The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle

by Alison Roberts

  ‘Why not?’ Chantelle asked. ‘We love Amy.’

  ‘I know, chicken. So do I.’

  A sensation as though a bottle of champagne had been opened inside Amy sent its fizz right through her body. He loved her?

  Chantelle seemed just as amazed. ‘Really?’ But then she nodded. ‘Because you love everybody, right?’

  ‘Yes. But especially Amy.’ He was looking directly at her and Amy couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

  ‘But why can’t we see her present?’ Robert took charge of the argument.

  ‘It’s not here.’

  ‘You said it was outside!’

  ‘Come,’ Father Christmas ordered. ‘You’ll see what I mean.’

  He disappeared into the back of the lorry and there was the sound of an engine roaring into life.

  Amy had been able to move after all. She stood with everybody else on the steps and was just as astonished to see Father Christmas emerge, driving carefully down the ramp on a two-seated snowmobile. He did a slow turn and then parked in front of the steps. His gaze was on Amy and she could tell he was smiling beneath the bushy beard because of the way his eyes crinkled.

  ‘Buon Natale,’ Father Christmas said in perfect Italian. He patted the seat beside him. ‘Vieni con me?’

  Of course Amy would go with him.

  Anywhere.

  A ride into a blindingly white Christmas day, on a modern sleigh, wrapped in a faux fur blanket with one of Luke’s arms around her shoulders was too dreamlike to believe.

  They went through a gate and up the long, gentle slope of a hill. At the top of the hill were some huge rocks, jumbled together like a pile of reject material from Stonehenge. A gap between two rocks formed an arch and it was beneath this that Luke parked. He switched off the machine’s motor so that all around them was that peculiar kind of silence a snow-clad landscape could produce, where the sounds of ordinary life were muffled and irrelevant.

  ‘Look,’ Luke pointed. ‘That’s Harrington village.’

  Spread below them like a picture on a Christmas card was a church spire and a cluster of cottages. Amy could see the village green, a picturesque pub and a huddle of small shops. To one side of the village, buffered by woods and snow-covered fields, lay Harrington Manor. Smoke curled invitingly from more than one chimney. Somewhere in there were a group of children who were having the most exciting Christmas morning ever.

  ‘Thank you, Luca,’ she said softly. ‘What you did this morning was amazing. I can’t believe you’ve gone to so much trouble for us. You’d already done enough, you know—giving us a place to stay.’

  ‘Enough? I’ve barely started.’

  Amy caught her breath. Could he mean what she thought he might mean? What she could dream he might mean?

  ‘Did you like it?’ Luke held her gaze.

  Amy couldn’t smile because it was too big. ‘It was a whole collection of those moments,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘The ones that take your breath away?’

  ‘I felt as if I might never breathe again.’

  Luke pulled his hat off, which got rid of the bushy eyebrows. Then he tugged his beard away and, looking like the man Amy had fallen in love with again, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. ‘Buono,’ he murmured.

  Amy pulled back so she could see his face properly. ‘Since when did you start speaking Italian, Mr Harrington?’

  In response he pulled her closer so that she was tucked into the circle of his arms. Cushioned on that ridiculous stomach. He kissed her hair but then raised his head to gaze at the scene below them.

  ‘I grew up with this,’ he told her. ‘My heritage. I used to come up here when I was a boy and look down at everything. It all had my name on it. Harrington village. Harrington school. Even the Harrington Arms. It felt as if the whole world belonged to me and yet I felt…’

  Amy twisted a little to look up. ‘Lonely?’

  ‘Yes. Not that I understood it then, but I knew something was missing. I thought it was because I was an orphan, except I knew I wasn’t. I had a father who didn’t want me.’

  Not true, but he hadn’t known that, had he? Amy slipped her arms over the top of Luke’s and pressed so that he was holding her more tightly.

  ‘I felt I deserved to be alone,’ Luke said quietly. ‘That there was something about me that meant I would always be alone.’

  Amy had to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘You’re not alone, Luca. I’m here.’

  ‘Yes.’ He pressed his lips to her hair again and held her so closely it became another moment that took Amy’s breath away. ‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he confessed.

  ‘I don’t want you to let me go,’ Amy responded. ‘I love you, Luca Moretti.’

  The sound Luke made was almost a groan. ‘That’s it,’ he murmured. ‘You turned my world inside out, Amy Phillips. Made me wonder who I actually was. You found the part of me that I knew was missing but could never identify. No…’ His voice caught. ‘You are the part of me that was missing.’

