The Italian's New-Year Marriage Wish (13 page)

But she was a long way from smiling.

She wiped one cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Emotion gives you a headache.'

‘Cucciola mia.'

She sniffed and tried to ignore the insistent brush of his fingers on her face. ‘That's what you called Michelle. I don't even know what it means.'

‘Literally?' He slid his hand behind her neck, leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. Then he lifted his head and gave a slow smile. ‘It is a puppy.'

‘So now you're calling me a dog?'

He laughed softly. ‘So now I finally see the Amy I used to know. For a long time she was afraid to come out, but I knew she was tucked away in there somewhere. I want to ask you something and I want an honest answer—probably the first one you've given me for a long time.'

‘I don't want to talk about this.'

‘Shh…' Amusement in his eyes, he pressed his fingers to her lips. ‘You need to stop arguing with me. It's bad for you,
amore
, and it gives me indigestion. A good Italian wife should agree with everything her husband says.'

Her heart aching, she gave a wobbly smile. ‘I don't think I'm a good Italian wife, that's what I've been trying to tell you.' Her smile faded. ‘I can't do any of the things that a good Italian wife is supposed to do. For a start, I don't even speak the language.'

‘This could be good! Most Italian men would kill to have a wife who couldn't answer back!' His eyes gleamed but this time she didn't manage a smile in response. How could he be so good about it all? Did he understand what she was telling him?

‘You're refusing to take me seriously.'

‘
Sì
, that's right, I am.' Suddenly his voice was deadly serious. ‘Because you are talking nonsense. What is this about? Who is this “good Italian wife”? I didn't pick an Italian for my wife—I picked you.'

It was time to spell it out. ‘But I can't have children, Marco. You're right about that. I'm infertile.' There. She'd said it.
Finally, after two long years of anguish and misery, she'd said it. Such a small word for something so big.

There was a moment of silence and she saw a muscle flicker in his lean cheek but when he spoke his voice was calm and even. ‘I understand that. What I
don't
understand is why this made you leave. Why would this have an impact on our marriage? Why didn't you share it with me?'

‘Because I was afraid you'd say that it wouldn't make a difference.' She pulled away from him and hugged her knees tighter.

‘It doesn't make a difference. A relationship starts with two people,
amore
. Later on more may be added but always it starts just with two.'

‘I know how much you want children.'

‘Look at me, Amy.' His voice was firm and he nodded when she lifted her head. ‘That's better. Yes, I would like children but I am not a child myself. I know that life doesn't always give us what we want or plan for and being an adult is about making choices. When I asked you to marry me I made a choice,
tesoro
. You were my choice.'

She struggled with the tears again. ‘Pretty lousy choice.'

‘Certainly it's true I would have preferred to have a wife who didn't run away to a different continent for two years,' he said mildly, ‘but you are back now and everything is sorted. That's all that matters.'

‘How can you say that? Nothing is sorted.'

‘
Belissima…
' His voice in finitely gentle, he cupped her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. ‘You are determined to make life so complicated.'

‘You can't pretend that this is nothing, Marco!'

‘No, I'm not going to do that. But neither am I going to sacrifice our relationship for it. And neither should you isolate yourself.' He said something in Italian and she looked at him expectantly.

‘In English?'

He slid his fingers through her hair in an unmistakable gesture of affection. ‘I said that this didn't happen to you, it happened to us. And now we will deal with it. There are lots of options.'

Unable to help herself, Amy leaned against his chest and felt his arms close around her. She felt his warmth, his strength and she closed her eyes for a moment, greedy for the comfort even though she knew it could only be temporary.

For her there were no options. None.

 

Marco locked the bathroom door securely and then crossed to the washbasin, his breathing unsteady as he struggled with the emotion that he'd been holding back.

Two years.

They'd wasted two years.

His jaw tensed and he gripped the edge of the basin so hard that his knuckles whitened.

When he'd finally realised the truth, it had taken all his self-control not to erupt with anger. But then he'd seen the torment in her eyes and realised that she'd made the decision to leave him based on a set of beliefs of which he had absolutely no understanding.

Was that what Nick had meant when he'd hinted that he should find out more about her past?

And what exactly was it in her past that made Amy so sure that their marriage couldn't survive the blow of infertility? Why did she think there were no options?

