The Italian's New-Year Marriage Wish

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘My heart isn’t broken.’ Marco reached forward and checked something on his computer. ‘In fact, all my organs are intact and in perfect working order.’

  ‘Well, don’t tell anyone that! There’ll be a stampede and we’re busy enough here.’ Kate’s smile faded. ‘I wish I was more like you. How do you do it? You and Amy were so in love—’

  Taken aback by her frank, personal comment, Marco uttered a sharp expletive in Italian but then noticed the haunting sadness in Kate’s eyes. With ruthless determination he pushed aside dark, swirling thoughts of his wife and focused his attention on his colleague. ‘Kate…’ With an effort, he kept his voice gentle. ‘This is not about me, is it? It’s about you. About you and Nick. Perhaps you should just tell him that you love him. Be honest.’

  ‘What? I don’t…’ Flustered and embarrassed, Kate lifted a hand to her chest and shook her head in swift denial. ‘What makes you say that? Marco, for goodness’ sake…’

  ‘Nick is the senior partner and my colleague,’ Marco drawled softly, wondering why relationships were so incredibly complicated. ‘You are also my colleague. It is hard to miss the tension between the two of you. Often I am in the middle of it.’

  ‘Nick and I have known each other a long time.’

  ‘Sì, I know that.’ Marco sighed. ‘You’re in love with him. Tell him.’

  ‘Even if you were right, which you’re not,’ Kate added quickly, her shoulders stiffening, ‘you think I should just knock on the door of his consulting room and say, “I love you”?’

  ‘Why not? It’s the truth. Speaking as a man, I can tell you that we prefer a direct approach. Feminine games are an exhausting optional extra. If a woman wants to tell me that she loves me…’ he shrugged expressively and lounged deeper in his chair ‘…why would I stop her?’

  Kate laughed in disbelief. ‘Sorry, but I’m just trying to picture Nick’s face if I were to follow your advice.’

  Marco watched her for a moment, noting the dark shadows under her eyes. ‘Your problem is that you have fallen in love with an Englishman and English men know nothing about love. They are closed up, cold, unemotional. Give them twenty-four hours to make love to a woman and they would spend twenty-three of those hours watching football on the television.’ As he’d planned, his words made her smile.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ She straightened her shoulders, suddenly looking less like a vulnerable woman and more like an efficient practice manager. ‘You’re a good friend. And for a man, you’re very emotionally advanced. It would have been much simpler if I could have fallen for a hot Italian instead of a cold Englishman.’

  Marco thought of his own disastrous marriage. ‘Hot Italians can get it wrong, too,’ he said wearily. Badly wrong. ‘And Nick isn’t really cold, just badly hurt. He carries a lot of guilt. A lot of pain. This has been a bad time in his life.’

  A bad time in both their lives.

  Given the events of the last few years, it was amazing that he and his partner were still managing to run a GP practice.

  Reaching for his coffee, he cleared his mind of the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud the day.

  Not now.

  He wasn’t going to think about that now.

  It was the festive period and he had a punishing workload ahead of him.

  There was going to be no time to brood or even think.

  Which was exactly the way he wanted it.

  Amy paused outside the surgery. The fresh sea air stung her cheeks and from above came the forlorn shriek of a seagull.

  She had ten minutes before Marco was due to start seeing patients and she lost her chance to speak to him.

  Ten minutes to finally end a marriage.

  It would be more than enough time to say what had to be said. And he wouldn’t be able to prolong the meeting because he would have patients waiting to see him.

  Without giving herself time to change her mind, she pushed open the door and walked into Reception. The sudden warmth hit her and she walked up to the desk and saw Kate Althorp in conversation with the receptionist.

  Once, they’d been friends even though the other woman was at least ten years her senior. Had that friend ship ended with her sudden departure? Amy had no doubt that everyone in Penhally would have judged her harshly and she could hardly blame them for that. She’d given them no reason not to.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ Crisp, efficient and obviously busy despite the time of day, Kate glanced up and her eyes widened in recognition. ‘Amy! Oh, my goodness.’ Abandoning her conversation, she walked round the desk towards Amy, clearly at a loss to know what to say. ‘You’re home? I thought you were still in Africa with that medical charity!’

