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“I barely know her.” He muttered, to himself, cementing the reality of their situation, or at least the reality as he needed it to be. “We had a one night stand. Not even! It was a stupid, stupid mistake that I bitterly regret.”
“So what? That’s not her fault. Two of you made that mistake. You think she doesn’t regret it too?”
He hadn’t thought about that. His throat felt as though it were flooded with acid and his mind churned slowly.
“Did she say she regrets it?”
Portia rolled her eyes. “She didn’t have to. As I said, she’s the most optimistic woman I’ve ever known and she’s clearly trying to put a brave face on things, but how could she feel anything but regret when you’re acting like this?”
“I’m just getting on with my life.”
“Then why can’t she get on with hers?”
“What do you mean? I have put no restrictions on her.”
“Other than requiring her to live in your home, in a country that’s all new to her, where she has no friends or family?”
“She chose to travel.”
“Yes, to travel, not to be bound to one place with a man who acts as though he hates her, and with no prospects of her own. What’s going on with you, Dante? This really isn’t like you.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You’re not selfish,” Portia insisted, coming around to sit on the edge of the desk, softening a little in her manner, as though she was worried about him. “You’re not mean.”
His gut fell to the floor. Portia’s faith in him made a part of Dante curl up in shame and wither away. Worse, he thought of what Bianca would say about this, about how he was treating Georgia, and wanted to bang his head against the desk.
“You can fix this,” Portia said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Dante’s eyes lifted to hers. She meant well, but how could he explain it to her? That even thinking about having a conversation with the woman he’d slept with was a greater betrayal to Bianca?
“I understand the complexities of this, but you can’t keep treating her like this. If nothing else, she’s the mother of your child, and that child deserves to see two parents who treat each other with respect. Who like one another.”
He closed his eyes on a wave of despair.
“I’ve invited her to Italy next weekend,” Portia stood, evidently content she’d gotten the message across. “Naturally, it would be appropriate for you to come too, but if you can’t bring yourself to do it, she’ll travel with Marco and me.”
“Portia,” he spoke sternly, shocked at how he was being boxed into a corner. Portia whipped around, more defensive than he’d ever seen her.
“No, Dante. This is non-negotiable. She is the mother of your child, and she belongs with us. How dare you make her think otherwise for even a second. You realise she lost her parents when she was just eighteen?” Portia stared at him, as if waiting for him to concede the point. And while inwardly, the burn of shame swirled through him, he showed no visible acknowledgement. “We are all she has, and I’m going to make damned sure she knows we have her back, even if you’re determined to keep acting like…acting like…honestly? I’m so disappointed in you, Dante.”
And with that, Portia swept from his office, leaving a shocked Dante staring at the wall, trying to manage the tsunami of feelings she’d managed to evoke in him.
Georgia eyed the last container of gelato with a sinking feeling. She knew she should ignore it, but really, how much gelato was too much gelato? And the hazelnut flavour she’d discovered was so delicious, and just exactly what she wanted at the end of a warm spring day.
Rather than staying in the house, she’d set off to explore the area, finding her way to the Main Street and idling down one side, looking in shop windows, then walking back up on the other side, pausing to get a takeaway decaf coffee from a lovely little French patisserie near the crossing. She enjoyed it as she ambled down a little cobbled lane and around to a small school. She stood outside the gates, sipping her drink, marveling at the noise and happiness of the children, imagining her own son in the same uniform one day, imagining him playing hopscotch and football as the little ones beyond the gates were doing now.
By mid-afternoon, she’d returned home with a couple of books from Waterstones and a ready-meal from a convenience store, too tired to contemplate cooking, but still finding herself hungry. First though, the gelato was calling to her.
Removing it from the freezer and cursing her lack of will-power, she was just digging a spoon into the first delightful layer when the front door closed. She jumped, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall in alarm.
It was way too early for Dante to be home. But surely no one else had a key? If they had, even Dante—inconsiderate and rude—would have mentioned that.
She bit down on her lip, looked around for a hiding space, just until she knew what he was doing home—maybe he’d just come to retrieve something he needed for work? Grabbing her gelato—the evidence—she stepped into the large Butler’s pantry and pulled the door closed behind her, forcing herself to take in shallow, silent breaths, her ears trained for any noises beyond.
Footsteps overhead sounded, and then he called out for her, so Georgia’s heart jammed into her throat and she considered going to him, or ignoring him. She didn’t know what to do! It was just so unexpected to have him home. And looking for her? Her temperature spiked and she groaned under her breath. Her hand was on the pantry door, about to pull it inwards, when it opened from the other side, revealing Dante standing there, looking as surprised as Georgia was embarrassed.
His eyes dropped from her face to the ice cream then back again, scanning her flushed cheeks and parted lips, before he took a step backwards, his own expression arranged to conceal everything.