Inhaling deeply, Marco turned on the taps and splashed his face with cold water.

‘Marco?' Amy's voice came from outside the bathroom, tentative and unsure. ‘Are you all right?'

Marco reached for a towel and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Was he all right?
He was angry, frustrated and disappointed, but he knew that displaying those emotions wouldn't help his cause.

What he needed to do was prove to Amy that their marriage had a future. And to do that he needed to understand why she was of the opposite opinion.

And she didn't need his anger. She needed his patience.

‘I'm fine.' He kept his voice even. ‘I'll be out in a moment,
amore
.'

And they were going to do some talking.

T
HE
following morning Marco was no closer to answers despite having spent a long and sleepless night examining that question in detail. He'd
known
she wasn't a career woman.

He'd
known
she'd loved him.

Why hadn't he managed to unravel the problem sooner?

Since when had he been so obtuse?

All he had to do now was convince her that it didn't make a difference to their marriage.

He heard a noise behind him and turned to find her standing in the doorway to the bathroom. She'd borrowed one of his T-shirts to sleep in and she looked impossibly young and slender, her face free of make-up and worryingly pale.

‘
Buongiorno
,
tesoro
. I'm sorry if I woke you. I have surgery this morning.'

‘So do I. I agreed it with Nick.' Her eyes slid from his and she gave an awkward smile. ‘I'll go and use the other bathroom, shall I?'

‘Go back to bed.' He splashed his face and reached for a towel. ‘You're not in a fit state to do surgery. Yesterday was a huge trauma for you and you've had no sleep. I'll take your patients and I'll explain to Nick.'

‘I'll be fine when I've had a shower.' After a moment's hesitation she reached into the shower cubicle and turned on the
water. ‘You're not doing the surgery on your own, Dr Avanti. Who do you think you are? Superman?'

‘Superdoctor, actually.' He watched hungrily as she pulled the T-shirt over her head and stepped naked into the shower. Her breasts were high and firm, her waist tiny and her hips gently curved. Gripped by a vicious attack of lust, Marco stood for a moment, feeling himself grow hard. Then he gave a soft curse and stepped into the shower with her.

She gave a gasp of shock and turned, clearing the water from her eyes. ‘What are you doing? You've had your shower.'

‘I decided I needed another one.' He stroked a hand down her smooth, silky skin and gave a groan of masculine appreciation. ‘I've been deprived of your body for too long.'

‘I thought you said I was too thin.'

He smiled and curved her body against his, ignoring the relentless sting of the water. ‘My beautiful Amy, so much a woman. Always insecure and with no reason.'

‘Marco…' She sounded breathless. ‘We don't have time for this.'

‘I can always make time for something important.'

‘Things are complicated enough already—'

‘If life isn't complicated, I become bored.' He buried his head in her neck and slid his hands over the soft curve of her bottom. Then he gave up on English and spoke only Italian.

‘Marco, no…' But her words were insincere and her head fell back and her eyes closed. ‘We really can't—
non posso
—' Then she gasped as she felt the intimate stroke of his fingers.

‘You have been learning Italian for me?'

‘Marco…' She stroked a hand over her face to remove the water. Her hair was dark and sleek under the jet of the shower, her eyelashes spiky.
And she'd never looked more beautiful.

Unable to hold himself back a moment longer, Marco brought his mouth down on hers. He felt her arms come round his neck, felt the tantalising brush of her firm breasts against
his chest hair, and then he was pressing her back against the wall of the shower, his need for her so great that it bordered on the primitive.

With no preliminaries he slid his hands over her thighs and lifted her, winding her legs around his body and sinking inside her in a series of hard, determined thrusts.

‘Marco…' She cried out his name and he felt the scrape of her fingernails on his shoulders, and then they were moving together, the pleasure so wild and intense that there was no holding back.

He felt her tighten around him, the involuntary spasms of her body driving him forward to his own savage release. As he tumbled over the edge into paradise he gave an agonised groan and thrust hard, his fingers biting into her soft flesh, his mouth locked on hers as he swallowed her cries.

It took him several moments to realise that he was probably hurting her and that water was still thundering down his back. He lowered her carefully and then stroked her soaking hair away from her face.

‘Did I hurt you,
amore
?'

