by Dani Wade
Blair’s head swam. A heart attack? Oh God, no! She should never have left. She should have known he’d take on all the responsibility of the restaurant and refuse to hire another chef, or even share more of the workload with the sous chef. This was all her fault—and Draco’s.
“Can I speak with him?” she managed through lips that felt numb.
“He’s sedated at present, but I can pass a message on.”
“Please, tell him not to worry about Carson’s. I’ll be on the next plane home. Tell him I’ll take care of things. All he needs to do is get well again.”
She took a few details from the doctor, then hung up the phone and sank against the wall. A heart attack. She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. She could have lost her father, and all because Draco insisted on her having his baby here in his beloved Tuscany. Well, as far as Blair was concerned, where the baby was born was neither here nor there anymore. Her father needed her, and, as Draco was so fond of pointing out to her, family came first.
Her duty to her father was no less than his to his family, celebrated history or not.
She pulled her ragged thoughts together and picked up the telephone to dial Information. She had to get home as quickly as possible. Her father’s health, even his life, depended on it.
Thirteen
By the time Blair staggered up the stairs to the flat above the restaurant she was shattered. The irony of flying from Rome to London and then making a connecting flight via Hong Kong to Auckland wasn’t lost on her. Briefly, she’d been in the same city as Draco and he hadn’t even known it. With the number of time zones she’d been through, she felt as if she’d been traveling for days, even if it had only been something over thirty hours. But she was here. Home. Where she was needed and wanted.
It was nearing lunchtime, but all she wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. She made a quick call to the hospital and asked to be put through to her dad, but her call was intercepted by a nurse who told her he was resting comfortably. Blair left a brief message with the nurse for her father, disappointed she couldn’t speak to him. She’d only be able to manage a few hours’ sleep before she’d need to be on deck downstairs. Calling him again would have to wait until morning. But still, he’d know she was here and taking care of things, and now he could consent to the surgery that would keep him with her longer.
Aside from the weariness of her first day back, Blair fell back into the rhythm and routine of Carson’s with a comfort and familiarity she’d always taken for granted. Her father had been scheduled for surgery later in the week and, all going well, he could expect a strong recovery—although he’d never be up to the strain of working at the pace required to keep Carson’s at the peak of its popularity.
Two days later, at the end of her shift, Blair made her way upstairs and gratefully sank into the sagging sofa bed she didn’t quite have the energy to pull out and climb into properly. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes.
Despite some swelling in her feet and legs at the end of her shift, she was managing just fine with being back in a busy working kitchen. Although she was coping, it still felt as though something was missing for her. The thrill and excitement of the restaurant’s hectic pace didn’t fire her up and motivate her as much as it had done in the past.
She’d grown soft at the palazzo, she decided. But that didn’t explain the ache in her heart, or the sense that something far more important in her world was missing. She told herself it was only to be expected. She was in love with a man who only saw her as some sort of brood-mare, even if that situation was pretty much of her own making. It was no wonder she was a little deflated—okay, maybe a lot deflated. With the travel, followed by immersing herself straight back into work and the worry about her father’s health, she was entitled to feel a little down.
She wondered if Draco had returned to the palazzo yet. She had no doubt he’d be livid when he discovered her gone. Maybe he’d even sell the restaurant building out from under her. Right now though, she couldn’t care less. Her first priority was to her dad, and in making sure he got through his surgery with flying colors, and the only way to do that was to keep the restaurant humming.
Carson’s maintained its five-star rating on the Fine Dining magazine site, but somehow the accolade seemed hollow. It was, after all, one person’s opinion. Why had it been so important to her, when now it barely mattered at all? In all the years her father had run Carson’s he’d strived for that rating, and during the time they worked together it had become their joint dream. Then, when her father had retired, Blair had assumed the goal as her own—pushing herself and her staff to greater heights to reach that ever-elusive award.
And what for? For something her father had wanted? For something that had ruled his life, determined his creativity? Measured the man and the chef he was? Even though their earlier years had been transient, he’d always been sought after. Was she so driven to be just like him that she’d lost sight of what she was—what she wanted?
All her years growing up, she’d craved the stability of a secure home and a steady income and she had that here with Carson’s. Or did she? Blair had dared to hope for love, had dared to believe that she could blend her career with marriage, and maybe one day, a family.
Or maybe, she thought as she compared herself to her father’s single state, she’d allowed her father’s dreams and goals to set the course for her life at the expense of her own. She bent down and massaged her aching feet, wishing, not for the first time, that she had a partner to do this for her. No, someone more than a partner. More than she’d ever allowed Rhys to be. She wanted a soul mate. Someone without whom life was empty, someone with whom the stars shone that much brighter in the sky at night and the world was a brighter and happier place.
Blair shook her head at her fanciful thoughts and changed feet. The closest thing she’d have to a partner right now was her relationship with a foot spa that she was invariably too tired to lug out of the cupboard and set up to soothe her tired feet.
