened.” My voice catches, and I pause long enough to steady it. “And instead of asking what I needed, you found a way to make my recovery about you.”
“It was never about me.” Giselle laughs, a brittle sound. “It was always about you. Even when you weren’t there, everything was about poor Georgina and her terrible fall and whether she would ever ride again. I was just trying to fill the silence.”
“By lying.” I hold her gaze. “By calling it a tribute when you knew it was an opportunity.”
For a moment, Giselle says nothing. I can see her weighing her options, deciding whether to keep defending herself or try a different approach. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“I wanted him to fix it.” She looks at Max. “The interview. I wanted him to say he was wrong, that I earned my place, that none of it was my idea. Instead he’s here, letting you punish him, while I’m the one everyone blames.”
“I’m not here because she’s punishing me.” Max’s voice is steady beside me. “I said what I meant. I agreed to the lessons and I agreed to the tribute story. Those were my choices, and I’ve taken responsibility for them.”
“You made me look like a fool.” Giselle’s composure cracks. “You let everyone think I manipulated you into giving me what I wanted.”
“I agreed to it.” Max doesn’t flinch. “You knew she hadn’t asked for any of this. So did I. I should have listened when she objected, instead of deciding I knew what would be good for her.”
“But I’m the one paying for it.” Giselle turns back to me. “You get to stay here with your horse and your husband and your righteous anger. And I get to go home and explain to Mother why everything fell apart.”
“That’s not my concern.” I feel the anger cooling, settling into something harder. “You came here without an invitation. You can explain yourself to whoever you like, but you don’t get to make me responsible for the consequences of your choices.”
“Lessons stopped because of you.” Giselle’s voice drops. “Everything stopped because you couldn’t stand to share him.”
“The lessons stopped because I ended them.” Max’s tone is firm. “Elle didn’t ask me to.”
Giselle looks between us, and I can see her recalculating. She came here expecting to find cracks she could widen. Instead she’s found us standing together, and it’s thrown her off balance.
“She’ll never really trust you.” Giselle’s voice is almost gentle now, aimed at Max. “You know that. No matter what you do, she’ll always be waiting for you to disappoint her again.”
“That’s not your concern.” I feel Max’s hand brush mine, and I take it without looking away from my sister. “What happens between us is not something you get to predict.”
“I’m trying to help.” Giselle spreads her hands. “Someone has to tell you the truth. You can play at reconciliation all you want, but she filed for divorce, Max. She gave back her ring. Whatever this is, it’s not what you think.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave.” I squeeze Max’s hand once, then release it. “You came without being invited. You’ve said what you wanted to say. Now I’d like you to go.”
Giselle’s expression flickers between hurt and anger. “Just like that? You’re not even going to discuss this properly?”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” I keep my voice even. “You want me to feel sorry for the consequences of what you did. I don’t. You want Max to take back the truth he told. He won’t. If you come here again without an invitation, Deus will turn you away at the road.”
“Georgina.” Giselle says my name like it’s supposed to mean something.
“Goodbye, Giselle.” I don’t move from where I’m standing.
She looks at Max one more time, as though waiting for him to intervene. When he doesn’t, she turns and walks to her car without another word. Deus moves toward the gate, watching as she pulls open the driver’s door.
The engine starts. Gravel crunches. I watch the car disappear around the curve of the road, and only when the sound has faded completely do I let my shoulders drop.
“Well.” Max’s voice is quiet beside me. “That was bracing.”
I turn toward him, and something between a laugh and a sob catches in my throat. He opens his arms, and I step into them without thinking about whether I should.
“You’re shaking.” His hand moves slowly up my back. “Come and sit down.”
“The coffee’s cold.” I mumble it against his shoulder, not ready to move yet.
“Rosa will bring more.” He holds me a moment longer, then eases back enough to see my face. “She went back to the house while Deus was seeing her off. I suspect she knew we’d want some.”
I let him lead me back through the garden, his hand warm at the small of my back.
The terrace looks exactly as we left it, the cups sitting on the table, the morning sun still falling across the chairs Max carried out.
It seems impossible that less than an hour has passed since we were sitting here talking about biscotti.
Max pulls out my chair, then glances toward the garden gate. “Shall I ask Rosa about the coffee?”
“In a minute.” I catch his wrist before he can move away. “Sit with me first.”
He sits down beside me instead of across from me, angling his chair so his knee almost touches mine.
Rosa appears a few minutes later with a fresh pot and clean cups, setting them on the table with the kind of efficiency that doesn’t invite conversation.
She squeezes my shoulder once before disappearing back into the house.
“She’s wrong.” I say it while Max is pouring, watching the steam rise from my cup. “About the trust. About what I’m capable of.”
“I know.” He slides the cup toward me. “You don’t have to convince me.”
“I’m not trying to convince you.” I wrap my hands around the warmth. “I’m reminding myself.”
He nods, settling back in his chair. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that comes after something difficult, when there’s nothing left to say and plenty of time to say nothing in.
Max turns my hand over beneath his, easing my fingers out of the fist I hadn’t noticed making. There is a shallow mark across my palm from the gate. He brushes it with his thumb, and I watch him until I can unclench the rest of me as well.
“I don’t want to spend the whole afternoon talking about her.” I look toward the two cane chairs by the wall. “We were having a perfectly good argument about cushions.”
