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He tensed as she stepped inside, closing his eyes as if to blot out this reality.
But Dante was nothing if not a pragmatist. He might regret what had happened, and wish he could undo it with all his heart, but such thoughts were fantasies. All he could do now was deal with the consequences.
He watched as Georgia’s eyes swept over the entrance foyer, something tweaking in her face, emotions he couldn’t comprehend, and yet found he wanted to. Why? Why did he care?
He closed the door, not registering the way she flinched at the sound, or he might have felt sorry for her. He might even have softened a little, at least in terms of how he intended to address this matter. But Dante saw only the façade she quickly assembled a moment later, turning to look at him with eyes that were fired up by her own determination and strength.
“The living room is through there. Would you like anything?” He surprised them both by offering. “Tea, coffee? Some food?”
Her eyes widened. Yes, civility had been the last thing she’d been expecting. “No,” she spat, rubbing her temples with fingers that were slim and elegant. Out of nowhere, he had an image of her hands running down his chest. He’d liked the way her lighter skin had looked against his. And then, when she’d wrapped her hand around his hardness, glancing up at him to see his reaction, and he’d felt as though he might explode then and there.
He looked away, angry with himself for the lack of control he had over his thoughts. Angrier still at the way his body stirred in response to those memories.
“Follow me then.”
“Yes, sir,” she responded with mock meekness. He closed his eyes because the faux subservience only made his blood run faster.
He ground his teeth, gesturing towards the sofa when they reached the living room. Her eyes widened as she looked around, and he did likewise, seeing it now through the eyes of a stranger. Dante was used to this place. It was familiar to him. Bianca had decorated it and he’d kept everything just as it had been—the soft, brown leather sofa and armchairs that were old and worn. She’d loved the history of the leather, the care and precision of the long-ago craftsmen. It was, if he had to describe it, eclectic. A mix of things she’d found at an antique shop on Portobello Road, and some items that were handcrafted but new. Bianca had possessed unique and excellent taste—and an ingrained ability to make a house feel instantly like home.
“It’s very different to your other place,” was all Georgia said.
Dante dipped his head in silent agreement.
“This is nice.” She ran a hand along the back of the sofa, frowning, as though asking the furniture how the hell it happened to be in Dante Santoro’s living room. A moment later though, she turned to face him, and the light from the window caught her in such a way that she looked, for a moment, like an angel, with gold surrounding her, and when his eyes dropped to her stomach, all he could think of was the life growing inside of her. A life that he would die to protect. A life that he would put before his own every chance he got. He stepped forward, mouth dry, his body moving of its own volition.
“May I?” He asked, gesturing to her stomach.
She took a step back, shaking her head quickly. “Absolutely not.”
The angry inflection to her words pulled him out of his reverie—at least, a little of the way. He turned away from her, gut twisting.
“So, Dante? You said you’d take me home when I wanted to go. Well? I’m ready.”
He closed his eyes on a wave of frustration. Was he really going to do this? Did he have any choice? No. For their baby, he had to do this. He hated it. He would always hate it. But it was the only path to chart. “I said I would take you back when we had spoken, but we have not done so yet. And Georgia? I think from this point on, we should start to think of this as your home too.”
He heard her intake of air, and turned on autopilot, half-worried she’d pass out. But Georgia wasn’t the fainting type. Rather, her cheeks flushed pink with her irritation and he found himself admiring her spark even when he definitely didn’t want to. She folded her arms, eyes piercing him with absolute dislike—if not hatred.
He waited for her to respond, to say something, and when she didn’t, he lifted one brow, as if prompting her.
“Oh, I’m waiting for you,” she drawled with sarcasm. “Please, tell me more about this fantasy plan you’ve concocted.”
“This is the exact opposite of my fantasy.”
“Mine too.”
“So we have that in common.”
He sucked in a breath, aiming for calm. This wasn’t Georgia’s fault. It was Dante’s. He was the one who’d weakened and touched her, who’d had unprotected sex, for God’s sake. And it hadn’t even occurred to him! His only response after being with her was to feel guilt for cheating on the memory of Bianca. He dragged a hand through his hair, angry and irritated and filled with self-loathing.
“I want to be a part of my child’s life; do you find that unreasonable?”
She bit down onto her lip, her eyes flashing to his. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t make it sound as though I’m…as though you’re acting like a nice, normal dad-to-be and I’m the big bad wolf.”
Under other circumstances, he might have been amused by the preposterous idea of this tiny woman being ‘big’ in any way.
