Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride

by Amy Andrews

  He wanted to rile her—mess her up a bit. Find out what lay beneath her dreary wardrobe, the awful glasses and her prim, carefully chosen words. Find out why she’d lied at dinner the other night. Her real story.

  ‘Would either of you care for a drink?’

  Isobella opened her eyes and addressed the air hostess. ‘No, thanks.’ Not that the woman was remotely interested in her or her beverage requirements. The dazzling redhead only had eyes for Alex.

  ‘And you, Dr Zaphirides?’

  Isobella blinked. She knew his name? Had she taken the time to look it up on the passenger list? She watched as the redhead batted her eyelids at Alex. Oh, please!

  Alex noticed Isobella’s irritation, and injected all his energy into the smile he gave the hostess. ‘Coffee, thank you.’

  Isobella watched as his dimples deepened and his attraction quotient rose into the stratosphere. Great!

  ‘Coming right up, sir.’

  Isobella shook her head at Red’s flirty gaze and exaggerated hip wiggle. She was going to have to put up with this for a week. Women fawning all over him. Spending the morning with him at the airport had been a big enough trial.

  The check-in counter woman had looked at him as if she could spread him on her toast, the teenage girl behind the coffee shop counter had stared at him as if he’d just stepped out of an Austen novel, and a grandmotherly cleaner had winked at him and given him an if-I-was-twenty-years-younger leer.

  Although, to be fair, Alex hadn’t seemed to notice any of it. He’d been polite and gentlemanly to all, including her. Maybe he was so used to being ogled that it didn’t register any more? Or maybe he was truly unaware of his effect on women?

  That was a new one for her. She’d spent her formative years surrounded by very good-looking men. All of them more than aware of their power. None of them, unfortunately, aware of their insufferable arrogance.

  Although there was an arrogance about Alex too. But it was different. It wasn’t based on his physical attributes or other frivolous, conceited notions. It seemed to come from deep inside. A confidence that seemed to define his every movement. Was it the knowledge that he was a world-class researcher doing vital work? Or was it just an innate sense of self?

  The hostess leant over Isobella as if she didn’t exist, and placed Alex’s coffee on his tray. ‘Blow on it, sir, it’s hot.’

  Alex threw another smile the hostess’s way. ‘Just the way I like it.’

  Red’s laughter tinkled lightly around them, making Isobella want to reach for her sick bag. Did Carla flirt with her passengers like this? The stewardess moved on to the seats behind them, and Isobella was grateful for the reprieve from the heavy scent she must have bathed in before coming on duty.

  The plane shuddered a little as it hit some turbulence, and Isobella grabbed for the arms of her seat, brushing Alex’s arm in the process. She hated the stomach-dropping sensation of the split-second freefall and took some deep breaths.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said tersely.

  ‘That’s it!’ Alex exclaimed, looking at her white-knuckled grip. ‘You’re a nervous flyer. That’s why you didn’t want to come.’

  ‘No.’ Isobella had been flying first class on her own from the age of fourteen. She’d racked up enough frequent flyer points to put even the most career-obsessed businessman to shame.

  ‘Public speaking brings you out in hives?’

  ‘No.’ She’d pranced on catwalks with next to nothing on in front of total strangers and hundreds of cameras for a living. Opening her mouth fully clothed was a walk in the park.

  ‘Boats, then?’

  Isobella hesitated. ‘No.’

  ‘Ah-hah!’ He honed in quickly on her slight pause. ‘It is. Do you get seasick, or is it some sort of phobia?’

  She plucked the in-flight magazine out of the pocket in front of her. ‘It’s not boats. I’m just not that…keen…on the ocean.’

  Which was true. She wasn’t looking forward to travelling to Piccolo Island. But of course there was the other terrifying thing about being away with Alex—like her completely stupid crush.

  ‘Afraid of drowning? Sharks? A Fleckeri coming to get you?’ Alex murmured.

