Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

" I 'D FORGOTTEN how beautiful this place is," she murmured, as his car veered up the steep, winding road, affording her a view over stunning Lake Como as he navigated with the ease of one who did this drive often, or perhaps just preternaturally confident at everything.

"Nicer at this time of year," he responded. His voice was comfortable enough, but Georgia could feel tension emanating off him in waves. It meant something to her that he was prepared to try this anyway.

"I don't know," she said, her eyes chasing glimpses of the lake whenever she could get it. "There was something almost ethereal about the winter. The trees, the water, the fog that rolled in each morning." She sighed. "I really loved it."

He glanced at her, lips quirking downwards. "We're on the same page there." He turned back to the road. "In winter, when there are fewer tourists, the place is perfect."

"Did you come here with your family?" She asked gently, almost nervously, wondering if he might refuse to answer, before reminding herself that the point of this trip was to get to know each other, for real this time.

"No." His Adam's apple shifted. "I bought it after they died." His voice was wooden. "I didn't tell anyone about it."

"Not your family?"

"Especially not my family. When you meet them, you'll understand why."

She arched a brow.

"They're busy bodies," he snapped. Then flashed a tight grin, as if to signal that he'd intended it as a joke. "They use interference to show love, but I didn't need kindness or words of compassion. I just wanted to get away, to be on my own."

She angled her face, considering that. "I was the opposite. I mean, I can see why you'd have wanted to do that, I did too. When my parents died, I wished there was some way I could just stop time so I could deal with what their loss meant to me. But I couldn't. The boys were young enough to really need me in practical ways, like helping with their lunch boxes and uniforms for school, as well as in emotional ways, developmental ways. They had so much going on, I had to throw myself headfirst into taking care of them. Which left very little time for wallowing."

"What happened to your parents?" He asked, voice still flat, his own grief heavy between them. He drew the car to a stop and she stared straight ahead, looking out at his house, memories slamming into her.

"My mother had a stroke. Well, a series of strokes, as it turns out, over about a week, but the first were mild enough that she didn't notice and nor did we. Then, she died. It was awful. Just awful. My dad was heartbroken, quite literally. Shortly after her funeral, he had a massive coronary. I don't think he wanted to live without her. "

Dante's hand came out without hesitation, curving over her knee. "That must have been devastating."

"In so many ways," she responded, surprised by the way her lower lip trembled and her eyes brightened with tears. She'd become good at speaking about her parents without showing the depth of her grief.

"I wasn't prepared. Who could be? We were such a normal family. I'd been accepted into the degree I wanted to study; I had to defer, and then eventually let my place at school go." A tear slid down her cheek.

"You couldn't have studied and cared for the boys?"

"Not these boys," she said with a tilt of her lips, fondness for her brothers touching her heart. "They're great kids, but just way too smart. There was a lot to navigate with them, in high school. I wanted to do it properly, to make sure they were okay."

Dante moved his hand and her leg felt instantly bereft. He went to open his door and she did likewise but before she could step out of the car, he was there, one hand on the frame, so close to her she lost her breath.

"Thank you for coming here. For agreeing to try to make this work."

Her heart twisted. Portia had said there was this side to Dante; she just hadn't expected to see it for herself. Inwardly, a voice issued a stern warning. She couldn't forget that he was still the same man who'd unceremoniously turfed her and her sprained ankle out after they'd slept together. Like anybody, he had many facets. But if he could find it within himself to be like this, she was glad.

He moved around to the trunk and removed her suitcase. He hadn't brought one, and of course that made sense, because the house was filled with his things.

"So this place just sits empty most of the time?"

"Yes."

"What a shame. It's just so beautiful," she remarked, eyes raking the wall on this side, which was basically all glass.

They walked towards the front door together, and when he unlocked it and pushed it inwards, he stepped inside, holding the door open for her, which meant Georgia brushed close to him and trembled. Her eyes jolted to his and held so she saw the darkening of his irises, the slight narrowing of his gaze.

"How long did your ankle hurt for?" The question was benign enough, but neither broke eye contact, which lent the words a weird gravity all of their own.

She swallowed past a lump in her throat, remembering that morning, and the way she'd left. "A couple of weeks."

Did he step closer, or did she? Somehow, they were almost touching. "You should have let me catch you."

She bit into her lip; his eyes dropped to the gesture. "I think I was afraid."

"Of me?"

His question whispered through her soul, making obfuscation impossible. "Of something in you. Or something in you that spoke to something in me. I guess I was attracted to you, and I didn't want to be."

"That's my line," he muttered, lifting a hand, touching her cheek lightly so she inhaled an uneven breath and held it.

"You know," she said, softly. "You can want me and still love her."

A muscle throbbed in his jaw.

"It's okay," she said, lifting her hand and echoing his gesture, touching his stubbled cheek and then running her finger over his lip. His eyes bore into hers, looking for something, reading her.

