A Family Made in Rome

by Annie O'Neil

  6 NEW BOOKS AVAILABLE EVERY MONTH!

  Reawakened by the Italian Surgeon

  by Scarlet Wilson

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT HAPPENED IN the blink of an eye. Or maybe it was in a few seconds. But as Autumn watched her colleagues Sharon and Gavin turn to each other and laugh during the father of the bride speech she saw something.

  It was like a giant neon sign pointing to the new bride and groom. The way that they looked at each other at that exact moment. The love. The connection. The promise. The life they hoped for together. All in that precise split-second.

  Autumn Fraser swallowed, her mouth instantly dry as she smoothed her hands down the coral silk of her bridesmaid dress. She automatically reached for the glass in front of her and gulped quickly, almost wincing at the slightly warm white wine.

  It had been a fairly relaxed wedding, meaning that by the time the speeches had rolled around, she’d moved from the top table to sit next to Louis, the man she’d lived with for the last year.

  Life was comfortable. Her job as a specialist paediatric surgeon meant she was frequently jetting off around the globe to assist in difficult surgeries. Louis was equally busy as a specialist neurosurgeon. Sometimes they were like ships passing in the night. They’d met a few years ago and had fallen into an easy relationship. She liked him. She really did. But at this moment her heart was doing uncomfortable things inside her chest.

  She glanced sideways and noticed that Louis, too, was watching the bride and groom closely.

  ‘We don’t look like that...’ Her whisper was barely audible. She couldn’t actually believe she was saying out loud the words that had been circling around in her head for months.

  Louis’s eyes didn’t meet hers. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘We don’t.’

  It was an admission from them both. Part of her felt relief that he knew it too, but a little part of her felt empty.

  Now her stomach was flipping over, joining the bedlam that was currently going on in her chest. It was the recognition. The agreement. Thank goodness she was sitting down, because she wasn’t quite sure if her legs were up to the task of standing.

  Silence hung between them. She blinked back tears. She wasn’t sad. Truly, she wasn’t. But Louis was a nice guy. An intelligent companion who made her laugh, who was thoughtful in lots of ways, and every bit as annoying in others.

  The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. The thought of doing that really pained her. But was it actually more painful to meander along in a relationship that wasn’t right for either party?

  They’d drifted along over the last year—their relationship was a convenience. She’d moved in with him, but left her own place unrented. Now she was wondering why she’d done that. Had she always known, deep down, that it would come to this?

  Her parents had had a tight, restrictive marriage. It had rubbed off on her. She couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t. Control was everything to her. And falling in love—really in love—That wasn’t control. She was a surgeon. Losing her heart and her head just wasn’t on the agenda for her.

  Which was why she felt so confused right now. Because that look that Sharon and Gavin had just exchanged was pure, unadulterated love. And she wanted that. No matter how much she pretended she didn’t.

  Maybe it was the fact that she’d had a glass and a half of wine that was allowing her to peek through the shutters she normally had firmly closed around her heart, but the realisation was startling. And upsetting.

  Her parents had never directly shown love to her, her brother, or to each other. In fact, they’d been rapidly admonished for any outward show of emotion. Joy, love, pain had all been buttoned up and kept inside. Both of them had been so focused on their academic careers. There had been no room for emotion. They’d thought everyone should only strive to be the best, and put all other sensations aside. There was no room in life for emotions. It was energy best spent elsewhere.

  That was what she’d always been taught. But something was making her do this. Something was making her hear the words that were circling in her head.

  Autumn’s heart ached a little as she turned to face Louis. It was almost as if the realisation had crumpled his face.

  His voice was deep and cracked when he spoke. ‘I want that, Autumn. I want what they have.’ He was glancing back at Gavin and Sharon, who were holding hands and laughing again at another joke.

  She let the surgeon side of her brain take over. The part that was decisive and direct. It was so much easier than the emotional side, which was threatening to tip her in a direction where she might end up a blubbering wreck.

