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She wasn’t his.
And he didn’t want her to be.
None of this was about Georgia. As beautiful as she was, as sweet-natured and wise, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant, he’d have never seen her again, and not regretted that for an instant. Or perhaps, from time to time, he might have thought of her, as he had in the weeks that followed that night. But that had been about shock, hadn’t it? And disappointment in himself for failing Bianca. It had never been about Georgia.
She wasn’t his.
He kept repeating that mentally, not to convince himself, just because it seemed important to remember. But then, a movement from his side caught Dante’s eye and he turned towards Georgia to find her watching him. When she smiled, the bottom fell out of his world.
He wanted her to be his. Even if just in bed, he wanted that with all his soul. And he hated himself for that weakness even when he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would indulge it just as soon as he could.
The township of Varenna was both beautiful and historic, and had the added benefit of providing an ideal swimming spot. How could Georgia resist asking Dante if they could pause there a while, to explore?
And to his credit, because he was apparently working hard to be an exemplary ‘friend’, he did so immediately, pulling the boat into a jetty and tipping someone generously to tether it for him, before holding out a hand for Georgia to help her from the craft. She put hers in his and ignored the fireworks that seemed to travel the length of her arm; they were familiar to her now anyway, like tiny little flames, just beneath her skin. When she was on the jetty, he continued to hold her hand, and she didn’t pull hers away. Such acts seemed strange to her now. Something had shifted between them, whatever they were had morphed, and she no longer felt such fury with him. How could she, when he’d apologized for that night, and opened himself up to her about his family, his loss, his devastation?
“Are you hungry?” He asked, letting go of her hand then, but only so he could put an arm casually around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side.
Her breath snagged in her throat at the simple gesture.
“I am always hungry at the moment, thanks to your son.”
His step faltered slightly and she glanced up at him, the emotion in his features impossible to miss.
“Then come with me,” he said, as though they weren’t welded together. “I know a great place.”
He chose a restaurant on the edge of the water, with views of the Lake and the mountains on the other side, and of the tourists milling about, walking past, all so glamorous and happy. Georgia could have sat there for hours, just staring out and watching. There was no menu, but a waiter appeared and recited some options in Italian. Dante translated for Georgia when she couldn’t understand, though she managed to catch most of it. Once they’d ordered and were left alone, he placed his elbows on the table. “You are comfortable with the language.”
“I started learning after my parents died,” she said a little haltingly. “I needed something to do, something I could fit in around everything else, that would still give me a sense of achievement. And I’d always talked about coming to Italy with mum.”
“She liked it here?”
“She’d never been,” Georgia said with a sad shake of her head. “She talked about it for years but between our school fees and the busy-ness of life, she just didn’t get around to it. It’s why I knew I needed to do this, before starting uni.”
He nodded, thoughtful.
“I wasn’t expecting to meet you and get pregnant a few weeks after arriving,” she grimaced. “Kind of curtailed my plans a little.” It was a joke, nothing more, but Dante leaned forward, putting his hand on hers. “I meant what I said, Georgia, the day you moved in. Whatever I have is at your disposal. My jet, my houses. All I ask is that when you travel with our son, you take a security guard. As a precaution.”
Her eyes widened and her heart stammered. It took her a moment to work out why such a generous and thoughtful offer should make her feel as though she’d been stabbed in the chest, but then she realized: when you travel with our son…The implication being that when she travelled on her own, she could do so without protection. Because he didn’t care about her. Not really.
Beneath the table, she dug her fingernails into her palm, turned to stare out the window, trying to recapture some of the joy she’d felt earlier, only it was elusive.
“Georgia?”
She glanced across at him.
“Your face gives you away. What is it?”
She forced a smile, though it felt brittle. “I’m just surprised,” she lied. “That’s very generous of you.”
His brows drew closer, studying her, so she knew he didn’t believe her, but then he returned her smile. “It’s nothing. I have these things, mostly empty, most of the time. I don’t want this baby to be the end of your dreams.”
“It’s not,” she said, shaking her head, touching her stomach. “At first, I thought it would be, but then I realized my dreams just needed to take a little twist in a different direction. I always knew I wanted to be a mother—just not yet.” Her lips twisted. “But who am I to argue with fate?”
“You think this was fate?”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s just an expression. But it happened. I’m pregnant. There’s no sense in regretting that fact now; we can both just make the best of it.”
“Yes,” he agreed, but now it was Georgia’s turn to speculate, to wonder what he was really thinking that he wasn’t prepared to admit to.