"That doesn't seem fair to either of you."

Her smile was mocking. "Who told you life's fair?"

"I thought you were an optimist?"

"I'm a realist; there's a difference."

"How can a realist take such joy in life?"

"Can't you see that life is still a good and wonderful thing? Can't you see that even more so, knowing how quickly it can be lost?"

"I don't see the world like you do."

"I know. I wish you would."

They stood there, staring at one another, touching, as though something invisible had drawn them together. "They died and I was destroyed. I honestly don't know how I kept going. It wasn't a conscious decision at first. I just didn't want to be around anyone: family, friends, women. I worked as much as I could, because in work I found a sense of purpose and control, but beyond that, I was alone. Often here. And then, a woman texted me. Someone I'd been with before I met Bianca. She was just checking in, but I read between the lines and knew what she was offering. I felt nauseous at the idea of touching another woman. That's when I decided I would always be faithful to her, to us. To what we were. I'd married Bianca, and sworn to be her husband, until death do us part. Well, she died, but I didn't. I wanted to uphold our vows."

Sympathy stretched and pulled inside Georgia. "You don't have to answer this," she said, moving her other hand to his chest, pressing it to his heart, because she understood how broken it was. "What happened to them?"

His eyes closed for a moment and she wanted to take the words back. She didn't want to hurt him. Not more than he'd already been hurt.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You don't have to say."

"It's not a secret." His voice was rough. "You can find the information on the internet, if you type in my name."

She frowned. "That didn't occur to me."

He nodded slowly, but at what, she didn't know. "They'd gone to New York for Livvie's birthday. My daughter." His voice cracked. "It was a big surprise—Bianca had picked out a Broadway show to take her to, and had all these plans. The only problem was that our place in New York was being remodelled, so they stayed with a friend."

His face was ashen, but now that he'd started, he kept going. "There was a gas leak from the heater in their room. It happened in their sleep. They went to bed, and just…didn't wake up. And you know, I kept thinking of Pompeii, because they were cuddled up together, and I knew that at least their last waking thought, their last conscious feeling, was of being loved and of loving." He lifted a hand and pressed it to his eyes.

Georgia did nothing to stop her tears from falling. "I'm so sorry. That's just so sad, Dante. So awfully, awfully tragic." She pressed a kiss to his chest then, a kiss of sympathy and sorrow.

"It was peaceful. They wouldn't have known. At least, that's what the doctor said. God, I hope she was right."

Georgia nodded sympathetically. She hoped so too. They stood there in silence, touching, feeling, close physically and also bonded by their grief. "Thank you for telling me," she said, after a long time.

"I couldn't keep them safe," he said simply. "I couldn't protect them. But I will do everything for our son. I cannot ever go through that again. "

Georgia sighed. She wanted to tell him she agreed, but the truth was, she didn't. Loss was a horrible part of life, and it could come at any time, and happen to anyone. It was, most often, blindsiding, with little warning and offering no ability to prepare. But for the moment, she just wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight. He stiffened, and she'd almost been expecting that, but after a moment, he relaxed, his arms coming around her, stroking her back, as he placed a kiss on the top of her head.

Her chest fluttered and she quickly pushed away any temptation to find the contact heart-warming. It was just comfort, nothing more. She had to remember that for all they were attracted to each other, and were trying to form a friendship, this was not a relationship; and he'd never love her. Not like he loved his wife, and Georgia knew she deserved that all for herself one day.

There were some moments in life that were so perfect, they needed to somehow be bottled, and held close to your chest, near your heart, in your mind, for all time. As Georgia sat beside Dante on his sleek speedboat, with her face tilted up at the afternoon sun, just enough water splashing in towards her to break up the heat of the day, she knew she was living in just such a moment. The air rushed past them, making her hair whip around wildly, but she didn't care. It was so freeing, so invigorating. She felt utterly, totally alive, as though the essences of existence were flooding her veins and making her conscious of the preciousness of life, particularly the life growing inside of her. Her pregnancy had not been planned, and her first reaction had been one of utter despair, but now, how could she feel anything but glad?

The day before, she'd been reflecting on the unpredictability of life, the randomness of loss, but the same could be said for happiness and blessings. She curved a hand over her stomach, closed her eyes, and did everything she could to trap this feeling, so she could look back and enjoy it anytime she wanted, but especially if she ever needed to get through another awful period in her life. Moments like these were sustaining.

Her beauty shouldn't have surprised him anymore, but as the water glimmered behind her and the sun surrounded her like a halo, and her eyes were closed in an expression of beatific peace, Dante could only see her as other-worldly, with a rare kind of beauty that took his breath away. Her hand on her stomach pulled at an ancient primal string in his gut, a sense of macho pride and satisfaction. He'd done that. He'd put that baby there. It was his. So was she.

The thought had him jerking his gaze away, back to the water, his pulse picking up.

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.