28. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
I wake before Max does, which happens rarely enough that I lie still for a moment, watching the early light move across the ceiling.
He’s turned toward me in sleep, one hand resting near my shoulder, his breathing slow and even.
I could stay here. I could close my eyes and drift back into the warmth of him, pretend for another hour that there’s nothing waiting to be done.
Instead, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check my email.
Valentina’s reply is there, confirming eleven o’clock. I read it twice, feeling the weight of what I’m about to do settle into my chest. Not fear, exactly. Something closer to anticipation.
I slip out of bed without waking Max and pull on a robe. The house is quiet, Rosa not yet in the kitchen, the garden still cool with morning shadow. I make coffee and take it to the study, where I can think without the distraction of his warmth beside me.
The decision has been forming for weeks now.
Since the night I climbed the stairs to the loft because I wanted him, and asked him to come back to our bedroom the next morning.
Since the ordinary days that followed, the ones where nothing dramatic happened and we simply existed together, learning how to be married again.
I was thinking about calling Valentina before my mother asked to visit.
Yesterday gave me something I hadn’t expected from her, but this decision belongs to another part of my life.
I don’t need her to approve of it. I need to mean it as much as I meant leaving, and when I picture telling Max, I find myself wanting to see his face.
I hear Max moving upstairs, the creak of floorboards, the sound of water running. By the time he appears in the study doorway, I’ve finished my coffee and made a decision about the morning.
“You’re up early,” he says.
“I have a call with Valentina at eleven.” I set down my empty cup. “I thought we might ride first, if you have time.”
His eyes stay on mine for a moment before he answers. “Benedetto and I are speaking at two. The morning is free.”
“Good.” I stand and cross to him, rising on my toes to kiss him. “Saddle the gray for yourself. I want company.”
At the stable, I check Sovrano’s tack while Max saddles the gray.
I fasten my helmet beneath my chin, tuck the loose end of my braid away, and wait while he secures his own.
An hour after leaving the study, we ride out through the olive grove, both horses moving easily beneath us.
The morning is warm but not hot, the light filtering through the leaves in patterns I’ve loved since I was a child.
Sovrano walks with his ears pricked forward, interested in everything, and I feel the familiar pleasure of being on a horse I trust.
“You’re quiet,” Max observes after a while.
“I’m thinking.”
“About the call?”
“About what I’m going to say.” I glance at him. “I’ve made a decision. I want to tell you before I speak to her.”
He brings the gray level with Sovrano, leaving room between the horses. “I’m listening.”
“I’m going to withdraw the divorce filing.”
For a moment, he doesn’t react. Then I see it in his face, the way his whole expression changes. Not relief, exactly, though that’s part of it. Something deeper. Something that looks like joy.
“Elle.” His voice is rough.
“I wanted you to hear it from me. Not afterward, like it was just administrative.”
“It’s not administrative.” He looks at me as though he wants to come closer, then glances at the narrow path and keeps the gray beside us. “It’s everything.”
“I know.” I look at the path ahead, at the way it curves between the trees. “That’s why I’m doing it properly.”
We ride in silence for a few minutes, and I let him process. There will be time for talking later. Right now, I want to enjoy this, the quiet morning, the warmth of my horse beneath me, the knowledge that I am about to tell my lawyer something I once couldn’t imagine wanting.
“Do you want to try a bit of trot?” I ask when we reach the wider stretch near the meadow.
“If you do.”
“I do.” I gather my reins. “Let’s take the wider turn by the wall. He rushed the tighter ones yesterday.”
“I’ll give you room.”
Max drops back while I ask Sovrano forward.
I settle into the rhythm, feeling the familiar lift beneath me, and let the turn come gradually instead of gathering him too soon.
His ears flick back toward me as we curve past the wall.
When I bring him to walk, I am smiling before Max draws alongside us again.
“You took the short way,” I tell him.
“You had the long one occupied.”
“I thought a champion would welcome the extra work.”
“A champion recognizes an opportunity to do less of it.”
“An amateur’s philosophy.”
He laughs, turning toward me. “I remember being much more impressive before you learned my name.”
“You remember incorrectly.”
Sovrano stretches his neck, and I let the reins slide a little through my fingers.
