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CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

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Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)

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PROLOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

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CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

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CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

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EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

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200 Harley Street: The Proud Italian (#ua36f27db-9446-5b77-a1c2-01538fd92dea)

Alison Roberts

With pride and with passion…!

Top-notch surgeons Rafael and Abbie de Luca were once the Hunter Clinic’s “dream team.” But the joyous birth of their little daughter, Ella, brought the devastating news that she was suffering from a life-threatening condition, and their idyllic life came crashing down.

Now, three months after her heartbreaking decision to ignore Rafael’s wishes and try an experimental treatment for their daughter, Abbie has returned with a recovering Ella. As she’s reunited with her proud Italian husband it’s clear that their time apart has changed them…but can they rekindle their once bright and burning passion?

CHAPTER ONE (#ua36f27db-9446-5b77-a1c2-01538fd92dea)

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?’