AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He stayed at Como though, because it wasn’t London, and because here, he could start to get back to normal. Slowly. Slowly. Little by little. Surely it would happen, sometime? If he could recover from losing Bianca and Livvie, he could recover from this. Couldn’t he?
A month after seeing Dante, Georgia went for lunch with Portia. She had cancelled the last couple of times because it had been too hard to imagine spending time with someone so close to Dante.
They met at a restaurant in SoHo that served an eclectic mix of Middle Eastern food. “I’ve always loved it here,” Portia explained. “The food’s amazing.”
“How are you?” Georgia asked, a little embarrassed by how selfish she’d been. Portia had gone out of her way to befriend Georgia, and Georgia had given very little back.
“Good. But I wanted to see you?—,”
“I don’t want to talk about Dante,” she blurted, surprised to discover it was true. “I’m sorry. He’s just…in my head, all the time. I need a break. Please. Tell me about you and Marco. The family. Your work. Anything.”
Portia’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t heard from him?”
Georgia’s throat shifted. “We text a couple of times a week, about the baby.” She pressed a hand to her very round stomach. At almost thirty weeks, she was uncomfortable almost all the time now.
“Bloody hell. Men.” Portia raised her brows, and leaned forward. “Are you feeling well?”
Georgia shook her head. “I’m fine. But what about you? What’s news?”
Portia smiled. “I do have news, in fact.”
Georgia leaned forward, the first genuine smile she’d felt in weeks touching her lips. “Portia, is it what I think it is? What I hope?”
“Yes. We’re pregnant.” Portia’s face beamed. “I’m twelve weeks. I think—I hope—I mean, everything looks good. I think this time might actually happen, Georgia. Can you believe it?” Portia’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t. I pinch myself every morning. I’ve been so nervous. So bloody nervous!”
“Of course you have been. Oh, Portia. I’m thrilled for you both. Our kids are going to be so close!” She said, without thinking, because in the back of her mind, she’d started wondering about moving back to Australia, to where she was familiar. But how could she leave now? The idea of raising her baby with a cousin nearby…
“I know! That’s what I thought too! Listen,” Portia stood up and came around to sit beside Georgia. “I really would like us to be friends. I never had a sister. Or a brother. And I like you. I think you’re great. I’m sorry Dante is being such an ass; I really am.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“He should know better. People who have lost should know what a gift it is to have a second chance. He should be reaching out for you with both hands, not bloody pushing you away.”
“He doesn’t love me,” Georgia said, simply, and she was proud of herself for being able to dredge a smile, or something that resembled one. “If he did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If he loved me, he would never have been able to let me go and just…get on with his life.”
“That’s the thing,” Portia said, softly. “He hasn’t gotten on with his life. Nobody’s seen him in weeks. Or heard from him. That’s never happened before. Not even then. Georgia, I’m worried about him. We all are. Do you know…do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
Georgia expelled a soft breath. “Yes.” She knew, because he’d told her. Undoubtedly he’d felt that with the baby, and her later stage of pregnancy, she deserved to know.
“Would you help me bring him home? I’m worried.”
Georgia shook her head. She wanted to tell Portia to go herself. She wanted to tell her she was absolutely done. But it would have been a lie.
She loved Dante. She always would. And that meant moving heaven and earth to help him, when he needed it—like now.
It was the flash of red that caught his eye first. Not a scarf, but a shirt, bright and bold. He noticed it, and a moment later, who wore it, and his pulse went haywire as his heart began to pump far too fast.
Georgia.
Her name whispered through his body like a chant, an incantation, over and over again, so he wondered if somehow he’d brought her to being from the strength of his thoughts alone.
She walked fast for someone with a basketball in her belly. God, she looked good. Pregnant, round with his baby. Ancient, primal machismo drove him. He strode to the door, wrenching it inwards.
The way he felt to see her again couldn’t be put into words. Every single part of him throbbed and ached. His body tightened, his heart soared, but he stood his ground, face implacable, refusing to give into the delirium of this.
“What are you doing here?”
Her face was pale, her skin drawn.