Max is still smiling beside me. I’ve had mornings like this again lately, enough of them to recognize that I don’t have to catch every word and store it away for later.
There will be something else to tease him about before we reach the yard.
“We should head back,” I say. “I need to clean up before the call.”
“I’ll put the horses away.” He turns the gray toward the path. “Take your time.”
“Max.” I wait until he looks at me. “Thank you. For not making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
“You’ve made your decision.” His voice is simple. “I can manage two horses while you make a phone call.”
I watch him ride ahead of me, sitting easily on the gray, and I think about all the mornings we’ve spent like this. Not perfect mornings, not dramatic ones. Just ordinary days where we worked side by side and remembered why we chose each other in the first place.
That’s what convinced me, in the end. Not grand gestures or desperate promises. Just the steady accumulation of evidence that he could be the person I needed him to be.
Back in the yard, we dismount and remove our helmets. I leave mine on the bench and loosen Sovrano’s girth before handing his reins to Max. He catches my wrist lightly, kisses the inside of it, and lets me go without trying to turn it into a conversation.
At eleven, washed and changed, I close the study door and call Valentina.
“I want to withdraw the divorce petition,” I tell her when we’ve said hello.
The silence that follows is brief, but I can hear my own breathing in it. I remember making the first call from this house, sitting with a decision that hurt even while it brought me relief. I needed her help then. I don’t regret asking for it.
“You’re certain you want to stop the proceedings?” she asks.
“Yes. We’ve been living together again for several weeks. I’ve had time to think about this.”
“All right.” I hear her making a note. “I’ll prepare what I need from you and arrange the withdrawal once you’ve returned it.”
I rest my free hand on the desk. My fingers have curled around the edge without my noticing. As she explains what she will send, I loosen them and listen.
“I’ll send the paperwork within the hour,” she says. “You can sign electronically and return them whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll do it today.”
“Then I’ll wait to hear from you.” A brief pause. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No.” I look out the window at the garden, at the terrace where I sat with my mother yesterday. “That’s everything.”
After we hang up, I sit for a moment in the quiet of the study.
The email arrives within minutes, and I read through the documents carefully.
I follow each page to the end, going back once to check an instruction before adding my signature.
I gave the decision to leave this much care. I want to give staying the same.
Then I send them back.
When I find Max, he’s in the garden, sitting on the stone bench near the roses. He looks up when he hears me coming, and I see the question in his eyes.
“It’s done,” I tell him. “I signed and sent everything. Valentina has what she needs to arrange the withdrawal.”
He stands and pulls me into his arms. I feel his heart beating fast against my chest, feel the way his hands grip the back of my shirt as though he’s afraid I might disappear.
“I’ve been sitting here trying not to think about it,” he admits against my hair. “Trying to give you space. It was harder than I expected.”
“You don’t have to give me space right now.” I pull back enough to look at him. “I want you here.”
“I’m here.” He touches my face. “Tell me where you want me.”
“Here will do.” I turn my head and kiss his palm, and his mouth softens into a smile.
We sit together on the bench, close enough that our shoulders touch. The morning has warmed into midday, and I can smell the roses behind us, their sweetness mixing with the earthier scent of the garden.
“I need to tell you something,” I say after a while.
“More?”
“Different.” I take a breath. “When I filed, I meant it. I wasn’t trying to punish you or get your attention. I really thought I was done.”
“I know.” His voice is quiet. “That’s what made it so hard.”
“But I also need you to know that you’re the reason I changed my mind.” I look at him. “Not the crisis with Giselle. Not my mother finally apologizing. You. The way you’ve been these past weeks.”
“I haven’t done anything special.”
“Yes, you have.” I take his hand. “You stopped trying to fix things and started trying to be present. You asked my opinion instead of assuming you knew better. You made plans that included me and then actually kept them.”
“Those are basic things.”
“They used to be ours.” I squeeze his fingers. “Before I got hurt, I could tell you something you didn’t want to hear and trust you to argue with me. Afterward, you kept trying to make me comfortable. I felt as though I had to get better before we could have a life together again.”
His thumb stills against mine. “I thought taking care of you was the thing I knew how to do.”