Praise for Alison Roberts:

‘Readers will be moved by this incredibly sweet story about a family that is created in the most unexpected way.’

—RT Book Reviews on

THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK

‘I had never read anything by Alison Roberts prior to reading TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS, but after reading this enchanting novella I shall certainly add her name to my auto-buy list!’

—CataRomance.com on

TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS

‘Ms Roberts produces her usual entertaining blend of medicine and romance in just the right proportion, with a brooding but compelling hero and both leads with secrets to hide.’

—Mills & Boon® website reader review on

NURSE, NANNY…BRIDE!

200 HARLEY STREET

Welcome to the luxurious premises of the exclusive Hunter Clinic, world renowned in plastic and reconstructive surgery, set right on Harley Street, the centre of elite clinical excellence, in the heart of London’s glittering West End!

Owned by two very different brothers, Leo and Ethan Hunter, the Hunter Clinic undertakes both cosmetic and reconstructive surgery. Playboy Leo handles the rich and famous clients, enjoying the red carpet glamour of London’s A-list social scene, while brooding ex-army doc Ethan focuses his time on his passion—transforming the lives of injured war heroes and civilian casualties of war.

Emotion and drama abound against the backdrop of one of Europe’s most glamorous cities, as Leo and Ethan work through their tensions and find women who will change their lives for ever!

200 HARLEY STREET

Glamour, intensity, desire—the lives and loves of London’s hottest team of surgeons!

Continue your sensational eight-book journey with…

200 HARLEY STREET: THE PROUD ITALIAN by Alison Roberts

ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over sixty Mills & Boon® Medical Romances™.

As a qualified paramedic she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending.

When Alison is not writing you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.

200 Harley Street: The Proud Italian
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader

London holds a very special place in my heart. I had my first year of schooling there and I lived in Prince Albert Road, so close to the zoo I could often hear the animals at night. It’s always a treat to revisit London, either in person or through the characters in my stories and this one—Rafael and Abbie’s story—has been a joy.

I had two passionate people, bound together by their baby daughter but then pushed too far apart by the unbearably tough times they had to go through.

Do you have a mantra that pops up during tough times? I’ve been known to use “no pain, no gain” or “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. I’m not so sure about “the end justifies the means” or “you have to break eggs to make an omelette” because the significance of what is lost or broken may not be apparent until it’s too late to realise how important it was.

All too often, what gets broken is a relationship that couldn’t survive the pain. Repairing that kind of damage to love needs a bit of magic, I think. And what better place to find magic like that than in one of my favourite cities?

Happy reading

With love,

Alison

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

WINNING WAS SUPPOSED to be what mattered.

And it was. The end justified the means, didn’t it?

Of course it did. That couldn’t be doubted for a heartbeat in this case. The blanket-wrapped bundle in Abbie de Luca’s arms was the absolute proof of that. The battle had been hard fought and gruelling enough to have almost destroyed her but she had won.

No. Ella had won. Her precious baby, only just a year old, had fought the killer disease of acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at an age where the greatest challenge should have been learning to sit up and take her first steps. The fact that they were being sent back from the only place in the world that had offered the new and radical treatment so that Ella could continue her recuperation at the Lighthouse Children’s Hospital in London was proof of having won the battle. It meant she was a huge step closer to going home.

But was the ‘home’ they’d left behind still there?

For either of them?

Being escorted off the flight from New York before any other passengers and fast-tracked through customs at Heathrow airport like royalty should be making the triumph of winning all the sweeter.

So why did Abbie feel as if she was stepping onto a new battlefield? One that was only marginally less significant than the life-and-death struggle that had represented most of the three months she had been away with her tiny daughter.

‘There’s an ambulance waiting for you, Mrs de Luca.’ The customs official eyed the wheelchair beside Abbie that the steward from the plane had been pushing. ‘Is this all going with you?’

‘No. It’s going back on the next flight.’ Abbie unwrapped Ella just enough to unhook the electrodes from the monitoring equipment. ‘It was only a precaution. We didn’t even need the oxygen.’ They hadn’t needed a medical escort either. One of the rare positive aspects of having a paediatric surgeon for a mother, although the negative side of knowing too much had outweighed that far too many times already.

Ella stirred in her arms but didn’t wake. Abbie took a moment to check the connections of the central line the baby still had under her collarbone and made sure the syringe driver attached to the tubing hadn’t run out of the drugs that were still a necessary part of treatment. Then she tucked it securely back into the folds of blanket and gave Ella a kiss on the few stray wisps of hair she had somehow retained.