  She slid her hand over Louis’s. ‘I want that for you too,’ she said simply, working hard not to let her voice waver. ‘It’s time. We both know it’s time. I’ll go back to my own place.’

  She didn’t wait for a response. She just picked up her phone and walked out of the reception venue. She refused to let the tears that were brimming in her eyes slide down her cheeks. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but right now it felt as if a huge weight had just slid from her shoulders.

  * * *

  Giovanni Lombardi took a deep breath as his daughter Sofia climbed up into his lap. It was a hot, sticky evening in Rome. It didn’t help that the air-conditioning he’d paid a fortune for a few years ago had decided to make some strange whirring noise and then clunk to a halt. He’d flung the villa’s shutters wide, but there was no breeze outside—just more warm air.

  Sofia was the equivalent of a hot water bottle, but Giovanni clutched her closer. She was his lifeline. The most important person in his universe. He would happily allow his body temperature to reach stratospheric heights in order to continue this moment.

  His wife had died four years ago in a scooter accident on the roads of Rome. For a few months it had seemed as though the world was crumbling around Giovanni. Sofia had been his only reason for continuing.

  ‘I like this one, Papà,’ she said, pointing at a picture on the screen.

  Giovanni was tired. He had one of the biggest cases of his career at St Nicolino’s, the prestigious children’s hospital in Rome where he was Chief of Surgery. His hospital—because that was how he thought of it—was renowned across Italy as a specialist hub for paediatric surgery and antenatal care, and five short weeks ago he’d been referred a case of conjoined twins, picked up at twenty weeks.

  Most cases were picked up earlier than that, so he’d focused all his attention on making sure this family had the best antenatal care possible. His colleague, maternal foetal medical specialist Leon Cassanetti, had recruited Lizzy Beckley to partner with him in their birth. Now it was time for Giovanni to find a partner to work alongside him on the separation surgery.

  He knew this case would have worldwide coverage. He didn’t doubt he could persuade any surgeon, from any country, to be part of this surgery. Some surgeons he knew would probably fight over a surgery like this one. But picking the right surgeon was the priority here.

  Whoever he picked would have to be happy to halt their life and come to Rome for at least the next four months. They would have to work alongside Giovanni and around fifty other members of the team to plan for this surgery. They would have to be happy to spend hours on research, hours on techniques specific to this case, with numerous practice surgeries. They would also need the ability to win the trust of the parents.

  Giovanni already knew he would lead one team, and whoever he picked would lead the other. He had to trust them—he had to have faith that they could work alongside him, think the way he did, almost be in complete unison with him if they wanted both of these babies to survive. It was vital to pick the right person.

  He had the details of hundreds of surgeons worldwide, and had spent the last two weeks filtering through them to find someone with the skill set and temperament that he needed. Volatile wouldn’t work. Distracted wouldn’t work. Passion an
d commitment were the absolute minimum of his expectations.

  He leaned forward and inspected the photo that Sofia was pointing to. ‘Ah, yes,’ he murmured to his daughter. ‘Her name is Autumn. She comes from Scotland.’

  He had eventually streamed his list down to ten potential surgeons. All brilliant. All capable of performing the surgery. But Autumn Fraser was actually neck-and-neck with another one at the top of his list.

  ‘Scotland... They have castles,’ said Sofia. She leaned into his neck. She was clearly getting tired. ‘Do you think they have fairies in the castles in Scotland?’

  He smiled and ran his fingers through her dark curls. ‘I think they might have.’

  ‘She’s pretty,’ Sofia replied.

  Giovanni blinked. ‘Is she? I hadn’t noticed.’

  He leaned forward to take a better look at the photo. The truth was he hadn’t really looked closely at any of the photos of the candidates. He’d narrowed his potential field based purely on experience and skills. The faces hadn’t even implanted in his head.

