Emergency Marriage

Once they lifted off, he presented her with his arm, obediently sipping the two bottles of fruit juice Laura’s teammate, Nurse Susan Brent, held to his lips to compensate for the blood volume he was donating. He tried to concentrate on the coming crisis. And failed. His mind was with Laura.

What would he do with her?

What would she do?

* * *

She didn’t want to open her eyes.

She had to. If only to escape the claustrophobic nightmares she was trapped in. But she’d open her eyes to a reality that was even worse for being inescapable. Yet taking refuge in oblivion, no matter how suffocating, wasn’t an option any more. Her mind was already wide awake, her dilemma already in sharp focus and no way out in sight.

May as well get on with facing it all.

Laura sighed and opened her eyes. They immediately fell on Armando’s silhouette, his exhausted pose in the armchair beside her bed unmistakable.

“That was some sigh.”

His rasp shivered through her. Her internalized focus shifted with—concern? For him?

Rising to a sitting position in one brisk movement, she grimaced at her reaction, shaking off the softening. So he sustained an inhuman pace. It was one of the reasons she resented the hell out of him, wasn’t it?

“And that was some imitation of life,” she said. “What are you doing up? Trying to prove you’re Superman again? Matilda said you’ve been on your feet between ER and OR for 72 hours. Since that was before I fell asleep—again—hours ago, you’re into your fourth sleepless day!”

“You sure wake up sharp and ready with your math.” He huffed a hoarse chuckle, rubbed both hands over his face and slumped further in the armchair. “I caught an hour here and there during that time.” A silent heartbeat. “You’ve been crying.”

“Matilda is a darling mother hen but an unprofessional busybody. She had no call reporting that to you.”

“La Clínica isn’t like your US metropolitan medical centers, Laura. We’re close to each other here…”

“Too close, if you ask me!”

His eyes were barely visible in the faint indirect light, but she felt his gaze tightening. He went on, “And she was under strict instructions to report your very breath count.”

“So she had to report its increase when I cried. And here you had me thinking she cared.”

He sat forward in his chair, raked both hands again over his face and through his hair, expression still tight, unreadable. “She cares. We all do.”

“Yes—yes, of course. I was trying for some comic relief…” Her words choked. She felt stupid. Worse, she felt tears rushing to her eyes again. How pathetic she must seem to everyone here. To him.

Suddenly it seemed all-important to know. “Does—does everyone…?” She couldn’t say it, still couldn’t believe it. She was pregnant!

Armando understood, ended her distress. “Only me and Berto at the lab. He won’t tell anyone. That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about…” Armando let his words trail off, too, letting his head fall into his hands.

He really looked finished. And whether she felt sympathy for him or not, she was an extra burden he didn’t need. She hadn’t asked to be and it was his doing that she was, but, well, she wouldn’t be any more. She had his word he’d take out her stitches and release her tomorrow. Then she’d return to that cursed villa Diego had saddled her with for a six-month period, start thinking how she’d put her messed-up life back together, making allowances for—for…

She was going to have a baby!

When she had no home, no money, no man for herself or a father for her baby!

Armando raised his head and even in the semi-darkness what she saw in his eyes was something totally unexpected—sympathy? Empathy? Whatever it was, it hurt, coming from him.

He heaved a deep sigh. “Did you think about…?” The eloquent gesture of his hands painted her plight.

An incredulous laugh almost choked her. “What do you think? But maybe you’re right to ask. Thinking implies a rational mental process, not the panicking and obsessing I’ve been indulging in, considering my options…”

“Options?” His eyes emptied of empathy, if indeed it had been that. “What options? Adoption? Abortion?”

Those possibilities had entered her mind—only to exit the other side as no options. But how dared he presume to have an opinion on this anyway? A judgmental one, too!

“And what if I am?” She swung her legs angrily off the bed. “What is it to you?”

He sprang to his feet, an impatient step bringing him looming over her, exuding power, tension crackling about him. He flicked an extra light on. Now his intensity was visible in every line of his features. His hand shot out. She tensed, only to be surprised by his extra-gentle, supportive grasp. He stunned her more when he talked, his awesome baritone devoid of rancor, almost soft again. “It is a lot to me. This is Diego’s child.”

How had that not occurred to her? Her baby shared Armando’s blood. She should have realized what that would mean to a proud Argentinian who revered family ties above all else. Defiant indignation seeped out of her, and her rigid body slumped. “Those possibilities crossed my mind, OK? But, strange as it sounds, I actually want this baby.”

It was his turn to be surprised. Heavy-lidded eyes widened. “You do?”

“Don’t look so astonished! I didn’t want this baby. Of course I didn’t. But now it’s real, growing inside me, I want it. If it sounds crazy…”

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