As Ella relaxed back into sleep a tiny hand came up to touch her mother’s cheek, as if she was reassuring herself that she was safe. She was probably smiling, Abbie thought, watching the crinkle deepen around the tightly closed eyes. Shame nobody could see it because of the mask needed to protect the baby from airborne infections.

The gesture had been enough to melt hearts around her anyway.

‘Aww…’ The burly customs official was smiling. ‘What a wee pet.’

Adorable…’ The steward was blinking hard. ‘I’m so happy she’s going to be all right now, Abbie.’

‘Thanks, Damien.’ Abbie had to swallow the big lump in her own throat. Happy didn’t touch the sides of how she felt about her daughter’s new prognosis. ‘And thanks so much for taking such good care of us on the flight.’

‘It was a privilege. Have you got someone meeting you now?’

Abbie nodded. ‘The ambulance is here. They’re taking us to the Lighthouse. That’s the children’s hospital I work at.’

But the steward was shaking his head. Frowning. ‘No… I meant… You know…’

Abbie did know. He meant someone with a personal attachment. Like Ella’s father?

‘Maybe. It was a bit of a last-minute rush and we weren’t sure we’d get onto this flight. The New York team obviously managed to arrange the transfer but I’m not sure who else knows about it.’

She’d tried to ring Rafael but his phone had gone to his message service. Mr de Luca was in surgery all day, she’d been informed. Could they take a message? No, Abbie had responded. She’d be seeing him soon enough.

Or maybe that should be too soon? She’d walked out on her marriage to fight this battle. Maybe that was why success wasn’t tasting as sweet as it should.

Maybe the price had been too high.

‘Abbie…’ The man who’d been allowed into this private area of the customs hall and was now striding towards them wasn’t an airport official.

‘Oh, my…’ Damien clearly appreciated the attributes of the tall, sexy newcomer. ‘Is that Ella’s daddy?’

‘No.’ Abbie shook her head, bemused. ‘He’s more like my boss.’ And clearly a commanding enough presence, even out of a medical environment, to have had rules broken for him.

The steward was grinning as he started to manoeuvre the wheelchair out of the way. ‘Tough job,’ he murmured, ‘but I guess someone’s gotta do it.’

Abbie felt her lips curve as she raised her voice. ‘Ethan…what on earth are you doing here?’

‘I happened to field a call to Rafael about your arrival time and the ambulance transfer. He’s caught up in Theatre so I thought I’d come for the ride and make sure you had a welcoming committee.’

And who could be more appropriate than one of the Hunter brothers, the owners of the prestigious London plastic-and-reconstructive-surgery clinic that employed both of Ella’s parents as specialist paediatric surgeons. The clinic that had made it financially possible for Ella to go to the States and undertake the risky, experimental treatment that had been her only hope of a cure.

‘Does…does Rafael know we’ve come home?’

‘Not yet.’ Ethan’s gaze gave nothing away. ‘The case he’s operating on today is putting him under considerable pressure. I…didn’t want to distract him.’ The hint of a smile was sympathetic. ‘I’ll let him know the moment he comes out, I promise.’

Abbie simply nodded. There was a subtext here. That Rafael would need prior warning before seeing her again? Hearing her voice, even, given that their minimal communication of late had been via text and email? That, without some kind of intermediary, his Italian pride might be enough for him to refuse to see her at all? Maybe their first meeting would involve a solicitor and official documents outlining shared custody agreements for their child. How sad would that be?

‘You’re good to go.’ The customs official stamped their passports and nodded towards someone near the door. ‘Mr Hunter shouldn’t really be in here. They’ll show you out to where the ambulance crew is waiting. Your luggage will be sent by taxi as soon as it’s offloaded.’

Ethan picked up the cabin bag by Abbie’s feet but his gaze rested on the bundle in her arms. ‘You okay? Would you rather I carried Ella?’

Abbie shook her head. ‘I’m good.’

She wasn’t about to hand her baby to someone else to carry, despite her precious burden feeling heavier by the minute. She was exhausted, that was all. These last few months had taken their toll, physically as well as emotionally, but she couldn’t afford to stop being strong.

Not when she was stepping onto a new battlefield.

At least she had an ally. Given what Abbie had heard about his heroic stint in Afghanistan, it was probably overkill in any protection stakes, but there was also the history of the bad blood between the Hunter brothers. If she and Rafael did need an intermediary, someone who was experienced in negotiating the kind of tension that represented the dark side of a loving relationship was ideal.

Not that Ethan gave much away. The slight limp he walked with, which was a legacy of his army days, attracted more than casual stares as they walked to where the ambulance was parked, but he gave no sign of being aware of the curiosity.

And when they were tucked up in the back of the ambulance, on the M4 and heading into the city, he gave no hint that Abbie might be facing any escalating complications in her life.

