Valentino chuckled. Already she knew him surprisingly well. ‘Of course, women love me.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course.’
Sobering a little, he sat forward in his chair. ‘It makes sense, Peyton. It will make our communications over McKenzie easier and working together much smoother, too, if we start with a clean slate and on the right foot.’
Would that take work? Sure. But if they both committed to it, why not? They were professionals after all.
Eyeing him for a beat, she nodded slowly as if she could see it was possible. Or was at least willing to try. ‘Okay.’ She offered him her hand to shake. ‘Friends.’
Valentino glanced at her proffered hand. In his country when a woman offered her hand to a man, he would be more likely to kiss it than shake it, but that would be a mistake – even in jest.He’d suggested this compromise so it was up to him to lead by example.
Enfolding her hand in his, he said, ‘Friends.’
And as a flush of heat spread up his arm, he hoped like hell they could pull it off.
6
The next morning McKenzie was happily ensconced in a bed in her own private room at St Auburn’s. She was comfortable here, her home away from home, unworried as she watched television that she couldn’t hear but engrossed nonetheless. Peyton sat by her side, her heart splitting in two, her heart palpitating wildly every time she thought about her daughter’s imminent surgery.
She’d wanted this. She’d wanted it for so long. But now it was here, it seemed too much. Too much for a little girl who’d already been through enough. She was jumpy and nauseous. Her empty stomach growled at her and she ignored it. She just hadn’t been able to face the usual piece of toast she forced down every morning.
Now, if Valentino had been here hand-feeding her olives and cheese…
‘Buongiorno.’
Peyton started as the man she’d just been thinking about lounged in the doorway, taking in his lazy grace, his charming smile and those dimples. He wore dark trousers and a deep green business shirt with a paisley tie and looked relaxed and confident, which was a balm to her stretched nerves.
‘McKenzie?’ Peyton touched her daughter’s arm.
McKenzie looked away from the television and her face broke into a wide smile as she waved. Valentino grinned back as he approached the bedside. ‘Are you ready?’ He signed as he spoke.
McKenzie nodded and when he held out his hand to her, she high-fived him.
Peyton, currently shredding a tissue into a million pieces, wished she could say the same. She was barely keeping it together. A hand slid gently onto her shoulder and squeezed. ‘How are you?’
His empathetic tone had her biting down hard on her lip. She would not cry. She justwouldn’t. Glancing up at him, she faked a smile. ‘Terrified.’
‘That’s only natural,’ he said, his voice low but oozing confidence and capability. ‘But please know, I’m going to takeverygood care of her.’
Peyton nodded. She did know – she’d seen him in action. But she was too emotional to speak. Too scared to open her mouth lest she break down.
‘Here.’
She looked down as he thrust another one of those brown paper deli bags from yesterday at her. ‘I brought you some biscotti. It’s to die for.’
Peyton took it automatically even though the thought of food made her want to throw up. ‘I’m not hungry.’
He shrugged. ‘You have to pass the time somehow. You may as well eat really good food.’ Another squeeze to her shoulder. ‘See you after the op.’
Another high-five to McKenzie and he was gone before she could tell him she reallycouldn’teat a thing, which was just as well because, three hours later – three interminable hours – the bag of biscotti was half devoured when they pushed a sleeping McKenzie, her head swathed in bandages, back into her room.
All the nerves and anxiety Peyton had endured in the interim fell away like the biscotti crumbs in the bottom of the bag. Relief coursed through her, strong and sweet, her legs wobbling as she grabbed hold of the bedrail. Her breath caught in her throat as she surveyed her daughter lying so still and pale against the white hospital sheets.
For a moment McKenzie looked like her sister, and memories of Daisy swamped her, those last horrible days rising large in her mind as an awful feeling of dread rose in her chest.
Was McKenzie even breathing?
The nurse busied herself around the bed as Peyton leaned over her and pressed kisses to her daughter’s face, so different without her blonde curly halo. She needed to touch her, needed to know, to be sure.