  Her fingers tightened on the page. She’d have to be the unluckiest woman in the world to fall victim to a Fleckeri twice. No, her fear wasn’t rational. She knew that. But those few seconds when she’d been in the water, with the tentacles wrapped around her, those moments of intense paralysing agony, were burned into her psyche as indelibly as the brands on her torso.

  Even now her heart pounded in her chest at the memory of those excruciating seconds when the nematocysts had adhered to her bare midriff, firing their hot, burning poison into her body. The pain alone had nearly killed her. It had certainly driven her screaming from the water in a completely automatic flight-or-fight response, collapsing on the sand seconds later at Paolo’s feet.

  She blinked hard to erase the image, and the lingering memory of the pain and encroaching darkness. ‘I just prefer being on land.’

  ‘We do have to take a boat to Piccolo. You know that, right? It is an island, after all.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. I was aware.’ She had been trying to forget about it.

  She had argued with Alex that it wouldn’t be necessary for her to go on to Piccolo, that she could leave after presenting her paper at the symposium, but he had insisted. The Piccolo Scientific Station, situated on the northern fringe of the Great Barrier Reef, played an integral part in their research, and Alex had wanted Reg, and therefore now Isobella, to be familiar with its operations.

  She flicked a page over with more effort than was required, the harsh snapping sound mirroring her irritation. Red passed by, and Isobella asked her for a set of headphones. Alex might have cornered her into coming to Cairns, but it didn’t mean she had to like it or play footsie with him for a week.

  Seconds later Red returned, with her eyes-only-for-Alex smile, dropping the headphones in Isobella’s lap. Isobella plugged them in and pushed them into her ears gratefully, leaving the hostess to her flirting. She chose a hard rock station, roaring the sound up to a level way beyond safe.

  Alex took the hint, smiling to himself as the hostess departed. Good! Finally Isobella seemed a little het-up. She’d shut her eyes again, and he was left to ponder why her het-up state should matter so much.

  Why, contrary to all her don’t-even-think-about-it signals, Isobella Nolan was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

  Isobella woke to a gentle shake, and Mick Jagger screaming about not getting any satisfaction in her ear. Alex smiled at her as he indicated lunch was being served and she thought, Get in line, Mick. Suddenly, with his dark, dimpled good-looks filling her vision, all the lonely years seemed magnified. She removed the headphones.

  ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat or not.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. I’m starving.’ Her stomach had been tied in so many knots this morning there’d been no way any food could have found room. Alexander Zaphirides was driving her to anorexia! Something even years modelling hadn’t managed.

  ‘I can’t believe you can power-nap like that,’ Alex murmured as he investigated the contents of the dish below the sealed foil. ‘I need to be completely horizontal.’

  Isobella shrugged as she picked up her knife and fork, trying not to picture Alex horizontal. In bed. Possibly naked. ‘Old nursing skill.’

  They ate in virtual silence, apart from the odd comment about the gourmet meal. Isobella devoured her food with gusto. It had been quite a few years since she’d eaten airline food, and she appreciated the fact that she no longer had to think about minding the calories or fat content. Not that she’d ever been especially good at that.

  ‘Are you going to eat your roll?’ Isobella asked as Alex put his cutlery down, wiped his mouth on the linen napkin and placed it on top of the tray.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘Thanks,�
�� Isobella said, as she whisked it off his plate and slathered butter on it.

  Alex raised an eyebrow. A woman who wasn’t afraid to eat. Now, that was a change. He laughed.

  Isobella looked at him, her mouth full of his bread roll. ‘What?’ she managed to get out around the contents of her mouth.

  He shook his head. ‘My mother would love you.’

  Isobella swallowed. What the hell did she say to that?

  Alex laughed again at her puzzled look. ‘She’s always telling my sisters and my nieces and nephews they don’t eat enough.’

  ‘You’re an uncle?’ Isobella asked, swallowing the last of the bread.

  Alex frowned. ‘Yes. Seven nieces and five nephews. Why? Don’t I look like an uncle?’

  Alex oozed single-man-about-town, in yet another expensive suit. Charcoal, with a deep purple shirt worn, as always, open at the neck sans tie. He looked rich and successful, and most definitely not uncle material. She couldn’t imagine him kissing babies or changing nappies. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Well, I am. And a good one at that.’