He and Rafael were friends but they were men. Had they shared anything more personal in the time she’d been away? A late-night card game and plenty of whisky, perhaps, along with commiseration over their disastrous love lives? Maybe Ethan had reminded Rafael that the odds had been stacked against his marriage succeeding anyway. Sure, they’d been very much in love with each other but they’d barely had time to get to know each other properly, had they? They may have chosen to get married themselves but others would no doubt have viewed it as a shotgun wedding when they’d known that a baby was already on the way.

That baby was still asleep, bless her, now safely cocooned in the baby seat strapped onto the stretcher. Ella and Ethan sat facing her, the ambulance crew happy to sit up front, chatting, knowing that their transfer patient had a privileged level of medical supervision in the back.

The traffic slowed as they joined the flow on the Great West Road. A perfect opportunity to test the water, Abbie thought, but…good grief…she felt ridiculously nervous about it. She knew she couldn’t just dive straight in with what was foremost on her mind but, to her dismay, her voice still came out unmistakably shaky.

‘H-how are things going at the clinic?’

‘Good. Very busy. You would have seen some of the publicity over our latest charity case?’

‘Ah…no… Sorry, I’m a bit out of touch. I haven’t seen much news for ages. Is it a paediatric case?’

‘Yes. A ten-year-old Afghan girl—Anoosheh—who was noticed when her orphanage was evacuated. She got abandoned on the doorstep as a toddler when her disease became more extreme. Now she’s got a neurofibromatosis that’s the size of a melon and has disfigured half her face to the extent that she was being used as a servant and kept well hidden from any prospective adoptive parents that visited the orphanage. Not only that, she’s probably lost the sight in one eye and is gradually losing patent airways.’

‘ Oh…poor thing.’

‘Today’s surgery won’t be the last but hopefully the result will be enough to show people that there’s a little girl in there who just needs to be loved. There’s huge media interest and there’s been some offers of adoptive homes in the UK already. I imagine there’s a pack of reporters waiting to pounce on Rafael as soon as he’s out of Theatre. I’ll try and head them off but it’s just as well he can cope with that kind of pressure while he’s operating.’

‘Yes…he’s good at that.’

Because he could detach himself from his own emotional involvement and see the bigger picture?

The way he had even when he’d been dealing with the trauma of his own daughter’s prognosis?

Abbie’s heart was thumping in her chest. She took a deep breath. ‘So he’s…um…okay, then?’

‘Seems to be.’ There was a short silence, as though Ethan was debating whether to say anything more, and then he slid a brief, sideways glance at Abbie. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone try to bury themselves in their work so effectively before. He’s taken on every difficult case he could possibly squeeze into his schedule. And then some. I’ve barely seen him.’

Oh…no confessions of heartbreak over a card session, then. No admitting that he might have made a terrible mistake by issuing the ultimatum that if Abbie insisted on taking Ella to the States then their marriage was over.

But the argument he’d felt so passionately justified in upholding had been that their daughter’s quality of life outweighed its quantity. That they didn’t have the right to put her through so much extra suffering when the chances of success were so small.

Surely the fact that it had worked was enough to justify her decision to go? Wouldn’t Rafael be so thrilled to have the prospect of Ella’s long-term survival that that ultimatum was now irrelevant?

Maybe. But there was more to it, wasn’t there? He was her husband and a proud man. How much damage to their relationship had she done by refusing to respect his opinion and openly defying him?

And worse than that—much worse—she’d taken a sick baby away from her adoring father. She’d seen the pain in Rafael’s eyes as she’d walked away with their daughter in her arms. He hadn’t expected to see her alive again. How painful would that have been? He had every right to hate her for that.

Abbie had had Ella in her arms and she’d still cried all the way to New York.

So Rafael had shut himself away. She’d guessed that by how distant he’d sounded when she’d tried to call him. By how impersonal his email correspondence had rapidly become. He’d buried himself in his work to the extent that when Abbie had reached out in the darkest days, so far away and so lonely and so desperate for support, the response she’d received had seemed cold and clinical. As if his emotional involvement with both herself and Ella was a thing of the past.

Was it all over?

It wouldn’t be fair to try and get any further clues from Ethan.

It was Rafael that Abbie needed to talk to.

Needed to see. The longing was getting stronger by the minute, as if her body realised that the distance between them was closing rapidly. She still loved her husband. Yes, they had pushed each other away and there was a lot to forgive on both sides, but the love was still there. It always would be.

Rafael would welcome Ella back into his life, she had no doubt at all about that. But would she be welcome?

The prospect of the rift between them never healing was terrifying.

