Ann McIntosh - The Surgeon's One Night To Forever

“The dress is delightful. Giovanna picked a strapless mermaid gown, made completely of Guipure lace. It’s elegant and suits her so well. Although the designer isn’t one I would have chosen, I have to admit it is beautiful.”

In Liz’s opinion, her future sister-in-law could wear a gunny sack and still look gorgeous. After all, Giovanna modeled for some of the world’s best designers and probably wore a size negative three. Pulling off a dress like the one her mother was describing wouldn’t be difficult for her at all.

Even if she wanted to, that wouldn’t be the case for Liz. When it came to height and bone structure, she’d inherited her father’s mostly Anglo-Saxon genes, rather than her mother’s mix of Latin and Asian. She had a farm-girl sturdiness that once upon a time had been the bane of her existence. Now she was proud of her strength, and confident in her womanhood.

Most of the time.

Unless she let old insecurities rise up and blindside her.

But it wasn’t jealousy making Liz feel out of sorts as she listened to her mother breathlessly give her all the details of the dress and their subsequent orgy of shopping. It was the usual feeling of inadequacy, knowing her ex-beauty-queen mother would have loved to have a daughter like Giovanna, rather than the one she had. Someone as passionate about fashion and decorating as Lorelei Prudhomme was herself. A daughter who could follow in her footsteps and excel at being a member of high society, not single-mindedly focused on her medical career.

Better to be useful than decorative.

Funny how often, at times like these, Nanny Hardy’s voice popped into her head, reminding her of what was important. The nanny had left when Liz was eight, but her legacy was lasting.

“I don’t know why they chose New York for the wedding.” Lorelei sighed the special sigh that usually turned all members of her family to mush, and had them falling over themselves to give her whatever she wanted. She’d learned, however, that it didn’t work on the strong-willed Giovanna. “It would have been so much nicer here in San Francisco.”

Liz stifled a prickle of annoyance at hearing the same complaint for the hundredth time but just replied, “It’s where Giovanna and Robbie wanted to have it.”

“I know.” There was no missing the pique in her mother’s delicate tones. “But it’s so inconvenient for us, really.”

So said the woman who flew to Milan to look at a wedding dress, and help her future daughter-in-law shop for a trousseau! Liz shook her head silently, amusement making the corners of her lips quirk. Her anxiety, which always made itself known whenever she spoke to her mother, abated slightly. Taking another sip of her coffee, she swallowed her instinctive, somewhat snarky reply along with the strong brew.

“However, I’m sure it will be lovely. Giovanna has exquisite taste. Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”

Caught off guard by the quick change of subject, although that was her mother’s usual style of conversation, Liz said the first thing that came to mind. “Highly unlikely.”

As her mother sighed again, Liz got that familiar sense of being not quite enough of a woman to suit.

Despite it being eight years since Liz had had a serious romantic relationship, her mother never stopped hoping, asking leading questions whenever the opportunity arose. Although she’d never say so to her mother, there was no way Liz was going down that painful road again. Lessons learned the first time around didn’t have to be repeated, and Andrew had certainly taught her to keep her heart closed.

“Your father sends his love.”

The muscles in Liz’s neck and shoulders tightened so suddenly, so painfully she almost gasped aloud. Instead, she pressed her lips together for an instant and clenched her fingers around the cup. When she replied, it was years of practice that allowed her to keep her tone level.

“Tell him I said hello.”

It was the best that she could do right now. The wounds were still too fresh, her sense of betrayal still too painful for anything more.

“Eliza...”

But that was all her mother said, and the silence stretched between them, filled with the ghosts of past mistakes and family secrets too long hidden. Liz wasn’t surprised by her mother’s inability to articulate whatever it was she wanted to say. Heart-to-hearts and speaking about emotional subjects weren’t “done” in their family.

Things might be a damned sight better if they were but, after all these years, they wouldn’t know where to start.

She was gripping the phone so hard her fingers were beginning to ache, mirroring the pain in her suddenly roiling stomach. She didn’t have time for this. Not right now. Probably never.

“I have to get back inside, Mother. I’m still on duty. I’m glad you enjoyed your trip.”

“Thank you, dear.” Her mother spoke softly, almost wistfully, and Liz wondered if she, like her daughter, wished things could go back to the way they used to be. “We’ll talk again soon.”

Disconnecting the call, Liz thrust the phone into the pocket of her coat and turned her face up toward the murky sky, taking a deep breath, trying to relax.

It was actually funny, in a twisted type of way. She’d always been an outsider in the family, set apart. While she loved her parents, she’d often felt emotionally distant from them, while Robbie, three years her junior, had been the affectionate one, the glue holding the family together. The fact that he was adopted hadn’t mattered. She’d been too young when he’d arrived to care, and had loved him, unconditionally, ever since.

Perhaps it was the thought of settling down with Giovanna and starting a family of his own that had prompted Robbie to ask for information about his biological parents. Whatever the reason, neither he nor Liz had been prepared for the answer, delivered one summer’s evening last year while the family had spent a couple of days together at the beach house.

Robbie was Brant Prudhomme’s biological son, conceived when Brant had had an affair not long after Liz’s birth.

“We went through a bad patch,” Lorelei had said, her still-beautiful face pale, her eyes damp. “But, in the end, we decided to make it work. And when Brant told me Robbie’s mother was dying...”

“Your mother is a wonderful woman,” Brant had interjected, in the tone Liz had known from experience meant the conversation was all but over. “I don’t think either of you would argue that point.”

Too stunned to say anything, or ask questions, Liz had watched her father walk out of the room, his back stiff and straight. Lorelei had looked suddenly more fragile but, as usual, it had been Robbie who’d gone to her, hugged her, and reassured her everything would be fine.

Liz hadn’t shared his optimism. From that moment, her world had felt off kilter, and she doubted it would ever be completely put back to rights again. Knowing that her father, who Liz would have sworn was a good husband, had betrayed her mother’s trust like that had devastated her.

What little faith she’d had in men had practically been destroyed.

Since that day, anger had lain like a rock in her chest. Why the situation affected her this way was something she was loath to look at too closely. All she knew was she couldn’t deal with being around or speaking to her father yet. Maybe the anger would fade over time and she’d relent, but not yet. Sometimes that anger spilled over to her mother too, but Lorelei, for all her bustle and chattiness, had somehow always struck Liz as being in need of protection. Being careful not to let her know the extent of the rage her daughter felt was important.

Suddenly realizing her face tingled from the cold, Liz took one last deep breath and twisted her head from side to side, trying to work out the stiffness in her muscles. It was time to get back to work, to lose herself in the job she loved more than anything else in the world, at the hospital that held a special place in her heart.