She wondered how she was going to cope as she grew bigger, especially with her father unable to return to work. The doctor, this morning, had been adamant. If, after his surgery, he couldn’t pace himself to a few hours a day, then he had to stay away from the restaurant completely. Blair made a mental note to advertise in the national newspaper for someone to share her role at the restaurant. She’d hoped Phil would be up to speed by now to take the promotion, but he had a wife and a toddler, with another baby on the way, and he’d made it clear when she’d broached the subject with him that he was happy where he was while his family was still so young.
She’d envied his wife in that moment more than she’d ever believed possible. She tried not to think about it, but right now it pressed heavily on the back of her mind. What would happen to her after the baby was born? She had no doubt that Draco would insist on full custody, and, to be totally honest, she couldn’t maintain her work pace and be a parent as well. She was between a rock and a hard place, and neither of them were where she really wanted to be.
“What do you mean she is gone?” Draco thundered, striding through the salon at the palazzo. “Why did no one tell me of this?”
“Ms. Carson said not to concern you, signore.”
The poor maid who’d informed him of Blair’s defection looked as if she was on the verge of tears.
Concern? She didn’t want him to be concerned? How ironic when she had been on his mind every second of every day, and he’d been in a fool’s paradise, imagining her here at the palazzo. Safe. Secure.
“When did she leave?” he asked, pitching his voice lower, softer.
“Last Friday, signore.”
“Thank you, Maria, and I’m sorry for shouting at you.”
His apology earned him a watery smile and another liberal dose of guilt. It went a long way toward showing how upset he was that he’d lost control with one of his staff. Draco looked at his watch—it was midday. The time in New Zealand would be around
ten in the evening. Hopefully a good time to get hold of Blair at the restaurant—because he knew without a single doubt that was where she’d be.
Two hours later Draco snapped his phone off for what felt like the hundredth time. So, Blair was too busy to come to the phone and talk to him, was she? He’d see about that. He’d been shocked to hear that her father was in the hospital awaiting bypass surgery, but he didn’t see why both Carsons needed to work themselves into early graves. His instructions to Blair’s father had been explicit. That the man had ignored them and that Blair was now putting herself and their baby’s health in jeopardy was enough to make Draco see a violent shade of red.
Draco swiftly punched in the phone number of Blair’s apartment and left a message on the answering machine that would leave her with no doubt of his intentions.
“We had an agreement, Blair. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you stop working until my baby is born. Be sure of it, and expect to see me very soon.”
The next morning Draco readied himself for the long flight back to New Zealand. For the number of times he’d used the charter jet recently, he may as well invest in one for himself, he decided, as one of his staff zipped his suitcase closed and took it down to the waiting car.
He stopped in Blair’s room on his way back downstairs. He hadn’t set foot in here since the day he’d returned from Firenze—when he’d given her the earrings and the clothes. A trace of her fragrance lingered in the air and he inhaled it deeply.
He hadn’t wanted to admit it, or even to believe it, but he’d missed Blair terribly during his time in London. It had been a physical ache, permeating his body and his mind. Not calling her had been difficult to deal with, but they’d left on such awkward terms—what could he have said on the phone that shouldn’t be said face-to-face? Yes, he’d missed her all right. Enough to realize how wrongly he’d treated her the night she’d asked about Marcella.
Wrongly? Hell. He’d been cruel. Deliberately deflecting his pain, his loss—his shortcomings—onto Blair.
But talking about Marcella had been like ripping the scab off a wound. And through it all he’d still been forced to beat back the desire that raged through him every time Blair was in his orbit. She’d sat there in that delicious concoction of night wear, her skin glowing translucent through the sheer folds of material, looking nothing like the woman he’d promised to marry, yet everything like the woman he loved.
The realization had been as painful as it had been eye-opening.
He had never loved Marcella as much as he knew he now loved Blair. What he’d felt for her was a pale comparison to the emotions that ripped through him now. And that made him feel even more guilty, if that was humanly possible—even more responsible for Marcella’s death. She’d been prepared to do anything for him, even risk her life for what he wanted, and how had he repaid her? By working all the hours that God sent him, by being a fleeting fiancé at the best of times. And yet, she’d stuck by him, loved him when he hadn’t deserved so much as an ounce of the measure of her love.
He hadn’t been the man Marcella deserved, and he hadn’t protected her as he ought to have, but one thing was certain. He would protect Blair and their unborn child with every last breath in his body, and that began with getting her back here, back home under his roof—and this time within the secure circle of his arms and his love.
Convincing Blair her place was at his side was going to take some doing. Carson’s was in her blood, of that he was now convinced. Yes, he could understand her needing to return home to be at her father’s side after his heart attack, but from what he’d understood from his brief conversations with her staff at the restaurant, she was busy in the kitchen for nearly all the hours available to her. A brief visit to her father each morning on her way home from the markets hardly counted, in Draco’s mind. She was there for the restaurant. She measured everything she was by that place, and somehow it was more daunting for Draco to know he was fighting for her against something, rather than someone.