  As he leaned forward he tilted his face naturally to the side. Autumn Fraser was pretty. Maybe even more than pretty. Her hair was similar to Sofia’s. Dark and shiny with a hint of a curl. But he’d missed the searing green eyes completely, and her skin, with a hint of a tan and a few freckles scattered across her nose.

  His gaze went back to those eyes. Sincere, compassionate, with a hint of fun. He blinked again and gave a shudder. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered a woman so closely. It made him uncomfortable. He’d lived his life in a bubble these last few years, with no room for thoughts like this.

  ‘What’s wrong, Papà?’ asked the sleepy voice on his shoulder.

  ‘Nothing, honey.’ He ran one hand down Sofia’s back as he flicked back to the list of surgeries Autumn had performed. She was a specialist in abdominal and liver surgery on tiny babies. Her record was good. She’d published several papers on technique, and presented around the world on improving outcomes in these children.

  People often assumed that the separation surgery was the most dangerous moment in separating conjoined twins. Those with more experience realised that, whilst separation was difficult, patching up two separate babies, often with completely different medical issues, and giving them a chance of the best possible life was much, much harder.

  Giovanni sighed and flicked back to the details of the only other surgeon who could rival Autumn’s stats. He’d only just started scanning them when something sparked in his brain. He flipped back to Autumn’s page. Yes. There it was.

  He’d skimmed the list of publications, assuming they were all surgery-focused. But, no. Here was another with Autumn’s name on as lead researcher: Psychological Trauma and its Effects on the Separation of Conjoined Twins. A Twenty-Year Study.

  He froze. He hadn’t seen that before. A quick date-check showed it was listed on her bio, but due to be published in a renowned surgical journal in two months’ time.

  Giovanni smiled. Separation trauma had long since been in his thoughts for these children. So far he’d been involved in ten separation surgeries for conjoined twins, and this was entirely the area of research he’d wanted to pursue next.

  It seemed that his potential colleague had beaten him to it.

  He picked up Sofia and carried her to bed, tucking her in and placing a gentle kiss on her brow.

  Once he was sure she was settled he moved back to his desk and picked up his phone.

  It seemed he’d found his perfect fit.

  * * *

  Autumn’s neighbour flung open his door and screwed up his face. It seemed to take him a few moments to place her. ‘Autumn...?’ He looked her up and down, his expression clearly saying that he thought he was in some kind of weird dream.

  She still had the flowers in her hair. The long, slightly stained coral bridesmaid dress in place. The light rucksack in her hand only carried some make-up, her phone, her purse and credit cards, and her laptop—which she never left the house without—along with a sewing kit for wedding emergencies and some chocolate. What it didn’t carry was the key to her flat. That was back at Louis’s house.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sorry for the late call. I need access to my flat and forgot my keys. Do you still have the spare set for me?’

  Barry didn’t move. It was as if her words hadn’t quite sunk in yet. He screwed his eyes up again and shook his head slowly. ‘What have you done? Run away from some kind of wedding?’ Then his eyes widened and his mouth moved into a perfect ‘O’. ‘Did you run away from your own wedding?’

  Autumn shook her head and extended her hand, palm up. She hadn’t seen Barry in over a year. But it was late. And she was tired. And she was kind of hoping that there might be a bottle of wine still in her flat. There was a good chance that any tinned or packet food would be out of date. Teabags and coffee would likely be the only things of use.

  Barry was still looking at her. ‘Actually, can I be a pest?’ she asked.

  ‘What...?’

  ‘I’d really appreciate a couple of slices of bread and a tin of baked beans if you have them.’ She shot him her best smile.

  Barry blinked in stunned silence, then she saw him give himself a visible shake.

  ‘Keys,’ he muttered as he walked back into his kitchen.

  She heard the opening of drawers and cupboards before he returned with her keys clutched in one hand, and a plate with two slices of bread, a can of baked beans and a couple of digestive biscuits in the other.

  Autumn sighed in relief. ‘Thanks, Barry—much appreciated.’