‘No.' Her voice was a whisper and drops of water clung to her lashes and to her lips. ‘You've never hurt me. But I've hurt you, I know I have. I'm sorry for everything, Marco.'

He held her face gently. ‘Pain is part of every relationship.'

‘I'm sorry,' she whispered again. ‘Really sorry that it turned out this way for us.'

‘Hush.' He pulled her against him, feeling her tremble, acutely aware of her fragility and vulnerability. ‘Everything will be all right, I promise. You will trust me,
tesoro
.'

She stayed like that for a moment, her head against his chest, and then she pulled away. ‘We have less than ten minutes before surgery starts.'

He flashed her a smile and reached for a towel. ‘Then it is fortunate for both of us that I have an Italian sports car.'

 

Throughout the whole of Saturday surgery, Amy couldn't stop thinking about Marco. Her body ached from their encounter in the shower and she knew that even though he now under stood the real reason for her departure, nothing had changed.

Her last patient of the morning was a mother with a young baby.

‘Helen?' Amy smiled and forced herself to concentrate. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘It's Freddie. I'm so worried about him. He's always been a really sicky baby, but it's getting worse and worse.'

‘And how old is he now?' Amy quickly checked the records. ‘Six weeks?'

‘Yes. He always has brought up milk at the end of his feed.'

‘Lots of babies do that.'

‘I know but—' Helen broke off and bit her lip. ‘I just feel as though something is wrong. He just isn't right, I know he isn't.'

‘Let me examine him and see whether I can find anything.' Knowing better than to dismiss a mother's worries, Amy washed her hands and gently lifted the baby out of the car seat. ‘I'm sorry to wake you, sweet heart,' she crooned, ‘but I want to have a good look at you.'

The baby yawned and stretched then closed his eyes again.

‘Is he always this lethargic?' Amy gently undid the poppers on the sleep suit and undressed the baby down to his nappy.

‘Yes. He sleeps all the time.'

Amy examined the baby's abdomen. ‘When did you last have him weighed?'

‘Last week. He'd lost some weight. The health visitor told me to increase the feeds, but if I increase the feeds then I just increase the sick. It's got to the point where he's barely keeping anything down.'

Amy slid her hand over the baby's scalp, examining his
fontanelle and finding it slightly sunken. ‘He seems a bit dehydrated, Helen. Has he been having plenty of wet nappies?'

‘Actually, now you mention it, no.' Helen frowned. ‘They used to be quite heavy, but now I some times don't even bother changing it because it seems dry. What does that mean?'

‘It could mean that he isn't getting enough fluid.'

‘Because he's bringing it all up?'

Amy finished the examination, popped him back into his sleep suit and handed the baby back to Helen. ‘You're still breastfeeding?'

‘Yes.'

‘Wait there just a moment, Helen. I'm going to ask my colleague to have a look at him.'

She tapped on Marco's door and found that he had already finished surgery. ‘Can I grab you for a minute?'

‘Sì.'
He leaned back in his chair and gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘Do you want to grab me here or wait until we are home?'

Remembering his performance in the shower, she felt the colour ooze into her cheeks and clearly he read her mind because he raised an eyebrow and his eyes mocked her gently.

‘Any time you are ready for a repeat performance, you just have to say the word. Or don't even speak—just switch on the shower and strip naked.'

‘Marco!' She glared at him, flustered by the sudden intimacy in his gaze. ‘I—I wanted to talk about a patient.'

‘I know, but I love to tease you because you always blush. You are the only woman I've ever met who can be hot and shy at the same time.' He leaned back in his chair. ‘I am listening,
tesoro
. You need the advice of the master? Superdoctor?'

She looked at him. ‘Has a woman ever hit you really, really hard?'

‘Such passion.' His smile widened. ‘My little English Amy is becoming
al
most Italian.'

‘Marco—be serious.'

‘I'm serious.' He leaned forward. ‘What is your problem,
amore
? Tell me and I will solve it.'

‘I have this little baby in my consulting room.'

His smile vanished and he rose to his feet. ‘And seeing the baby has upset you? It is too difficult for you emotionally? You want me to handle it?'

