Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

" I HAVE SOME NEWS." Dante spoke quietly, addressing his family, who were at the tail end of yet another pizza evening—beetroot and lime zest being the horrifying new additions made by their father, who was forever experimenting with his recipes. But quiet or not, Dante was a man who drew attention without even realising it. He always had done.

Marco slanted him a glance. "You don't like the pizza?"

Raf, to his right, grinned, and Portia, Marco's wife and Dante's exceptionally talented assistant, put her head on his shoulder with easy affection.

He had wondered if he needed to tell them in person, or if he could do it via email, but knew the latter was utterly cowardly. As he'd had a trip to his parents' villa scheduled for the very weekend after Georgia had moved in, he supposed it made sense to kill two birds with one stone. He gripped his wine glass more tightly, scanning the eyes of these people, all of whom loved him, and whom he loved.

"I'm having a baby." His voice cracked a little. "A son."

"Jeez, IVF procedures have come a long way in a short time," Marco joked, because he naturally presumed there was no truth to this. But Portia sat up straighter, leaned forward, put a hand on Dante's. Theirs was a relationship that transcended family. She'd been his friend first, his assistant long before she got together with Marco, and they would always have a special bond.

"You're serious?" She asked, squeezing his fingers. But there was happiness on her face, as though she thought perhaps he'd turned a corner and was involved with someone. "Who's the mother?"

At the head of the table, his mother Maria's eyes were filling with tears and she was moving quickly, coming to stand beside Dante, listening with a rapt expression.

"She's no one."

"Well, she can't be no one." Portia's smile slipped to a small frown.

"No one important," he clarified. "We met briefly, she's pregnant."

"Not that briefly," Raf added, earning a sharp look from his girlfriend.

"Wait a moment." His mother held a hand up in the air. "You are telling me there is a woman out there with my grandson growing inside of her, and I have not even met her?"

"You will meet her," he said, testily now. "And you're missing the point. It's not about her."

"So you are not engaged?"

"We barely know one another."

Portia was silent, which worried him. Her brain was a thing of beauty, and when she was quiet, it was usually because she was completing some complex equation or another.

"When is she due? "

"A little over five months."

Marco let out a low whistle then swore, so their mother rebuked him out of habit, despite the fact he was now well and truly a grown man.

"Dante Santoro, did I not raise you better than this?" His mother asked softly. "You got a young woman pregnant, you cannot simply leave her with the consequences of that."

His face drained of colour. "You think I would ever neglect my responsibilities, mother?"

There was shocked silence. Nobody had ever heard Dante raise his voice. He was measured and in control at all times. Not only that, he was right. He had been born with responsibility-carrying shoulders.

"Then what are you doing about this?" His father asked from the head of the table.

Dante hesitated. "Georgia moved in with me last week." He didn't add that he'd barely seen or spoken to her since then. "Our plan is to live together and raise the baby as co-parents."

"But not to marry?" His mother pushed.

"I offered."

Maria gasped and beside him, Portia dropped her head.

"She said no ?" It was as though his mother couldn't contemplate such a thing.

"We barely know each other. She was wise to refuse me."

"I want to meet her."

"You will."

"No, Dante. I want to meet her, now. I want you to bring her to Italy."

"She is not a puppy. I cannot simply bring her with me. Believe it or not, she has some free will, and she might choose not to get sucked into a big Santoro dinner straight away."

"Bring her here," his mother didn't back down, so for a moment, Dante had an insight into where his own stubborn streak came from, and was also reminded of Georgia's. Then again, she'd relented. She'd moved in, and without complaint too. She'd respected his boundaries, keeping out of his way, so he'd only glimpsed her occasionally in the house, though on those occasions, wearing casual t-shirts and shorts, he'd felt the stirrings of feelings he didn't want or need.

"Guys, are we all missing the part where we congratulate Dante?" Salvatore asked, standing up and walking towards his older brother, hand out-stretched. Dante took it, though he hated the congratulations. This wasn't like with Bianca and Livvie. This wasn't unmitigated joy. There was so much bound up in this turn of events, but he couldn't explain that now.

"Thanks." He stood, face expressionless. "I just thought you should know. Good night."

He left the table without a backwards glance.

Pregnancy cravings had taken an interesting turn for Portia. In the first trimester, she'd been largely unaffected, but now, she felt as though she couldn't get enough—and the more loaded with carbs, the better. So she found herself, on a sunlit afternoon in the middle of the week, waiting impatiently for her delivery from an Italian restaurant to arrive. She would have walked, but she'd also been hit by tiredness and the thought of doing the five kilometre round trip made her weary.

When the doorbell rang, she air-punched with excitement, already tasting the satisfying mushroom and tarragon sauce. She wrenched the door inwards, smile on her face that went from welcoming to curious when she was met with the sight of a woman with auburn hair and sea green eyes, and no brown paper bag of food.