  ‘Do you need milk?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’ Her phone vibrated in her bag.

  ‘Does this mean you’re moving back in?’ asked Barry as she started to back away.

  It did. Didn’t it?

  Autumn kept the smile pasted on her face, even though her muscles were starting to ache. ‘Yes, I will be. Nice to see you again, Barry.’

  He gave a gentle nod and then, with a final glance at her dress, closed his door.

  Autumn stuck her key in the lock and walked into her flat. As she breathed a big sigh of relief, she tried to ignore the slightly stale air. It appeared that the automatic air freshener she had plugged into one of the sockets had run out of scent.

  The air was still warm outside, so she flung the main window open wide and threw her bag on the sofa. After some moves that could have competed with a contortionist, she managed to let the coral dress drop to the floor at her feet.

  Many of her clothes were now at Louis’s. She still had some supplies here—generally the kind of tired and boring clothes she hadn’t worn for a while—but there was a pair of comfortable pyjamas that she slid into after standing under the shower for a few moments.

  As she emerged back into the kitchen a thought sprang into her head. She hadn’t actually said goodbye to Sharon and Gavin. Oops. But Sharon would likely not be too worried about the disappearance of one of her four bridesmaids. She would probably think Autumn had been called into work. It was fine. Autumn would send an apology tomorrow and tell them to enjoy their honeymoon.

  Five minutes later she’d slumped on the sofa with her beans on toast and cup of tea when her bag made an odd noise. The phone. Of course.

  She pulled it from her bag and frowned at the unfamiliar number. She’d missed three calls.

  It was late. Autumn was drained. She’d been up since six this morning, helping Sharon get ready for her big day. She took a few bites of her food as she considered whether to call back.

  It was as if someone was watching her. The phone started buzzing again. Autumn wasn’t on call, but she often had calls regarding issues with newborns when she wasn’t on duty. Her body reacted on automatic pilot and she answered, switching her mobile to speaker.

/>   ‘Autumn Fraser.’

  There was a pause. Had the caller actually not expected an answer at this point? Then there was a voice.

  ‘Hello? Ah, good, Dr Fraser, I think I’m about to make you the offer of a lifetime.’

  The voice was heavily accented, warm as treacle, and instantly had her attention. ‘Excuse me?’

  There was a gentle laugh at the end of the phone. ‘Forgive me. This is Giovanni Lombardi, Chief of Surgery at St Nicolino’s in Rome. I’m sure you’ve heard of us.’

  This voice was assured and confident. Part of her wanted to cut off this stranger and tell him she’d never heard of his hospital and to contact her secretary on Monday if he wanted to chat. Who had handed over her personal mobile number?

  But of course she wouldn’t. She was far too curious already. The caller had addressed her as ‘Dr’. She was a surgeon, and professional courtesy meant she should be addressed as Ms or Miss. But she knew that those in her own profession in other countries were sometimes addressed as ‘Dr’.

  She took a deep breath. ‘What exactly do you want, Mr Lombardi?’

  The soft laugh continued. ‘Well, if you’d read the emails I’ve sent you over the last few hours, you would know exactly what I want.’

  She bristled. Who was this guy? That sounded like a telling-off. Whoever he was, he clearly didn’t know her at all.

  ‘Guess what...’ she paused as she tried to remember his first name ‘... Giovanni? This might come as a surprise, but I haven’t sat around all day, waiting for random emails to fill my inbox. I’ve been off duty at the wedding of a friend. I didn’t expect to answer my phone or read any emails today.’

  Autumn was aware that the more tired and exasperated she was, the more clipped and thick her Scottish accent became. She made no apologies for it, but in her head she could almost picture this man’s puzzled face as he tried to interpret.

  She was already feeling out of sorts. Dumping a perfectly nice and safe man and moving back home to her flat without thinking things through properly had put her on edge. She knew that when she woke tomorrow morning she’d have to grab as much control of the situation as she could. That was if there was any left.