  She was surprised by the pride in his voice. He obviously enjoyed his role. If he was that fond of kids, why didn’t he have a few of his own? Wasn’t that what Greek men wanted? A boy to carry on the name?

  Red stopped to collect their trays, and Isobella gave her a polite smile. Alex passed his tray up, reaching across her slightly, and Isobella felt her body hum in response to his. What would a child of Alex’s look like? Dark hair and eyes and a chubby, cherubic face? Like a little dark angel?

  ‘Do you want to go over our timetable for the week?’ Alex asked, placing his briefcase on his now cleared table.

  Isobella blinked. Anything. Anything to keep her mind off her sudden crazy desire to see Alex’s son. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay. So, Saturday and Sunday is the symposium in Cairns. It kicks off tonight with welcome cocktails.’

  Alex wondered if Isobella had brought anything suitable for a cocktail party. Did she even own anything that wasn’t drab and two sizes too big?

  ‘My paper on the effects Fleckeri antivenin has on dermonecrosis is on Saturday morning. Yours outlining the up-to-date study findings is on Sunday afternoon. Then on Monday we have the clinic all day. Did you bring the charts?’

  Isobella nodded and opened her own briefcase. ‘All twelve cases.’

  Part of the research project involved following up as many past Fleckeri envenomations as possible. Recent stings were reasonably easy, but tracking down older cases had proved very difficult. People changed addresses, and quite a few box jellyfish victims had been overseas tourists.

  But it was vital to the project to be able to get a good archive of pictures of the progression of the scarring over the years, and it was part of Isobella’s job to track down the victims.

  She’d found twelve who still lived in the Cairns area, and they were using this time up north to see those people, take a history, and gather more photographic data. To be able to build up a picture of the scarring as it evolved from the initial stages of dermonecrosis to the hallmark deep purple scars was invaluable to the study.

  But it was another reason she wasn’t looking forward to this trip. Confronting other victims, hearing their stories and seeing their scars would be challenging.

  Reg was supposed to be doing it.

  ‘Did you manage to locate that model who was stung sixteen years ago? What was her name? Izzy someone?’

  Isobella’s hand stilled momentarily on her briefcase as her heart thumped loudly in her chest. ‘Izzy Tucker.’ She’d used her mother’s maiden name when she’d been modelling.

  This was too close for comfort.

  ‘No. All my investigations led to a dead end.’

  ‘Pity,’ Alex mused. ‘Her records are an impressive read—her abdominal scarring was quite extensive. It would be interesting to see all these years down the track.’

  If only he knew… ‘Do you want to go over these cases now?’ Isobella asked, her fingers trembling on the front cover of the first chart.

  ‘Nah, we’ll have some spare time on the weekend.’

  Isobella nodded, shaken by his reference to Izzy Tucker—to her—and grateful for the reprieve from what was difficult subject matter for her. Talking to those twelve people on the phone had been surprisingly trying. The longer she put off having to delve into their lives and reflect on her own misfortune, the better.

  ‘On Tuesday we get a small plane to Temora Island, and then a boat to Piccolo.’

  Goody, goody gumdrops. ‘Excellent.’

  Alex smiled to himself. She sounded as if he’d just announced they were parachuting into a desert for forty days and nights. With no rations. He placed the itinerary back in his briefcase and stowed it at his feet.

  ‘Another coffee, Dr Zaphirides?’

  Red was back, and Isobella found herself bristling at Alex’s charm as he nodded his thanks. ‘I’ll have one too,’ she called after the hostess.

  The coffee was before them in record time. Alex reached across her slightly to take his from Red’s eager fingers, and Isobella found her gaze drawn to the slashes on his neck—as they had been most of the morning. His open shirt and olive skin were in stark contrast to the thin white lines—it was hard not to notice.

  She knew enough about scars to know that each one told its own story of torment and pain, and guessed that he must have suffered significantly. She wondered if it had been as bad as the scars seemed to suggest, and again found herself itching to touch them. Press her mouth to them.

