‘However, we do have the option of surgery in a CO2-filled uterus,’ the consultant added quickly. ‘A laparotomy with fetoscopic release of the bands, along with a partial amnionectomy, likely through two uterine ports, with CO2 as distention.’
‘So you’ll cut the bands, remove them from the baby’s limbs, then what?’ she asked.
‘We’ll cut them away and remove them from your uterus, as well as any amnion.’
‘What about Saskia and the baby?’ Malachi cut in. ‘How do you monitor them to make sure they’re both okay?’
‘Normal cardiac function for Saskia will be monitored by heart rate, mitral regurgitation and motion of the heart.’ The consultant smiled encouragingly. ‘The baby’s cardiac function will be intermittently monitored by a separate paediatric cardiologist, using an ultrasound probe placed directly into the uterus to produce an image of the baby’s heart.’
‘And once the surgery is complete?’ Saskia asked.
‘We’ll remove the gas and replace it with warmed saline, remove the ports and suture the uterine openings. Then, once we’ve returned the uterus to the abdomen, we’ll close up.’
‘When will I be able to take her home?’ Malachi cut in, and the concern in his voice touched her.
‘We won’t know until we do the scan,’ her colleague advised.
‘But what are the possibilities?’ he pushed.
‘It could be anything from a couple of days to bed rest and a hospital stay for the remainder of the pregnancy—we just don’t know. But so long as the recovery is smooth you should be discharged within seventy-two hours—although we’ll want to do follow-up scans on a weekly basis.’
‘Right...’ Saskia managed weakly, and her colleague excused herself to confirm the soonest slot for surgery.
She could live with that. She could live with anything so long as it meant that her baby was going to be all right.
‘We will get through this.’ Malachi pulled her to him as they sat alone in the room. ‘Us and our baby.’
She leaned gratefully against his chest, letting the warmth of his body radiate strength into her and breathing in the woodsy scent that was essentially Malachi.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘For what?’
‘For being here. For...caring.’
His hands moved to her shoulders and he drew her away so he could look at her. ‘Did you expect anything less, zvyozdochka? It is my baby, too.’
‘I know,’ she acknowledged. ‘And I’m sorry if you thought I was trying to exclude you. I suppose I just wanted what...what my parents had, without allowing for the fact that we are different. Our circumstances are different.’
‘I can’t give you what you want,’ he murmured. ‘You want a dramatic, passionate marriage like your parents’, but...that isn’t who I am.’
‘I know,’ she began, but then the words stopped in her throat.
Did she know that? Really?
She’d thought she’d known. Only the longer she was with Malachi and the more she saw of his kindness, the more she was beginning to question her childhood. Or, at least, the version that was in her head. She talked about their great love affair as if that somehow explained their actions, and how it had ultimately impacted on her—the daughter they were meant to have loved.
Yet now—because of Malachi—she was forced to consider what love really looked like. Volatile, passionate, but ultimately destructive, as they had been? Or was Malachi’s quiet, strong steadfastness how love should really look?
But for his child, that baby that she was carrying, she reminded herself hastily. Not for her. She couldn’t afford to forget that distinction.
‘It will be who you are. One day. When you find the right person,’ she told him softly, swallowing hard and forcing an upbeat tone to try and keep the regret out of her voice. ‘Clearly that person isn’t me, but no matter what you will be welcome in your child’s life. I will never stop you being a part of that. We’ll work out a system that works for both for us, and for the baby.’
She’d thought it was the right thing to say. The balanced thing. But Malachi stiffened against her, placing his hands at her shoulders and pulling her from him.
‘Am I to thank you for your benevolence?’
His voice abraded her skin. She could feel his repressed anger through every hair follicle on her arms and neck. But she still didn’t know what she’d said wrong.
‘Even now, through all of this, you’re trying to square everything away. Tying me up like some kind of loose end.’
‘That’s not what I’m doing,’ she denied.
‘Oh, yes, zvyozdochka, that’s exactly what you’re doing,’ he seethed. ‘You’re frightened about handing over the fate of this baby to the surgeons—your colleagues—so you’re trying to control everything else instead.’
‘No...’ She shook her head, but she couldn’t deny that he had introduced an element of doubt.
Hadn’t Anouk always teased her for being a micro-manager? And Andy had been less forgiving, calling her a control freak¸ and a couple of other less palatable names.
‘But I warn you that I won’t be boxed away like that,’ Malachi continued. ‘And if you try you will soon find the terms I am capable of exacting in response.’
‘What kind of terms?’ she asked, despite herself.
‘You don’t want to know,’ he said ominously.
She ought to feel afraid. Instead she felt something else. Exhilaration?
‘Actually, I rather think I do.’ She lifted her head boldly, her gaze colliding with his and holding it.
The tension stretched between them.
‘Not now,’ he said abruptly.
But she shook her head. ‘Precisely now.’
His black look would have had any number of other people—male and female—cowering, but suddenly Saskia realised that she didn’t feel intimidated or afraid when it came to Malachi. She never had.
