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A cherishing kind of kiss...

‘You’re crying, cara.’ Rafael studied her face as he raised his head again. He used the pad of his thumb to brush away a tear.

‘It’s a wedding.’ Abbie sniffed and dipped her head, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose to force back any more tears. She looked up and tried to smile. ‘You’re allowed to cry.’

‘Si...’ Rafael was smiling back at her. ‘You’re lucky we didn’t get married in Italy. The whole village might have been crying.’

Abbie snorted softly but the sound was poignant. The registry office had only been supposed to be a first wedding—getting the formal paperwork out of the way—because Abbie hadn’t wanted to be a pregnant bride. Rafael had promised he would take her to Italy as soon as the baby could travel and they could do it all again in a village church on his beloved Amalfi Coast. She would have a beautiful dress and their families would be able to share the celebration not only of their union but the start of their family.

Was it another dream that was nothing but dust now? She had to clear her throat. ‘Happy crying, I hope.’

‘Of course. What else?’ But Rafael’s gaze had moved. Somebody was turning from a chair in the next row to greet him and conversations were starting again around them as the newlyweds moved on to sign the register. They would disappear for photographs soon and Abbie knew that the gathering would become a glittering social occasion as the wider circle of guests arrived. There were rumours that royalty was expected, even, as some of the Hunter brothers’ clients had been invited to share this celebration.

Suddenly Abbie didn’t want to be part of it.

She wanted to be alone somewhere.

With her own husband.

Maybe he felt the same way. Maybe that was why Rafael kept hold of Abbie’s hand when they were free to move around and mingle.

Abbie wasn’t complaining.

It felt better than good. It felt right.

* * *

There was no shortage of people they knew to talk to and groups formed as champagne and canapés were served by an army of waiting staff. Friends and family of the bride and groom drifted into one group and the medical personnel from the Hunter Clinic, the Lighthouse Children’s Hospital and Princess Catherine’s made up another.

‘Abbie...what a gorgeous dress.’ The office manager from the clinic, Gwen, was balancing a glass in one hand and what looked like a tiny square of rye bread topped with caviar in the other.

Rafael nodded his approval of the compliment. The new rose-pink dress was gorgeous but, in his opinion, it only worked because it made Abbie’s skin and hair look irresistibly beautiful. An elegant version of the picnic frock she had worn to the park the other day when she’d taken his breath away.

‘Thanks, Gwen. I love your hat, too.’ Abbie was eyeing the froth of flowers and feathers on Gwen’s head. ‘Though it’s more of a fascinator, isn’t it?’

‘A hybrid.’ Gwen smiled. ‘I believe it’s called a “hatinator.” Whatever next?’ She looked at the canapé her hand. ‘This is my second one of these. They’re simply delicious.’ She glanced from Abbie to Rafael. ‘You’re not eating?’

‘I wanted to hold my wife’s hand,’ Rafael said solemnly. ‘But I couldn’t refuse a glass of champagne. What is a man to do?’

He could feel an increase of pressure from the fingers entwined with his. Was Abbie privately expressing her approval of this contact?

He really didn’t want to be here, being sociable, any more. He wanted to be alone somewhere.

With Abbie.

Gwen laughed. ‘Now, there’s an idea. A new kind of diet. You could write a book and become famous.’

‘He’s already famous.’ Another figure joined their conversation. ‘I hear that they want to make a movie about transforming the lives of Afghan children and Hollywood is demanding Mr Rafael de Luca as the star.’

The deadpan manner in which this information was delivered made it sound quite plausible. But this was Edward North who was speaking, a microsurgeon who was known for being slightly eccentric and a bit of a loner. He was awkward enough in social settings for it to be quite surprising to see him attend an event like this at all.

‘Yeah, yeah...’ Rafael’s tone was mocking but he smiled to take any sting from the tone.

As if sensing a sudden tension in the air, Gwen moved away to talk to someone else and he could feel Abbie’s fingers stiff and still in his hand now.

Rafael wasn’t sure who released the contact first. Maybe it just didn’t feel right to be standing here holding hands while they were talking to Edward. Because he’d been the cause of the trouble their marriage was in now?

Or perhaps Abbie had heard that his relationship with this particular colleague had not been the best recently. He had been angry with Edward and they’d barely spoken in the last few months, but he’d been justified, hadn’t he?

Nobody could deny that Edward was a genius. Thanks to the endless nights he spent on his own reading and researching, he’d been the one to find the information on the experimental treatment that he thought Ella might be a candidate for.

He just wished that Edward had had some idea of the chaos his suggestion would have on his marriage. Had he even been aware of his misery in the last few months? Probably not. He wasn’t a father himself. As far as Rafael was aware, he wasn’t in a long-term relationship either.

Maybe, in his own way, the backhanded compliment disguised as the faux breaking news was his way of apologising. Edward was certainly aware of some undercurrents because he cleared his throat and ran a finger under his collar, as if it was uncomfortable, as he turned towards Abbie.

‘How’s Ella?’ he enquired. ‘I heard that she’s back in the Lighthouse but...I haven’t heard any details about the treatment.’

‘It seems to have worked,’ Abbie said quietly. ‘For a while there, it didn’t look like it would but—’

‘Something went wrong?’ Edward was frowning. ‘Not graft versus host disease?’ He shook his head. ‘No, that wouldn’t happen. It’s the patient’s own T cells that are being reengineered, isn’t it? So that they’ll recognise and attach to the CD19 protein that’s on the surface of B cells.’

‘There’s another protein,’ Abbie told him. ‘I’ll have to look up what it is for you but it’s the same one that’s involved with rheumatoid arthritis. Anyway, the levels got very elevated because of the new T cells and Ella became critically ill. She was in the intensive-care unit for weeks.’

Edward looked like he was making a mental note to investigate the unnamed protein himself. ‘What did they use to treat her?’

‘The same drugs they use for rheumatoid. With quite dramatic results. Her fever and temperature dropped rapidly and she was taken off the ventilator much sooner than any of us had hoped for.’

The atmosphere became even more strained. Edward looked vaguely appalled, as if how dangerous the treatment had been hadn’t occurred to him when he’d suggested it.

‘It did work in the end,’ Abbie said. ‘We wouldn’t have even known about it if it hadn’t been for you. And we couldn’t be more grateful.’

We.

They were both looking at him now. It was Rafael’s turn to clear his throat. He tilted his head in acknowledgement of his own gratitude. Of course he was grateful for Ella’s state of health but he still had the damage to his marriage undermining his happiness. Was it any wonder it was hard to make amends with Edward?

‘Thank you,’ he said aloud, finally. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t said so before.’

The apology seemed to be accepted but a new silence fell now and everybody was clearly trying to think of a way to break it. It was Abbie who turned her head and seemed to be looking for someone.

‘They’re taking a long time, aren’t they?’

‘Who?’ Edward looked puzzled.

‘Leo and Lizzie. I know they went for photographs but that was ages ago. They should be back by now. Look at all the new arrivals. The breakfast must be due to start.’

‘Oh...didn’t you hear? There was a helicopter waiting for them. Leo whisked Lizzie off to go and visit her parents in Brighton.’

‘Good grief... Really?’