Alison Roberts - The Italian Surgeon Claims His Bride

‘She likes that toast.’ Smears of butter and Marmite were spread across fat pink cheeks. Any thoughts of offering to let Paul hold Ella were squashed. Imagine if he had to go and change that pristine white shirt?

Paul offered Ella another thin slice of toast, which she accepted but didn’t eat. This time she held it back out, as though trying to return the gift. Paul didn’t notice because he was glancing at his watch.

‘It’s nearly six. I’ll have to run.’

‘Yes. It’s Wednesday.’ Jenna nodded. ‘It’s one of your heavy theatre days, isn’t it?’

An eyebrow rose. ‘You know my schedule so well already?’

‘Let’s see.’ Jenna ducked as the piece of buttery toast was waved too close to her hair. ‘You operate on Mondays and Fridays as well, have outpatient clinics on Tuesday and Thursdays and you do ward rounds at least once every day. You also have umpteen departmental duties, teaching slots and, of course, way too many emergencies.’

Both of Paul’s eyebrows had risen to meet the flop of dark, wavy hair on his forehead.

Jenna tried not to blush. Instead, she took advantage of the opportunity provided.

‘Ella doesn’t get to see that much of you,’ she explained, ‘and your mother always looks forward to any time you have at home.’

Maria probably didn’t get that weird sensation of having swallowed a whole tribe of butterflies on anticipating Paul’s company, though, did she?

A sneaking sympathy for Louise had been inevitable. It was no surprise that Danielle’s other grandmother was convinced that any woman coming within an inch of Paul would want to throw herself at the man. He was, without doubt, the most physically attractive man Jenna had ever met.

Tall and dark. Lean and lithe—with the kind of dark, brooding aura that so many women found irresistible. And there was the voice. Like rich chocolate with that barely discernible but intriguing foreign inflection, not to mention the ability to switch to fluent Italian as he sometimes did with his mother. You wouldn’t be a heterosexual female if you didn’t respond to that attractiveness at some level.

It would wear off.

It might wear off a lot faster if she had enough time to get used to it. To file it where it belonged as simply a physical reaction to a very attractive male. Even if Jenna had been interested in Paul on a personal level—which she wasn’t—she was focussed enough on her new goal to know that getting distracted would be a hindrance. A disaster, in fact, if Paul actually became more interested in her company than that of his daughter.

It couldn’t be allowed to happen.

It wouldn’t happen.

Things needed to be kept professional. She shouldn’t have made such a personal comment. Not yet, anyway, when there were still too many large, missing pieces of the puzzle this family represented.

Jenna tried to open Ella’s little fist to remove the mashed piece of toast. She also tried to sound as though Paul’s timetable was purely of professional interest.

‘Anything interesting on your list today?’

‘Yes.’ Paul drained the last of his coffee from the mug, highly relieved at the change of topic. He heard more than enough from his mother concerning the number of hours he spent at work. He certainly didn’t need Danielle’s nanny joining the chorus. ‘A three-year-old boy, Darren Symes. He’s got a Wilms’ tumour.’

‘Unilateral involvement?’

The surprise of having an intelligent medical question being asked in his own home was rather pleasant. There was more than one benefit in having a trained nurse as the new nanny. Paul put his coffee-mug into the sink and turned on the tap to rinse his hands.

‘I’m hoping so. We haven’t found any metastases but there’s a question mark hanging over the state of the unaffected kidney. And, of course, I’ll have to be very careful to avoid any tumour spillage.’

‘How did he present?’

‘Abdominal mass. GP found his blood pressure raised and a urine dipstick test detected blood. Ultrasound confirmed the nephroblastoma.’ Paul dried his hands on a towel. ‘I must go.’

‘Good luck.’

Jenna was smiling at him. There was an understanding of the importance of what he was facing in that smile. There was also confidence that he would succeed in her tone—the wishing of luck was just a verbal token that he was unlikely to need.

He liked that.

Even more, he liked the fact that, for the first time in nearly a year, he could go to work and concentrate on what needed to be done, without having to deliberately switch off any background anxiety about what might be happening at home.

Thanks to Jenna.

An unlikely nanny. It was just as well Louise couldn’t see her right now, looking like she had so recently tumbled out of bed. That cloud of dark curls falling over her shoulders, old clothes that hugged a figure far more attractive than those straight skirts and classic shirts had ever advertised and a face that obviously needed no make-up to stand out from a crowd.

Not that it would have mattered what Jenna looked like. Anyone who could have altered the atmosphere in this house to such a degree in the space of only a week would have been welcome. Paul had not seen his mother this happy in a very long time.

Curious that he was taking longer than he needed to dry his hands. That he wasn’t in his usual rush to leave for work. It was this new phenomenon that was developing—the notion that dealing with the demands of his family could transcend duty and perhaps even provide a degree of pleasure.

Yes. Everybody had been happier since Jenna had arrived.

Except for Louise, of course, but if Paul was honest, the fact that his mother-in-law was not pleased only added to his current level of satisfaction. Maybe she would just give up now.

And go home.

Not that he would deny her rights as part of the extended Romano clan. Family was everything, was it not?

Yes. Paul smiled as he reached out to touch Danielle’s curls.

‘Verdere piu tardi, cara. See you later.’

He was careful to give Jenna no more than a casual glance of farewell.

Not that he should have trouble keeping the lid on any hormonal stirring he might be experiencing. He’d had more than enough practice in the last eighteen months and the lessons of treading that particular path had been learned exceptionally well. It was Danielle and his mother who would reap the benefits of that sparkle of real intelligence, the ready smile, the soothing voice and what would, undoubtedly, be a soft touch.

He let himself out of the house and strode towards the garage. Being outside was good. Sometimes it was disconcertingly difficult to keep matters of importance in perspective when he was in the company of Danielle’s new nanny.

Things may be looking brighter but he needed to tread carefully. To remember the lessons learned. But he could never have difficulty remembering, could he? Danielle was living evidence of the fallout possible from making a mistake. A mistake he would never repeat.

‘What is it?’

‘Twelve point three. See?’ Jenna held the small blood-glucose monitor so that Maria could see the display.

‘That’s high, is it not?’

‘We’re aiming to get it stable in single figures but it’s better than yesterday and you’re due for your insulin anyway.’ Jenna stooped to tickle Danielle, who was now crawling on the floor of Maria’s bedroom. The baby giggled and held up her arms. ‘Just a tick, sweetheart,’ Jenna responded. ‘I’m going to give Nonna her injection and take her blood pressure and then we’ll all go and have proper breakfast. Are you hungry or are you still full of toast?’

Danielle flapped her arms and Maria laughed.

‘It’s so good having you here, Jenna.’ Maria discarded the tissue she had been holding on her fingertip since the prick required for the blood-sugar test. She grimaced at the sight of the approaching syringe. ‘I hate needles.’