The Italian's New-Year Marriage Wish (14 page)

‘But at the moment he can't digest his food,' Amy said gently. ‘He needs help, Helen.'

‘What a Christmas this has been.' Helen brushed away
the tears and sniffed. ‘All right. Well, if that's what he needs— when will he have to have it done?'

‘Soon, because he is dehydrated.' Marco walked over to Amy's computer. ‘We will call the hospital now and talk to the doctors. You should take him straight to the paediatric ward.'

‘But it's Saturday!'

‘And they will probably put up a drip and give him some fluid.' Marco swiftly completed a referral letter. ‘That way they can correct the dehydration before they operate.'

‘And when is that likely to be?'

‘They will need to check that his blood has the right balance of minerals and salts and then they will operate as soon as possible.'

Helen strapped Freddie back into the car seat and lifted it. ‘All right. I'll take him up to the hospital right away. Thank you, both of you.'

‘Try not to worry,' Marco said gently, his eyes warm and kind. ‘It will all be fine in the end.'

Helen gave a wobbly smile. ‘I hope so. Thanks again.'

She left the room, clutching the letter in her hand and Amy sighed. ‘Poor thing. What a worry.'

‘Yes. Having children also comes with an ocean of worries,' Marco said quietly, walking towards the door. ‘Call Paeds. I'll be waiting in the car park for you.'

She sat down at her desk and reached for the phone. ‘Why?'

‘I need to give you a lift home. We have the rest of the weekend off.'

‘And?'
What did he have in mind?

He smiled. ‘First I am going to take you home and wash the vomit off you, then we are going for a bracing walk and finally we are having dinner at the Smugglers' Inn.'

She opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you're controlling?'

His smile widened. ‘I'm a man who knows what he wants, that's true. Don't forget it,
amore
. Now, ring the hospital.'

 

‘I always loved this part of the North Cornish coast.' Amy stared ahead of her, the wind whipping her hair across her face. ‘It's wild, isn't it? You can so easily imagine wrecks and smugglers.' She tensed as she felt Marco's arms slide round her.

‘It is wild yes, but—' He broke off and gave a shrug that betrayed his Mediterranean heritage. ‘Truly? I prefer the beauty of the Amalfi coast. I like to admire the coastline without risking frostbite. One day I will take you to Positano and you will understand what I mean. Positano is a little town that clings to the cliff like a jewel in a necklace. You would love it. And it's very romantic.'

‘Positano.' She turned, a smile on her face. ‘You sounded so Italian when you said that.'

‘
Sì
, because I
am
Italian. So, of course, I sound Italian.' He lowered his mouth to hers and she felt her body melt under the pressure of his kiss. ‘Are you ready to go back?'

Still in the circle of his arms, she glanced out to sea again. ‘I suppose so.'

‘You came here with your grandmother.'

‘No. On my own. I used to sit and stare at the waves for hours.'

‘That sounds lonely.'

Her whole child hood had been lonely.
‘I was used to it.'

‘Tell me what made you think you might be infertile.'

Surprised by the sudden change of subject, she looked up at him. ‘I had tests.'

‘Without telling me?' His eyes darkened ominously and she sighed.

‘At the time I didn't think there was anything to tell. To be honest, I didn't really think anything would be wrong.' She wriggled out of his arms, finding it impossible to talk about
such a difficult subject when they were so closely entwined. ‘We hadn't used any contraception for months—'

‘No time at all.'

‘I know that.' She took a deep breath. ‘But I just had…a bad feeling. It was always a worry of mine.'

‘Why would you worry about it? Had you ever tried for a baby before?'

‘No.' She threw him a puzzled glance, surprised by the question. ‘You know I hadn't.'

‘I don't know that. I know very little about your past before you met me.' He reached out, caught a strand of hair that was blowing in front of her face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘If I'm honest, I wasn't very interested in your past.'

And she wasn't interested in talking about it.