"Hello?" Georgia said, tilting her head a little.

"Georgia?"

She hesitated, wondering if she should be anxious in some way. But she wasn't. There was something incredibly reassuring about this woman. "Yeah. What can I do for you?"

The woman's eyes dropped to Georgia's stomach for a moment, then lifted to her face, and she smiled—it was a smile that transformed her into a creature of great beauty. "I'm Portia Santoro," she held out a hand. "Dante's assistant."

"Dante's…" Georgia frowned, trying to connect the dots between the shared surname and role in Dante's life.

"I'm also married to his brother, Marco. Mind if come in?"

"Of course not!" Georgia stepped inwards to make room. "It's not exactly my place to stop people in Dante's life from coming into his home," she pointed out.

"Dante's not here."

"I know."

"I left him staring at some plans at work. I wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

Portia clicked the door shut behind her, then removed her shoes and handbag and placed them neatly on a table by the door, before turning back to Georgia and smiling once more, putting a hand out to guide Georgia not into the living room but rather the kitchen.

"Cup of tea? Coffee?" Portia offered, as Georgia took a seat at the kitchen counter. Portia seemed completely at home here. Unlike Georgia, who felt as though she couldn't touch anything lest she disturb it or break it.

"Tea would be great, thanks."

Portia set to work boiling the kettle, putting bags in cups, then turned back to Georgia. "Congratulations, by the way."

Georgia pulled a face. "You know."

"Well, you are showing," Portia pointed out.

Georgia flushed.

"But yes, I know. Dante told the family on the weekend. Did he not mention it?"

Georgia shook her head, frowning. "He hasn't—we don't really—," but she was embarrassed to admit the deficiencies in their relationship. Yet, why should she be? They weren't dating, they weren't engaged. They'd had sex, stupidly, once, and now they were trying to work out a way forward. "We don't talk much."

Portia's eyes narrowed slightly. "I see."

Georgia laughed. "Sorry. I mean, that's nice of you to say, but you probably don't. Because it's incredibly strange. I mean, we're having a baby together but I don't really know anything about him, and what I do know makes me feel as though I want to slap him sideways into Sunday." She lifted a hand to her mouth, remembering she was speaking to woman who presumably held some affection for the man. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I know what he can be like at first."

"It doesn't matter," Georgia said, lips pulling to the side. "We're just working everything out."

"Are you?"

She bit into her lower lip. That was a fair comment. How could they be working anything out if they didn't see each other and didn't speak?

"Dante's family is looking forward to meeting you."

Georgia blanched. "Why?"

"Well, you're the mother of a Santoro, for one thing. For another, Dante has been alone a long time. They're curious about the woman who ended that."

"Oh." She looked down at the counter. "Then I'm going to be a huge disappointment."

"Why do you say that?"

She shook her head, finding it hard to share details of that night with anyone, let alone a woman she'd just met.

"Neither of us ever thought this was the start of some great romance or anything," she said. "It wasn't like that. When I left Como, I thought I'd never see him again, and honestly, nothing would have made me happier." Even as she said the words, she wondered at the strange sense of not being completely honest. She'd been so angry with Dante for the way he'd treated her, and yet she'd found herself thinking of him, thinking of the bastardy ways he'd treated her after they'd had sex, and she'd wanted to understand. Because it hadn't seemed like him. How silly.

"And then you discovered you were pregnant."

"Yes."

"How?"

"I had symptoms. I'm—," she hesitated again, but it wasn't like Georgia to be guarded. She was a naturally open-hearted person. Only being around Dante had made her feel that she should watch everything she said, and protect herself with all guns blazing. "I've always wanted to be a surgeon," she said slowly, as Portia finished making the tea and glided one across the counter to Georgia. "From when I was very young, I knew it was my calling. I read a lot of medical books, watched all the shows," she said on a little laugh, but sobered quickly. "Then, my parents died. One after the other, it was like the bottom fell out of my world, and I wished someone had been able to help them. I became more determined," she rushed on, past the emotional declaration. "I learned everything I could, while I couldn't be at university. So with the first pregnancy symptom, I just knew."

Portia sipped her tea. "Why didn't you study medicine?"

"I have two younger brothers. They were thirteen at the time my parents died, I was eighteen."

"You raised them."

She nodded, though it hadn't been a question so much a softly-voiced comment of understand. "Losing my parents was the worst thing that ever happened to me but getting to raise the boys was the best."

"You didn't mind putting off your studies?"

Georgia wrinkled her nose. "I would have loved to go to university, but I couldn't." She shrugged. "I considered it a deferment, not a surrendering of that dream." But now? She sighed a little.

Portia's eyes sparkled a little with sympathy. "Where are the boys now?"

