Chapter 49 — Georgia

“Thanks for the drink,” George said, sliding the tumbler of whisky across the bar and away from me.

I scowled at him. "That was mine. "

"Past tense," he said slowly, swirling the amber liquid without drinking it, "makes all the difference."

Watching him as though he might transform into some wild creature at any moment, I drawled, "Since when are you such a grammarian?"

He downed the alcohol in one go. "Ever since it let me steal drinks, Charlize," George taunted, using my middle name.

Because our names were almost eerily similar, we had taken to calling each other by our middle names. I had met him under a false name anyways, what felt like a lifetime ago, and it felt easier, more familiar, than using his 'real' one. "Thank you, Cartier, for at least you are admitting to your crime."

"Will you arrest me now, Officer?" Cartier joked, pushing the crystal glass back to the bartender across the sleek, black slab of marble that made up the countertop. He shifted on the leather barstool and turned to face me, his knees knocking against mine. Longing sparked through me, a yearning that was almost painful. "Or are you going to frisk me first?"

I kept my movements languorous and easy, although my heart was thundering, blood pounding as he levelled that gaze on me. His look was one of raw intensity; it was all brutal, unveiled desire of the same type that yawned to life inside of me, having been previously dormant. "You're not that lucky."

He put a hand on my bare leg, his touch feather-light and yet—unshakeable. I knew that even if, even when he lifted his hand away from me, I would still be able to sense the heft of it on my skin, burning. The two of us were nothing more than a fuse waiting to be set aflame, waiting to burn down everything around it and self-destruct. I should have pulled away, should have ordered another drink to replace the one he had taken from me. But instead…instead I crossed my legs, letting his hand fall away, the pointed toe of my gold pump brushing against his calf.

"No," he breathed. "I've never been that lucky."

And there, right there—that was why I should have broken things off. Why I should have discarded him as I had tossed away so many other men's broken hearts when they came to me asking me to heal them, when I had wanted to ask them, do I look like a doctor to you? Because George's tone was not just light anymore, not just jovial and teasing. It was heavy, heavy as the storms that I sometimes saw weighing down Alexander's previously locked-away heart. As dark as the shadows that I had seen Abigail hide with smiles and laughter.

No, this was no unburdened, innocent, and carefree boy sitting across from me. It was a man who had been beaten down and hurt and savaged by the world's demons, in the same way that everyone was. And if I was being honest about why I had never had a serious relationship…It was because I always expected more than I could be given. I always expected perfection when I knew that was impossible. My standards were too high; my dreams were too expansive to ever be fulfilled by some mere man or mortal.

And yet—yet I wanted him to be the one who disappointed me. I wanted him to be the one who let me down, out of all the other men that I could pick to fall short of my standards. A ridiculous thought, yet it appeared in my mind anyways. It compelled me to act anyways.

"You're buying me a drink," I said swiftly, reaching into his coat pocket from where he'd draped his jacket over the arm of his chair. Pulling out his wallet, I slid out a card and slapped it on the bar. "Bartender, can I get…one of whatever he's having? Thanks."

The bartender's face was impassive. "That's not a credit card, ma'am, it's a picture."

Before I could look and see whom or what was in the picture, George had already snatched it away and replaced it with a twenty-dollar bill. "Here. Buy all the drinks you want, Georgia. I have somewhere to be."

He stood but wasn't able to get far when I caught him by the tie, wrapping my fingers around the silk material. "I don't think so. Drink with me."

"I've had my fill," he said, and I was fairly certain, as his eyes followed the lines of my body, that he didn't mean his fill of liquor.

"No such thing," I purred, leveraging my grip on his tie to make him sit down.

"Let go of me," he said, each word dropping out of his mouth like stone grinding against steel, the impact enough to leave dents. "Or else."

"Or else what?" I loosened my grip but still grasped the garment loosely. "Or else…you will leave?" Like you always have? "Or else you won't sit with me?"

George said nothing as he unknotted his tie and threw it at me, the silk fluttering gently into my lap. "Did you get what you wanted from me?"

It was my turn to be silent. I had thought he would play along. How could I have so gravely miscalculated his actions? Was I losing my touch?

When I did not speak, he went on, his words vicious, but—hollow. Like facing a statue of a snarling wolf instead of the real thing. "No, right? Because nobody is good enough for you. Nothing will ever be good enough for you, you spoiled, stuck-up princess of a girl—"

I cut him off, standing up suddenly and unsure, at the moment, if I wanted to slap him or kiss him for being spot-on in his insults. In the end, however, seeing as I did not want to cause too much of a scene at Katerina's wedding…

I did the latter. His hands encompassed my waist, not moving any higher or lower, but—respectful. Not hesitant or tentative, simply considerate of my boundaries. My fingers twined in his hair, his scent—sea salt and sage, wilderness and boundless freedom—making me heady. In my heels, we were the same height, and it felt almost fitting like we were equals. Like we were the same.

"Georgia! Stop canoodling with my brother-in-law and come over here, we're about to catch the bouquet," Abigail called out to me.

We separated. I staggered back, almost stumbling into the chair behind me, and pulled a circular mirror out of my clutch to fix my lipstick. My hands shook, and I clenched them into fists to stop it. I moved stiffly, clinically, sucking in a breath. George picked up his tie from the floor and shook off the dirt before re-tying it, not looking me in the eye. I didn't bother to meet his either as I snapped my compact shut and sashayed past him.

"Coming!" I shouted back and moved to stand next to my cousin and friends, and when Katerina threw that bundle of roses, I stepped back and let everyone else have at it. The crowd of single women began lunging for the flowers, while I stood at a remove, as I did from everything, to watch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George slip out the back door—and foolishly, I followed him.

+

"Did you come here to finish what we started?" George asked me, leaning against a tree in the backyard, away from the bustle of the crowd. "Because I'm not interested."

"I'm secure enough in my self-worth to not be hurt by that rejection, whatever your ego might think," I assured him. "Why did you leave?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why does it matter, Georgia? You and me, we're nothing to each other. The only thing we have in common is my sister. And even then—cousin-in-law is a bit of a stretch."

"Bit of a long speech for someone who apparently doesn't care." I leaned on the other side of the tree, feeling the cool bark against the back of my neck and breathing in the cool air. Shaking off my shoes, I stepped barefoot onto the soft grass.

"I care about more things than you could ever know, Georgia." With that, he straightened before unlatching the back gate and left—for real this time.

"Things?" I called out after him one last time. It was stupid, like the rest of my actions tonight had been. Stupid and unlike me to chase after people who would never chase me in return. "Things and not people?"

George looked back at me steadily and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it, as well as the door, and disappeared into the shadows.