  ‘Not any more. Hello, Kate.’

  Kate hesitated and then stepped forward and gave her a warm hug. ‘It’s good to see you, Amy. Really. Does Marco know you’re here? Why didn’t you call?’

  ‘I was hoping— Marco doesn’t know I’m here but I’d like to see him for a moment.’ Amy cringed as she listened to herself. She hadn’t seen her husband for two years and she was making it sound as though she’d just popped in to ask whether he’d be home in time for dinner.

  Doubt flickered across Kate’s face as she glanced in the direction of the consulting rooms. ‘He’s about to start surgery and we’ve been incredibly busy because—’

  ‘I know about Lucy and it’s just for a moment,’ Amy urged, unable to keep the note of desperation out of her voice. If Kate refused to let her see Marco that would mean waiting, and Amy wasn’t sure that her courage would survive any sort of wait. She had to do this now. Right now. ‘Please, Kate.’ Unaccustomed to asking for help from another person, she stumbled over the words and the older woman looked at her for a moment, her responsibilities as practice manager clearly conflicting with her desire to help a friend so obviously in need.

  After a moment of hesitation, Kate walked back round the desk and reached for the phone, her eyes still on Amy’s face. ‘I’ll phone through to him and tell him that you’re—’

  ‘No!’ Amy was already walking towards Marco’s consulting room. ‘I’ll just go straight in.’ Quickly, before she had time to change her mind.

  Her heart pounding rhythmically against her chest, Amy tapped on his door.

  ‘Sì, come in.’

  The sound of his smooth, confident voice made her stomach lurch and she closed her eyes briefly. Despite his enviable fluency in English, no one could ever have mistaken Marco Avanti for anything other than an Italian and his voice stroked her nerve endings like a caress.

  Her palm was damp with nerves as she clutched the door-handle and turned it.

  He was just a man like any other.

  She wasn’t going to go weak at the knees. She wasn’t going to notice anything about him. She was past all that. She was just going to say what needed to be said and then leave.

  Ten minutes, she reminded herself. She just had to survive ten minutes and not back down. And then she’d be on the train back to London.

  She opened the door and stepped into the room. ‘Hello, Marco.’ Her heart fluttered like the wings of a captive butterfly as she forced herself to look at him. ‘I wanted to have a quick word before you start surgery.’

  His dark eyes met hers and heat erupted through her body, swift and deadly as a forest fire. From throat to pelvis she burned, her reaction to him as powerful as ever. Helplessly, she dug her fingers into her palms.

  A man like any other? Had she really believed that, even for a moment? Marco was nothing like any other man.

  She’d had two years to prepare herself for this moment, so why did the sight of him drive the last of her breath from her body? What was it about him? Yes, he was handsome but other men were handsome and she barely noticed them. Marco was different. Marco was the embodiment of everything it was to be male. He was strong, confident and unashamedly macho and no woman with a pulse could look at him and not want him.

  And for a while he’d been h
ers.

  She looked at him now, unable to think of anything but the hungry, all-consuming passion that had devoured them both.

  His powerful body was ominously still, but he said nothing. He simply leaned slowly back in his chair and watched her in brooding silence, his long fingers toying with the pen that he’d been using when she’d entered the room.

  Desperately unsettled, Amy sensed the slow simmer of emotion that lay beneath his neutral expression.

  What wouldn’t she have given to possess even a tiny fraction of his cool?

  ‘We need to talk to each other.’ She stayed in the doorway, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, a shiver passing through her body as the atmosphere in the room suddenly turned icy cold.

  Finally he spoke. ‘You have chosen an odd time of day for a reunion.’

  ‘This isn’t a reunion. We have things to discuss, you know we do.’

  His gaze didn’t flicker. ‘And I have thirty sick patients to see before lunchtime. You shouldn’t need to ask where my priorities lie.’