With a huge effort, Abbie tried to find some inner strength. To feel positive. She even managed to find a smile to offer Ethan.

‘So what else is happening? Have Leo and Lizzie set a date for the wedding yet?’

‘Yes. It’s going to be the last Saturday in April.’

‘What? Good grief…that’s only a couple of weeks away.’

‘Tell me about it. A quiet affair might have been easily organised but the kind of splash that goes with a high-society wedding at Claridge’s? I’m trying to stay well out of it all.’

Abbie smiled. ‘Good luck with that.’

Ethan snorted. ‘Yeah… I haven’t been entirely successful. Lizzie’s managed to talk me into being best man. And that means I’ll have to come up with some kind of speech.’

‘I’m sure you can do it. Even with a tight deadline. But why are they in such a rush?’

Ethan shrugged. ‘Guess they didn’t want to wait. They’re in love.’

There was something in Ethan’s tone that made the conversation dry up completely at this point. Abbie didn’t know the story behind why the Hunter brothers had been estranged for so many years but, like everyone else associated with the clinic, she was aware of the tension that still lingered between the men. The fact that Lizzie had been the one to persuade Ethan to be best man was evidence that things still weren’t easy.

Was that all there was to whatever was remaining unspoken? Was Ethan happy for Leo or did he have doubts that the marriage would succeed? Maybe she and Rafael were being seen as an example of marrying in haste and repenting at leisure.

The lump in Abbie’s throat made it too hard to take a new breath. To try and distract herself she leaned over Ella and stroked her baby’s cheek softly with her forefinger.

The welling up of love she had for her child wasn’t enough to distract her completely. She and Rafael had been in love like that once. Not very long ago, in fact. They should still be in the honeymoon phase of their marriage but look at where they were now.

What should have been a perfect union so quickly blessed with a beautiful child had been blown apart by a cruel twist of fate.

And now Abbie was returning to where it had all happened.

The pieces of that perfect life were going to be in the same place again.

What remained to be seen was whether it was going to be possible to put them back together again.

A glance through the tinted glass of the ambulance windows showed that they were passing Regent’s Park. There were taxis and double-decker buses nose to tail around them. Definitely London. Home. God, it was good to be back. She could even see the big square brick building on the end of Harley Street coming up—a close neighbour of the Hunter Clinic.

Ethan followed her line of vision.

‘Have you missed it?’

‘So much.’ But it felt distant. Like part of previous life. How hard was it going to be to find her way back?

‘Are you ready to come back to work? We desperately need you as soon as you can manage and I know that they’ve been holding their breath to get you back on board at the Lighthouse.’

‘I could start tomorrow.’

‘Really? That would be terrific. But won’t you need time to get Ella settled?’

Abbie’s smile was poignant. ‘The oncology ward at the Lighthouse is more of a home for Ella than anywhere else. She’s spent most of her life in there. And the staff are like a huge collection of aunties and grannies. The sooner we get things back to normal, the better for both of us, I think.’

For all of us, she amended silently.

Rafael de Luca stripped off his bloodied gloves and dropped them in the bin. Then he pulled at his mask, breaking the strings and bending the wire that strengthened the top hem as he sent it after the gloves.

Finally, he could take a deep breath of unfiltered, fresh-feeling air. Not just because the mask was gone but because the gruelling surgery that had kept him on his feet for so many hours he’d lost count was over.

They’d done well. The team he’d gathered around him to perform this complex operation had been outstanding. In an ideal world they were maybe not exactly who he would have chosen to work so closely with but the choice of his perfect partner had been taken away when Abbie had gone, hadn’t it?

The ‘dream team,’ they’d been known as at the Hunter Clinic. Such perfect partners in the operating theatre, it had seemed inevitable that they would find they were a perfect match outside work hours as well.

Ha…

So much for fate. And so much for a distraction from his modus operandi these days. That momentary flash of recognising what had been missing from his theatre today was as far as he would allow it to go. And that had only happened because he was so incredibly exhausted. His back ached abominably from standing in one position for far too long. His eyes ached from peering through microscopic lenses for the fine work and a generalised ache in his head from such prolonged and fierce concentration was gaining vigour.

With his gown removed and balled up to join the other disposable items in the bin, Rafael could push open the double doors and exit Theatre. With some time in hand before checking on young Anoosheh in Recovery and no concerned family to go and talk to, he could do what he most wanted and go and stand under a hot shower for a considerable period of time. He needed a shave, too.

There would be reporters anxious to hear how the surgery had gone but nobody would expect him to front up to a camera until he’d had time to clean up properly. And maybe he wouldn’t have to do it at all. Rafael could see Ethan Hunter waiting outside Theatre. Far better that the media dealt with the man who was not only one of the owners of the Hunter Clinic but in charge of the charity side of the business and directly responsible for Anoosheh being brought to London for her life-changing surgery.