He spied the jewelry she’d left behind on the dresser. That small gesture as telling as if she’d graffiti-sprayed it on the wall. She wanted no part of him. Well, it was time for her to reconsider.
It was nearly two in the morning when Draco’s jet touched down at Auckland International Airport. As the plane taxied to the private air terminal he itched to disembark, chafing at the delay created by the requirements to go through customs and immigration, however efficiently it was conducted. His driver waited for him in the terminal building and stepped forward to take Draco’s bag and lead him to the waiting limousine.
Draco drummed his fingers on his leg as they seemed to get every red light on George Bolt Memorial Drive, on their way to the motorway link that would lead them into the city. It was far too late to show up at the apartment and talk to Blair right now, but he had every intention of being there first thing in the morning—before she headed to the hospital to see her father, and before he was taken into surgery.
He rested his head briefly on the leather headrest, but started as his cell phone chirped in his breast pocket. He identified the number as that of his second in command here in New Zealand and flipped open the phone.
“Sandrelli.” His voice was clipped and cool in the confines of the luxury vehicle, but what he heard next struck fear into his heart and changed the tone and pitch of his voice in a split second.
“A fire? At Carson’s. When? Has anyone been hurt?”
As his questions were answered in succession, Draco felt as if a giant hand had reached out and squeezed his heart. If the fire started in the kitchen, would Blair have had warning as she slept upstairs in her tiny apartment? Then he heard the news he’d been dreading.
Casualties.
Fire fighters struggling to contain the blaze.
The bad news came in a succession of blows, but none of it told him the information he most dreaded.
“Blair Carson. Where is she?” he demanded, his voice cracking on her name.
“I don’t have any news of her yet, I’m sorry.”
Draco closed his phone with a shaking hand and redirected his driver to Ponsonby. He had to get there and see for himself if Blair was all right. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of anything but seeing her safe and well, because right now the alternative was, quite frankly, too terrifying to even consider.
Access to the road where Carson’s sat was closed by snaking fire hoses across the bitumen and the organized chaos of emergency vehicles and personnel. Two ambulances stood at the head of the road, one closing its doors and racing away from the scene, siren screaming. Before the limousine had even rolled to a halt, Draco was out the door and racing toward the restaurant.
His eyes were drawn in horrified fascination to the beast of fire that, even with the hoses trained upon it, continued to consume the restaurant with unequalled appetite. A police officer approached him.
“Excuse me, sir, you’ll have to stand back.”
“Blair Carson. Do you know where Blair Carson is?”
A loud boom suddenly shook the air and a ball of fire shot skyward. Firefighters continued to train their hoses on the fire, but Draco could see already it was only a matter of confining the flames to Carson’s and protecting the neighboring buildings. For the restaurant itself there was no hope.
He caught the look of pity that swept across the officer’s face, and Draco felt as if the bottom had just dropped out of his world.
“Please,” he demanded, “tell me where she is. Tell me she’s not still in there.”
“I’ll see what I can find out for you, sir, but please, you must stand back.”
The officer gave Draco a gentle shove and he took a couple of steps back, silently praying as he’d never prayed before.
Fourteen
How long he stood there on the side of the road he didn’t know, but a sudden movement near the back of the remaining ambulance caught his eye.
Blair! She was all right.
He c
overed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, reaching to take her into his arms and to confirm for himself that she was okay. Her face was smudged with soot, her clothes also, and the indentation of an oxygen mask on her face left him in no doubt she’d been in terrible danger not so very long ago.
Blair batted away at his hands as he sought to touch her. Shoving hard at him when he tried again to hold her.
“How could you?” she rasped, her voice raw and tears tracking pale lines down her face. “Was this what you meant when you said you’d make me stop working? Was it?”
She was hysterical with grief.
“Blair, no. How could you think such a thing? I would never do something like this to you. Never,” he answered vehemently.
She started to cough, and a burly paramedic came up beside her to gently urge her back, to sit on the back step of the ambulance. He placed the oxygen mask once again over her nose and mouth and spoke quietly to her for a moment. When he straightened up again Draco stepped forward.
“Why is she still here? Surely, she should be in hospital. She’s sixteen weeks pregnant. Shouldn’t she be checked out?”
“Ms. Carson has refused to go to hospital for assessment. I’m keeping her on oxygen for now.”
“Is it true, Blair? Have you refused to go to the hospital?”
Tears continued to streak down her cheeks. Draco squatted down in front of her, taking her hands.
“Cara mia, you must see a doctor.”
“I can’t,” her voice was muffled by the mask. “I can’t go until it’s over.”
Her eyes were riveted on the conflagration that had been her pride, her home and her very life. Draco understood her need to be here, even though his every instinct screamed at him to bundle her into the back of the ambulance and direct the crew to take her to the hospital immediately. It was some consolation that they would have done that very thing, had her life or that of the baby been in danger.
