Reunited With Her Surgeon Prince. Marion Lennox
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‘Is he my father?’ Felix demanded and Ellie closed her eyes.
And when she opened them Marc was in the doorway.
He’d ditched his theatre gear. He was wearing casual chinos and a white open-necked shirt.
His dark hair, wavy just like her son’s, was rumpled. He’d raked it, she thought. He always raked his hair.
Felix looked like him. Felix was Marc in miniature—except for the freckles. And the wheelchair.
But there was no use denying it. Felix’s face was bristling with suspicion, but also with something else. Hope, perhaps? He wanted a father.
How wrong had it been not to tell Marc what she’d done?
She glanced at Marc again. His face was impassive. Shuttered.
She thought of the first time she’d met him. She’d been nineteen, a second-year university student, working her butt off to put herself through medicine. Marc had been twenty-four, just completed training, headed to Australia for a gap year before he started surgical training.
He’d intended working his way around Australia’s coastline, but in his first week in Sydney there’d been an international conference on vascular surgery. He’d cadged an invitation because, gap year or not, he was interested.
She’d been there as a waitress. On the edges. Soaking up knowledge any way she could. She’d been working the crowd, carrying drinks.
An eminent vascular surgeon had been holding forth to a small group of similarly esteemed professionals, talking of the latest cardiovascular techniques. She’d paused to listen, intrigued by the discussion of a technique she’d never heard of.
And then one of the group had caught her eye, maybe suspecting she was eavesdropping. Uh oh. If she lost this job it’d be a disaster. She’d spun away fast—and crashed into Marc.
Her tray had been loaded with red and white wine and orange juice. The whole lot had spilled down his front. Glasses smashed on the floor. The attention of the whole room had suddenly been on her, and she’d stood, appalled, expecting to be sacked.
But Marc had moved with a decisiveness that had taken her breath away. He’d stopped people moving onto the broken glass, and he’d talked to her boss before she could say a word.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he’d said in his lovely broken English. ‘So stupid. I was caught by something Professor Kramer was discussing, and it seemed important to catch it. So I turned suddenly and I hit your waitress hard. Mam’selle, are you hurt? A thousand apologies. Sir, may I make recompense? The cost of the glasses? The wine? Something extra for your work? And, mam’selle, I will pay the cost of your cleaning...’
He’d charmed her right back into her job—and that night, when she’d finished work, he’d been waiting for her at the staff entrance.
‘I messed with your night,’ he said simply. ‘The least I can do is take you to supper.’
‘It was my fault.’
‘The fault is immaterial. It was my body you crashed into. Therefore my body will propel you to supper.’
He’d been irresistible. His looks, his accent, his smile... His kindness.
She’d fallen in love right there and then and, amazingly, he’d seemed to feel the same.
And now he was here.
‘Ellie?’ he said gently, but there was no smile.
He was waiting for an answer.
Felix was waiting for an answer.
She looked from one to the other. Her son. Her ex-husband. The man she’d loved with all her heart.
Once. Not now.
Is he my father?
There was nowhere to go.
‘Felix, this is Marc Falken,’ she managed and was amazed at the way her voice sounded. It was almost steady. ‘He’s from Falkenstein, near Austria, in Europe. Marc’s a doctor. He and I met at university and for a few short months we were married. But then there was a war in Marc’s country, a disaster that lasted for years. He was needed. I’d imagine he’s still needed. But, for whatever reason, he’s here now, and yes, Felix, Marc is your father.’
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