Claiming His Pregnant Princess. Annie O'Neil
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be off to hide away the rest of her pregnancy somewhere else.
“So, on a day-to-day basis you’re my boss?” She kept her eyes on her tea, wincing at the note of hope in her voice.
“Nope. Dr. James Coutts is your actual boss,” Teo continued, after taking his shot of espresso down in one swift gulp.
Classic Italian. She would be amazed if he went back to Australia. He might be second generation in Australia, but the man had Italy in his bones.
“I step in when he’s out on rescue calls, like today. The fact I was on duty when we held your interview was just a coincidence.”
“So...he knew I was coming?”
The interview had been a week ago. Start date today. He’d had a whole week to come to terms with things and yet she was sure she’d seen shock in his eyes. The same shock of recognition that had reverberated through to her very core.
“He knew someone was coming, but he’s been tied up training the emergency squads.”
Her Jamie? Better-safe-than-sorry Jamie?
She’d always thought she was a solid rock until she’d met him. But no one had been more reliable, more sound than him.
“He’s pretty good about not breathing down your neck.” Teo pulled open a cupboard and began to look around for some biscuits. “And he lets staff make decisions in his absence. He’s a really good guy, actually. Don’t let the whole Dr. Impenetrable thing get to you.”
Her lips thinned. Jamie was better than a good guy. He was the kindest man she’d ever met.
Strangely, it came as a relief to hear his bitterness seemed to be solely reserved for her. Deservedly so. How she could have dumped him just to make good on an antiquated match between her family and the Roldolfos was beyond her now. Family loyalty meant altogether different things when your blue-blooded mother was trying to uphold hundreds of years of tradition. Pass the princess baton...even if it came at her daughter’s expense.
She heard Teo sigh and looked up to catch him lovingly gazing at a plate of homemade biscotti. Someone’s grandmother’s, no doubt. There was a lot of bragging about grandmothers up here. She missed hers. No doubt she would have had some wise words for the insane situation Bea was in now.
“Did you hear the crew earlier? Sounds like it was a pretty intense case,” Teo continued, oblivious to the turmoil Bea was enduring.
“I didn’t see any patients come down from the helipad.” She shook her head in confusion.
“They dropped the patient off in Switzerland. A little kid. Five, maybe six years old—broke his leg. Compound fracture. Tib-fib job. Massive blood loss. The mother nearly lost the plot. She was attacking the staff, threatened to kill one of them if they didn’t let her on the helicopt—”
“All right, all right.” Bea held up a hand, feeling a swell of nausea rise and take hold as he painted the picture. “It’s obvious someone’s a bit jealous that he wasn’t out on the rescue squad today.”
“I’m on tomorrow.” Teo gave his hands a quick excited rub. “You can sign up, too, if you like. We do it on rotation, because summers are so busy up here, but you’d probably have to do your first few with James. The man is a right daredevil when’s he’s wearing the old rescue gear. Biscotti?” He held out a plate filled with the oblong biscuits.
“No, grazie. Or, actually...” Maybe it would help settle her stomach. She took one of the crunchy biscuits and gave him a smile.
He gave the door frame a final pat and then was gone.
Bea sank into a nearby chair. As far as she was concerned, Teo could have all her emergency-rescue shifts. About eight weeks, two days and...she glanced at her watch...three hours ago she would have been all over them. High-octane rescues and first-class medical treatment? Amazing experiences.
Experiences she would have to miss now.
Compromising the tiny life inside her while the former love of her life looked on...
She let her head sink into her hands.
Clinica Torpisi wasn’t going to be the healing hideaway she’d been hoping for.
More like hell on earth.
HE SAW HER across the piazza. Jamie wondered now, having adjusted to the platinum blond hair, how he hadn’t noticed her instantly. He certainly had when she’d walked into Northern General. How could he not have when he’d entered the clinica?
Fathomless chocolate-brown eyes straight out of the Italian-nymph guidebook. Slender. The darkest chestnut hair he’d ever seen. Short, but thick enough to lose his hands in when he wanted to put his fingers against the nape of her soft, swan-like neck. Perfect raspberry-red lips. Olive skin. Carrying herself like royalty.
She was royalty.
He shook his head again.
Little wonder he hadn’t recognized her straight off. He hadn’t wanted to.
A bit of shock.
A splash of denial.
Hope, pain, love, despair... All those things and more made up the roiling ball of conflict burning in his heart. Most of all he just wanted to understand why.
He hitched his trousers onto his hips. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost weight in the past couple of years.
Stop apportioning blame.
The closer he got, the more he wondered what the hell he was doing.
No. That wasn’t true. Ripping off the bandage had become his modus operandi since she’d left. He might as well stick true to his course. Life wasn’t sweet. Might as well get used to it.
“Mind if I join you?”
Beatrice started, as if her thoughts had been a thousand miles away. When she’d pulled him into focus he watched as she searched his face for signs of enmity. He couldn’t say he blamed her. After his performance in the supplies room earlier in the day he’d hardly made a good show of the manners his mother had drilled into him.
“Please...” Beatrice pushed aside a small plate of antipasti and indicated the chair beside her. One from which he could enjoy the stunning lakeside view. One that would seat them side by side, where they wouldn’t have to look into the other’s eyes.
He sank into the chair, grateful for this reprieve from animosity. Perhaps a few hours apart had been what they’d each needed. Time to process.
“Is that a spritzer you’re having?” He pointed at the bright orange drink on the table, the glass beaded with condensation as the final rays of sunlight disappeared behind the mountain peaks beyond the lake.
“No.” She shook her head. “I never liked spritzers. Too...” Her nose crinkled as she sought the right word. “Aftertasty,” she said finally, her lips tipping up into the first suggestion of a smile he’d seen. “Orange soda is my new guilty pleasure. I don’t seem to be able to drink enough of it.”
He was about to launch into the lecture he gave all his patients—too many fizzy drinks were bad for the bones, bad for the brain, bad for the body—but just seeing the tension release from the corners of her eyes as she lifted the glass, put her lips around the red and white stripes of the straw and drew in a cool draught made him swallow it.
He hadn’t come here to deliver a lecture. He had questions. Thousands of questions.
A waiter swooped in, as they all did at this time of day, keen to get as many people as possible their drinks before the early-dining Americans began infiltrating the wide square in advance of the Europeans.
He and Beatrice both bit back smiles