One Night With The Italian Doc: Unwrapping Her Italian Doc / Tempted by the Bridesmaid / Italian Doctor, No Strings Attached

‘No Jennifer?’ Hugh checked with Alex, because normally his wife Jennifer accompanied him on nights such as this.

‘No, Josie’s got a fever.’ Alex explained things a little better for Anton. ‘Josie’s our youngest child. You haven’t yet met my wife Jennifer, have you?’

‘Your wife?’ Anton said. ‘I have heard a lot of nice things.’

Perhaps because Louise was close to PhD level in Anton’s facial features, Anton’s accent, Anton’s words, oh, just everything Anton, she frowned just a little at his slightly vague response. Still, she didn’t dwell on it for long because he simply looked fantastic in an evening suit. Her eyes swept his body, taking in his long legs, his very long black leather shoes and then, when her mind darted to rude places, she looked up. His olive complexion was accentuated by the white of his shirt and he was just so austere that it made her want to jump onto his lap and whisper in his ear all the things she wanted him to do to her for Christmas.

Oh, a relationship might not be on the agenda but so pointed was his dismissal of her tonight that they were clearly both thinking sex.

‘Is that holly on your stockings?’ Rory asked, and everyone looked down to examine Louise’s long legs.

Everyone, that was, but Anton.

‘Yes, I got them free after that shoot I did a couple of months ago,’ Louise said. ‘I’ve been dying to wear them ever since. Got to get into the Christmas spirit. Speaking of which, does anyone want a drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ Alex said.

‘I’ll have a tomato juice,’ Emily sighed. ‘A virgin bloody Mary.’

‘Hugh?’ Louise asked.

‘I’d love an eggnog.’

‘Yay!’ Louise said. ‘Anton?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Are you sure?’ Louise said. ‘I thought I owed you one.’

‘I’m fine,’ he responded, barely looking at her. ‘I think Saffarella is getting me a drink. Here she is …’

Here she was, indeedy!

Rippling black hair, chocolate-brown eyes, a figure to die for, and she was so seriously stunning that she actually made Louise feel drab, especially when her thick Italian accent purred around every name as introductions were made.

‘Em-il-ee, Loo-ease.’

On sight the two women bristled.

It was like two cats meeting in the back yard and Louise almost felt her tail bush up as they both smiled and nodded.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ Louise said.

Saffarella was already getting on her nerves.

‘Saffarella,’ she repeated in her beautiful, treacle voice, and then was kind enough to give Louise a further explanation. ‘Like Cinderella.’

With a staph infection attached, Louise thought, but thankfully Rory knew Louise’s humour and decided to move her on quickly!

‘I’ll come and help you with the drinks.’ Rory took Louise’s arm and they both walked over to the bar.

‘Good God!’ Louise said the second they were out of earshot.

‘No wonder you’ve got nowhere with him.’ Rory laughed. ‘She’s stunning.’

‘Oh!’ Louise was seriously rattled, she was far too used to being the best-looking woman in the room. ‘What sort of name is Saffarella? Well, there goes my fun for the night. I thought I’d at least get a dance with him. I don’t have anyone to fancy any more,’ Louise sighed. ‘And I’m going to look like a wallflower.’

‘Don’t worry, Louise.’ Rory smiled. ‘I’ll dance with you.’

‘You have to now,’ Louise said. ‘I’m not having him seeing me sitting on my own. I was so positive that he liked me.’

Louise returned with Emily’s virgin bloody Mary but then she caught sight of Connor and Miriam and excused herself and headed over for a good old catch up with ex-colleagues. It was actually a good, if not brilliant night—Rory was as good as his word and midway through proceedings he did dance with her.

Rory was lovely, possibly one of the nicest men that a woman could know.

In fact, Rory was the last really nice boyfriend that Louise had had.

There was absolutely nothing going on between them. Their parting, three years ago, had been an amicable one. Though most people lied when they said that, in Rory and Louise’s case it had been true. Just a few weeks into their relationship Louise had, while undergoing what she’d thought were basic investigations for her erratic menstrual cycle, received the confronting news that, when the time came, she might not fall pregnant very easily.

