The Valtieri Marriage Deal

by Caroline Anderson

  Not hers. Apart from the fact that they simply didn’t have a year to spend planning it if it was to happen before the baby was born, they didn’t have any planning to do. Anita was doing it all, after asking Isabelle all sorts of questions that she couldn’t believe were actually relevant to such a small wedding.

  ‘Leave it to me to sort out the details,’ Anita said with a smile after the date was set. ‘Just talk, and I’ll make sure you have the day you want.’

  She wasn’t sure it was in Anita’s control to give her that, because the thing she’d want at the top of her list was a husband who had chosen her for herself and not for the fact that she was pregnant. And no matter what he might say, there was no way she’d ever know the truth about that, so she put it out of her mind and concentrated on getting through the days.

  Their holiday was wonderful, his family were lovely and once he’d told them there was a baby on the way they pulled out all the stops to sort out the wedding as quickly as possible.

  There were dress fittings—dresses in all sorts of subtle off-whites and coffee-creams, some spangled with crystals, others delicately scattered with pearls or tiny beads. Strapless, off the shoulder, high necked, halter—the choice was bewildering, but they narrowed it down to a simple dress in raw silk with a sweetheart neckline, pleats fanning from the waist on one side and a little duster train, in a delicate coffee cream sprinkled lightly with pearls. And a veil, even though she protested that it was hardly appropriate, but Anita shook her head and told her that it was a family heirloom and it would mean breaking with tradition to marry without it.

  ‘It’s probably breaking with tradition to be pregnant,’ she said drily, but Elisa blushed and shook her head, so with a little laugh Isabelle agreed to the veil.

  And then they were back in London, where they’d be working right up until the week before the wedding.

  She was still feeling nauseous, despite Luca’s intervention every morning with apple slices and dry toast and his constant nagging all day to eat little and often, tempting her with little tasty snacks. He’d moved her into his house as soon as they’d got back from Italy which slashed her journey time almost to zero, insisted she change her work pattern to something less taxing and he cooked every evening unless he was on call. Without him she had to admit she would have really been struggling.

  And every night, he went into his bedroom beside hers, closed the door and kept severely to himself.

  ‘I don’t want it to change the way we feel, and if we sleep together now, it will. I don’t want to cloud the issue, cara,’ he told her. ‘And I want you to feel free to change your mind right up to the last minute. I would rather you did if you weren’t still absolutely sure.’

  But she was more sure than ever with every day that passed. Working with him was fascinating, challenging and a source of constant debate and discussion, but in the evenings after work was over, after they’d eaten and before he sent her up to bed before him, they would sit side by side on one of the soft leather sofas and wrangle over the television remote, or he’d lean over and give her the word she was groping for in a crossword or wait for her to go to the loo and correct the mistake in her Sudoku which was holding her up.

  And if she challenged him about it, he’d just grin and say nothing.

  It was surprisingly easy to live with him, she was learning, and gradually her fears for their future were ebbing away. His reaction to her scan had been interesting, too. He must have seen hundreds—no, thousands—but not, of course, of his own baby, and he’d taken her hand and hung on tight, his eyes riveted to the screen as the tiny little heart had blipped away, and his eyes had been over-bright. And after that, he’d taken to touching her there, over the baby, his hand gentle, his eyes smiling.

  They were lying in front of the television one evening, his hand idly resting on her tummy as his fingers caressed the tiny curve that was the only very slight evidence of her baby, when he said out of the blue, ‘Have you thought about the birth?’

  ‘Mmm. Of course.’ She’d thought about little else, wondering what it would have in store, and knowing that so long as Luca was beside her, it would be all right. ‘I think I’d like a water birth. I’ve got a lady scheduled for one just before we go away—Naomi. She’s got a cervical suture—she’s already lost two babies, the first at twenty-four weeks, the second at twenty-one. She has an incompetent cervix and they’ve been devastated, but she’s been all right this time. She had the suture in nice and early, and we’re hoping for a natural labour. She should be an ideal candidate, and I can’t wait. I’ve told her to call me and I’ll go in whatever, even if I’m not on. I really want to be with her.’

