Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

G EORGIA STIFLED A YAWN as Gianni began to play his fifth song. It wasn't late, but she found she tired easily at the moment. Growing a person was, it turned out, exhausting.

"Are you okay, cara ?" Marcia, Raf's girlfriend, asked, reached for her glass of wine and then lighting a cigarette.

Georgia subtly moved her seat backwards a little. "Fine. Just tired," she said, glancing around with the hint of a frown, wondering—not for the first time—where Dante was.

"How are you coping with Dante?" Marcia asked.

Georgia shrugged. "Coping?"

"He's not easy to be around."

Georgia's heart sped up a little and she was surprised by her instinct to defend Dante; particularly when Marcia had a really good point. He hadn't always been easy to spend time with, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "Easy can be overrated," she pointed out.

"You're braver than I."

Georgia took a sip of her water, wishing that someone else in the family was near enough to speak to .

Marcia took another drag on her cigarette. "How did you two meet, anyway?"

Georgia hesitated. For some reason, she didn't feel like sharing too much with this woman. "Oh, it was just one of those things. Pretty random, actually."

"But you're not a couple?"

Georgia's stomach dropped to her feet. She shook her head, plastering a smile to her face that didn't reach her eyes. "No. Just…friends."

Marcia snorted. "I'm sorry," she raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's just hard to imagine anyone choosing to be friends with that man."

"You don't like him?" Georgia asked, a hint of curiosity despite her defensiveness and surprising rush of loyalty.

Marcia stubbed out her cigarette. "Not particularly."

"I'm sorry to hear it."

"I suppose with the baby, you didn't have a choice."

Georgia tilted her head to the side. "We always have a choice," she contradicted. "I'm more interested in what happened with you and Dante and why you'd choose to speak negatively about him to me, of all people?"

"You're not dating. Why should you care?"

"He's the father of my child, and he's a decent person to boot. Not to mention the fact this is his family's home."

"You're saying I'm not welcome here?"

"Definitely not. That wouldn't be my place. I'm just interested."

"You wouldn't understand. Someone like you couldn't." Marcia smiled tartly as she stood. "Have a good night, cara. "

Georgia's knees felt weak and she pressed a hand to her belly, seeking reassurance and strength. It was nice to be able to sit on her own a while, just listening to the sound of the family singing around Gianni's piano. It was nice to be a part of a family again, she realized, her heart twisting. There was no substitute for her own parents, but the love in the Santoro home was palpable.

Except for Marcia.

Georgia would love to know what her story was.

She gathered Marcia and Raf had been together a while. Marcia certainly seemed comfortable and accepted. But how could that be the case when she was so combative with Dante? Or was it only behind his back that she would speak like that?

Was she sounding Georgia out?

She pursed her lips, lost in thought. And what did it matter? Georgia had been around bitchy women before. She didn't choose to spend her time that way but she was perfectly capable of standing up for herself, and letting another woman's cattiness run off her back.

As the next song began, she decided to go in search of Dante. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically; she wanted to leave.

The property though was large. She checked the terrace and gardens first, before moving inside, looking in the kitchen, the lounge room, a study, and feeling like a bit of an intruder, moved upstairs into the private family area.

She knocked on doors, without any luck. But finally, she reached one and in reply to her knock, heard his voice.

" Si ?"

She expelled a shaky breath. Why was she nervous?

"Hi," she said, as she pushed the door inwards, then stopped walking, because Dante's expression was thunderous. In his hand, he held a picture, and even from where she stood, she could see it was a family portrait. Not of him and the Santoros, but of Dante, Bianca and Livvie.

Georgia's feet carried her across the floor, her face softening with sympathy. "I wondered where you'd got to." She put a hand on his shoulder. "May I?"

His eyes met hers but almost seemed to glance through her. He nodded, passing the photo across, then jammed his hands in his pockets.

"They're beautiful," she whispered, pressing a finger to the picture of Livvie. "She has your eyes."

"And her mother's everything else, thank God."

Something heavy landed in Georgia's throat.

"Bianca looks like a friendly person."

"She was." His voice was raw. She ached for his pain. "I miss her every day."