  ‘Why don’t you just go ahead and ask?’

  His husky query rumbled in her ear, and Isobella’s startled gaze flew to his. Damn!

  ‘I’ve noticed you staring at them quite a bit.’

  She watched as he swept a hand down his neck, stroking the scars with the pads of his fingers. The rasp of his three-day growth against his palm was almost as enticing as the rasp in his voice.

  She flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.’

  Alex smiled and shrugged, used to people’s interest. ‘They’re hard to miss.’

  You could cover them up. Put on a tie. She checked her own scar was safely concealed by her polo-necked shirt before pulling her gaze from his and fixing it straight ahead on the seat in front. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Aren’t you at least curious?’

  She was the least female woman he’d ever met. She didn’t wear jewellery or make-up, she didn’t gossip, and she definitely didn’t flirt. Add to that a god-awful fashion sense and she was the full disaster. And yet her appeal grew by the second.

  She shook her head. The man showed his scars off to the world—that was way more evolved than she was going to get. She didn’t feel up to a discussion on a subject she found too emotionally fraught at the best of times. ‘It’s really none of my business.’

  Alex regarded her for a few moments. ‘Come on,’ he cajoled, dropping his head closer to her ear. ‘There must be gossip at work about me.’

  His voice rasped along her nerves. Well, duh! Of course there was. But how could he be so…so casual about it? So unaffected?

  ‘Come on, Isobella. Tell me.’

  ‘There are different versions,’ she said awkwardly, dropping her gaze from the probing intensity of his blue eyes. But now she was looking at his throat again.

  He chuckled. ‘That does sound interesting. Tell me the more outrageous ones.’

  Isobella shrugged, feeling ridiculous even repeating them. His scars were obviously surgical in origin. ‘Knife fight and shark attack.’

  Alex whistled. ‘Wow, I have led an exciting life.’

  He smiled at her, and she felt the magnetic pull of his deep dimples and Aegean gaze. Isobella was intrigued despite herself. Maybe it was the nurse in her. Or maybe it was the scarred young woman still grappling with the horrors of her own story.

  ‘So what really happened?’ she asked softly.

  Alex’s smile slipp
ed. He absently stroked his neck, thinking back to the events that had changed the entire course of his life. All the things he’d taken for granted—his career, his voice, the woman he’d loved—had all been ripped away from him in a few short months.

  The silence stretched between them, and Isobella worried that she’d overstepped a line. She better than anyone understood how difficult it was to tell some stories. His smile had disappeared and his blue eyes looked suddenly bleak.

  ‘I’m sorry—forgive me. Really…it is none of my business.’

  ‘I had throat cancer.’

  There. He’d said it. He’d never told anyone the truth before. He knew it perpetuated the outrageous rumours, but he preferred them to having to relive the horror of it all. Quite why he was even telling her was a mystery.

  Isobella shut her eyes briefly as her nursing background filled in all the gory details. She wanted to ask how—he was young and didn’t smoke—but all she could do was gasp.

  ‘Oh, Alex.’ She clutched her throat.

  Alex found her compassion captivating. He stilled as the hushed anguish in her voice washed over him. The white noise of the cabin faded until there was just her and him. Her brown gaze, usually carefully schooled, radiated shock and empathy. The aloofness he so often saw in her eyes fell away. The hardness liquefied until he was staring into a bottomless pool of rich, dark molasses.

  It was as if she knew what he’d been through. As if she’d been right there with him. Why was it that he felt more empathy from Isobella in this moment then he’d ever felt from the woman who was supposed to have loved him?

  ‘How long ago?’ she murmured

  Alex hesitated. He’d already shared too much with almost a total stranger. ‘Ten years.’

  Isobella felt the beginnings of a strange connection with him. She didn’t want to, but it was there anyway. She too had looked death in the face and conquered it. She too still bore the marks of her battle with mortality.

  There was so much she wanted to ask him. About the surgery and whether he’d needed chemo, if he’d been given the all-clear, but his face was shuttered, an untouchable mask. It was as if he already regretted telling her what he had.