She’d thought it was only a physical attraction they shared, but the truth was that she’d always felt safe with this man. Secure. Especially now.
The revelation knocked the air from her lungs.
So what did that even mean?
But then there was no time to ponder it, because he was speaking, and it occurred to her that he was doing what she’d asked and telling her what she’d wanted to know.
‘Our baby is fragile. Too fragile to be put at any more risk than necessary.’
‘I know...’ She murmured her agreement.
‘And, whilst I understand you love your career as a doctor, there is no way I can believe this high-pressure environment is going to be good for this pregnancy.’
She knew that, too. She’d been thinking about little else since those first pains had started during the hectic rush of the major incident.
‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that after the surgery I will be taking you away somewhere so you can rest and you and our baby will be taken care of. I know you love your job—God knows I understand that better than most—but you will not rush back to it and risk yourself or our baby.’
‘Taking me where?’
‘It will depend how your recovery goes. But if it’s smooth then I have a place in Italy. I intend to take you there.’
‘Italy?’ she echoed weakly.
‘It’s quiet, and safe, and you can rest there without the worries of everyday life. I will ensure that you have dedicated specialists on hand, and your health and that of our baby will be of paramount importance.’
Vaguely she thought she ought to be objecting. Instead all she could ask was, ‘Will you be there, too?’
‘I have no intention of being anywhere else,’ he gritted out.
Something a little too close to relief trickled through her, but she did her best to conceal
it. There was no need for him to find out how dependent upon him she was starting to feel. He was spooked enough at the idea of emotional intimacy with her.
‘Okay.’
‘And we will marry, Saskia. For the baby’s sake. I can assure you of that.’
The worst of it was that she had to bite her tongue not to simply agree to that, too. Even if he was doing it for the wrong reasons, part of her couldn’t help but feel it was the right solution.
At least she would have him in her life. And after the last few days she was beginning to find it harder and harder to envisage a future with her baby and without Malachi closely entwined in it.
‘We’ll see,’ she managed instead, acutely aware that this time it wasn’t an outright refusal.
His eyes held hers and, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away. The stayed like that for longer than she could tell—an eternity, perhaps—until they heard the consultant returning and he finally dropped his hands.
She felt the loss acutely.
CHAPTER TEN
THE HELICOPTER TOUCHED down in the grounds of a fourteenth-century castello, complete with square tower, just as fresh flakes of snow were falling on the Tuscan mountains, which rose majestically around them. It was as though Malachi himself had commanded it.
The surgery a week ago had been a success, and the baby—a baby girl—appeared to be thriving. The fact that, although she had lost some amniotic fluid during the surgery, the levels had risen again very quickly post-surgery made Saskia feel as though her body was at least now doing what it was supposed to do. Although she hadn’t voiced that particular dark thought to anyone—not even Malachi.
The strands which had been entangling the baby had all been cut, and already the swelling in the left foot had begun to reduce—although she would need Z-plasty for the grooves postnatally. The slight clubbing would also be corrected post-birth, with a brace, but to all intents and purposes she now seemed to be healthy and developing well.
And through it all Malachi had barely left her side. He’d made her feel cared for. Supported. It was little wonder that she felt more of a bond with him than ever, even if she knew it was hopeless and not a little foolhardy.
It was why now, as they descended the stairs from the helicopter, Saskia concentrated on taking in the breathtaking views.
If she hadn’t been pregnant she would have been thrilled to be coming here and taking advantage of the skiing on offer, from the lava domes of Amiata to the ski slopes of Abetone. She knew from the few photos she’d seen around Malachi’s apartment that he went glacial abseiling and scaling frozen waterfalls in his rare downtime. Now she realised that it must be here that he came to get away from it all.
What did it mean that he’d invited her into this private bolthole of his? Or was she reading too much into it?
She was still mulling it over as Malachi steered her around the helicopter and she finally turned towards the castle itself. It had taken a slow drive to the airfield, his private jet to Italy, and a helicopter ride to get here, but now that she had finally arrived she knew it was worth it.
It stole the very air from her lungs.
The place was magnificent. Stone walls with battlements, sloping bases and arched windows made it impossible for her not to imagine the frescoed walls and coffered ceilings which must surely lie inside. And the building’s beauty was matched only by the oaks and cypresses and ilex shrubs which framed it.
‘It’s a wonder you ever come back to London,’ she murmured to him, wondering why it felt so instantly comfortable, familiar to her.
Like a home.
It was almost a relief that her words were whipped away, unheard, by the roar of the heli.
Together they made their way across the lawns, glistening white under a thin veil of snow, to the housekeeper, who was waiting at the door.
‘I told you to stay inside in the warmth, Imelda,’ Malachi admonished, and Saskia was shocked to see the little, rotund older lady, with a faint West Country accent, throwing her arms around him and kissing him soundly on each cheek.