It hadn’t been a complete bombshell, Louise had known things hadn’t been right, but when it had finally dropped Louise had been inconsolable. Rory had put his hands up in the end and had said that, as much as he liked her, there wasn’t enough there to be talking baby, baby, baby every day of the week.

They were far better as exes than as a couple.

‘How’s Christmas behaving?’ Rory asked, as they danced.

‘Much better this time.’

‘You look so much happier.’

‘I’m sorry we stopped being friends,’ Louise said.

‘We never stopped being friends,’ Rory said. ‘Well, I didn’t. I was so worried when you were with him.’

‘I know,’ Louise said. ‘Thanks for being there for me.’ She gave him a smile. ‘I might have some happy news soon.’

‘What are you up to, Louise?’

‘I’m going to be trying for a baby,’ Louise admitted, ‘by myself.’

‘How did I not guess that?’ Rory smiled.

‘Please don’t ask me if I’ve thought about it.’

‘I wouldn’t. I know that it’s all you think about.’

‘It’s got worse since I’ve gone back to midwifery,’ Louise said. ‘My fallopian tubes want to reach out and steal all the little babies.’

‘It might end any chance of things between you and Anton,’ Rory said gently, but Louise just shrugged.

‘He’s the last person I’d go out with, he’s way too controlling and moody for my taste. I just wanted a loan of that body for a night or two.’ Louise smiled. ‘Nope … She had made up her mind. In the three years since she and Rory had broken up she had made some poor choices when it came to men. The news that she might have issues getting pregnant had seriously rocked Louise’s world, leaving her a touch vulnerable and exposed. She was so much stronger now, though her desire to become a mother had not diminished an inch. ‘I want a baby far more than I want another failed relationship.’

‘Fair enough.’

They danced on, Louise with her mind on Anton. She was seriously annoyed at the sight of them laughing and talking as they danced and the way Saffarella ran her hands through his hair and over his bum had Louise burn with jealousy. Worse, though, was the way Anton laughed a deep laugh at something she must have said.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh till now, and I know that I’m funnier than her,’ Louise grumbled. ‘God, why does she have to be so, so beautiful? What did he introduce her as?’

‘Saffarella.’

‘Did he say girlfriend when he introduced her?’ Louise pushed. ‘Or my wife …?’ She was clutching at straws as she remembered that his sister was a model. ‘It’s not his sister, is it?’

‘If it’s his sister then we should consider calling the police!’ Rory said. ‘Sorry, Louise, they’re on together.’

But then a little while later came the good news!

She and Rory were enjoying another dance, imagining things that could never happen to John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’. Louise was thinking of Anton while Rory was thinking of a woman who couldn’t be here tonight. He glanced up and saw that Anton was watching them, and then Anton looked over again.

‘Anton keeps looking over,’ Rory whispered in Louise’s ear.

‘Really?’

‘He does,’ Rory said. ‘I don’t think he likes me any more—in fact, I’d say from the look I just got he wants to take me out the back and knock my lights out.’

‘Seriously?’ Louise was delighted at the turn of events.

‘Well, not quite that much, but I think you may be be right, Louise, Anton does like you.’

‘I told you that he did. Is he still looking?’

‘He’s trying not to.’

‘You have to kiss me,’ Louise said.

‘No.’

‘Please.’ Louise was insistent. ‘Just one long one—it will serve him bloody right for trying to make me jealous. Come on, Rory,’ she said when, instead of kissing her, he still shook his head. ‘It’s not like we never have before and I do it all the time when I’m modelling. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘No,’ Rory said.

‘I got off with you a couple of years ago when Gina got drunk and was making a play for you!’ Louise reminded him.

Gina was an anaesthetist who had had a drink and drug problem and had gone into treatment a few months ago. A couple of years back Rory had been trying to avoid Gina at a Christmas party. Gina had tended to make blatant plays for him when drunk, so he and Louise had had a kiss and pretended to leave together.

‘Come on, Rory.’

‘No,’ he said, and then he rolled his eyes and reluctantly admitted the reason why not. ‘I like someone.’

‘Who?’ Louise’s curiosity was instant.

‘Just someone.’

‘Is she here?’

