Page 38 of The Artist and the Muse

Her teasing smile transported me back to the day we’d met. With a painful squeeze of my heart, I wondered again what things between us could have been like if only I’d fought harder for her. Asked her to stay. Asked her to be mine, for real.

“No, actually, believe it or not, I know a thing or two about art. They asked me to be a guest lecturer for an art course.”

“That’s wonderful!”

I ordered another cappuccino, a drink I’d often had in Rome. It was better in Italy, of course. Georgia must have been thinking the same thing, because she asked, “Do you ever miss Italy?”

I didn’t know if she meant the country or our time together there. Those few weeks had been the highlight of all my time in Europe. No amount of artistic success could compare to the sheer joy of holding her hand as we’d walked down cobblestoned streets, her smile sweeter than the gelato we’d shared.

I was scared to ask. I didn’t want to find out our time together hadn’t meant anything to her. Because I was certain it’d break me in ways I couldn’t put back together.

“All the time,” I said. “But I’ve missed being in North America. It’s nice not to have to think about my words before I say them.”

“Oh, like you ever did that in Italian?” A playful glint came into her eyes. “I could’ve sworn you were the kind of guy who talked first and apologized later.”

I was, and I hated that about me, but I didn’t tell her that. Couldn’t tell her that. “You know me too well.”

She toyed with her cup, tilting it around to watch the dregs swirl around the bottom. “Sergio seemed to believe that you and I are a real couple. He congratulated me on our engagement.”

My bloodheated at the mention of the man who had broken up with her so callously. “I guess we put on a good show for him at his engagement party.”

“I just got a text from my family’s private investigator,” Georgia said as she glanced down at her phone. “Sergio and his fiancée left the country on a one-way chartered flight out of New York to Italy. He’s not my problem anymore. Not that he ever was, but…”

“I know what you mean.”

She got up, as did I, just before she flung her arms around me. I squeezed her back just as tightly, the emotional rollercoaster we’d been on since agreeing to this fake engagement finally settling into a plateau.

Before I could think or stop myself, with her face a breath from mine, I let my mouth brush against hers. Her sweet scent and softness overwhelmed me in one aching, exquisite wave, before we separated again, still holding each other.

The words ‘I love you’sprung to my lips. If we were a normal couple—if our relationship were real—I would have said them. I would have said them until she was sick of hearing them. We would have shared our highs and lows together, celebrated victories like these and commiserated in the defeats together.

But we weren’t real.

So this kiss had to mean the end of our fake relationship.

I rested my palm on the small of her back, revelling in the comfort of her warmth before I had to let her go. “Georgia.”

Her blue eyes met mine. “Yes, George?”

I love you.

“I guess this means we don’t need to be fake engaged anymore.”

Georgia blinked, her long lashes fluttering. The weight of my words sunk in, and she released me. A wave of cold struck me with her absence as she stepped back, fidgeting with her fingers.

“I guess I don’t need this anymore, either.” Georgia pulled the engagement ring off her knuckle and handed it to me.

I took it numbly, the circlet of metal still warm from her skin as she pressed it into my palm. What could I even say in response? ‘It was enjoyable being fake engaged to you. Let’s do it for real sometime’?

“I guess third time’s the charm,” I said instead, sliding the ring into my coat pocket.

“What?” A frown knotted her brows.

“You’ve had two fake relationships in a row. I guess the third guy you date will be the one,” I said.

“Right. Because that’s what this was. Fake,” she said.

I wanted to take back my words right away, but it was too late. Yes, we’d kissed in the Steele penthouse, but that had been in the excitement of seeing each other again. Not a sign of a real relationship—she clearly didn’t want one of those. And I never knew where I would settle down, so how could I lead her on when I wasn’t sure if I would stay in New York long-term?

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