  No, she didn’t need to ask. His skill and dedication as a doctor was one of the qualities that had attracted her to him in the first place.

  His handsome face was hard and unforgiving and she felt her insides sink with misery.

  What had she expected?

  He was hardly going to greet her warmly, was he? Not after the way she’d treated him. Not after the things she’d let him think about her. ‘I didn’t have any choice but to come and see you, Marco. You didn’t answer my letters.’

  ‘I didn’t like the subject matter.’ There was no missing the hard edge to his tone. ‘Write about something that interests me and I’ll consider replying. And now you need to leave because my first patient is waiting.’

  ‘No.’ Panic slid through her and she took a little step forward. ‘We need to do this. I know you’re upset, but—’

  ‘Upset?’ One dark eyebrow rose in sardonic appraisal. ‘Why would you possibly think that?’

  Her breathing was rapid. ‘Please, don’t play games—it isn’t going to help either of us. Yes, I left, but it was the right thing to do, Marco. It was the right thing for both of us. I’m sure you can understand that now that some time has passed.’

  ‘I understand that you walked out on our marriage. You think “upset”…’ his accent thickened as he lingered on the word. ‘You think “upset” is an accurate description of my feelings on this subject?’

  Amy felt the colour touch her cheeks. The truth was that she had absolutely no insight into his feelings. She’d never really known what he had truly been feeling at any point in their relationship and she hadn’t been around to witness his reaction to her departure. If he had been upset then she assumed that it would have been because she’d exposed him to the gossip of a small community, or possibly because he’d had a life plan and she’d ruined it. Not because he’d loved her, because she knew that had never been the case. How could he have loved her? What had she ever been able to offer a man like Marco Avanti?

  Especially not once she’d discovered—

  Unable to cope with that particular thought at the moment, Amy lifted her chin and ploughed on. ‘I can see that you’re angry and I don’t blame you, but I didn’t come here to argue. We can make this easy or we can make it difficult.’

  ‘And I’m sure you’re choosing easy.’ The contempt in his tone stung like vinegar on an open wound. ‘You chose to walk away rather than sort out a problem. Isn’t that what you’re good at?’

  ‘Not every problem has a solution, Marco!’ Frustrated and realising that if she wasn’t careful she risked revealing more than she wanted to reveal, she moved closer to the desk. ‘You have every right to be upset, but what we need now is to sort out the future. I just need you to agree to the divorce. Then you’ll be free to…’ Marry another woman? The words stuck in her throat.

  ‘Accidenti, am I right in understanding that you have interrupted my morning surgery to ask me for a divorce?’ He rose to his feet, his temper bubbling to the surface, a dangerous glint in his molten dark eyes. ‘It is bad enough that I am expected to diagnose a multitude of potentially serious illnesses in a five-minute consultation, but now my wife decides that that in that same ridiculous time frame we are going to end our relationship. This is your idea of a joke, no?’

  She’d for got ten how tall he was, how imposing. He topped six feet two and his shoulders were broad and powerful. Looking at him now, she had to force herself not to retreat to the safety of Reception. ‘It’s not a joke and if I’m interrupting your surgery, it’s your fault. You wouldn’t answer my letters. I had no other way of getting in touch with you. And this needn’t take long.’

  He gripped the edge of the desk and his knuckles whitened. ‘Do you really think you can leave without explanation and then walk back in here and end our marriage with a five-minute conversation?’ His eyes blazed with anger and his voice rose. ‘Is that what you think?’

  Startled by his unexpected loss of control, Amy flinched. She hadn’t thought he’d cared so much. Or was he angry because she’d chosen to confront him in his place of work? ‘Don’t shout—there are patients in Reception. They’ll gossip.’

  ‘Gossip? It’s a little late to be worrying about gossip.’ But he dropped back into his seat, threw her a dark, smouldering glance and then raked both hands through his glossy, dark hair. Several strands absolutely flopped back over his forehead and she felt her breath catch.