‘I stayed at the door, didn’t I?’ she teased. ‘It’s so good to have you back, Malachi.’ Then she turned with a warm smile. ‘You must be Saskia—welcome to the castello. We’re all just so delighted to meet the future Mrs Gunn.’
Saskia froze, but the woman seemed too caught up in the moment to notice.
‘For pity’s sake, bring the girl inside—she’ll be catching her death. Shall I have hot drinks brought to you? The fires have been lit throughout.’
‘Lovely, Imelda, thank you,’ Malachi agreed. ‘We shall be in the library, I think.’
‘You have an English housekeeper?’
‘I’ve known Imelda for almost fifteen years now. I bought this place with my first million, and her late husband was the builder who oversaw much of the renovation work.’
‘You didn’t do it yourself, then?’ she teased.
‘I did what I could.’ Malachi shrugged. ‘But I was still working a lot in the UK back then.’
She waited for him to elaborate further, but he didn’t, instead ushering her through long criss-crossing corridors until they stepped through a door into what was clearly the library.
Old leather-bound tomes upon old leather-bound tomes lay behind pretty wrought-iron-framed doors. Wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling, save for the gargantuan stone fireplace with its timber mantelshelf which took up a third of one wall, and the two leaded windows, complete with deep sides and cushioned window seats, which nestled into the other.
As they stood in silence, the only noise was the welcoming crackle of the fire as the shadows began to dance around the room. It was only too easy for Saskia to imagine whiling away the rest of her pregnancy here.
He ushered her into the room, taking such tender care of her, before crossing the floor to throw himself into a generous wingback chair, whilst she weighed up the merits of the rest of the seating.
The window seats would afford her a good view, but the wingback chair that matched Malachi’s was closer to that inviting fire. So she made her way over and there they sat, in companionable silence, until Imelda brought their drinks, along with some homemade biscuits, still warm from the oven. The older woman fussed over her, ensuring she was comfortable and pain-free, all the while bossing Malachi about and making certain that he was taking care of Saskia.
‘She treats you more like a son than an employer,’ Saskia said, smiling, when Imelda left the room at last, finally satisfied that her new patient was as comfortable as she could possibly be.
‘In many ways she’s the mother I never had,’ Malachi answered—then stopped sharply, as though he hadn’t intended to say anything at all.
‘She obviously cares about you a great deal,’ she ventured, then waited, hoping that he would say more.
Her heart flip-flopped madly. She knew he had set up the Care to Play charity because she’d met him at the ball, and judging by his close relationship with families like Izzy and Michelle she knew he was more than just financially invested. But Malachi, like his brother, Sol, was such a closed book that those few details were the sum of her knowledge.
It was all Saskia could do not to fall on this new scrap of information as if it was an oasis in the desert and she was a dying woman. But inside she was aching to know more. To understand what made Malachi who he was. To learn what drove him on.
Clearly he didn’t intend to elaborate, and she tried not to feel hurt that, even after everything they’d been through with their own little miracle, he still didn’t trust her enough to want to open up to her.
It ought to be the wake-up call she needed to remember to keep her guard up where Malachi Gunn was concerned. It was futile to keep wanting—imagining—more with him. In his eyes, their agreement was nothing more than the extension of a business agreement.
S
he forced herself to take a mouthful of the delicious biscuit. Then another. Anything but give in to the temptation to ask him more about himself and risk him shutting down on her.
But eventually the silence got to her. ‘How long are you going to stay?’ Saskia spoke at last, when they were alone again.
Really, after Imelda’s comments about the future Mrs Gunn, there was only one question Saskia wanted to ask, but she feared it would start an argument and she didn’t want that. Not when they’d only just arrived.
‘I’m here to make sure you and the baby recuperate.’
Not exactly the answer she had been looking for.
‘What about work?’ she tried instead. ‘How will you keep up to date?’
‘What makes you think I’ll be working?’
‘Because you’re a workaholic. You’ll go crazy being here for too long and not overseeing your business.’
His lips pulled into a crooked smile, as if he was conceding her point. ‘I can email...do video conferences.’
‘It’s beautiful here. I can see why you would enjoy bringing lots of people to see it.’
‘Are you fishing, Saskia?’ he asked mildly. ‘Because I can tell you it isn’t one of your more attractive qualities.’
Had she been fishing? She hadn’t intended to, but she supposed it was a possibility. Was she here because she was the mother of his baby—someone special—or did he bring many of his ‘dates’—for want of a better term—to his private castello?
She discreetly released her grip on the arms of her chair, but it was too much to hope Malachi wouldn’t notice. His sharp eyes missed nothing. But she was surprised when he answered.
‘I don’t make it a habit of bringing people here, no. In fact, you are the only person, other than Sol, I have ever brought here. But you shouldn’t read too much into that.’
Her heart jolted. She fought to remain passive. To remind herself that it wasn’t really about her at all.
‘Because I’m pregnant with your child?’ she asserted quietly.
He didn’t reply but he did incline his head, if only a fraction. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed.
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