Tracy Kelleher - Invitation to Italian

Sebastiano had long ago lost count of the number of rubber chicken dinners he’d attended to support various local causes, everything from the Grantham Open Space Committee to the Grantham After-school Program, with the Grantham Historical Society, the Grantham Chamber Music Society and the Grantham Public Library Fund somewhere in between.

“You’re too generous,” he said, still experiencing the indigestion from Saturday evening’s Friends of the Grantham University Art Museum fundraiser. The meal had a Spanish theme in honor of a recent acquisition of a Goya painting. The chicken paella had left a lasting impression.

Iris sat ramrod straight. She placed her gloves beneath the stiff handles of her alligator bag, which was neatly positioned on the side of his desk. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” She tilted her finely pointed chin a precise fifteen degrees.

Sebastiano winced. “Personal?”

“Yes, I don’t mean to pry.”

That seemed exactly what she was trying to do.

“I was wondering…are you happy here?” she asked.

Sebastiano frowned. “If you mean am I content with my job, you don’t need to worry that I am considering other offers.”

Iris pursed her lips. “That’s not what I mean. And I know you’ve been offered positions at larger hospitals.”

Sebastiano raised his eyebrows.

“However tantalizing some of these offers may be, I am a good enough judge of character to know that you wouldn’t think of leaving until new ground is broken and all the funds are raised.” She crossed her still trim legs at the ankles. “No, what I’m talking about has nothing to do with professional contentment. On the contrary, I’m talking about personal fulfillment.” She eyed him closely. “Are you happy?”

Sebastiano ground his back teeth. His dentist had warned him at his last checkup that he was doing this. “What is ‘happy’?” he asked.

“Please, I’m not discussing Schopenhauer here,” Iris said, dismissing his question. “Though after taking a course on German philosophy at the Adult School, I wouldn’t mind. Still, that is not the point of this discussion. What I’m getting at is that to me, you appear disconnected, which is not to say uninterested or lacking empathy. Nor am I referring to the fact that you seem overworked. What I mean to say, and, please, you must remember that I am not one to mince words.”

Sebastiano bit back a grin. “How could I forget?”

“What I mean to say then, is that you appear quite alone, one might even say lonely. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sebastiano couldn’t think of anything he wanted less than company. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m really quite all right. There’s absolutely nothing wrong, and as a doctor, I make sure to stay atop my physical condition.”

“I’m not talking about blood tests and annual checkups,” Iris clarified.

“I understand, but rest assured.”

There was a knock. His office door swung open.

He narrowed his eyes, hesitated, then focused his attention again on Iris. “Trust me. Nothing’s wrong.”

A sarcastic laugh from across the room mocked his statement. “Well, you might not be able to think of anything wrong, but believe me, I can tell you more than a thing or two!” the irate female voice announced.

Sebastiano stood up. He buttoned the middle button of his charcoal-gray suit jacket. “Mrs. Phox…Iris…excuse this unexpected interruption. I’m not sure if you’ve met one of our obstetricians?”

Iris leaned around the side of the wing chair to get a view of the intruder. “Ah, Julie, my dear, so good to see you again. I was just speaking of you this morning.”

“DR. ANTONELLI. I WAS unaware we had an appointment.” Sebastiano stood stiffly. He shot the cuffs of his starched white shirt and straightened his sterling silver cuff links.

If he had wanted to appear more intimidating, it would have been difficult to say just how, Julie observed. Well, he could grow four more inches, she thought with a certain amount of self-satisfaction. She was six foot one in her stocking feet. Right now she had on clogs, her usual footwear for surgery, and she topped him by a good three inches.

It was a silly sense of superiority, but she’d take it. Because frankly, Dr. Sebastiano Fonterra scared her witless.

True, the old CEO of the hospital had never been her favorite person. He hadn’t seemed to be the brightest bulb, but he had been approachable, always appearing open to suggestions even when he didn’t have the least intention of following through on those suggestions. Still, he listened.

Sebastiano Fonterra was anything but approachable. He was aloof, often arrogant and, even more maddening, sexy as hell.

There was something about that voice of his—the faint Italian accent to an otherwise flawless command of English. The vowels were more distinct. The enunciation a little crisper. He simply didn’t have the lazy lips of American speakers. Although her female colleagues didn’t normally bring up the topic of enunciation when it came to discussing them.

Still, when she’d come storming in, dressed in her operating scrubs and minus a shower, enunciation had been the furthest thing from her mind. Not that her mind was functioning all that well after having been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

Julie slowly pulled off the blue cotton cap left over from surgery. Her short dark hair was matted to her forehead.

“Dr. Antonelli, I’m waiting,” Sebastiano said again.

Sebastiano might look gorgeous and wield more than a fair share of authority at the hospital, but she refused to be intimidated.

Iris Phox was a completely different matter.

Nevertheless, this was too important for Julie to back down now. “I have something that couldn’t wait.” She took a step forward, positioning herself to the right of Iris, who was sitting in the high-backed chair and within easy spitting distance of Sebastiano. Julie leaned forward and braced her hands on his desk. Spitting from this distance would be a slam dunk.

“I’ve just come from an emergency cesarean on a patient who had seized out from eclampsia.” Through her peripheral vision, she could see Iris’s blinking stare of fascination, but Julie narrowed her eyes and focused on the man across the desk.

“The mother made it?” he asked, still standing. There was no emotion in his voice.

“Yes.”

“And the baby?”

“Underweight and with a low Apgar score, but she’ll pull through.”

“I presume this came as an emergency room admit?” Sebastiano said.

Julie nodded.

“Then you are to be commended. They were lucky that you were on call.”

“This is not about me. This is about the fact that she had never received any prenatal checkups simply because the clinic is not open long enough during the day,” Julie decried in frustration. She threw up her hands…and bumped the glass vase. Before Julie could react, it skittered off the desk and seemed to hang suspended until it fell on the rug, thumped loudly, then bounced twice more. There was an ominous clink as it landed against the metal heater vent.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” Julie rushed to retrieve the vase. She brought it back to the desk, wincing when she noticed a visible chip in the rim. “Please, I will gladly replace it.”

“You can’t. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece.” Sebastiano spoke so quietly it was clear he was seething internally.

Julie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. I suppose it had sentimental value, too?” What a total screwup, she thought.

“It was a gift upon my acceptance of my position here at the hospital.”

“Oh…” Julie’s voice trailed off.