Surgeons second chance i.., p.1
Surgeon's Second Chance in Florence, page 1
“You always were cute,” she said softly. “Like those Raphael cherubs.”
“You mean the ones lurking at the bottom of the painting, looking a bit bored?”
“Looking wistful,” she corrected. “You always stuck your hand in your hair when you were studying, and your hair was always messy by the end of the day. It’s one of the things that made me fall for you.”
He smiled. “Apparently the cherubs were based on the children of Raphael’s model for the Madonna. He painted them exactly as he saw them.”
She rolled her eyes. “Trust you to know that.”
He spread his hands. “What can I say? I’ve always had nerd tendencies.”
That was something else she’d liked about him.
The only answer she had was to reach up and touch her mouth to his.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her all the way back.
She’d forgotten how it felt to kiss Angelo: the warmth, the sweetness, the coil of desire in her stomach that tightened and grew hotter.
When he finally broke the kiss, Sam’s head was spinning and Angelo looked dazed.
“Sam...”
“I know.” She traced his lower lip with the tip of her finger. “Me, too.”
Dear Reader,
What happens when you unexpectedly meet with “the one who got away”?
Reunion stories can be tricky to write—the reasons why your hero and heroine break up need to be believable, but not something so tricky that they can’t find a resolution and a way back to each other when they meet again. I hope you’ll sympathize with Angelo struggling to do the right thing—and with Sam learning to trust him again!
I’m fascinated by advances in medicine, like operating in the womb, so I couldn’t resist setting this book in a fetal medicine unit.
I’ve missed travel during the COVID years, so I also couldn’t resist setting the book in a city I thoroughly enjoyed visiting: Florence.
I hope you enjoy their journey and a summer in Tuscany.
With love,
Kate Hardy
Surgeon’s Second Chance in Florence
Kate Hardy
Kate Hardy has always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Harlequin books when she was twelve and decided that this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing, Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website, katehardy.com.
Books by Kate Hardy
Harlequin Medical Romance
Twin Docs’ Perfect Match
Second Chance with Her Guarded GP
Baby Miracle for the ER Doc
Changing Shifts
Fling with Her Hot-Shot Consultant
Miracles at Muswell Hill Hospital
Christmas with Her Daredevil Doc
Their Pregnancy Gift
Carrying the Single Dad’s Baby
Heart Surgeon, Prince...Husband!
A Nurse and a Pup to Heal Him
Mistletoe Proposal on the Children’s Ward
Forever Family for the Midwife
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
With love and thanks to the three editors who worked with me on this book—Julia, I’ll miss you; Megan, thank you for caretaking; Laurie, welcome back!
Praise for Kate Hardy
“Ms. Hardy has definitely penned a fascinating read in this book... Once the hero confesses to the heroine his plan for a marriage of convenience, I was absolutely hooked.”
—Harlequin Junkie on Heart Surgeon, Prince...Husband!
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM THE VET’S UNEXPECTED HOUSEGUEST BY JULIETTE HYLAND
CHAPTER ONE
‘SAMANTHA CLARKE! JUST the woman I wanted to see.’ Will Reynolds, the head of the department, smiled at Sam. ‘Can we have a quick word in my office?’
Sam, assuming that her boss wanted her to talk to her about a new case, smiled back and followed him to his office.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, perching on the edge of his desk. ‘First of all, I have some good news—that research grant we applied for has been confirmed, and we can start in three months’ time. I’m delighted to say it means we’ll be promoting you to consultant.’
Sam beamed at him. ‘Thank you, Will! That’s fantastic.’
‘I knew you’d be pleased,’ Will said. ‘And, secondly, I have an interesting case for you. Triplet pregnancy from IVF—twins and a singleton.’
That was unusual enough in itself, but Sam guessed there would also be a complication which might need surgery, or Will wouldn’t be talking to her about it.
‘And there’s suspected twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,’ he said, confirming her thoughts.
‘What stage?’ she asked.
‘They’re doing another scan today at her hospital,’ he said. ‘If it’s still stage two—’ which Sam knew was when you couldn’t see the smaller baby’s bladder on the ultrasound, but it hadn’t progressed to abnormal blood flow in the vessels around the heart ‘—then obviously amnioreduction is a possibility.’
When babies were still mildly affected by TTTS, doctors could try draining the excess fluid from one amniotic sac to resolve the problem. ‘But you’re thinking it’s more likely to have progressed further and we’ll need to do endoscopic laser ablation?’ Sam had been working more intensively with foetal laser surgery over the last few months, so it sounded as if this was a mum and three babies who’d end up under her care.
‘Got it in one,’ he said.
‘OK. When are they coming in?’
‘That’s the catch,’ he said. ‘They’re not coming here.’
