Searching her big grey eyes, Valentino saw the worry, the anxiety, theanguish. ‘Bella.’ He shook his head gently. ‘You know I can’t allow that.’
She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight. ‘Don’t. Don’t call mebella.’
He’d called herbellaover and over that fateful night, an endearment he’d meant thenandright now, but Valentino understood why she didn’t want to hear it today. ‘You need to be a mother on Monday,’ he murmured. ‘McKenzie needs you to be a mother.’
Her eyes flashed open, blazing defiance. ‘Harry would have allowed it.’
‘No.’ Valentino shook his head. He might not know Harry that well but he had no doubt where this was concerned. ‘He wouldn’t have.’
‘Please.’
Her grey gaze shimmered with tears, like headlights in fog, and her voice cracked, and Valentino wanted nothing more than to go around the other side of the desk and pull her into his arms. But he could see from the rigidity of her frame that she wouldn’t want his sympathy, that she was barely keeping it together.
He ground his feet into the carpet. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘It’s just that… I’ve always been by her side. I can’t bear the thought of her going through this momentous surgery all alone.’
Valentino nodded. ‘I know that must be hard, Peyton, but this is one of those times that you’ve got to let me do my job as a surgeon. Allow me to focus solely on McKenzie, not divide my attention. And when it’s over, you can do your job as the mum.’
Blinking back tears, Peyton looked him square in the eye. ‘Is this about the drinks?’
Valentino stilled, her implication smarting. His eyes narrowed as he tempered his words. ‘Really?That’swhat you think?’
A tear slid from her eye, which made Valentino feel low even though he hadn’t been the one throwing around insults. ‘No. I’m sorry… I…’
He stepped towards her as another tear trekked down her cheek. ‘Peyton.’
Roughly dashing them away with one hand, she held out the other, warding him off. ‘No, stop.’ She shook her head. ‘Go. Just go, damn it!’
A wave of impotency slayed Valentino to the spot. It was clear Peyton was in a world of emotional pain but as much as the doctor in him urged him closer, the man knew she was barely holding it together and all she had left was her pride.
In so many ways he didn’t know this woman very well, but he did know that the last thing she wanted was to break down in front of him.
Clenching his fists, he nodded and said, ‘See you Monday.’
He left then without a backward glance the sound of her muted sobs following him until thankfully the outer sliding doors of the clinic shut behind him and there was silence.
5
Peyton was finger-painting with McKenzie when the doorbell chimed on Sunday afternoon. Who in the hell could that be? On a Sunday afternoon?
She just didn’t get visitors, other than her parents, and they’d left a few hours ago. And if she did, she liked to have prior knowledge to screen them first. The days of people just popping in were long gone. Even Nat knew to call before she brought Juliano around for a play.
Peyton tried to control, as much as she could without making her daughter a virtual prisoner, the numbers of people to whom McKenzie was exposed. The more outside contacts, the greater the risk to McKenzie’s less than robust immune system. Peyton knew only too well that a mild illness a normal toddler could shake off in a few days usually landed McKenzie in hospital on a drip.
Did that make her a control freak? Yes. But she was okay with the label. She was her daughter’s first line of defence – nothing was more important.
Another chime had her calling out, ‘Coming,’ as she diverted to the kitchen to quickly wash her hands.
Drying her hands with paper towel, she made a beeline for the door, preparing herself mentally to be polite but move whoever it was on promptly as she yanked on the knob with barely concealed impatience. Consequently, she was totally unprepared for Valentino Lombardi to be standing there, dimples a’dazzling as he smiled and said, ‘Buongiorno.’
Breath rushed out of Peyton’s lungs at the sight of him lounging in her doorway looking dark and tousled and incredibly sexy in faded blue jeans and white T-shirt. Damp curls clung to the back of his neck as if he’d not long been out of the shower, the wildly spicy aroma of his cologne infusing her nostrils with an almost feral-like temptation.
It made her excruciatingly aware of her own rumpled, sexless state. Baggy trackpants and a tatty oversized T-shirt falling off her shoulder, streaked with paint. She was excruciatingly aware of the last time they’d seen each other, when she’d asked him for something she’d known in her heart of hearts he couldn’t give. Not since Arnie had walked out on her after Daisy’s death had she felt so completely vulnerable and exposed. So at the mercy of a man.
But if, even for a second, Peyton had thought it would work, she’d have got on her knees and begged.
She must have been looking at him blankly because one black eyebrow winged upwards. ‘You were expecting somebody else, yes?’
