26. Georgina #2
“I don’t want us promising things that will exhaust you,” I say. “I want to be able to believe the plan.”
“Then we’ll leave room in it.” His hand stills. “I want to be here. I also want to be good at my job, and right now those things require some planning. I’m trying to figure out how to have both.”
“So am I.” I touch his face, feeling the familiar angle of his jaw beneath my palm. “I’d rather decide how we do this together than have you tell me what you’ve arranged.”
His expression softens. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
“Were you worried?”
“A little.” He turns his head and kisses my palm. “I used to accept ‘I’m fine’ whenever it made leaving easier. I don’t want to do that again.”
The afternoon light shifts across the terrace, warm and golden.
I listen to the distant sounds of the horses in the paddock, the soft creak of the chair beneath us, the steady rhythm of Max’s breathing.
This is what I wanted, I realize. Not just the closeness, but the conversation. The feeling that we’re building something together instead of circling each other carefully.
“What about a day visit?” I ask. “After you’ve been there for a bit. I could drive over, see how the work is going, meet you for lunch.”
“You’d want to do that?”
“I’d want to see what you’re doing.” I trace a pattern on his chest. “I used to love watching you train. Before everything.”
He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. “We’ll pick a day and keep it free. Dante will be insufferable, but he’ll be pleased to see you. He’s been asking about your pockets.”
“Has he?”
“He remembers you always have carrots.”
“I always have carrots for horses who deserve them.”
“That’s going to hurt his feelings.”
“He’ll survive.” I tilt my face up to look at him. “What are you planning to do with him? Apart from explain your absence.”
“Marco says he’s bored with the routine. I want to see how he feels before I change it.”
“He’ll pretend he’s never seen an arena in his life.”
“Probably.”
“And you’ll pretend you aren’t delighted to be back on him.”
Max looks down at me, caught. I know that expression. I’ve watched him try to look stern at horses who have just done something clever and inconvenient, watched the corner of his mouth give him away before he manages a word.
“I’ll allow myself a little enthusiasm,” he says.
“How generous.”
His hand closes around mine, and I realize how much I want him to enjoy it. That used to frighten me, the thought of how happy he could be somewhere I wasn’t. But the happiness wasn’t what hurt. It was being expected to live on whatever time remained after it.
“Thursday evening,” I say. “Will you be back for dinner?”
“If we finish when I expect to, yes. I’ll call before I leave.”
“Then I’ll save you something.”
“Something?”
“I can’t promise an entire meal. Rosa’s very good at what she does.”
“I’ve noticed.” He draws my hand to his mouth. “Would it improve my chances if I brought dessert?”
“Considerably.”
I picture it without having to force myself: his car coming up the drive, something wrapped in paper on the passenger seat, an evening in which I can ask him how it went and expect a proper answer.
I can tell him about my own day, too. I have work to do here, a horse I want to ride, people I want to see.
I want to bring those things to the table with his.
He laughs and pulls me close, and I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him. The afternoon stretches around us, unhurried and warm.
“There’s something else,” I say after a while. “Valentina sent an email this morning.”
Max goes still beneath me. “About the case?”
“About the divorce.” I put my hand on his chest. “She asked when I’d like to speak about the next steps. I haven’t answered yet.”
He looks at me, and I feel his breathing change beneath my palm. We have been making plans as though nothing could interrupt them. The email reminds us both that there is still a process moving in another direction, one I started because I could no longer bear the way we were living.
“I don’t want you wondering whether I’ve forgotten about it,” I say.
“I haven’t wondered that.”
“What have you wondered?”
His thumb moves once over my knuckles before it stops.
“Whether you’re waiting to see if this lasts.”
The answer is so plain that I have to take a moment with it. I could reassure him quickly, kiss away the uncertainty and go back to discussing Thursday. A few months ago, I would have settled for that from him. I know now how little comfort it gives once the other person stops touching you.
“I needed to know we could have ordinary days,” I tell him. “Days when nothing terrible had happened and neither of us was trying to make up for something.”
He glances toward the table, then back at me. “We’ve had some.”
“We have.”
I remember the week before the competition, him reading while I looked over my entry confirmation, both of us interrupting the other for things that weren’t urgent.
I remember wanting to tell him something and finding him there.
Those memories don’t become less important because my sister gave us a worse day afterward.
“I want more of them,” I say.
His hand comes to my cheek. “So do I.”
I turn my face into his palm, letting the warmth settle against my skin. I won’t make the call to Valentina just to stop him looking worried, any more than I filed because I wanted him frightened. I meant what I asked her for then. Whatever I ask for now deserves the same honesty.
But the thought of her email no longer brings the relief it did when leaving was the only choice I could see. I look at Max and feel something very different: the desire to make room for a future I once couldn’t let myself imagine.
“When I speak to her, I’ll tell you,” I say.
He nods. There is no attempt to turn that into a promise I haven’t made. He kisses me instead, lightly, and I catch the front of his shirt before he can draw away.
“That wasn’t a hint to stop kissing me.”
His smile warms against my mouth. “Good. I was hoping it wasn’t.”
The next kiss takes longer. His hand slides to the back of my neck, and I lean into him, forgetting the careful position of my legs until the chair gives a small creak beneath us. We both stop. Then his forehead drops against mine, and I begin to laugh.
He slips his arms around me from behind, and I lean back against him, looking out at the garden. The light is golden on the stone walls, warm on my face, and somewhere in the distance a horse calls to another.
“Come inside,” I tell him. “I’ll make fresh coffee, and you can finish your correspondence.”
He looks down at me. “Will you be supervising that too?”
“Only if you need help spelling impeccable.”
“I’m beginning to understand why you liked me better when I didn’t know your name.”
“You were just as conceited then.” I pull him closer. “I had terrible judgment.”
I turn in his arms and kiss him, properly this time, feeling his hands settle at my waist. When I pull back, he’s smiling. I pull him toward the house, our hands linked.
The table gleams behind us, the cushions bright against the weathered wood of the chairs.
Everything is exactly where I wanted it.
For the first time, I want to call my lawyer and tell her what I’m keeping.