Georgia felt as though she was being stabbed in the heart, and she didn't know why, only it was almost unbearable.

The little girl in the picture had glossy dark hair and dimpled cheeks—even in this photograph, Georgia could see how spirited she would have been.

"They should be here," he said, quietly, and the pain in Georgia's chest flashed with something else. Anger. Defensive anger. Her emotions were rioting and her head ached.

"Instead of me, you mean?" After all, why not call a spade a spade? That was clearly what he'd been implying.

Dante's eyes slashed hers. "I didn't say that."

"But you've been thinking it." Her heart felt tight and painful in her chest. "That's why you've been so quiet. Why you left the table so abruptly?"

He placed the photo down on the dressing table, giving Georgia his full attention. "They were a part of this family, and now everyone's acting as though they didn't exist."

Her stomach twisted. "They're just being welcoming to the woman who's carrying your baby. They're decent, nice people. Being kind to me doesn't mean they love Bianca and Livvie any less. It doesn't mean they don't miss them and wish they were still here. They're just making the most of the cards they've been dealt. Like you are."

"And like you are?"

She nodded quickly but it was a lie. Somewhere along the way, Georgia had stopped thinking about the doors this pregnancy had closed for her, like her medical degree, and started thinking of it as a pure blessing.

"I'm no good at this," he growled.

"You don't have to be good, you just need to be honest. Don't retreat into yourself. I'm here. You can talk to me."

"None of this is your problem. It's something I have to work out." He offered a tight smile but it was a death knell of sorts to Georgia, because he was pushing her away again. Walling his grief and heart off from her—out of bounds—telling her they weren't her business.

"It is kind of my problem, though," she insisted, moving closer, putting a hand to his chest. "This isn't just about the baby, Dante. There's something going on between us. More than just sex. Right?"

His eyes widened and the look on his face made her wish she could pull the words back in. But didn't she have a right to speak about this? To be honest with him, too?

"You can want me, as a woman, because of who I am. It's okay. You can want me, at the same time as having loved her, as having had a whole life and family before me."

His jaw clenched.

"I'm saying this, because I think you're in a sort of purgatory. Where the more you want me, the more you like me and spending time with me, the more you feel as though you're letting her down, which makes you want to push me away." She lifted her hand to his tightly held jaw. "And I understand that. It's a very human response. But you can't keep doing that. At some point, you have to accept that it's okay to feel what you do for me, that it doesn't weaken or devalue what you felt for her. You're allowed to be happy, and so am I."

But rather than agreeing with her, his eyes shifted to the picture, to the photograph of the woman he loved and the daughter they'd made, and the life he wished he was living. Georgia knew then that she'd lost. Lost her heart to him, and any chance of being with him because he couldn't let go of what he'd once had.

"I think we should go," she murmured, when he didn't respond.

Dante's eyes jerked back to hers and she saw the emotions he couldn't express. She felt for him. She really did. On one level, she wanted to be patient with him, to wait for him to work through his feelings and accept that he could care for Georgia too, but she didn't know if he'd ever let her into his heart, and that was where she wanted to be. It seemed more likely that it was fully occupied, and always would be, but not by Georgia.

She spun away, moving towards the door. "I'll just go and thank your mother for being so welcoming. Excuse me."

Dante stared at the emptiness of his room with a growing sense of frustration. He felt as though he was hemmed in on all sides, suffocating, almost unable to breathe. He dropped his head, eyes focused on the carpeted floor without really seeing it.

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."

His face paled and she had to bite back a sob, because it was such a visual confirmation of how unwelcome this news was.

"I don't know when it happened. I don't know how. But loving you like I do, and living with you like this, just doesn't work."

"What do you need?"

Another laugh, half-deranged sounding. "This isn't a problem you can just solve. I'm not a dying house plant that just requires a bit more water or sunlight to bloom again. I need you to love me. And you're never going to, are you?"

He was silent.

"That's okay. I get it." Tears cloyed at the back of our throat. "But will you love our son?" She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if to block their baby's ears.

"Of course."

"Are you sure? Because you can't look at me without seeing what you've lost. What if it's the same with him?"

"A child is—it's biology."

