29.1
Adriano
“Are you happy with yourself?”
“Are you asking just to be a dick?” Nathaniel grumbles. “Because it doesn’t sound like you’re happy for me.”
“You’re the one acting like a dick right now, dude,” I tell him. “You’re going to just spring this on her? I told you that you needed to tell her before. Now it’s just going to look like you've – we've – been hiding shit."
“Tell me what?” Georgina’s voice echoes from behind us, and we both turn. “I knocked on the door but no one answered, so I just came in. But I’m obviously interrupting something.”
“You’re not interrupting anything,” I say, glaring at Nathaniel. “Nathaniel has something he wants to tell you.”
“Okay,” she says. “No one’s sick, right? You guys look like you’re delivering bad news.”
I roll my eyes. Hell, Nathaniel apparently thinks it’s great news. He told his agent that much, anyway, then set his phone down and told me like it was nothing, like he was describing a football play.
I can’t tell if the calm expression on Nathaniel’s face is because he really doesn’t give a shit or if he really thinks that she’s going to think this is no big deal. Either way, I don’t fucking like it. But it’s his news to tell, not mine.
“You know I’ve been negotiating my contract, right?” Nathaniel asks.
Georgina shrugs. “Sure, maybe. Actually, I think my dad mentioned that.”
“Your dad follows Nathaniel’s contract status?” I ask.
“I told you, he’s a Colorado fan.” She smiles. “Oh. So are they paying you more money or something?”
I shake my head.
“I don't understand. What’s going on?” she asks, still smiling.
“I’m in contract negotiations,” Nathaniel says gruffly. “Not just with Colorado. I’ve been looking at teams outside of Colorado.”
“Oh.” Georgina looks at him for a minute, and then at me. Her expression changes, and she's still smiling, but it's her press smile, the one she gives when she'
s on television or with her family – a stage smile. "Oh. Right. Of course. Outside of Colorado.”
“There’s a bidding war,” he says.
Georgina nods, swallowing hard. “Congratulations,” she says, her voice tight. “That’s good news.”
“Miami and Dallas,” he says. “And Colorado.”
“Those would be good career moves, then?”
Nathaniel nods. “More money.”
Because that's what's fucking important in life.
Georgina nods, taking a deep breath before speaking. “More money is good.”
She’s so calm — on the surface, like she's answering questions in an interview. I recognize that kind of nonchalance because it's the shit I do for the press. I grin and make jokes and play the clown and Georgina is doing the same damn thing right now – not the clown bit, but playing a role. And Nathaniel, fucking brilliant as he is, doesn’t see it. He looks like he's relieved, calmer. I know when she leaves, he's going to tell me she wasn't upset at all.
He's so fucking book smart, but he’s a damn idiot.
Georgina’s brow furrows. “You didn’t tell me you were taking offers outside of Colorado,” she says.
There it is.
I can feel the air disappear from the room.
Then she turns to look at me. “You knew he was negotiating outside of Colorado and you didn’t say anything either?”
“Georgina, I —” I start. Fuck. It wasn’t my news to tell her. I could kill Nathaniel right now.
“It’s not really a big deal,” Nathaniel says. “Miami isn’t a long flight and Dallas is even closer, so —“
But Georgina puts her hand to her mouth, shaking her head. “This is all public knowledge anyway, isn’t it?” she asks. “It’s the kind of thing that I’d know if I paid attention to football or followed sports.”
“Exactly,” Nathaniel starts.
“Nathaniel should have fucking told you,” I point out. “Hell, I should have made him tell you. Or told you myself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Nathaniel asks. “It’s not like I’d be moving to the other side of the world. It’s hours away.”
“That’s not the fucking point!” I burst out, angry at him for fucking this up. Angry at him for not realizing right now that he’s fucking it up. This relationship was already complicated enough before we decided to hide information from her.
“I feel like an idiot,” Georgina says softly, shaking her head. “Everyone else in the world knew about this but me. It’s… you lied. Both of you.”
Nathaniel looks suddenly sheepish. “We didn’t lie. I just didn’t want to tell you before I knew for certain that I —”
"I don't get it," she says, stopping him. "If you knew you were leaving, why even get involved with me? Both of you knew. Why even take the risk?" She takes another deep breath, her voice quiet when she speaks again. "You knew what I was risking by even being with you, the stupid excuses I've been giving to my security detail – to my parents - to spend time with you. You knew what I could lose by getting involved with you – what my father could lose. And I’ve become someone who's reckless and doesn't care about consequences. You make me fall for you – for both of you – but you didn't tell me this one thing. You hid it. I don't care about how short a flight it is to Miami or Dallas or Colorado. I should have known. I should have gone into things with my eyes open." The words come out in a flurry, and when she stops, she looks at us and just shakes her head. "I need to go."
"Georgina, I –" I start, and Nathaniel tells her not to leave. But she turns around and walks away.
You made me fall for you - for both of you.
I want to tell her that she's not the only one who fell.
