Page 40 of Accidentally Pregnant to the Italian Tycoon

“What do you mean?”

She lifted one shoulder, choosing her words carefully. “You blow hot and cold depending on where you’re at. You feel guilty, so you ignore me. Then you want me, so you don’t. Then you feel bad about all that, so you apologise, invite me to dinner or whatever. I don’t want to live like that. I think we should just go back to ignoring one another.”

He straightened, clearly surprised by her summation of the situation. “I have been doing that, you’re right,” admitted. “I really am sorry. I’m trying—but I never expected to be in this situation.”

She snorted. “You think I did?”

“No.” He came and crouched in front of her. “I think you’re just doing a way better job of accepting it than I am.”

Her eyes widened at the semblance of praise.

“I want us to go to Como for a few days. To try to work out how to do this,” he gestured from his chest to hers, “without this,” he waved around the living room, to the ghosts of his past that inhabited these rooms, “overtaking everything else.”

She hesitated. She wanted to believe him, but twice now he’d pulled her to him then pushed her away. He didn’t know how to truly connect with anyone and she was wary. Protective of her heart, herself.

But then, there was Portia in her mind, Portia who’d told Georgia that Dante was a great guy, deep down, who’d been completely destroyed by the grief he’d endured. She had no doubt that if his wife and child had survived, they’d be a very happy family now, and Georgia would never have raised even a hint of interest from Dante.

The thought hollowed her out in a way she was ashamed of.

She blinked away, her own emotions complex.

“It’s important that we make this work. For you and me. I want to know what matters to you, how I can give it to you.”

“Well, not showering me off after sex is a good place to start.”

He stared at her, eyes wide. “I wasn’t—that wasn’t?—,”

“Don’t lie.”

“It wasn’t, Georgia. I think in the shower. I needed to think. It wasn’t about washing you—or that experience—away.”

She blinked away from him.

“This is new to me,” he repeated. “And I was so wrapped up in my own feelings of guilt and grief that I totally neglected you and your feelings.”

She still didn’t know what to say.

“Give me this week,” he murmured. “If, after a few days in Como and the weekend with my family, you decide you cannot do this, then we’ll work out a way forward that doesn’t involve us living together.” His brow furrowed. “I can buy you somewhere nearby. We can make that work instead.”

Her heart stammered. He was trying to placate her, to make her feel better, but that offer just made Georgia feel as though the ground was slipping from under her feet. She shook her head slowly. “I’m not saying I don’t want to live with you.”

“You just don’t want to live with the version of me you’ve seen, to date. I agree with you. So come away, let’s see if we can do this better. If I can do it better.” He pressed a hand to her stomach. “For our baby.”

Georgia’s lips pulled to the side. In truth, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for their child, and undoubtedly, he knew that.

“Okay,” she muttered, sounding disappointed when inside, her heart was exploding. “Fine. When shall we leave?”

Travelling to Como with Dante Santoro was very different to when she’d journeyed there solo. Then she’d been like a backpacker with a tight budget and no idea how to get around. Where she’d taken busy public transport, Dante and Georgia flew into a nearby airstrip on a luxurious private plane. She was treated to five star food and a mocktail as they took off, and enjoyed stunning views over Italy as they came into land, with Dante attentively pointing out the sights to her, asking where she’d been on her travels, and where she’d still like to go. When she remarked that Venice hadn’t been possible because of the weather, he told her they could go the following weekend.

She felt, for a moment, as though she were caught between two fairytales: Cinderella, and Scheherazade. Was he slipping her a breadcrumb in the hope she’d give him a reprieve? Hadn’t she already decided it was her preference to stay living together, if they could make it work at all?

But how? A voice in the back of her mind pushed and pushed. How could they make it work when the desire they shared was such an overwhelming force? Was it possible to be ‘friends’ when she wanted to drag him to bed, or a kitchen wall, anytime she looked at him? And when that feeling was, apparently, mutual? The answer was simple. They had to try. For their son, they would make this work, come hell or high water, and if they couldn’t? Well, she’d just have to cross that bridge when she got to it.

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.

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