  ‘The Italian half?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘Not entirely. It goes deeper than that. Do you remember what you said to me that first night we talked? When I said I intended demolishing the house?’

  Amy could feel her cheeks flush. ‘I wasn’t very polite, was I?’

  ‘You said, “over my dead body” and I was shocked because you meant it. You were prepared to fight for what you were passionate about. To do anything.’

  Amy was silent. Embarrassed. Had he really thought that was why she had gone to bed with him?

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything I could ever feel like that about,’ Luke continued softly. ‘Something I would be prepared to lay my life on the line for because life wouldn’t be worth living without it. Until…’ He drew in a long breath. ‘Until I made love to you, Amy. Until I lay there in your arms and felt as though I would never feel lonely again. I know it’s far too soon, but I love you. Ti amo, Amy. Amore mio. Per sempre. Is that “for ever”? My Italian is more than rusty.’

  ‘I love you, too, Luca.’ Amy blinked back her tears. ‘It’s not too soon and for ever sounds perfect to me, however you say it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I was sure the moment you gave me that box of old Christmas decorations.’

  Luke kissed her again. Slowly. With infinite tenderness.

  ‘And I was sure that first time you smiled at me.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘When I went along with that lie. When you said I’d come to the house to see how Summer was because I was her doctor. When you were protecting the other children.’

  Amy grinned. ‘You didn’t act like you were in love with me.’

  ‘I just hadn’t realised it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I do now.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do.’ Amy wrapped her arms around Luca’s neck and brought her face close enough to kiss him. The tip of her nose touched his. ‘But maybe I don’t need to because it’s magic. Christmas magic.’

  ‘No.’ His nose moved beneath hers as he shook his head. ‘This magic is going to last a lifetime. So many Christmases you won’t be able to count them, and every one of them will be magic.’

  Amy could feel his breath on her lips and she closed her eyes as she waited for his kiss.

  ‘Just like this,’ she murmured.

  ‘Always.’

  Hours later. Many hours later, Luke was kissing Amy yet again. This time in the comfort of the glow the library fire was providing.

  The house was almost as quiet as the hilltop had been because everyone else had long since gone to bed.

  ‘This has been the most amazing day of my life,’ Amy said, when she had a moment to catch her breath. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For everything.’ Amy started to count the reasons off on her fingers. ‘For saving Summer and giving her a new chance of life. For bringing the children here. For that extraordinary pile of presents. For the Christ
mas dinner and having Mr Battersby here with those papers that gave the house to Mamma. For…this!’ Amy held up her left hand.

  Luke groaned. ‘You’re not supposed to be wearing that. It came out of a Christmas cracker, for heaven’s sake. It’s rubbish!’

  It was. A lurid, square, pink stone stuck to a gaudy gold band, but Luke had offered it to her. In front of everybody, and it had been his choice to slip it onto the third finger of her left hand. Nobody had missed the significance of that gesture and the fabulous meal had become a celebration of far more than Christmas.

  ‘I’m wearing it,’ Amy said stubbornly.

  ‘I’m replacing it, then,’ Luke said firmly. ‘With the real thing. As soon as the shops are open again. In fact, I’m sure Mr Barker wouldn’t mind doing me one more small favour and I believe they have a wonderful selection of jewellery. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’

  Amy sighed with contentment and gave herself up to another one of those kisses she would never, ever tire of. The clock in the corner was reminding them that the last minutes of this Christmas day might be ticking away but there still seemed to be plenty of magic in the air.

  It was Luke who spoke when they reluctantly drew apart.

  ‘It’s me who should be thanking you,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For giving my grandmother that scrapbook. I don’t think she’s ever going to put it down. She says she feels as if you’ve given her back part of her daughter. The happiest part.’

  ‘Did you hear her say “Buon Natale” to Nonna?’

  ‘Yes.’ Luke smiled. ‘Her accent was atrocious but it’s a start, isn’t it?’ He held Amy close. ‘You’ve changed everything for us, my love. Especially for me. I don’t think I can ever tell you how grateful I am that I’ve found you. That, by some extraordinary miracle, you love me. It’s too new. Too wonderful.’

  ‘It’s real,’ Amy assured him. ‘And this is my gift to you today, Luca. My love. My heart and soul. For ever.’

  Luca’s eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘Then it’s the same as my gift to you. Buon Natale, Amy.’

  ‘Buon Natale, Luca.’

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-2845-4

  THE ITALIAN SURGEON’S CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

  First North American Publication 2008

  Copyright © 2008 by Alison Roberts

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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