The touch of his fingers made her stomach tumble and Amy had to force herself to concentrate on the conversation. ‘I bumped into a friend of mine who runs an infertility clinic. She suggested I have some tests, so I did.'

‘And you didn't think it worth mentioning to me?' Some of the warmth had left his voice and she turned to him.

‘You have every right to be angry with me but you have to try and see it from my point of view. If I'd told you, you would have said that it was too soon to worry.'

‘It was.'

‘No! As it turns out, it wasn't! And I was able to end our marriage quickly.'

‘And I'm supposed to be grateful for that?'

‘No. Yes.' She wrapped her arms around herself to keep out the cold. ‘I don't know. I just know that I ended something that would have ended anyway.'

‘You think I would have divorced you for being infertile?' His tone was incredulous. ‘Is that truly what you think of me?'

‘No, actually.' She turned to him, her voice flat. ‘I think you probably would have stayed with me because for all your
arrogance and self-confidence you're a decent man and I think you would have felt an obligation. I didn't want that. Only one of us can't have children in this relationship, so there was no need for both of us to suffer.'

His hands closed over her arms and he jerked her against him. ‘You think I didn't suffer,
tesoro
?' His eyes blazed into hers.
‘You think I didn't suffer when you walked away from me?'

‘I'm sure you did.' The wind howled angrily around them but she ignored it. ‘I'm sure you suffered. But nowhere near as much as we both would have suffered if we'd limped along in our marriage.'

He stared down into her face for a moment, as if trying to work something out. Then he released her and his voice was flat. ‘It's cold. Let's go home.'

He didn't understand.

And she couldn't expect him to.

Because she hadn't told him who she was or where she'd come from.

 

Their marriage was doomed, she knew that.

But she'd promised to help out in the practice so she'd work these few weeks and then end it properly. By then she would have been able to convince Marco that it was the right thing for both of them.

They returned from their walk and Marco dragged her into his arms and kissed her, his mouth demanding and passionate. Then he released her suddenly and took a step backwards. ‘Let's go to the Smugglers' Inn.'

‘Now?' Still dizzy from his kiss, she looked at him, trying to focus. ‘You want to go out?'

‘I think it's a good idea. We need to talk. And if we stay here…' he smiled the smile of a red-blooded male ‘…we won't talk. Even I won't be tempted to make love to you in front of the locals so we'll talk on neutral territory.'

‘There's really nothing left to say, Marco. We don't have to go out. I could cook something.'

‘Out of what?' He gave a humourless laugh. ‘Have you checked in the fridge, Amy? Housekeeping isn't exactly my strong point at the best of times and these certainly aren't the best of times. Unless you nipped out between patients, I'm guessing that you haven't been to the supermarket either?'

His accent was more than usually pronounced and she gave a soft smile. ‘No, I haven't. And you don't have to tell me that house keeping isn't your strong point. You've always been a very traditional Italian male. You want your woman in the kitchen.'

And she'd loved that.

She'd loved the fact that she had finally been able to create a home.

She glanced around her, at the house she'd chosen,
the place she'd wanted to raise their children.

His eyes trapped hers and he inhaled deeply. ‘Not
that
traditional,' he said huskily. ‘I was more than happy for you to pursue a career if that was truly what you wanted. But it wasn't, was it?'

She shifted. ‘Do you want to argue about this now or shall we go to the pub?'

‘Subject avoidance appears to be your favourite activity at the moment.' He gave a shake of his head. ‘Let's go to the pub. Give me five minutes to change.'

Deciding that jeans were perfectly acceptable for a casual supper at the Smugglers' Inn, Amy didn't bother changing but went into her bathroom, splashed her face with cold water and applied some make-up. Remembering everyone's comments on how pale she was, she gave her cheeks an extra swipe with the blusher brush and then decided that she looked like a clown and rubbed it off again.

She was pale, yes. But apart from that she looked quite normal. Nothing like a woman whose insides were in turmoil and whose heart was breaking.