  ‘Not that you’re getting too involved,’ he teased, and she laughed.

  ‘Well, I am, and this time I’ve got a personal interest. I really want to do another water birth and it should be a good one. I have a feeling it’ll be quick, so you’ll just have to take the suture out nice and promptly first thing in the morning so she’s delivered by the end of the day to make sure I can be there. And I’ll just hang on until she has it.’

  ‘You don’t need to. You’ll only be here—unless we’re in Italy.’

  She shook her head. ‘She won’t go that long. I have a feeling about her. I bet you she’s admitted before the suture’s scheduled to be removed.’

  Luca groaned. ‘Your feelings are all too accurate for my liking. Just tell me when she’s there.’

  ‘Are you busy, Isabelle?’

  ‘No—do you need me?’

  He nodded. ‘There’s a new admission just arriving. She’s specifically asking for you. If you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, only too grateful to get out of the staffroom before Sarah started quizzing her any more about the wedding.

  ‘So who’s this woman?’ she asked, and Luca smiled wryly.

  ‘Naomi Brown.’

  ‘Naomi! Oh, Luca, no! She’s not due yet! She’s only—what—thirty-three weeks now?’

  ‘Thirty-four and a half.’

  ‘So why’s she come in?’

  ‘She’s having contractions. We have to remove the suture.’

  Isabelle felt a shiver of apprehension. ‘Oh, lord. Luca, we have to make sure they keep this baby. They were devastated when they lost the others. We have to save it for them.’

  He stopped and turned to her, and his smile was crooked. ‘Cara, I fully intend to save this baby whatever the mother’s history, and at over thirty-four weeks, that shouldn’t be an issue. Come on, let’s go and see her. If her labour’s not yet established, perhaps we can delay it.’

  ‘And if not? Are you happy for her to have a water birth still, because she really wants it, Luca.’

  ‘Probably. Let’s go and see if we can stall it first.’

  But they couldn’t. Her cervix was fighting against the suture, and as soon as Luca had removed it, Naomi’s distress eased and she sighed with relief.

  ‘Oh, that feels so much better,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Luca said with a smile, getting up off the stool and moving out of the way so they could reinstate the end of the bed. ‘Now we’ll just keep an eye on things and see how you go. It may be fairly fast, your cervix is already thinning.’

  Thinning was the understatement of the century, Isabelle thought as she examined her a short while later, the moment the huge delivery bath was filled. Her contractions were coming thick and fast, and she was starting to get distressed again.

  ‘Do you want to go in the water?’ Isabelle asked her gently, and she nodded.

  ‘Please. I know this is a bit hurried, but—you know, we planned it, Isabelle, and I’d love to do it. I just think it’s so gentle for the baby.’

  ‘It is, for both of you. Come on, we’ll get you in now. It’s all ready.’

  She and Ryan, Naomi’s husband, steadied her as she stepped into the warm bath, and as she sank down into the welcoming water she gave a sigh of relief.

/>   ‘Oh, that feels so good. Can we turn the lights down?’

  ‘Sure.’ Isabelle lowered the lights, Ryan turned on some soft instrumental music and Naomi rested her head back, moaning softly from time to time, but utterly relaxed as Ryan knelt beside her outside the pool and stroked her tummy slowly.

  Then she opened her eyes and looked into Isabelle’s, calm and composed. ‘I want to push.’

  ‘OK. Let me check you.’ She knelt down and leant over into the water and examined her, and not surprisingly her cervix was fully effaced. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she said quietly.

  She heard the door open almost silently, and knew it was Luca, but she didn’t look up, just held Naomi’s hand as she pushed. He read her mind, though, because very slowly, so as not to startle them, he turned the lights back up so she could see what was happening.

  ‘OK, the baby’s head is crowning now, I can see lots and lots of hair. Well done. Keep going, keep pushing gently. And again. Good girl. You’re nearly there.’