‘Rafael… How did it go?’

‘Good.’ He nodded his greeting. ‘As good as we could have hoped for. The tumour is gone. She has a titanium plate in her jaw and we’ve reconstructed her nasal passages. There’s more work to be done, of course. When she’s recovered from this.’ The finer work of removing excess scar tissue and repositioning facial features. The kind of work Abbie excelled at.

Letting his breath out in a weary sigh, Rafael rubbed at his forehead and pinched his temples with a thumb and third finger as he screwed his eyes shut. Dio, but he was tired.

‘And the eye?’

Rafael opened his. ‘They think it may still be viable. Time will tell if she can see out of it now that the obstruction is cleared.’

‘Good. That gives me enough to update the media.’

‘Grazie.’ Rafael found a smile. ‘I appreciate you doing that. I’m going to hit the shower and then head home.’ He found himself staring at Ethan’s odd expression. ‘What? You want me to face the cameras after all?’

‘No, it’s not that. It’s…’

‘What?’ Rafael’s smile was fading.

‘Abbie,’ Ethan said quietly.

Rafael’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded painfully. Something had happened. To Ella? Oh, no…not that. Si prega di dio, not that…

‘She’s here, Rafael,’ Ethan said into the stillness. ‘They’re both here. Ella’s been transferred to the paediatric oncology ward here to finish her recuperation.’

Rafael could only keep staring. Why hadn’t he known about this? Why hadn’t Abbie contacted him? Because she couldn’t even bring herself to talk to him any more? Was that how things were going to be now?

‘It was a last-minute decision, apparently.’ Ethan wasn’t meeting his gaze any longer. ‘The call came in after you’d started the surgery on Anoosheh. I decided it was better if you weren’t distracted so I took it on myself to go and meet them at the airport. I’m sorry you didn’t get the message when it was intended.’

Rafael made a noncommittal sound. This wasn’t Ethan’s fault. Surely the decision to transfer Ella would have been made days ago. Abbie could have let him know. Or maybe she had… He’d been so focussed on this major surgery that he hadn’t checked his personal email in a day or two. He hadn’t even checked in with his message service since yesterday.

And what did any of that matter anyway?

They were here.

Just a floor or two and a few long corridors away.

The two people who meant more to him than anyone else on this earth were in the building so what the hell was he doing, standing here?

‘I have to go,’ he snapped. ‘I have to see them.’

The relief that a long, hot shower could provide was forgotten. Unnecessary. A new surge of energy coursed through Rafael as he took the stairs rather than wait for a lift. Made him pick up his pace until he was almost running through the corridors in his theatre scrubs and plastic boots, earning startled glances from people who clearly thought he was on the way to an emergency.

It wasn’t until he was close to the open doors leading to the paediatric oncology ward that his pace faltered. Seeing Abbie standing in the corridor outside one of the private rooms felt like he’d just run into an invisible wall.

Twelve weeks since he’d seen her.

The woman he’d married. The love of his life. The mother of his child.

But the last time he’d seen her had been when she’d walked away from him, taking their child with her. When she’d refused to bend to his ultimatum and had chosen to go against his wishes, even if it meant the end of their marriage.

When his marriage had ended.

He’d been wrong to issue that ultimatum. Wrong to deny Ella the chance that the treatment had offered. He knew that and the knowledge was a knife that had twisted inside him for weeks now. Ever since the possibility of success had become apparent.

He also knew that Abbie had been through hell on the other side of the Atlantic and he hadn’t been there to support her. He’d made her do it alone because he couldn’t back down enough to find a way to apologise. Not through an email or text anyway, which had become the only way Abbie had wanted to communicate.

She must hate him for making her go through all that alone.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was looking through the window of the room. Watching to make sure Ella was asleep, perhaps, so that she could go and take enough of a break to have a meal?

She’d lost weight.

The shapely curves of her body that had first caught his eye when they’d started working together at the Lighthouse had all but disappeared. Her jeans looked too big for her legs and even from this distance he could see how prominent her collarbones were above the scooped neck of her sweater. Even the thick tresses of her glorious, honey-blond hair looked as if they’d lost volume by the way they were lying in a subdued and limp ponytail against the top of her spine.

A spine that looked a little less straight than he remembered in the strong, independent woman he’d fallen in love with and married.

How hard had this all been?

Rafael could feel his heart breaking. His every instinct was to rush forward and gather Abbie into his arms. To hold her against his heart and whisper promises. That everything would be all right. That he would always love her. That he would never allow life to be so hard for her again.