‘Ready?' Marco stood in the doorway, a black jumper brushing the hard lines of his jaw, his eyes glittering dangerously. There was fire and confrontation in his eyes and Amy swallowed, remembering the passion that had exploded between them that morning.
And the previous evening.

Perhaps they were right to go out.

They couldn't just carry on making love, could they? What did that solve? Nothing. If anything, it made things worse. They were becoming more and more entwined in the emotional web they were spinning and before long it would be almost impossible to extricate themselves.

Realising that the evening wasn't going to be easy, Amy gave a sigh as she followed him out of the room and waited while he locked the front door.

It was dark and cold and she snuggled deeper into her coat.

‘Do you think it's going to snow again?' She slid into the Maserati, enjoying the warmth and the smell of leather.

‘I have no idea.' Marco waited while she closed the door. ‘I hope not. The car hates it. I hate it. The only place I want snow is when I'm skiing and there isn't much of that on the North Cornish coast.'

Amy smiled at the thought of skiing in Penhally. ‘The car is still working, then, despite the cold?'

‘
Sì
, occasionally.' Humour in his voice, Marco leaned across and fastened her seat belt then slid his hands over the steering-wheel in a gesture of affection. ‘Except when she wants to make my life difficult. Which, of course, she does quite often.' The engine gave a throat roar and Marco steered the car onto the coast road.

‘Why is it a “she”? Why does it have to be a woman?'

‘Of course she is a woman.' Smoothly he changed gear, his eyes fixed on the road. ‘You only have to look at her temperament. She's moody some times. Unpredictable. Determined to frustrate. And then other times—she is a dream.' He spoke with such affection that she looked at him with disbelief.

‘Marco Avanti, you're a qualified doctor, not a little boy with a toy. You're just a little bit crazy, do you know that?'

He turned his head quickly and gave her a sexy smile. ‘Crazy is good, no? Sensible is…' He removed one hand from the wheel and slid it over her knee. ‘English? No passion. No emotion.'

Feeling the sudden rush of heat inside her body, Amy coloured, relieved that it was dark. Everything she knew about passion and emotion she'd learned from him. Her response to him had always astonished her. It was as if he drew out a part of her that she hadn't known existed.

‘We're so different. How did we ever end up together?'

‘Because what we have is powerful.' He increased speed and she gripped the edge of the seat and gasped.

‘Marco! Are you planning to end the year with a speeding ticket?'

‘Calm down. This car spends so long in the garage that she needs a run occasionally. And, anyway, the police have better things to do than check my speed.' Marco swooped into the car park and turned off the engine.

Feeling relieved that they were still alive, Amy undid her seat belt.
If he were less macho, would it be easier to resist him?

Or was it his blatant, unashamed masculinity that was so attractive?

Marco was red-blooded male, through and through. Women sensed it within moments of meeting him.
She'd
sensed it.

She shivered as she slammed the car door and felt the wind whip round her body. ‘It's cold.' She felt his arm slide round
her and then he was urging her across the car park and into the welcoming warmth of the pub. ‘
Buenas noches
, Marco,' Tony called out from the bar, and Marco sighed.

‘You just wished me good night in Spanish, my friend.
Buona sera
is Italian. Don't you ever listen to anything I tell you?'

‘Depends what it is.' Tony reached for a glass, a smile on his face. ‘If you're telling me to eat less fat, no, I don't listen. If you're ordering a drink, my hearing improves.'

Marco glanced around the pub. ‘It's quiet.'

‘Early yet. Most folks are still tucked up indoors, away from the weather. It'll be crowded later. Always is. What will it be? Amy?'

‘I'll have fizzy water.'

Tony lifted an eyebrow at Marco. ‘Is she going to be decent company on fizzy water?'

Marco gave a slow, masculine smile. ‘Unlike most of you Englishmen, I don't need to get my women drunk in order to seduce them. My company alone is enough.'

His comment was so outrageously arrogant that Amy couldn't hold back her laughter and he turned towards her, his attention caught, his expression curious. ‘What is funny?'