"Well," Georgia settled back in the seat a little, beaming unknowingly with a mix of pride and pregnancy, so Portia was struck by how absolutely stunning and vivacious the young Australian was. "They're actual geniuses. Just the brightest boys—they always have been. Actually, shortly after mum and dad, they were offered the chance to accelerate their schooling and graduate within two years."

Portia let out a low whistle. "And did they?"

Georgia hesitated a moment. "I didn't think it was a good idea." Her brow furrowed. "Everything had changed so much. Losing mum and dad like that, being stuck with me as their make-shift parent…they liked school. It was familiar. A touchstone in their life, and I think these things matter. Also, socially, they had a good group of friends. Why rock the boat? They stayed at school but I was able to enroll them in some accelerated classes as well as a few subjects at the local university—not for credits, just for extension. They thrived."

"You're very wise," Portia said, and the compliment seemed to come right from her heart.

"They're in America now. They got scholarships to an amazing school, to study aeronautical engineering and astrophysics." She smiled, thinking of the boys. "I'm so proud of them."

"I'll bet." Portia took another sip of her tea. "So then you came to London?"

"I came to Europe," Georgia corrected. "Being in London was really just to tell Dante about the baby. And I didn't think—I was sure he wouldn't want anything to do with us, with me." She lifted her shoulders. "I didn't know, when I told him, about…his family." Her voice faltered a little and Portia's eyes softened.

"It was a huge tragedy."

Georgia swallowed past a lump in her throat. "He hates me," she admitted, finally, and it was such a relief to be able to get those words out, to admit the truth, that she almost cried.

Portia was very quiet. "Why do you say that?"

Georgia was saved from answering by the doorbell. She stood up, offering an apologetic glance at Georgia. "Excuse me."

When she returned a moment later, it was with a flush of embarrassment to be carrying not one but two brown paper bags. "Are you hungry? I seem to have substantially over-ordered. I'm ravenous these days, and at the weirdest times. Sometimes I wake up and it's three in the morning and I feel that I could eat a horse."

Portia eyed the bags. "What have you got?"

"Italian."

Portia laughed. "His family's going to love you."

Georgia's smile dropped but she leaned her head forward to hide that as she pulled containers from the bags, stacking them on the bench. Portia meanwhile grabbed out plates and cutlery and a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, with the familiarity of someone who'd been here often.

"Let's see what you got." Portia lifted the lids off various pastas and arancini and some pork dish Georgia didn't even remember ordering, as well as garlic focaccia and grinned. "This looks delicious."

"It looks like I'm the greediest person on earth."

"You're growing a whole human," Georgia pointed out. "I've heard that can be a hungry business."

"You don't have kids?"

Portia's face flickered with something and she shook her head slowly. "No. We're trying."

Georgia's heart clutched. She felt so much grief loaded into those two words, and her heart went out to the other woman. "It can take time," she said, gently.

Portia's smile was determined. "That's what I'm told." She bit down into her lip. "I just always thought—," She broke off, her voice wavering a little, and she concentrated on scooping pasta into plates. Big, generous servings that filled Georgia with relief. "I don't really have much of a family. Mum and dad, and me, that's it. Then there's the Santoros, who are like this big, loud, Italian hug that wraps right around you. They're all in each other's lives, they work together, they're really great, I promise. But I always wanted that for myself. Lots of kids. Lots of noise."

Georgia knew that offering false platitudes was meaningless. "How long have you been trying?"

"Eight months."

Georgia reached out and put a hand on hers. "You've seen a doctor?"

Portia laughed, and it was a sound of genuine affection. "Marco has engaged just about every fertility specialist in Europe. Oh, don't mistake me, he's loving how much we're trying," she quipped, flushing a little, "but he hates seeing me unhappy."

"I'm so sorry," Georgia murmured.

"What for?"

"For this," she gestured to her stomach. "It must be hard for you."

"Oh, Georgia, no, absolutely not!" Portia moved closer to the other women and put a hand on Georgia's stomach in a gesture that was completely natural and right. "I'm delighted. A baby is a baby! A little person to love and adore. What a blessing."

The kindness of this woman touched something in Georgia's heart and a tear slid down her cheek.

"I've upset you."

"No," Georgia half-sobbed, half-laughed. "I was just thinking how bloody lucky our son will be to have you for an aunt. I don't think Dante or I have evinced even a shadow of that happiness about the pregnancy since finding out. Thank you. I needed to hear that. To hear someone be genuinely happy about this, to remind me how special our baby will be."

"Oh, Georgia." Portia shook her head. "I love him to bits, I really do, but there are many times when Dante can be the biggest horse's ass imaginable. Try not to take it personally."

Georgia pulled a face.

"I know. Easier said than done." Portia turned back to the pasta, picking up a bowl and handing it to Georgia. "Well, on the upside, everyone in his family will love you, and that might even drive him crazy, so we can sit back and enjoy that, can't we?"

Georgia laughed, relief making her almost giddy.