  Another contraction gripped her, and the baby’s head slipped free, followed by the rest of his body in a slithering rush.

  ‘Oh!’ Naomi breathed, reaching down to her baby, her face filled with wonder.

  ‘Lift him up out of the water now, nice and gently—that’s it,’ she murmured, and as Naomi lifted the baby to her breast, he drew in a little breath and sighed.

  ‘Is it all right? Why isn’t she crying?’ Naomi asked, panicking, but Isabelle just smiled.

  ‘They often don’t with a water birth, because it’s so gentle. It’s fine—he’s breathing properly and pinking up nicely. Well done.’

  Ryan sucked in a great shuddering breath, and Naomi sagged back, tears pouring down her face.

  ‘Is she really all right?’

  ‘He—you’ve got a little boy, Naomi—and he’s beautiful. Congratulations.’

  ‘Oh, Ryan! We’ve got a boy—a baby boy!’ she sobbed, cradling him tenderly against her. ‘Oh, he’s so small!’

  ‘He is small, but he’s strong. We need to keep him warm,’ Luca said, and covered him with a towel, tucking it in round him to protect him from draughts until the paediatric team arrived to take over.

  Isabelle blinked away her tears and looked up at him as he straightened, and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

  He gave a crooked smile. ‘Any time,’ he murmured, and as he turned his head away, she thought she saw a tear glisten on his cheek.

  A man of his experience, moved to tears by a simple delivery? Except of course it wasn’t simple, it was the end of years of hope and grief and heartache for this couple, culminating in the successful delivery of a live baby who would have every chance of survival.

  And only a robot would fail to be moved by that.

  But nevertheless…

  Luca left them to it and walked out, once he was sure the mother was fine in Isabelle’s hands and the baby was doing well. He was to be taken up to SCBU as a precaution, and he would have steroids to mature his lungs. There’d been no time to start Naomi on them because of the speed of her labour but, at thirty-four weeks plus, Luca was confident the baby would be fine, and so would the parents, who had gone through so much to reach this point and were now celebrating tearfully.

  And Luca, who didn’t even know the family, was getting carried along by the sentiment in a way he never usually did. Oh, he loved a successful outcome, and he took pride in the fact that he really cared about his patients, but he couldn’t remember the last time a delivery had brought real, wholesale tears to his eyes.

  He blinked hard and went into the kitchen to make himself a drink. Not coffee, still, in deference to Isabelle. In fact he was almost tempted to tip the jar into the bin. And then he thought about his own baby, growing slowly inside her, the woman who had changed the course of his life completely. He’d seen her face at the twelve-week scan just after they’d come back from Italy, and he knew that she already loved it.

  And so did he.

  It didn’t surprise him that he felt strongly. What did surprise him was how strongly he felt, and he wondered how he’d feel if anything happened to it.

  Gutted, he realised. Absolutely, completely gutted. Most of all for Isabelle, but also for himself. It must be worse for the mother, so close to the baby, but the thought of losing it was shocking.

  He just hoped everything went smoothly, starting with the wedding. He wondered briefly what he would do if Isabelle changed her mind and refused to marry him after all, but dismissed the negative thought. She wouldn’t do that.

  Would she?

  Well, he’d soon find out. Three more weeks to go. Only two weeks until they flew back to Italy, and three weeks to the wedding, and another twenty-four to the baby’s birth.

  He realised he could hardly wait.

  They flew back to Italy the week before the wedding, and this time she hadn’t argued about buying clothes.

  Luca had taken her to a boutique in London, and she’d been dressed and undressed a hundred times while he’d sat there and made all the right noises. The price tags were eye watering, but she didn’t argue, she just refused to have too many. ‘I’ll outgrow them in weeks, Luca,’ she pointed out. ‘We can get something over there if necessary.’

  ‘Of course, but you’ll need things for this week.’