But how could he? The distance between them couldn’t be resolved simply by him walking close enough to put his arms around her, and what if she pushed him away? His pride was already in tatters. Had been ever since she’d walked out on him. And, besides, there was only one of those promises that he could make with any certainty.

That he would always love her.

Would that be enough?

Maybe he was about to find out.

He never felt this nervous pushing open the doors to enter Theatre, even when he knew that the challenge was going to be huge.

His mouth never felt this dry.

It was hard to make his voice work. So hard that only a single word came out.

‘Abbie…’

CHAPTER TWO

‘ABBIE…’

She knew it was Rafael well before she turned to face him. It had always been unique, the way he said her name. It wasn’t just the Italian accent or the smooth, deep voice. It was the subtle note of…wonder, almost. Or reverence? As if she was the most wonderful woman on earth and that made her name special, too.

Unique. One of a kind. Like Rafe.

Abbie braced herself, as she turned, for the first sight of her husband in what suddenly seemed a vast amount of time.

Three months.

But, at this moment, it felt like three years.

What would she see in his face? The joy of knowing she’d brought his daughter back to him? Anger that had burned away to leave a residue of resentment?

Echoes of the unbearable pain she’d seen before she’d turned her back and defiantly taken Ella away from him?

When she had turned and found herself facing Rafael with only a few feet between them, Abbie had to brace herself all over again.

How could she have forgotten the effect this man had on her? It was so much more than purely physical. More than emotional, even. It was a visceral thing. She was facing the part of her own being that had been torn free.

It stole her breath away. Made her heart stammer and trip.

‘Rafe…’

Abbie tried to smile but it wasn’t going to happen. Her lips simply wouldn’t co-operate. She could only stare, drinking in this first glimpse, anxiously scanning his body and face to try and collect her impressions.

Dear Lord, but he looked so tired. As though he hadn’t slept well for weeks. As though he hadn’t even shaved for more than a day or two. He hadn’t had a haircut for a while either, and… Had he just come straight from his stint in Theatre? Black curls were flattened in places and still looked damp with sweat. Were his scrubs a size larger than he usually wore or had he lost weight?

Yes. He looked exhausted. And wary but not angry.

He looked…

Wonderful.

Tall and commanding and every bit as gorgeous as the first time she had laid eyes on him. Despite everything, Abbie could feel a curl of sensation deep in her abdomen as her body responded to being this close to him, but this overwhelming awareness wasn’t anything as simple as physical attraction.

They knew each other so well. On so many levels. They made up two halves of a whole.

They loved each other.

At least, they had.

If only Rafael would smile. Or step closer. Hold his arms open so that she could fall into an embrace that would magically erase the pain they’d caused each other and make everything all right again.

But he wasn’t moving. He seemed to be staring back at her with a mirror image of her intense scrutiny of him.

‘How are you, Abbie?’

‘I’m…’ The word ‘fine’ tried to form on her lips but it wasn’t true. Abbie didn’t feel fine at all. She felt overwhelmed and unsure. ‘I’m…okay. A bit tired. It’s been a big day.’

A big twelve weeks.

A traumatic journey that she’d had to take alone. Abbie swallowed hard as she felt the hurt coalesce into the shape of the painful rock inside her chest that she’d lived with for so long now. ‘And you? How are you, Rafe?’

‘I’m…also okay… I think.’ The familiar gesture as Rafael raked his hair with his fingers made the rock shift a little and sent a painful shaft through Abbie’s heart. He was as overwhelmed as she was with this reunion. Unsure of what to say. Or do. ‘I…wasn’t expecting this. It’s…’

‘Sudden, I know.’ This was weird. To feel the hurt this man had caused her and yet to feel so much compassion for him at the same time. ‘I would have let you know sooner but it…just happened.’

He didn’t believe her and Abbie could understand that. The possibility of sending Ella back to her home town to continue her recuperation had only been talked about in the last few days. She was still fragile. How much organisation had been needed to send a sick baby to another country?

‘They only started to make enquiries first thing this morning. And things just fell into place. There was space available on a flight and a bed here at the Lighthouse and they didn’t have to arrange a medical escort. And…when her results came through later, looking so good, Dr Goldstein just looked at me and smiled and he said…he said, “How ‘bout it, Mom? Would you like to go home today?” And…’

And Abbie’s voice was shaking now. Could she tell him that the first thing she’d thought at that point had been how badly she’d wanted to see him again? That the picture in her head of Rafael holding his baby daughter again and seeing how much better she looked had filled her heart with so much longing that it had felt like it might burst?

