Miracle Christmas. Shirley Jump
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had a funny tummy the last few days. Nothing too dire, just a vague queasiness. And she’d been incredibly tired, even in the mornings. But she’d been working like a dog, pushing herself with the research. Maybe she’d just overdone things and become run down?
Her second orange juice sat untouched before her as the fake citrus aroma assaulted her. She was acutely aware of the heavy mix of colognes surrounding her, of the cigarette smoke coming from the slot-machine area, of beer and cooking steaks.
It had been like that at work too, she belatedly realised. She’d found herself hyper-sensitive to the usual mix of aromas that as a nurse she’d previously been immune to—disinfectant, IV antibiotics, concentrated urine, vomit and infected wounds.
A waitress walked past with some cappuccinos and the strong aroma of coffee had her on her feet in an instant.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, hoping she didn’t look as desperate as she felt, quickly making her way to the toilets. She made it just in time, retching and retching until her stomach ached and her head spun.
It took ten minutes for the nausea to subside and the shaking to stop and for her legs to feel they could support her. She rose from the tiled floor, splashed water on her face at the basins and then wearily made her way back to the table. She gathered her bag and made her excuses amidst a chorus of protests and left.
The fresh air felt marvellous on her heated skin as she left Barney’s. Several people pushed past her on their way in and Rilla stumbled and would have fallen had a warm hand under her elbow not prevented it.
‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness followed hot on the heels of a fresh bout of nausea.
She opened them again to find eyes as black as a starless night looking back at her.
‘Rilla?’ Luca’s gaze raked over her. He knew every nuance of every facial expression she possessed. She looked pale and shaken. She was obviously unwell. ‘Are you OK?’ he demanded.
His words were drowned out by the roar of a truck as it thundered past, spewing diesel fumes. The acrid aroma misted Rilla in its cloying cloud and she mewed as she looked around desperately for somewhere to be sick and not disgrace herself in front of the busy evening trade.
An alley ran down beside Barney’s and she wrenched away from Luca, stumbling into the dark recess. She bent over, splaying her legs wide, and retched again, hoping to God that Luca hadn’t followed. Nothing came up.
‘What’s wrong?’
His Italian shoes appeared in her line of vision and even through her misery she could hear the concern in his voice. She wanted to lean her head against the brick wall and cry.
Rilla felt the nausea subside and righted herself slowly, her hand against the rough brick. She turned and leaned heavily against the wall as her pulse hammered madly through her head.
‘Are you …? Have you drunk too much?’
Had she the energy Rilla would have laughed in his face. She was suddenly bone tired. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ she said wearily. ‘I have to drive.’
Muted neon bled into the soft blanket of twilight and stabbed into the narrow passage, throwing his face into shadow. He looked dark and dangerous. Not someone anyone would want to be stuck with in a rapidly darkening alley.
‘Are you ill?’ he demanded.
Rilla pushed away from the wall and started back down the alley. She felt wretched and all she wanted was her bed. ‘I think I’m coming down with a virus,’ she muttered.
‘Have you seen someone about it?’ he asked, calling after her.
Rilla ignored him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. If he wanted to talk to her, he could keep up.
‘I said,’ Luca said, catching up to her and snagging her arm, pulling her around and back into the privacy of the alley, ‘have you seen someone about it?’
‘Luca, I’m really tired and—’
The persistent nausea ratcheted up another notch and she put her hand out to lean against the brick wall.
Luca saw her sway and realised she was barely keeping upright. ‘Dio!’ he swore, and swept her up in his arms and strode out of the alley, ignoring her protests. The green man was flashing at the pedestrian crossing and he carried her across the road.
‘Put me down, Luca,’ Rilla admonished as she clung around his neck. People in the street around them were staring and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.
‘You’re not well. I’m taking you home,’ Luca said, holding her tighter as she squirmed.
‘Are you going to carry me all the way?’ Rilla asked, not really objecting terribly much any more. She relaxed into him, snuggling her head against his shirt, just too weary to care.
‘No, just to my car,’ he said as he came up alongside it and pushed the button on his keys to open the central locking. ‘I’m putting you down now. Will you be OK?’ he asked.
Rilla was vaguely aware that he was talking to her and she murmured, ‘Yes.’
Luca lowered her to the ground reluctantly. It had felt good to hold her in his arms again. She had felt warm and soft against him and her breath had been warm against his neck, her lips almost touching it.
He kept hold of her as he opened the passenger door and she swayed into him, her hip and breast rubbing against the fabric of his clothes. ‘Hop in,’ he said, a husky note threading through his voice.
Rilla roused herself as he gently guided her into the seat. ‘But I have my own car,’ she said, resisting.
‘You are in no fit state to drive,’ Luca said firmly as he coaxed her into his sporty BMW. ‘It’ll be safe in the General’s car park overnight,’ he said patiently as he knelt beside her and lifted her legs into the car. ‘I’ll drop you back in the morning.’
Rilla blinked as the car door closed and she inhaled the fragrance of leather as she settled into the soft bucket seat. She waited for the nausea and was relieved to discover it was gone. Luca climbed in beside her and didn’t say a word as he buckled up and started the engine.
Rilla was asleep in less than thirty seconds. The low growl of the engine hummed like a lullabye around her and she couldn’t remember ever having felt this tired. She stirred slightly, her eyes heavy as she realised Luca didn’t know her address, but then the thought slipped out of her grasp and disappeared into the blissful oblivion.
Luca drove calmly, despite the emotional squall lashing his insides. He was excruciatingly aware of her beside him. Even after all these years she still had a power over him that he’d thought he’d exorcised long ago. Of course, sleeping with her again hadn’t helped in that regard.
Her head lolled towards the window and he swallowed as his gaze tracked the olive column of her neck. His fingers itched to stroke the skin there and he tightened them around the wheel. His eyes were drawn to her hands clasped low across her stomach, and he felt something stir inside. Their child had once grown there. He gripped the steering-wheel harder.
A thought occurred to him as he decelerated approaching a red light. Maybe it wasn’t a virus? Maybe it was something else?
Tiredness and nausea. Two very common, classic symptoms of pregnancy.
He felt his pulse pound through his abdomen. Could it be? Luca tried to stay calm and rationalise. It probably was just a virus. She’d been keeping long hours the last month, longer than him, and prior to that there had been the stress of Bridie’s illness. Maybe she’d left herself susceptible to an opportunistic infection.
But then he did a quick calculation—it had been a month since their night together in his bed.
And they hadn’t used protection.
Luca