"So it's just me you can't love?"

"Georgia—that's not—it's not about you."

"No, it's about Bianca. It's always about Bianca." She lifted a hand in silent apology. "This isn't her fault. It's not your fault. But I cannot go through my life loving someone who acts as though my very existence is a sin against a woman who died years ago. Every time you're with me, and you start to relax, you pull yourself back, because you're so determined not to let yourself feel anything for me."

"I feel things for you," he muttered, the admission laced with disgust. "Look at how we are together."

"That's sex," she spat. "I don't deny you're attracted to me. You seem to be able to rationalize that. But emotionally, you can't ‘cheat' on her. And I refuse to be made to feel like the other woman, like we're doing something dirty and wrong."

"To me, loving you would be wrong. You must see that."

"I see it," she whispered, her heart shattering. "But I don't agree with it, and I don't accept it." She dug her fingernails into the upholstery of the chair. "I'm leaving."

His eyes whipped to hers. For all they'd had this conversation, it was abundantly clear he hadn't expected that. "What do you mean, you're leaving?"

She blinked, weary suddenly.

Now that she'd made the decision, she wanted to rip off the Band-Aid and get out of there.

She needed clear air space.

She needed not to be looking at him, because looking at him and loving him weakened her. "I'm leaving," she said, simply. "Moving out. You asked me to give you a week. I did. I've given you everything, Dante. Everything." Her voice cracked. "I've given you week after week after week—I've given you my whole damned heart—and I've been waiting just for a small breadcrumb, a sign that maybe you'll wake up and realise you have a whole life ahead of you that can be good and happy and that you deserve that, but it's never going to happen, is it?"

His eyes bore through hers; she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "This is my life," he said, eventually, voice level. "Like it or not, this is what I am. Who I am. Missing them is a part of me."

She sighed. "I'm not saying that has to change. I miss my parents too, every day. You think I don't? But I can still live a full and rich life; I can still be happy."

"It's not the same thing."

"No," she conceded. "Losing a child, a spouse, is awful. We're not prepared for that, whereas I suppose, on some level, we're aware from a young age that we won't have our parents forever." She lifted a hand, dragging her hair over her shoulder, determined to try one last angle. "Tell me this, Dante. If the shoe were on the other foot—if you had died, instead of Bianca—would you have wanted her to live like this? Would you have wanted her to close herself off from any meaningful relationship for the rest of her life, out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to you?"

His lips were a gash on his face. "I won't be drawn on hypotheticals."

She sighed again. "Then it really is over," she murmured. "I love you, but I can't live like this." She bit down into her lip.

He opened his mouth to say something but she shook her head. "Don't worry. I'll stay in London, at least for now. We can work everything out later, once he's here. But I get it. I know what he means to you, and your family. I have no intention of taking our son to the other side of the world."

His eyes swept shut and his features formed a tight mask. It was impenetrable. She couldn't fathom his emotions, she couldn't see into his heart. But even if she could, she knew what she'd find there: it would never beat for her, or anyone else.

He loved Bianca. He would always love Bianca.

If Georgia didn't love Dante, she would have thought it kind of romantic. Instead, it was the end of her dreams. She tried to offer a smile, of sorts, but gave up. It was too hard.

"I'll call a cab," she said, moving from behind the armchair, towards the door, careful to choose a path that didn't take her near Dante.

She had left the room but his voice followed her. "I'll drive you."

Her eyes swept shut. She knew that it was over, but the finality of that—the proof of his acceptance—cut through her.

"That's fine. I've got it."

Her suitcase wasn't heavy, and she could manage it on her own, but when Georgia emerged from her bedroom, Dante was standing there, staring into space. Her heart lifted; maybe he was going to fight for her after all?

But he simply took the handle from her, his fingers brushing Georgia's in a way that made her jump backwards, and the breath hissed out from between his teeth. "Let me drive you, Georgia." He hesitated. "It's the least I can do."

A tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to say something. To argue. To reassure him. This wasn't his fault. Loving deeply, even in death, wasn't a crime. It wasn't wrong. It was just…wrong for Georgia. But instead, she nodded her head, and turned her back on him, this time, for good.