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36
GEORGIA
There’sa knock on the door. Well, “knock” isn’t exactly the right word. It’s more like artillery fire, an assault on the entrance to my home. I could ignore it, but I’m not sure they’ll go away.
I sit back on my heels, kneeling in front of a puddle of glass and red wine I’ve dammed against the baseboard with three tea towels. My wall is a mess. I’ll probably have to repaint it. Either that, or I’ll put a frame up and call the red splatter art. I could title it,Foolish Woman.
The pounding on my door continues. I sigh, heaving myself up to my feet. Did Simone’s sixth sense tell her something was amiss?
“Georgia!”
I freeze.
“Georgia! Open the door.” Sebastian’s fist connects with my door again.Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang.
I can’t deal with this right now. Last time he came to my house, I had an entire girl gang at my back to cheer me on. There was baked brie waiting, and it was still awful.
Now, what do I have? An empty house. An empty heart.
Maybe if I ignore him he’ll go away.
“Georgia!” The knocking continues, pauses, and the doorknob jiggles. “I know you’re in there.”
Fists clenched, shoulders tight, I stare at the door for a few beats. If I open it up again, that sends a message, doesn’t it? It says he might change my mind. It says I’m willing to talk.
But if I ignore him when he knows I’m here, that sends a different kind of message. It says I’m a coward.
“I’m not leaving until I see your face, Georgia,” Sebastian yells, voice muffled by the door.
I close my eyes and swear, because I believe him. Stomping along the hallway to the front foyer, I unlock the door and pull it open. “What.”
“You’re a coward.” He steps into my space, forcing me to back up, then he slams the door closed without taking his eyes off me. “A shit-scared little girl who’d rather run away than face something real.”
Murder is an option. I’m sure a jury would acquit me if I killed him right now.
“You’re going to tell mewhyyou can’t marry me, Georgia. And if it’s not a good enough reason, we’re going to figure out why the heck you’re running away like a scared little rabbit. Once we figure it out, we’ll revisit the idea of you becoming my wife.”
“I’m not running away, you turd,” I spit. Yes, I sound like a child. No, I don’t care.
“No? What is it, then? What’s it called when you push me off you, don’t explain yourself, and leave my house without even looking me in the eyes?”
“It’s called protecting myself, Sebastian.”
His chest heaves with deep breaths, his eyes furious. We’re still in the entryway, bare inches between us. I refuse to back up. I refuse to give this man more space than he’s already taken. “Protecting yourself?” he asks, eyes crazed. “Protecting yourself fromwhat, Georgia?”
Like a rubber band snapping back, he rocks on his heels and puts three feet of space between us. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, questioning. “Protecting yourself fromme?”
I hate the hurt in his eyes. I hate that I’m the one who put it there. But what’s the alternative? I let him stomp over all my life plans and carry me off into the past?
“Protecting myself from the life you’d want us to have,” I finally say, the heat leaving my voice.
There’s a pause. It lasts long enough for me to glance up at Sebastian through the veil of my lashes. He’s got his hands on his hips, and he’s staring at the floor between us. His brows are drawn low over his eyes, and his lips are pressed in a thin, bloodless line.
Finally, he lifts his gaze to mine. “What in thefuckdoes that mean?”
“Oh, please.” I turn my back on him and stomp to the kitchen. I don’t even know why. I don’t want him any deeper in my home, but I feel safer here. I wrap my arms around myself and stand on the opposite side of the island.
Undeterred, Sebastian stalks around it. I shuffle away, keeping the quartz countertop between us. We move in one direction then the other, keeping the island as a shield separating us. It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.