‘No,’ Rory said. ‘But I don’t want it getting back to her that I got off with my ex.’

‘Do I know her?’

‘Leave it, Louise,’ Rory said. ‘Please.’

It really was turning out to be the most frustrating night! First Anton and Saffarella, now Rory with his secret.

Hugh and Emily watched the action from the safety of the tables, trying to work out just what was going on.

‘Anton is holding Saffarella like a police riot shield,’ Hugh observed, but Emily laughed just a little too late.

‘Are you okay?’ Hugh checked, looking at his wife, who, all of a sudden, was unusually quiet.

‘I’m a bit tired,’ Emily admitted.

‘Do you want to go home?’ Hugh checked, and Emily nodded. ‘But I promised Louise a lift.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Hugh said, standing as Louise and Rory made their way over from the dance floor. ‘We’re going to go,’ Hugh said. ‘Emily’s a bit tired.’

‘Emily?’ Louise frowned as she looked at her friend. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Can I not just be tired?’ Emily snapped, and then corrected herself. ‘Sorry, Louise. Look, I know that I said I’d give you a lift—’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Louise interrupted. ‘Go home to bed.’

‘I’ll see Louise home,’ Rory said, and Hugh gave a nod of thanks.

They said their goodnights but as Hugh and Emily walked off, Rory could see the concern on Louise’s face.

‘Louise!’ Rory knew what she was thinking and dismissed it. ‘Emily’s fine. It isn’t any wonder that she’s feeling tired. She’s six months pregnant and working. Theatre was really busy today …’

‘I guess, but …’ Louise didn’t know what to say. Rory didn’t really get her intuition where pregnant women were concerned. She wasn’t about to explain it to him again but he’d already guessed what she was thinking.

‘Not your witch thing again?’ Rory sighed.

‘Midwives know.’ Louise nodded. ‘I’m honestly worried.’

‘Come on, I’ll get you a drink,’ Rory said. ‘You can have two eggnogs.’ But Louise shook her head. ‘I just want to go home,’ she admitted. ‘You stay, I can get a taxi.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Rory said, and, not thinking, he put his arm around her and they headed out, followed by the very disapproving eyes of Anton.

Rory dropped her home and, though tired, Louise couldn’t sleep. She looked at the crib, still wrapped in Cellophane, that she had hidden in her room, in case Emily dropped round. It was a present Louise had bought. It was stunning and better still it had been on sale. Louise had chosen not to say anything to Emily, knowing how superstitious first-time mums were about not getting anything in advance.

Emily had already been through an appendectomy at six weeks’ gestation, as well as marrying Hugh and sorting out stuff with her difficult family. She was due to finish working in the New Year and finally relax and enjoy the last few weeks of pregnancy.

Louise lay there fretting, trying to tell herself that this time she was wrong.

It was very hard to understand let alone explain it but Emily had had that look that Louise knew too well.

Please, no!

It really was too soon.

CHAPTER FOUR

ANTON WAS RARELY uncomfortable with women.

Even the most beautiful ones.

He and Saffarella went back a long way, in a very loose way. They had met through his sister a couple of years ago and saw each other now and then. He had known that she would be in London over Christmas and Saffarella had, in fact, been the date he had planned to take to the maternity Christmas evening.

‘Where are we going?’ Saffarella frowned, because she clearly thought they were going back to his apartment but instead they had turned the opposite way.

‘I thought I might take you back to the hotel,’ Anton said.

‘And are you coming in?’ Saffarella asked, and gave a slightly derisive snort at Anton’s lack of response. ‘I guess that means, no, you’re not.’

‘It’s been a long day …’ Anton attempted, but Saffarella knew very well the terms of their friendship and it was this part of the night that she had been most looking forward to and she argued her case in loud Italian.

‘Don’t give me that, Anton. Since when have you ever been too tired? I saw you looking at that blonde tart …’

‘Hey!’ Anton warned, but his instant defence of Louise, combined with the fact that they both knew just who he was referring to, confirmed that Anton’s mind had been elsewhere tonight. Saffarella chose to twist the knife as they pulled into the hotel. ‘I doubt that she’s being dropped off home by that Rory. They couldn’t even wait for the night to finish to get out of the place.’ When the doorman opened the door for her Saffarella got out of the car. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again.’ She didn’t wait for the doorman, instead slamming the door closed.