Touched by his protectiveness, she shook her head swiftly. ‘No, it's nothing like that. It's just that I'm worried about him and I wondered if you'd look at him. He's dehydrated, vomiting after every feed and very, very lethargic. I think he has pyloric stenosis.'

Marco frowned. ‘Unlikely. It isn't that common.'

‘That's why I wanted you to check him. And you're the one who always taught me to remember the uncommon, particularly when faced by a worried mother.'

‘True enough.' He shrugged. ‘Have you examined the baby feeding?'

‘No.' She shook her head and frowned. ‘I didn't think to do that.'

‘So—we will do it together.'

They walked back to her consulting room and Marco smiled at Helen. ‘You had a good, relaxing Christmas? Plenty of food and wine?'

‘I was cooking for twelve so it wasn't exactly relaxing.' Helen gave a wry smile. ‘I must admit I'm pretty exhausted. I wondered if that was why Freddie had lost weight. I can't believe my milk is much good at the moment.'

Marco washed his hands. ‘You shouldn't have been cooking. Your family should have been pampering you with a little one this age.' He leaned forward and stroked a gentle hand over the baby's head. ‘Can I take him?'

Helen nodded and Marco scooped the baby up confidently. ‘Are you giving your mother worries?' He gazed down at the baby and gave a faint smile. ‘Amazing that something so small can be so much trouble.'

Amy swallowed hard, wishing it wasn't quite so hard watching him with babies.

His gaze shifted from the baby to her and she knew instinctively that he'd followed the direction of her thoughts. He gave her a warm, reassuring smile and her stomach shifted.

What was he thinking?

His eyes searched hers for a moment and then he handed the baby back to Helen. ‘Amy is right that the baby is a little dehydrated. You say that he is vomiting after every feed. Is he ready for a feed now?'

‘He's a bit sleepy.'

‘That might be because he hasn't had enough fluid. Dehydration can make him sleepy. We will undress him a bit—make him a bit less comfortable.' Marco's fingers moved over the baby, undressing, tickling, waking him up, and eventually Freddie yawned. ‘So—now try and feed him. He is a man after all, so his stomach is probably a priority for him.'

Helen smiled and put the baby to her breast. Freddie played with the nipple doubtfully and Marco curved a strong hand over the back of the baby's head and guided him gently.

‘You are starving hungry, you know you are.'

The baby latched on and Helen looked at Marco. ‘He's feeding. Now what?'

‘Now I want to look at his tummy.' Marco crouched down and looked at the baby's abdomen. Then he gently felt the stomach. ‘Amy? Can you see?' He trailed a finger over the stomach. ‘The muscles are straining. They're moving from left to right as they try and push milk through the pylorus. And on the right side I can feel a small, hard lump. You're right, I think. Clever girl.' He rose to his feet and washed his hands.

Helen looked between the two of them. ‘So what's wrong with him?'

Amy reached for a piece of paper and a pen. ‘We think
he has something called pyloric stenosis. Basically it means that the passage between the stomach and the small bowel is narrowed and that stops milk passing into the bowel.' She drew a simple picture to illustrate what she was saying and Helen stared at it.

‘But why would that happen?'

‘No one really knows. It tends to affect more boys than girls. Has anyone else in your family had the same problem?'

Helen shook her head and Freddie let go of the breast and vomited violently. It cleared Helen's lap and landed on Amy's feet. ‘Oh!' Mortified, Helen lifted the baby and reached for a cloth. ‘I'm so, so sorry.'

‘It's fine, really.' Amy smiled and mopped up the mess with paper towels. ‘But I think our diagnosis has just been confirmed.' She looked at Marco. ‘Projectile vomiting?'

Helen cuddled Freddie tightly. ‘So what happens now?'

‘We refer him to the hospital,' Marco said. ‘They may want to do more tests—an ultra sound scan, possibly, to get a picture of the muscle.'

‘Will that hurt him?'

Marco shook his head. ‘It is like the scan they give you in pregnancy.'

‘And then what?'

‘He will need a small operation to cut through the thickened muscle so that food can then pass into the bowel.'

‘An operation?' Helen looked horrified. ‘Is it a big one? How long will it take?'

‘Probably about half an hour, no more than that. And afterwards he will be given painkillers.'

‘I can't bear the thought of him having an operation.' Helen's eyes filled. ‘He's so little.'