at Manchester Airport and within a few hours they were in London. They had an appointment at the hospital, where his friend James Burton was a consultant cardiologist, first thing the following morning. It was strange to be back in the staff apartment she had occupied when she had been Dante’s cook, Rebekah thought as she climbed into bed. It had been equally strange that Dante had cooked her dinner.
‘You’re dead on your feet,’ he’d said when she had offered to cook. ‘Go and sit down while I make you something to eat. Just don’t expect miracles,’ he’d added with a wry smile that for some reason had made her want to burst into tears.
In fact the herb omelette he served was delicious, and after they’d eaten they watched a couple of TV programmes, which helped to occupy her mind for a while. To her surprise, they slipped into their old companionship that reminded her of the month they had spent in Tuscany, and she wished they could turn back the clock to those golden days when they had been friends as well as lovers.
Worrying about the baby meant that Rebekah barely slept that night and she was pale and tense the next morning when she lay on the couch in the hospital room while a more detailed scan was carried out. James Burton’s calm manner was reassuring, but as the minutes ticked by and he continued to study the baby’s heart on the screen, Rebekah could not hide her fear.
She remembered when she’d had a scan during her first pregnancy, the nurse had grown quiet and had called for a doctor, who had broken the news to her that her baby was dead.
Panic surged through her. ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid there is,’ James said gently.
Terrified, she gripped Dante’s hand and felt him squeeze her fingers. His expression was shuttered, but she sensed his grim tension.
‘What exactly is the problem?’ he asked.
‘Your son has a partial atrial septal defect, which is sometimes known as a hole in the heart. It is a treatable condition, but the baby will require heart surgery, probably when he is a few months old—’ the consultant hesitated ‘—but possibly sooner after birth, depending on his condition.’
Rebekah swallowed hard. ‘Could … could he die?’
‘My medical team will do everything possible to help him.’ James’s expression was gravely sympathetic. ‘But I would be lying if I said there was no risk.’ He studied Rebekah’s ashen face and glanced at Dante. ‘While Rebekah gets dressed, why don’t we go into my office and I’ll give you as much information as I can?’
Dante felt numb. He moved like an automaton, and once inside James’s office he sank onto a chair and dropped his head into his hands. In his mind he could see the scan image of his son. Although the image had been grainy, he’d seen that the baby was already fully formed, right down to ten tiny fingers and toes, and Dante had wanted to touch the screen, as if he could somehow make contact with his unborn child. Dio, he had been so concerned with demanding his paternal rights. But now there was no certainty that he would have a child. He felt an agonising pain like a red-hot knife skewering his stomach as the realisation sunk in that his son’s life was in danger and there was nothing he could do to help him.
He swallowed the shot of brandy James handed him and concentrated hard on the medical information regarding the baby’s heart problem so that he could explain it all to Rebekah later. What must she be thinking? He recalled the stark fear in her eyes as the cardiologist had broken the news of the baby’s heart condition. Slamming his glass down on the desk, he jerked to his feet.
‘I have to see Rebekah,’ he said raggedly. ‘I need to be with her.’
‘Take it easy, old man.’ James put a hand on his shoulder and steered him over to a door at the back of the office that led to a small private garden. ‘Have five minutes to calm down. You’re going to need to be strong for her.’
Rebekah still had a door key to Dante’s house, which she used to let herself in. He wasn’t at home, but she hadn’t really expected him to be. When she had walked out of the changing cubicle after the scan she’d walked up and down the corridor, searching for him. Eventually she had gone back and asked James Burton’s secretary if she knew where he had gone.
‘I saw him go out about ten minutes ago,’ the woman had informed her.
He had left the hospital! Still dazed with shock at the diagnosis of the baby’s heart condition, Rebekah had reeled at this further blow. Dante had disappeared without even leaving a message to say where he had gone. There was only one explanation she could think of. He must have been deeply shocked to learn that his son’s chance of being born safely was uncertain. Maybe he had decided that he could not cope with the possibility of losing another child, she thought bleakly. She knew he had been devastated when he had discovered that the little boy Ben, who he had believed was his son, was another man’s child. Now, having been told of the baby’s prognosis, perhaps he intended to walk away rather than risk being hurt again.
She’d caught a cab back to his house and immediately started to pack the few clothes she had left behind when they had gone to Tuscany—a lifetime ago, it seemed. Suddenly her fragile control of her emotions cracked and she sank down onto the bed, harsh, painful sobs tearing her chest. She felt so scared for her baby and so desperately alone. She knew she must try to be strong. Her son was totally dependent on her—poor little scrap. It seemed so unbearably cruel that not only would he have to fight for his life, but his father had abandoned him.
When Dante walked through the front door, the sound of weeping directed him down to the basement level. The raw, heartrending cries ripped him apart, but he felt relieved that at least he had found Rebekah.
‘Why did you leave the hospital without me?’ he demanded raggedly as he strode into her bedroom. ‘I was waiting for you, but then James said he had seen you get into a taxi, and I thought …’ He closed his eyes briefly as he recalled his shock and confusion when he’d realised Rebekah had left the hospital. ‘I didn’t know what to think,’ he admitted thickly.
He opened his eyes and felt something snap inside him as he stared at her ravaged, tear-stained face. Rebekah did not cry prettily. Her face was blotchy and strands of hair were stuck to her wet cheeks.
‘Tesoro …’ Dante’s voice shook and he tasted his own tears at the back of his throat. The sight of his strong, wonderful Rebekah so utterly distraught affected him more than anything had ever done in his life. ‘Oh, my angel,’ he said hoarsely, ‘we’ll get through this.’
Rebekah cried harder, her shoulders heaving. After the strain of the previous twenty-four hours and the devastating news that her baby’s life was at risk, Dante’s appearance was one shock too many. ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she choked. ‘I thought you’d left me and the baby, be … because you couldn’t cope with his heart problem.’
‘Sweetheart, I will never leave you.’ Dante dashed a hand across his eyes and dropped to his knees beside the bed, drawing her shuddering body into his arms. She smelled of roses and, despite the fact that his emotions felt as if they had been put through a mangle, he knew with sudden startling clarity that he belonged with Rebekah and she was who he had been searching for all his life.
‘I’m going to take care of you and our son.’ He stroked her hair back from her face with an unsteady hand. Everything was falling into place and he was desperate to convince her that he did not care about parental rights or duty. The only important thing was how he felt about her and how, he prayed, she felt about him.
‘Please, cara,’ he said in a voice shaking with emotion, ‘will you marry me so that I can be your protector and provider and everything that a husband who is devoted to his wife and child should be?’
Rebekah shook her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks. ‘There’s no reason for you to marry me. We might not have a baby …’ The thought was so unbearable that she felt a tearing pain inside her. ‘And then you would be trapped in a pointless marriage,’ she whispered, ‘with a wife