  The yearning to touch him was so powerful that she had to clasp her hands behind her back to prevent herself from reaching out and sliding her hands into his hair.

  As if sensing her inner struggle, his gaze caught hers and held for a moment, his eyes darkening in a way that was achingly familiar. The atmosphere in the room shifted dangerously and awareness throbbed between them, drawing them into a tense, silent communication that said far more than words ever could.

  Amy felt the instant response of her body. She felt her stomach quiver and her limbs warm.

  It was still there, that inexplicable attraction that had pulled them together with magnetic force from the moment they’d met.

  Which meant that she had to get this over with. Quickly. Trying to ignore the insidious curl of feminine awareness deep in her pelvis, Amy gritted her teeth and backed towards the door.

  This was why she’d gone so far away. She’d known that only by putting an ocean between them would she be able to resist the unbelievably powerful chemistry that knotted them together.

  She had to leave.

  Fast.

  ‘Marco—it’s all history, now. Let’s not make this more painful than it has to be.’

  ‘You’re the one who made the whole thing painful, Amy.’ His voice was suddenly dangerously quiet, but before he could say any more the door opened and Kate flew in.

  ‘Marco, you have to see little Michelle right now! I’ve explained to your first patient that they’re going to have to wait. I’m sorry.’ She threw an apologetic look towards Amy. ‘Is there any chance that you can grab a cup of coffee upstairs in the staff room or something?’

  Amy watched as Marco straightened his shoulders and wrenched back control. But his mind obviously wasn’t on his work because for the briefest of moments his expression was blank. ‘Michelle?’ He said the name as if he’d never heard it before and Kate looked momentarily startled, as if detailed explanations were uncommon in their working relationship.

  ‘Yes, Michelle! What’s the matter with you?’ Then she glanced at Amy and blushed slightly, as if she’d just realised what might be the matter. ‘Michelle Watson. Carol said that she was off colour last night but she’s suddenly gone downhill. She called an ambulance but they said that they’d be twenty minutes because they’re stuck behind a gritting lorry. Honestly, Europe can have feet of snow and manage fine, but if we have so much as a dusting the entire country grinds to a halt. I’m tempted to go and organise them myself.’

  ‘Michelle Watson. Of
course. Michelle.’ Marco uncoiled his lean, powerful body and rose to his feet again but there were lines of strain around his eyes. ‘Bring her in.’

  ‘Watson?’ Amy remembered that Carol Watson had just delivered when she’d left and she glanced at Marco as Kate hurried out of the room. ‘Carol’s baby girl?’

  ‘She isn’t a baby any more.’ His tone was flat and he didn’t glance in her direction as if he was trying to get his mind firmly on the job. ‘You’ve been gone two years and I don’t have time to brief you on everything that has been happening in the village during your long absence.’ He moved across the consulting room. ‘You left, Amy. You made your choice.’

  ‘Yes, but—’ She broke off, wrestling against an instinctive desire to defend herself. What would he say if she told him the truth? Told him that she’d had to leave. That she’d done it for him. But she knew that she couldn’t. She could never, ever tell him the truth because if he knew the truth then everything would become even more complicated. ‘That’s right.’ She felt horrible. Just horrible. There was so much she wanted to say but she couldn’t say any of it. ‘I left.’ Her voice shook but his swift glance was unsympathetic.

  ‘Go and get a cup of coffee. Or just leave. It’s what you’re good at.’

  ‘I can’t leave until we’ve talked.’

  He yanked open a cupboard and removed a pulse oximeter. ‘Then you’re going to have to wait until I have time to see you,’ he growled. ‘I think the current waiting time for an appointment with me is a week. Ask the girls at Reception. They just might be able to fit you in.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE door flew open and Kate hurried back into the room with Carol, who was carrying the toddler wrapped in a soft, pink blanket. A sulky-looking teenager followed them, her pretty face half hidden by a thick layer of make-up.

  Amy was on the point of leaving the room and then she looked at the toddler and saw at a glance that Kate had been right to interrupt them. The child was fighting for each breath.