No. She couldn’t tell him because he had started speaking himself. She had to stop saying anything. Rafael had to repeat his question.

‘What results? What were the tests?’

Did it matter? This was a doctor talking, not a father. Was he still that distant? This was what had caused their separation in the first place, wasn’t it? The way he could remove himself from the emotional involvement of being a parent. To step back and see the bigger picture through a professional lens. To decide that the quality of what would be a very short life was more important than the desperation to keep your own child alive as long as humanly possible.

‘They took a bone-marrow biopsy yesterday. And bloods. We already knew she’d got through the dangerous cytokine release syndrome that the treatment caused. What we didn’t know was whether the T cell therapy was really working.’

‘And…’ It looked as though Rafael was having to swallow a large lump in his throat, judging by the way the muscles in his jaw and neck were working. ‘It’s looking good?’

That was more like it. The doctor would want the exact figures. A copy of the test results, like the one Abbie had ready for him in her bag. But for a father? Knowing that the results were good would be enough to create such a wash of relief and hope for the future that the numbers were irrelevant.

Abbie nodded. It took a moment to trust her voice. ‘She still needs protection for her immune system and she’ll need another bone-marrow biopsy at the three-month mark but…’ She took a deep breath as she blinked back tears. ‘It’s looking good, Rafe. As good as I hoped it would. The treatment’s worked.’

As good as she’d hoped?

The choice of pronoun pushed him away. Just as Rafael had been about to pull Abbie into his arms so that they could celebrate this miraculous milestone together as Ella’s parents.

To rush into the room they were standing outside and see for himself that Ella wasn’t the critically ill baby she’d been the last time he’d seen her.

But it was true. He deserved to be dismissed as having been one of the hopeful parents. As soon as Abbie had heard about the experimental treatment that took T cells from the blood and reengineered them in a laboratory so that they could be put back into the body to find and kill the cancerous leukaemia cells, the hope had been born on her side.

All Rafael had been able to see had been how experimental the treatment was. That the success rates with adults had not been consistent and it had never been tried in a baby. That the risks were enormous and going through with the treatment would only cause so much more suffering that would probably still end in Ella’s death. And he’d been right. The new T cells had caused an illness that had come within a heartbeat of killing Ella. She’d hovered between life and death in a paediatric intensive-care unit for weeks.

And he should have been there but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to travel so far in order to watch his baby die. And, yes…even though it shamed him to admit it, part of what had kept him here had been that it seemed like a fitting punishment for Abbie for taking his beloved child away from him.

So much pain. On both sides.

What would Abbie do if he tried to take her in his arms right now? Push him away? Flinch?

He couldn’t bear it if that happened.

But somehow he had to try and find a way to bridge this awful gap between them.

‘It’s been so long, Abbie. So…hard…’

So hard. It had been a nightmare ever since their precious baby had hit the headlines at becoming one of the rare cases of ALL being diagnosed at such an early age. Gruelling months of chemotherapy that had failed to produce remission, let alone a cure. And having them both disappear from his life had only plunged him deeper into his personal hell, especially in the wake of the fights over whether it was the right thing to do.

Missing his wife every day but being so angry at the way she’d made things so much worse. Missing his child with an ache that had gone even deeper than his bones. Sleepless nights and days waiting for the phone call that would deliver the dreaded news that the battle had been lost. Days when a fierce focus on his work had been the only thing that had kept him sane.

He heard the way Abbie’s breath left her lungs in an incredulous huff. The pain he could see in her eyes hit him like a physical blow.

‘How would you know, Rafe? You weren’t there.’

Would they ever be able to get past this?

‘I’m here now.’ His voice sounded as raw as it felt. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

Abbie just stared at him for the longest time. He could see her lips tremble as her hands gripped the opposite arms, crossed over her breasts as if she was defending her heart.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think it is.’ She took a ragged, inward breath. ‘We…needed you, Rafe. And you…you weren’t there.’

Dio, but this was hard. Did they have to go through it all again? Every impassioned fight? He’d never felt this tired in his life.

‘You know why.’

‘Yes.’ Abbie’s voice was tight. ‘I know why. But I still don’t understand. How could you not be there if you really love someone?’ There were tears on her face now but Rafael couldn’t move to brush them away. He’d lost the right to offer comfort because he’d caused the pain.

‘You weren’t there,’ Abbie said again. ‘For me or Ella. And…and it was awful, Rafe… You have no idea…

‘That’s not true.’ He couldn’t help the hard edge that made the words clipped. But it seemed like they did have to go over the old ground just to get to a place where they could talk to each other again. ‘I have a very good idea. That’s why I didn’t want you to go. To put Ella through that.’

