The Sicilian Doctor's Proposal

‘He’s generally considered a heartthrob.’ There was a speculative look on his face as he glanced towards her. ‘Women go weak at the knees when he walks into a room.’

Great. The last thing she needed was a Romeo who was distracted by everything female.

‘Some women are foolish like that.’ Alice stood up and reached for her jacket. ‘Just as long as he doesn’t break more hearts than he heals, then I really don’t mind what he does when he isn’t working here.’

‘There’s more to life than work, Alice.’

‘Then go out there and enjoy it,’ she advised, a smile on her face. ‘And leave me to enjoy mine.’

CHAPTER ONE (#ufafd4de0-bfb2-5aa6-8ba6-069a43f99527)

GIOVANNI MORETTI stood at the top of the narrow cobbled street, flexed his broad shoulders to try and ease the tension from the journey and breathed in the fresh, clean sea air. Above him, seagulls shrieked and swooped in the hope of benefiting from the early morning catch.

Sounds of the sea.

He paused for a moment, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans, his dark eyes slightly narrowed as he scanned the pretty painted cottages that led down to the busy harbour. Window-boxes and terracotta pots were crammed full with brightly coloured geraniums and tumbling lobelia and a smile touched his handsome face. Before today he’d thought that places like this existed only in the imagination of artists. It was as far from the dusty, traffic-clogged streets of Milan as it was possible to be, and he felt a welcome feeling of calm wash over him.

He’d been right to agree to take this job, he mused silently, remembering all the arguments he’d been presented with. Right to choose this moment to slow the pace of his life and leave Italy.

It was early in the morning but warm, tempting smells of baking flavoured the air and already the street seemed alive with activity.

A few people in flip-flops and shorts, who he took to be tourists, meandered down towards the harbour in search of early morning entertainment while others jostled each other in their eagerness to join the queue in the bakery and emerged clutching bags of hot, fragrant croissants and rolls.

His own stomach rumbled and he reminded himself that he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d left Milan the night before. Fast food had never interested him. He preferred to wait for the real thing. And the bakery looked like the real thing.

He needed a shower and a shave but there was no chance of that until he’d picked up the key to his accommodation and he doubted his new partner was even in the surgery yet. He glanced at his watch and decided that he just about had time to eat something and still time his arrival to see her just before she started work.

He strolled into the bakery and smiled at the pretty girl behind the counter. ‘Buongiorno—good morning.’

She glanced up and caught the smile. Her blue eyes widened in feminine appreciation. ‘Hello. What can I offer you?’

It was obvious from the look in those eyes that she was prepared to offer him the moon but Gio ignored the mute invitation he saw in her eyes and studied the pastries on offer, accustomed to keeping women at a polite distance. He’d always been choosy when it came to women. Too choosy, some might say. ‘What’s good?’

‘Oh—well…’ The girl lifted a hand to her face, her cheeks suddenly pink. ‘The pain au chocolat is my favourite but the almond croissant is our biggest seller. Take away or eat in?’

For the first time Gio noticed the small round tables covered in cheerful blue gingham, positioned by the window at the back of the shop. ‘Eat in.’ It was still so early he doubted that his partner had even reached the surgery yet. ‘I’ll take an almond croissant and a double espresso. Grazie.’

He selected the table with the best view over the harbour. The coffee turned out to be exceptionally good, the croissant wickedly sweet, and by the time he’d finished the last of his breakfast he’d decided that spending the summer in this quaint little village was going to be no hardship at all.

‘Are you on holiday?’ The girl on the till was putting croissants into bags faster than the chef could take them from the oven and still the queue didn’t seem to diminish.

Gio dug his hand into his pocket and paid the bill. ‘Not on holiday.’ Although a holiday would have been welcome, he mused, his eyes still on the boats bobbing in the harbour. ‘I’m working.’

‘Working?’ She handed him change. ‘Where?’

‘Here. I’m a doctor. A GP, to be precise.’ It still felt strange to him to call himself that. For years he’d been a surgeon and he still considered himself to be a surgeon. But fate had decreed otherwise.