‘So you’re sending me to a different hospital in London?’
‘Nope.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘You know that the Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital is twinned with the Michelangelo Hospital in Florence?’ At her nod, Will continued, ‘Ricardo Fanelli, who’s my equivalent in Florence, is setting up a new unit in foetal medicine. Professor Henri Lefevre from Paris is going to Florence for three months to oversee the unit and start training them, but Ric has asked for you to go over and treat this particular mum and her babies and work on secondment there until the research project starts.’
It was a fabulous opportunity, plus she’d always wanted to visit Florence.
Sam quickly suppressed the memory of the last time she’d visited Italy—and the last person she’d visited Italy with. That part of her life was over. Besides, as far as she knew, Angelo lived in Rome, so she was hardly likely to cross paths with him in Florence.
‘Sam?’
She shook herself. Angelo had nothing to do with this. This was work. ‘I’d love to do it, Will. When do they want me to start?’
‘That’s the other thing.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘How’s your Italian?’
‘Conversational rather than medical,’ she said. ‘And it’s horribly rusty.’ She hadn’t spoken Italian in two years, since Angelo had dumped her.
‘They can probably help you with a translator, at least to start with,’ Will said. ‘But I’d advise you to get an app or something and start brushing it up again, and learning a few medical terms, because they want you to start on Thursday morning.’
‘Thursday?’ She felt her eyes widen. ‘As in three days from now?’
‘I know it’s practically no notice, but that’s when the mum’s coming in again for another review,’ he said.
‘Well, that flat I was buying fell through, so I’m still staying with my parents. As long as you can cover me here, and I can get a flight, and someone in Florence doesn’t mind helping me to find somewhere to stay, then...’ She shrugged. ‘I’m good to go.’
‘That’s great,’ Will said. ‘Though, as I said, I want you back for that research project. So no getting swept off your feet by a gorgeous Italian doctor, OK?’
Been there, done that, and won’t make the same mistake again, Sam thought. ‘No chance of that,’ she said with a smile. ‘If you don’t mind me taking my break early, I need to tell my mum and sort out my flight.’
‘Great. I’ll ring Ric and tell him the good news,’ Will said.
* * *
‘Stop worrying. I’m perfectly fine,’ Ruggiero Brunelli said.
Angelo wasn’t entirely sure his dad was telling the truth. A visit every other week and a video call every day didn’t feel like enough support. He loved living in Florence, but maybe he should move back to Rome to be closer to his dad?
‘Angelo. You’re the best son anyone could ask for,’ Ruggiero said gently. ‘And I’m not going to have a relapse. I’m eating properly, I go swimming three times a week, I see friends regularly, and I have Baffi to keep me company.’ He gestured to the black and white cat who was snoozing in a patch of sunlight.
‘I know.’ But Angelo still worried. His father’s addiction to painkillers had turned
To protect her, he’d pushed her away—knowing that he was hurting her, but also knowing that if she stayed with him the situation would hurt her even more. And in a way, it had protected him as well; he’d felt helpless when he’d lost his mum, whereas ending it with Sam meant that at least he was in control. He’d done his best to minimise the potential hurt for both of them. Even though it had ripped his own heart out, lying to her and saying that he didn’t love her any more.
He’d spent a year in Rome, supporting his father through the miserable months of rehab and then he’d been offered the job in Florence. He hadn’t managed to persuade his dad to come with him and make a fresh start, but Ruggiero had encouraged him to take the job. And at least the hour and a half on the train between Florence and Rome was quicker and easier than doing the train-plane-train trek from London.
‘I still wish you’d move to Florence,’ he said. ‘We could get a house in the hills so you have a garden. And it’s probably the best place in Italy for art. You know how much you loved visiting the Uffizi with me.’
‘I was born in Rome and I’ll die in Rome,’ Ruggiero said.
Angelo thought of the car crash that had left his father hooked on heavy-duty painkillers. How easy it could’ve been for his dad to forget how much he’d taken, accidentally overdose and die, the way Sam’s brother had. Or was this his father’s way of telling Angelo he’d had enough of living on his own and wanted to be with Angelo’s mum? He winced. ‘Dad.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Ruggiero returned the wince. ‘Sorry. Let me make it clear. I’m absolutely not suicidal and I’m not going to take an overdose, accidental or otherwise. I simply meant I’m stubborn, I love my home city and I plan to stay right where I am. I’m fine, son. Really.’
Though Angelo couldn’t help running through a mental checklist: sweating, dilated or pinpoint pupils, co-ordination problems, itching...
His father was scratching his arm.