Flashes of pain from other, long-ago cases were never far away. Especially cases like little Freddie…. Years ago, now, but it was still an effort to push the memory of that particular little boy away. Rafael had started in paediatric oncology determined to beat death for those innocent children but he’d learned the hard way that there had to be limits. That fighting too hard could only make things worse for everyone involved. Including the surgeon. He’d had to leave the specialty in the end because the toll it had taken on him personally had been too great.

‘And if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here now. Ella wouldn’t still be alive.’

‘No…’ The word was a weary sigh.

This was also true. And suddenly nothing else mattered. Ella was still alive. She was in the room right beside him. He couldn’t stay out here a moment longer. Taking a step closer to the door brought him a step closer to Abbie, but she moved a little. And now Rafael could see through the window of the room.

He could see Ella.

Sitting in a cot and playing happily with a toy.

A toy he recognised. Called Ears. A soft pink rabbit with disproportionately long legs and ears. A silly toy he’d bought when she’d first been sick and been admitted here, which had fast become her ‘cuddly.’

Ella was holding Ears in one hand as she knelt in the cot and then pulled herself up using the side of the cot. He could see the nasal prongs supplying oxygen taped to her face and one arm was bandaged, keeping the IV line that went to the port beneath her collarbone safe from being tugged. It didn’t stop her getting to her feet, though.

Dio…she was strong enough to stand?

It didn’t stop Ears being dropped over the side of the cot either, but Ella didn’t burst into instant tears, like most children her age would. She just looked down at the floor and then up, perfectly confident that help would not be far away.

And then Rafael could really see her face for the first time. Those big, dark eyes were looking straight at him.

For a long, long moment they stared at each other. Rafael could remember the first time he’d held this baby and the overwhelming need to protect her. He could remember the feel of her downy skin. The smell of her when she’d been freshly bathed and fed. The sound of her voice when she’d been learning her own baby language.

But would she remember anything at all about him?

It seemed that she did. Her eyes got even bigger and those rosebud lips curled and curved into a smile. And Ella held up her little arms, which was enough to make her lose her balance and sit down on her padded bottom with a thump, but she was still smiling.

Still holding out her arms to her father.

And nothing else mattered.

Without even another glance at Abbie, Rafael rushed into the room.

Abbie stood and watched through the window.

It had been only a few minutes since she’d been doing exactly this, watching to see if Ella would be happy for a few minutes while she went to… What had she been going to do? Go to the bathroom? Make a coffee in the staffroom?

Whatever her intention had been, she’d forgotten it the moment she’d heard Rafael call her name and she’d had to brace herself for their reunion.

And now it was over.

They’d seen each other again. They’d talked.

But had anything been resolved?

If anything, Abbie felt more unsure than before.

Slow tears were leaking from her eyes and rolling down the side of her nose as she watched Rafael gather up his daughter into his arms and press his cheek against the top of her head. He had his eyes closed so he couldn’t see that she was watching. And…oh, God…did he have tears tracing the edge of his nose, too? No… Rafael would never cry. But if he ever did, his face would look exactly the way it did right now.

The love he had for his daughter was almost as palpable as the wall Abbie had to reach out and touch for support.

He’d never expected to be able to hold her again, had he?

Or to see her smile. To hear that noise she made when she was really happy—a kind of cross between cooing and giggling that sounded like water going out of a sink.

Being a plughole, they’d called it. Ella’s being a plughole, they’d tell each other and then they’d both hold each other’s gaze and smile because they knew it was such a happy noise and it had been such a rare thing amongst the pain and sickness. Those poignant smiles and the silent communication of eye contact had been moments of connection that had given them strength to go on. That had made them feel that sharing this heartbreaking journey was making their relationship stronger. But, in the end, like it did so often with this kind of unimaginable stress, it had torn them apart.

Yes. Rafael still adored his daughter. She could see him rocking her now and hear his voice as he spoke rapidly in Italian. She caught the word fiorella. Ella’s proper name. His little flower. And he was singing now. Softly. Still in Italian. Stroking the odd patches of wispy hair on Ella’s head so gently. It was one of the things she loved about this man, that he could be so passionate. So demonstrative.

And for a moment when he’d been out here with her, he’d looked as if he still loved her like that, too.

Just before he’d stupidly said how hard it had been for him.

He hadn’t been there. Hadn’t sat for countless hours amongst the bank of monitors in the intensive-care unit, wondering if each breath Ella took would be her last.

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken the bait and reignited the old conflict but…it still hurt, dammit.

It wasn’t going to just go away by itself.

Being together in the same place wasn’t enough because it felt like there was no common ground between them.

Or if there was, the only person inhabiting it was a baby called Ella.

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