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“I prefer common sense and rational thought, neither of which are your strong suits, evidently.”
She flinched at that. “You don’t know me.”
“So show me,” he challenged. “Show me you can be reasonable in the circumstances and agree to move in here. I don’t want to fight you, Georgia. Not about this.”
She shivered, because in this gear, he was so dangerously persuasive, she found her heart twisting and bending to his will, even when she still wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, to buy herself some extra time, and because she wasn’t yet ready to admit that she was coming around to his perspective. The advantages to his suggestion were definitely there, and in reality, Georgia didn’t want to do this alone. Not when there was an option to live with another parent, someone who could share the load when it got tough.
He let her wrist drop and she rubbed her fingers over it surreptitiously. He noticed though, his eyes dropping to the betraying gesture. With a flare of his nostrils and a brief closure of his eyes, he stepped back, waiting for her to inspect the nursery.
Everything about his house was perfect. From the nursery with adjoining bedroom for a parent or nanny, to the large, farmhouse style kitchen that was the exact opposite of what she’d expect someone like Dante to have, to the proximity of his house to a little nursery school. It was hard to think of their baby as a school aged child and yet, how quickly life went when children were in the picture. She’d felt that with the twins—she’d been jettisoned so quickly from being a footloose and fancy-free teenager with the world at her feet to being orphaned and responsible for her brothers. From that moment on, she’d been caught in a whirlwind of after school sports, study, exams, school holidays, part time jobs, and she found the days passed in a blur, blending into weeks and months and years so before she’d known it, she’d been throwing the boys a sixteenth birthday party, then helping them apply for colleges and sit scholarship exams, knowing that she should be focusing on her own goals too.
But Georgia had wanted to travel first. It had always been her plan to enjoy a palette-cleansing gap year after working so hard in high school, and before undertaking a degree as demanding as medicine.
She sighed as she stepped into the back garden, running a hand over the top of a rock wall, feeling the rough crenellations formed by the tradesman’s trowel, and she imagined their son walking along the top of it, or running, as was more likely. She knew enough of little boys to know that Dante was going to have a meltdown when he saw how much risk was involved in a little boy’s day. All children liked to push boundaries, but in Georgia’s experience, little boys could be terrors. They ran too fast, rushed everywhere, were loud and silly and loved to roll around on the floor with each other, a mess of limbs and laughs.
“Well?” He asked, standing behind her, imposing despite the beauty and freedom of this garden. There was a huge mulberry tree towards the back, the trunk thick, the canopy like a big, fluffy umbrella. She could imagine how delightful it would be to lie beneath it on a summer’s day.
“It’s lovely,” she said quietly. “But so is your house in Como. I suspect you have a veritable buffet of properties you could use to tempt me into giving up my freedom.”
“Would you prefer to live elsewhere?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought we had to be here?” Even as she said it, the use of ‘we’ burrowed into her chest, making her feel like she was part of a team. With Dante Santoro? Impossible.
“My office is here, but I can work from anywhere. If you’d prefer Italy, we’ll make it happen.”
“New York?” She asked, toying with her fingers.
He lifted his shoulders. “Sure.”
It was evidence of how much he wanted this. And also, of the fact he was prepared to make some sacrifices too.
“Australia?”
His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps that’s too far. Is it so important to you?”
She considered that. It wasn’t, but she wasn’t prepared to concede that point yet. “I need to think.”
He walked towards the wall, lifted a twig off it, snapped it in his hands, lost in thought. She studied his face, his features so fascinating, she thought she could look at him like this for hours. But then he glanced up, pinning her with his gaze, and she flushed, feeling guilty for having been caught staring. “Where is your hotel key?”
She furrowed her brow. “Why?”
“I’ll go and get your things.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“We’ve just discussed that, haven’t we?”
“You mean for me to move in now?”
“You’re pregnant now, aren’t you?”
“But I still haven’t decided. There’s still more I need to know?—, ”
“No, there isn’t. The pertinent information is before you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So what’s it to be, Georgia?”
She ground her teeth together. “Well, between this,” she waved a hand towards his house, “or an expensive, probably unwinnable and definitely damaging custody battle, I suppose I choose door number one.” She stomped towards him, channeling her anger because it felt a little like a protective cape. “But don’t ever think I don’t hate you for this. Don’t ever think I’ll forgive you.”