Anton copped it because he knew that he deserved it.

His intention had never been to use Saffarella, they were actually good together. Or had been. Occasionally.

Anton had never, till now, properly considered just how attracted he really was to Louise. Oh, she was the reason he had called Saffarella and asked if she was free tonight, and Saffarella had certainly used him in the same way at times.

But it wasn’t just the ache of his physical attraction to Louise that was the problem. He liked her. A lot. He liked her humour, her flirting, the way she just openly declared whatever was on her mind, not that he’d ever tell her that.

But knowing she was on with Rory, knowing he had taken her home, meant that Anton just wanted to be alone tonight to sulk.

It’s your own fault, Anton, he said to himself as he drove home.

He should have asked Louise out months ago but then he reminded himself of the reason he hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t be getting involved with anyone from work ever again.

Approaching four years ago, Christmas Day had suddenly turned into a living nightmare. Telling parents on Christmas Day that their newborn baby was going to die was hell at the best of times.

But at the worst of times, telling parents, while knowing that the death could have been avoided, was a hell which Anton could not yet escape from and he returned to the nightmare time and again.

The shouts and the accusations from Alberto’s father, Anton could still hear some nights before going to sleep.

The coroner’s report had pointed to a string of communication errors but found that it had been no one person’s fault in particular. Anton could recite it off by heart, because he had gone over and over and over it, trying to see what he could have done differently.

But the year in the between the death and the coroner’s report had been one Anton could rarely stand to recall.

He took his foot off the brake as he realised he was speeding and pulled over for a moment because he could not safely think about that time and drive.

His relationship hadn’t survived either. Dahnya, his girlfriend at the time, had been one of the midwives on duty that Christmas morning and when she hadn’t called him, the continual excuses she had made instead of accepting her part in the matter, had proved far too much for them.

Friends and colleagues had all been injected with the poison of gossip. Everyone had raced to cover their backs by stabbing others in theirs and the once close, supportive unit he had been a part of had turned into a war zone.

Anton had been angry too.

Furious.

He had raged when he had seen that information had not been passed on to him. Information that would have meant he would have come to see and then got the labouring mother into Theatre far sooner than he had.

The magic had gone from obstetrics and even before the coroner’s findings had been in, Anton had moved into reproductive endocrinology, immersing himself in it, honing his skills, concentrating on the maths and conundrum of infertility. It had absorbed him and he had enjoyed it, especially the good times—when a woman who had thought she never would get pregnant finally did, and yet more and more he had missed obstetrics.

To go back to it, Anton had known he would need a completely fresh start, for he no longer trusted his old colleagues. He had come to London and really had done his best to put things behind him.

It was not so easy, though, and he was aware that he tended to take over. He sat there and thought about his first emergency Caesarean at The Royal. Louise just so brisk and efficient and completely in sync with him as they’d fought to get the deteriorating baby out.

He had slept more easily that night.

That hurdle he had passed and perhaps things would have got better. Perhaps he might have started to hand over the reins to skilled hands a touch further had Gina not rear-ended him in the hospital car park.

Anton had got out, taken one look at her, parked her car, pocketed the keys and then driven her home.

Twenty minutes later he’d reported her to the chief of Anaesthetics and Anton had been hyper-vigilant ever since then.

Anton looked down the street at the Christmas lights but they offered no reprieve; instead, they made it worse. He loathed Christmas. Alberto, the baby, had missed out on far too many.

Yep, Anton reminded himself as he drove home and then walked into his apartment, which had not a single shred of tinsel or a decoration on display, there was a very good reason not to get involved with Louise or anyone at work.

He took out his work phone and called the ward to check on a couple of patients, glad to hear that all was quiet tonight.

Anton poured a drink and pulled out his other phone, read an angry text from Saffarella, telling him he should find someone else for the maternity night out, followed by a few insults that Anton knew she expected a response to.

He was too tired for a row and too disengaged for an exchange of texts that might end up in bed.