‘You’re our new doctor?’

He nodded, aware that after driving through the night he didn’t exactly look the part. He could have been evasive, of course, but his new role in the community was hardly likely to remain a secret for long in a place this small. And, anyway, he didn’t believe in being evasive. What was the harm in announcing himself? ‘Having told you that, I might as well take advantage of your local knowledge. How does Dr Anderson take her coffee?’

All that he knew about his new partner was what David had shared in their brief phone conversation. He knew that she was married to her job, very academic and extremely serious. Already he’d formed an image of her in his mind. Tweed skirt, flat heels, horn-rimmed glasses—he knew the type. Had met plenty like her in medical school.

‘Dr Anderson? That’s easy.’ The girl smiled, her eyes fixed on his face in a kind of trance. ‘Same as you. Strong and black.’

‘Ah.’ His new partner was obviously a woman of taste. ‘And what does she eat?’

The girl continued to gaze at him and then seemed to shake herself. ‘Eat? Actually, I’ve never seen her eat anything.’ She shrugged. ‘Between the tourists and the locals, we probably keep her too busy to give her time to eat. Or maybe she isn’t that interested in food.’

Gio winced and hoped it was the former. He couldn’t imagine developing a good working partnership with someone who wasn’t interested in food. ‘In that case, I’ll play it safe and take her a large Americano.’ Time enough to persuade her of the benefits of eating. ‘So the next thing you can do is direct me to the surgery. Or maybe Dr Anderson won’t be there yet.’

It wasn’t even eight o’clock.

Perhaps she slept late, or maybe—

‘Follow the street right down to the harbour and it’s straight in front of you. Blue door. And she’ll be there.’ The girl pressed a cap onto the coffee-cup. ‘She was up half the night with the Bennetts’ six-year-old. Asthma attack.’

Gio lifted an eyebrow. ‘You know that?’

The girl shrugged and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Around here, everyone knows everything.’ She handed him the coffee and his change. ‘Word gets around.’

‘So maybe she’s having a lie-in.’

The girl looked at the clock. ‘I doubt it. Dr Anderson doesn’t sleep much and, anyway, surgery starts soon.’

Gio digested that piece of information with interest. If she worked that hard, no wonder she took her coffee strong and black.

With a parting smile at the girl he left the bakery and followed her instructions, enjoying the brief walk down the steep cobbled street, glancing into shop windows as he passed.

The harbour was bigger than he’d expected, crowded with boats that bobbed and danced under the soft seduction of the sea. Tall masts clinked in the soft breeze and across the harbour he saw a row of shops and a blue door with a brass nameplate. The surgery.

A few minutes later he pushed open the surgery door and blinked in surprise. What had promised to be a small, cramped building proved to be light, airy and spacious. Somehow he’d expected something entirely different—somewhere dark and tired, like some of the surgeries he’d visited in London. What he hadn’t expected was this bright, calming environment designed to soothe and relax.

Above his head glass panels threw light across a neat waiting room and on the far side of the room a children’s corner overflowed with an abundance of toys in bright primary colours. A table in a glaring, cheerful red was laid with pens and sheets of paper to occupy busy hands.

On the walls posters encouraged patients to give up smoking and have their blood pressure checked and there were leaflets on first aid and adverts for various local clinics.

It seemed that nothing had been forgotten.

Gio was just studying a poster in greater depth when he noticed the receptionist.

She was bent over the curved desk, half-hidden from view as she sifted through a pile of results. Her honey blonde hair fell to her shoulders and her skin was creamy smooth and untouched by sun. She was impossibly slim, wore no make-up and the shadows under her eyes suggested that she worked harder than she should. She looked fragile, tired and very young.

Gio’s eyes narrowed in an instinctively masculine assessment.

She was beautiful, he decided, and as English as scones and cream. His eyes rested on her cheekbones and then dropped to her perfectly shaped, soft mouth. He found himself thinking of summer fruit—strawberries, raspberries, redcurrants…

Something flickered to life inside him.