Ruggiero rolled his eyes as if he’d guessed what was going through Angelo’s head. ‘Pruritis has quite a few probable causes. Mine happens to be from an insect bite. See?’ He held his arm so Angelo could see the reddened lump. ‘Yes, I know scratching a bite is the quickest way to get it infected. I’m going to put a cold compress on it to stop the itching, after you’ve gone. And, no, I’m not going to take ibuprofen to reduce the swelling. I’ve got some antihistamine cream somewhere.’ He gave Angelo a gentle smile. ‘I might be ancient and two years out of practising medicine, but I can still just about remember my training.’
‘Sorry, Dad.’ Shame mingled with relief. ‘You’ve got thirty years more experience than I have in medicine.’
‘I made very a stupid mistake. I should’ve asked for help instead of thinking I could sort things out myself. And I’ve learned from that mistake,’ Ruggiero said. ‘When you come to see me, I really would like to see my son the man, rather than my son the doctor. I’d like to go out with you for good food and a glass of wine and tell you terrible jokes, and not have to worry that you’re worrying about me.’ He paused. ‘And I’d like you to come to spend time with your dad, not to visit a patient who might lapse back into his painkiller addiction and needs watching like a hawk.’
Guilt surged through Angelo. ‘I know. I want that, too.’
‘But you still worry about me, whatever I say.’ Ruggiero gave him a hug. ‘It’s supposed to be the other way round, you know, with the parent never stopping worrying about their child. You had the worry of your mum’s breast cancer through your student years, and now it’s me. Though, actually, I worry about you. I think you need someone in your life, Angelo: a partner, not a difficult parent.’
‘You’re not difficult,’ Angelo said.
‘If you weren’t worrying about me, you’d relax,’ Ruggiero pointed out. ‘You’d date someone for more than a couple of months before backing off. You’d let someone close.’
Except Angelo knew that whoever he dated would never measure up to Sam. And he’d left it way too late to fix things between them. He’d learned that the hard way when he’d gone back to London. ‘I’m fine,’ Angelo lied.
‘Hmm.’ Ruggiero looked at him. ‘If you’re worrying that I wouldn’t accept a male partner, then let me reassure you that I don’t care whether you’re gay, straight or somewhere in between. That doesn’t matter. I just want you to be happy—and to be loved.’
Angelo blinked back the tears that unexpectedly stung his eyes. ‘For the record, Dad, I’m straight. But I’m glad you’d accept me if I wasn’t. I’ve seen friends go through a rough time until their families accepted who they were—even now.’
‘Love is love,’ Ruggiero said. ‘Being a recovering addict has taught me a lot about acceptance. About not judging. And I want you to have a life, Angelo.’
‘I do have a life,’ Angelo protested. ‘I have a job I love, good friends, and a flat with an amazing view.’ Which was all true. Provided you didn’t look beyond the surface to see the empty spaces.
‘But you spend your time worrying about me instead of embracing life. You keep yourself at a distance from people,’ Ruggiero said. ‘So let’s do a deal. I promise that I’ll keep going to the addiction support group every week, and they have my full permission to contact you if they’re even the slightest bit worried about me. Your uncle keeps an eye on me, too. And you—you make sure you date someone before your next visit to Rome, and send me a selfie of you together. Agreed?’
Angelo was fairly sure he could talk one of his colleagues into posing for a photograph to make it look as if they were dating. If that would keep his dad happy, it’d be worth asking for a favour. ‘Deal.’
‘Good.’ His father gave him a hug. ‘Safe journey. Text me when you’re home.’
‘Of course I will. Have a good week, Dad.’ Angelo hugged him back.
But on the way back to Florence he picked up a message from his boss, Ric Fanelli.
Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital is sending one of their team to us for a three-month secondment in the new unit. She starts Thursday. Can I ask you to help her settle in and translate?
As Angelo was half-English and had trained in London, he wasn’t surprised by the request. But then he saw the name of their new doctor.
No.
It couldn’t be her.
Surely.
He clicked on the link to her profile on the hospital website, and the photograph took his breath away.
Sam Clarke. Two years older and two years more beautiful.
He’d had no idea that she’d moved into foetal surgery. He hadn’t seen her since he’d come back to Italy; their break-up had been by phone, because he hadn’t trusted himself to go through with it if he’d looked her in the eye. Though, a year ago—when his dad was stable enough for Angelo to be sure he wasn’t leaving Sam open to potential hurt—he’d gone back to London, ready to open his heart to her and apologise for the way he’d left. To tell her the truth about his dad’s addiction and the way he was still coming to terms with losing his mum, and ask her to forgive him. He’d turned up at their old department at lunchtime, hoping he might be able to find out when she was off duty. The receptionist was someone he didn’t know, so clearly she’d joined the department since he’d left.
‘I used to work here,’ he said, ‘and I wanted to look up some old friends while I’m in London. Would you be able to tell me what shift Sam Clarke is on, please?’