Instead, he picked up his work phone and scrolled through some texts. All the staff knew they could contact him and with texting often it was easy just to send some obs through or say you were on your way.

He scrolled through and looked at a couple of Louise’s messages.

BP 140/60—and yes, Santa, before you ask, I’ve read your list and I’ve checked it twice—it’s still 140/60. From your little helper

He’d had no idea what that little gem had meant until he’d been in a department store, with annoying music grating in his ears, and a song had come on and he’d burst out laughing there and then.

He had realised then how lame his response at the time had been.

Call me if it goes up again.

Her response:

Bah, humbug!

Followed by another text.

Yes, Anton, I do know.

He must, Anton thought, find out what ‘bah, humbug’ meant.

Then he read another text from a couple of months ago that made him smile. But not at her humour, more at how spot-on she had been.

I know it is your weekend off, sorry, but you did say to text with any concerns with any of your patients. Can you happen to be passing by?

Anton had happened to be passing by half an hour later and had found Louise sitting on the bed, chatting with the usually sombre Mrs Calini, who was in an unusually elated mood.

‘Oh, here’s Anton.’ Louise had beamed as he had stopped by the bed for a chat.

‘Anton!’ Mrs Calini had started talking in rapid Italian, saying how gorgeous her baby was, just how very, very beautiful he was. Yes, there was nothing specific but Anton had been on this journey with his patient and Louise was right, this was most irregular.

Twelve hours and a lot of investigations later, Mrs Calini had moved from elation to paranoia—loudly declaring that all the other mothers were jealous and likely to steal her beautiful baby. She had been taken up to the psych ward and her infant had remained on Maternity.

Two weeks later the baby had been reunited with Mrs Calini on the psychiatric mother and baby unit and just a month ago they had gone home well.

Anton looked up ‘bah, humbug’ and soon found out she wasn’t talking about odd-looking black and white mints when she used that term.

He read a little bit about Scrooge and how he despised Christmas and started to smile.

Oh, Louise.

God, but he was tempted to text her now, by accident, of course. In his contacts Louise was there next to ‘Labour Ward’ after all.

He loathed that she was with Rory but, then again, she had every right to be happy. He’d had his chances over the months and had declined them. So Anton decided against an accidental text to Louise, surprised that he had even considered sending one.

He wasn’t usually into games.

He just didn’t like that the games had now ended with Louise.

Louise checked her phone the second she awoke, just in case Emily had called or texted her and she’d missed it, but, no, there was nothing.

It had been a very restless night’s sleep and it wasn’t even five. Louise lay in the dark, wishing she could go back to sleep while knowing it was hopeless.

Instead, she got up and made a big mug of tea and took that back to bed.

Bloody Anton, Louise thought, a little embarrassed at her blatant flirting when she now knew he had the stunning Saffarella to go home to.

Had it all been one-sided?

Louise didn’t think so but she gave up torturing herself with it. Anton had always been unavailable to her, even if just emotionally.

After a quick shower Louise blasted her hair with the hairdryer, and as a public service to everyone put some rouge on very pale cheeks then wiped it off because it made her look like a clown.

She took her vitamins and iron and then decided to cheer herself up by wearing the best underwear in the world to work today. She had been saving it for the maternity Christmas party but instead she decided to debut it today. It was from the Mistletoe range, the lace dotted with leaves of green and embroidered silk cream berries topped with a pretty red bow—and that was just the panties. The bra was empress line and almost gave her a cleavage, and she loved the little red bow in the middle.

It was far too glamorous for work but, then, Louise’s underwear was always far too glamorous for work.

Instead of having another cup of tea and watching the news, Louise decided to simply go in early and hopefully put her mind at rest by not finding Emily there.

She lived close enough to walk to work. It was very cold so she draped on scarves and walked through the dark and damp morning. It was lovely to step into the maternity unit, which was always nice and warm.

There was Anton sitting sulking at the desk, writing up notes amidst the Naughty Baby Club—comprising all the little ones that had been brought up to the desk to hopefully give their mothers a couple of hours’ sleep.

Louise read through the admission board, checking for Emily’s name and letting out a breath of relief when she saw that it wasn’t there.