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Anger, self-directed, flooded his veins. He closed his eyes and saw Georgia’s face. The hurt in her eyes. He knew what she wanted. Needed. What he couldn’t give to her and never would. He knew how unfair he was being, to resent her inclusion in his family, to wish they’d never come here. Georgia, who’d been orphaned. Georgia, who’d selflessly raised her twin brothers, putting her own dreams on hold. Georgia, who was so kind and sweet and good, who deserved all the best life had to offer. Georgia, whom he wanted too much to let go, but could never really give himself to because he’d done that once before, to someone else, and as far as he was concerned, he’d given himself away forever.
He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair, the feeling of not being able to breathe tightening his chest. When he closed his eyes, he saw Georgia, and his gut ached for how much he wanted her, how much he liked seeing her smile, how much he hated himself for feeling any of that.
It was a mess.
In London, she’d hoped she’d feel better. She’d hoped things would return to some kind of a normal rhythm, but instead, the cloying sense of living another woman’s life just seemed to grow. Georgia couldn’t move inside the house without having a sense that she was just taking the space of the woman Dante really wanted. And she was. Of course she was.
He hadn’t divorced his wife; she’d died, and left a gaping wound inside of Dante that would never be healed. Georgia had thought she could heal it. Not consciously, but at some point, she’d started to think she was enough.
Italy had shown her that wasn’t the case. Dante didn’t want to be healed.
He liked suffering. His suffering was a tribute to Bianca. By living in pain, by refusing to move on, he was keeping his grief close to the surface, and thereby his loss. In keeping his loss fresh, he felt closer to his late wife. It was understandable, but devastating, and Georgia wondered if he’d ever had grief counselling to help him navigate life in a post-loss world.
The static silence between them became an unbearable form of tension. They didn’t really talk, but at night, somehow, inevitably, they came together, body seeking body, and for Georgia, heart seeking him. It was weak and she was so angry with herself for giving in, every night, to the temptation to take what she could, the one part of himself he offered freely, when it was abundantly clear he’d never love her. But a small part of her hoped. A small part of her hoped that in making love, one day he might realise he could feel love again. That loving one woman didn’t lessen the love he’d felt for another.
Days turned into weeks, and a month passed, with no change. His mood was the same. Polite, friendly on the surface, but without any real connection, so Georgia felt the gears in her brain turning slowly, moving her towards an inevitable conclusion, even when the nights made her want to stay forever.
She knew this was untenable.
Of course it was.
He was living in a self-imposed hell, and he was drawing her into it. Georgia, who’d chosen happiness and joy at every stage of her life, even during her darkest days, was being forced, by the love she felt for Dante, to walk in the shadows of his torment. Maybe, if it was just her, she would endure that. Hope that eventually her light would pierce his desperate darkness. But their son was growing. Day by day, her belly got bigger, and his due date came closer, and there was no way she could draw him into this tormented life.
What if Dante iced him out too? What if he insisted on keeping their son at an emotional arm’s length because loving another child would feel like a betrayal of Livvie?
For Georgia’s part, she had fallen in love with Dante to the point of self-sacrifice. She would stay with him no matter what. But for their son, she had to think clearly and make better choices. Their son deserved more than this.
The decision weighed on her. During the days, when she went about her life without Dante, she knew she had to walk away. She was able to think and see clearly. But then he would come home, and her heart would race and her stomach would twist and she would wonder how she’d ever thought of leaving him? They’d make love and her whole heart would sing and explode, and afterwards, instead of leaving the room, he’d pull her to his chest and wrap his arm around her until they were asleep, and she'd know he was her other half in every way except one: he was already taken.
She cried often.
Not when Dante was around, but when she was alone and contemplating her life, she cried.
It couldn’t go on.
Six weeks after returning from Italy, when Dante came home one night, and smiled at her in that way that was so performative it made her want to scream, something snapped in Georgia’s chest. Standing in the charming lounge room, where Dante had more or less demanded she move in, Georgia prepared to undo all of this. All of it.
“We need to talk.” As soon as she spoke the words, she felt a weight being lifted off her chest. She hated what she was about to do, but Georgia couldn’t wait for someone else to rescue her, she couldn’t wait for Dante to one day wake up and realise he cared for her too. She had to take the bull by the horns and demand happiness—or walk away. She had chosen happiness and joy all her life and she would do so again now. She had to.
“Okay.” He was immediately guarded, and anger whipped through her. He knew. He knew this was coming. Had even been waiting for it, perhaps. Hoping for it?
Her heart stretched and she moved towards an armchair. Without sitting into it, she pressed her hands to the back, trying to moisten her dry throat before speaking.
He stood, watchful, which only made her heart twist more sharply.
“This isn’t working.”
His features tightened almost imperceptibly. “No?”
She made a short laughing sound, a scoff. “No.”
“You’re unhappy?”
She shook her head slowly. “I’m unhappy, yeah. I’m miserable.”
His eyes flashed to hers. “What can I do?”
Her heart shattered. If only it were that simple. “I don’t know if you can do anything,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “Dante, listen to me.” Her throat shifted as she swallowed. “I’m in love with you.”