“We hadn’t started arguing.” His thumb pauses against my palm. “I was being extremely agreeable.”
“I was going to ask you to help me choose new ones.”
He considers that with appropriate gravity. “Then I’m glad we stopped for coffee first. I may need another biscuit.”
I reach for the plate and discover there is one left. For a moment we both look at it. Then he breaks it in half and puts the larger piece beside my cup, so casually that I suspect he hopes I won’t notice.
“That won’t get you out of choosing fabric,” I tell him, picking it up.
“It was worth a try.” He sits back with his smaller half, looking pleased when I finally smile.
We sit like that for a while, drinking coffee in the sunshine.
The garden is quiet around us. I can hear birds in the hedge, and somewhere beyond the wall, one of the horses calls to another in the paddock.
It’s the kind of ordinary morning I used to take for granted, before ordinary became something I had to fight for.
“I want to look at something.” I pull out my phone with my free hand. “The federation calendar. There’s a show I’ve been thinking about.”
Max shifts closer, not crowding but near enough to see the screen. I scroll through the autumn listings until I find the one I noticed a few days ago.
“The last competition of the season.” I point to the entry. “Six weeks from now. They have amateur classes that would suit Sovrano.”
“What are you thinking?” He keeps his voice neutral, letting me lead.
“I’m thinking I miss it.” I zoom in on the class details. “Not the pressure, not the proving anything. I miss being in the ring. I miss knowing what I can do.”
“That’s a good reason.” Max studies the schedule over my shoulder. “What level are you looking at?”
“Nothing too ambitious.” I scroll through the amateur divisions.
“Something I can prepare for properly. I haven’t jumped since the fall.
” I stop scrolling at a lower class than I would once have chosen.
The small concession stings less than I expect.
I want a course I can look forward to riding, not one I dread for six weeks.
“We can work toward that.” He looks at the class I’ve chosen, then back at me. “Start with where you are now. Walking poles when you’re comfortable, then work on getting your other paces back. There’s plenty to do before we need to put a fence up.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” I lower the phone and look at him. “If I started tomorrow, I’d have six weeks to see whether we’re ready. And if we’re not, I don’t enter. No pressure.”
“I could help.” He says it carefully. “If you wanted someone to set poles and argue about distances. If you’d rather do it yourself, I’ll stay out of the way.”
“I’d rather not do it myself.” I feel the admission settle between us. “I like riding with you. I used to like arguing with you about it afterward, too.” My thumb moves over his knuckles. “I’d like to have that again.”
“Then let me be useful.” His thumb traces a circle on the back of my hand. “We can start tomorrow. Coffee first, then we make a plan. We can take Sovrano into the arena afterward and work from the ground.”
“And if I can’t do it?” I look at the class again, trying to imagine riding into the arena with people watching. “If I get as far as the warm-up and want to go home?”
“Then we go home.” He says it without looking away. “You won’t owe me a round because we trained for one, Elle. But I’d like to help you get there.”
I look at the calendar entry for another moment, then close my phone and set it on the table. The sun is warm on my shoulders, and Max’s hand is steady around mine.
“Tomorrow, then.” I turn toward him. “Coffee at nine. We can plan the first week, then take him down to the arena.”
“Nine.” He smiles. “I’ll leave myself time to do the braid first.”
“His braid or mine?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I was thinking his.” Max’s smile widens. “I’m not sure I’d survive trying to critique your hair.”
“You’d be right to be worried.” I lean back in my chair, feeling lighter than I have all morning. “I’m very particular about my braids.”
“I’ve noticed.” He lifts our joined hands and presses his lips to my knuckles. “You’re very particular about most things.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“It’s an observation.” He grins at me. “I happen to like particular.”
I laugh, and the sound surprises me.
After everything this morning, after Giselle’s accusations and my own anger, I can still laugh with him. I hold onto the feeling, not examining it too closely.
I lean forward and kiss him before he can say anything else. It’s quick, more punctuation than passion, but his hand tightens around mine when I pull back.
“What was that for?” He looks pleased.
“For being here.” I smooth a wrinkle from his collar that doesn’t need smoothing. “For tomorrow. And because you’re much easier to argue with from here.”
“Closer, then?” He catches my hand against his chest. “I’d hate to make it difficult for you.”
“This will do.” I let my palm rest against the steady beat of his heart. “For now.”
His smile widens, and he presses a kiss to the heel of my hand before letting me settle back. I keep my chair close to his.
My phone has gone dark on the table, but when I wake the screen the class is still there, waiting beneath the date. I save it and turn the phone so he can see.
“That’s the one.” I feel a nervous flutter as I say it, followed by something I haven’t felt about a competition in a long time. Impatience. I want to begin. “That’s what I’m going to work toward.”
“Then tomorrow we’ll start.” Max reaches for his coffee, his knee warm against mine.
There is coffee at nine and a training plan to argue over, a horse to bring into the arena, and a husband who has somehow volunteered to look at cushion fabric. I can imagine the whole morning without having to find a space in it where I might fit.
“You’ll need a notebook,” I tell him. “I intend to be a very demanding pupil.”
“Pupil?” He lowers his cup. “I thought you’d hired me to carry poles.”
“Among other things.” I reach for his free hand beneath the edge of the table, and his fingers close around mine.
For once, the thought of tomorrow makes me want it to come sooner.