  ‘Won’t these do? I’m tired,’ she protested, and it wasn’t really a lie, but she felt guilty about so much wanton extravagance. After all, it wasn’t as if he wanted to spoil her. He was doing it out of necessity, but all she really wanted was a few things to wear—and a ring. An engagement ring, a symbol of his love—but of course, although they were getting on well now, he didn’t love her, and with the wedding coming up so fast, it hardly seemed worth bothering with anything other than a wedding ring.

  And Luca hadn’t mentioned it.

  He was talking to the sales assistant now as she dressed. ‘Could you wrap them please and have them delivered to this address?’ he said, and as she came out of the changing room he was putting his wallet away, and he turned to her with a smile.

  ‘Lunch?’

  Curiously deflated suddenly, she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Can we just go home?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The following day while she was sorting out their washing ready for Italy, the clothes arrived. Plus some others she’d turned down, and it made her want to cry. It all seemed so unnecessary, she thought, but she packed them anyway.

  Two days later, they flew to Tuscany, amid a hail of good wishes from their colleagues and friends at the hospital and promises to throw them a party when they got back.

  They arrived at the palazzo in the early afternoon, to be greeted with a frenzy of activity.

  ‘Heavens, what on earth is going on?’ she asked Luca, but he just gave her a wry smile.

  ‘There’s going to be a wedding—remember?’

  ‘But only a small one.’

  He snorted, and she felt a wave of panic. ‘Luca, you promised!’

  ‘It will be small,’ he assured her. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean it will be low key. Anita will have organised it all—don’t worry. It looks like a lot of fuss, but when they all go away, it’ll be just us. Trust me, cara. It will be a lovely day.’

  Could she trust him? There seemed to be an army of vans and trucks, and when they went through the house to the salon overlooking the terrace, she could see why. The terrace was smothered in white canvas, and as they watched it was hauled upright.

  ‘Good grief! I’ve never seen a marquee that size!’ she said, stunned, and he laughed.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and find the family. They’ll be in the library, I suspect, overseeing operations from the control centre.’

  It sounded terrifying, and clearly everything she’d said had been ignored. It was just like last time, everything taken away from her, planned to death by others to give them the day they were expecting.

  But she’d reckoned without Anita.

  A
s they went into the library, she got to her feet and came over and hugged her. ‘Hi. How are you?’

  ‘Worried. That marquee’s huge.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s a very moderate one. Don’t worry. It’s for afterwards—the wedding feast is set up at one end, and the dancing will be at the other, and that way we don’t have to move the tables. There are more people coming for the evening, as well, but you can slip away then and leave them to it. I expect you’ll be tired anyway, and I should think Luca will want you to himself.’

  Luca would. Luca wanted her to himself now, and he could see the worry on her face and wanted to take her away from it all, but there was no way they could have got married without a certain amount of fuss, and he trusted Anita.

  ‘Right. We need to freshen up and have some lunch, and then we’ll come and see you. No doubt you’ve got lots of questions.’

  ‘No, not really. Luca, you need a suit fitting this afternoon, and, Isabelle, the designer is here with your dress. She’s going to do the first fitting today and then another tomorrow, if necessary, to give them time. I’m sorry to land it on you when you’ve just arrived, but she’ll wait until you’ve rested.’

  ‘I hope it fits,’ she said softly to Luca as they walked up to their rooms. ‘I really have no idea if it will, but lots of my things don’t now.’

  ‘It doesn’t show yet to the casual eye.’

  ‘But there won’t be a casual eye, will there?’ she said drily. ‘They’ll all be watching me like hawks, and something like that will be top of their list, with the speed of the wedding.’

  ‘Does that bother you?’ he asked. ‘Because it doesn’t bother me, in the least. I’m not ashamed that you’re carrying my child, Isabelle—quite the opposite, and I’m more than proud to show you off.’

  His softly spoken words brought a lump to her throat, and with a sigh he opened her bedroom door, took her in and drew her into his arms. ‘Hush, tesoro. It will be all right. They’ll all love you.’