Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8. Chantelle Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘A car would suffice.’

      ‘You never know,’ he said, and he was serious now, his eyes showing a strength that made her tummy flip and flop.

      ‘Mr and Mrs Herrera.’ Dr López returned, a kindly smile on his face. He must have been in his sixties, with steel-grey hair and a lined face, and his experience gave Amelia confidence. ‘I have this,’ he said, holding up a bottle. ‘It will feel cold at first, okay?’

      Amelia nodded, lying back on the narrow bed.

      Dr López pushed Amelia’s shirt up, right to the ridge of her bra, and he wiggled the waistband of her skirt lower, exposing her gently rounded stomach. The gel he applied was ice-cold but it wasn’t unpleasant, given the heat and humidity of the day.

      Once he’d finished, he smiled reassuringly and moved to the other side of the bed. ‘Let us take a look.’

      Amelia was inexplicably nervous and, almost as though he understood that, Antonio reached out and curved his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers in his. She blinked up at him and a throb of strong emotion passed between them. She wrenched her gaze away, hating that her hormones made her so close to tears at present.

      Dr López pressed the ultrasound wand to her belly, firmly enough that she was slightly uncomfortable, and now she squeezed Antonio’s hand.

      ‘Okay?’ he asked huskily.

      ‘Yeah,’ she whispered.

      ‘The baby is playing hide and seek,’ the doctor reassured them both. ‘Just a minute.’

      Amelia held her breath, waiting—tense, nervous, anxious, delirious with every emotion she could imagine.

      ‘And you have not been unwell?’ Dr López asked, his expression infuriatingly blank.

      Amelia swallowed. ‘No. I mean, I’ve been a little sick sometimes.’

      ‘Good.’ He nodded, and Amelia relaxed. Beside her, though, she was aware of tension emanating from Antonio that caused her heart to twist in her chest.

      ‘You can see here your baby—’ Dr Lopez pointed to the screen ‘—lying on its back, see?’

      ‘Whoa...’ Amelia blinked, tears filling her eyes now, and Antonio squeezed her hand tight ‘...that’s our baby.’ She blinked up at her husband and the sight of him, still as a rock, his own eyes suspiciously moist, made everything hurt.

      ‘Yes, looking quite happy, you’d have to say.’

      Their baby was still so tiny, just a blip on the screen, but already her heart was bursting with love and total vulnerability.

      ‘You will need to come back in a month or so,’ Dr López said, pushing the screen away and handing Amelia a soft towel. She wiped her stomach clean of gel and then placed a hand over her belly.

      ‘And this is my card, with my personal number,’ he addressed Antonio.

      Her husband took the card with a curt nod. No gratitude, nothing to express that the chief of the hospital giving his private number to a patient was anything unusual. Because he was used to that kind of treatment. Doors opened for Antonio. He got what he wanted, when he wanted it.

      ‘If you have any concerns at any time, you may call,’ Dr Lopez continued. ‘Otherwise, I’ll see you in another month.’

      He pulled some small square pieces of paper from beneath the screen and handed them to Amelia. Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the grainy first photographs of her baby.

      And then, slowly, she looked at Antonio and bit down on her lip. Because, whatever doubts she’d had about this marriage, whatever had come before, in that moment—she had none. No doubts, no reservations, no regrets. She reached for his hand and squeezed it, her smile brighter than a thousand suns.

      ‘Can you believe it?’

      He shook his head slowly. ‘Not even for a moment.’ He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and then leaned down, pressing a kiss to her cheek, so close to the corner of her lips that a small nudge of her face in that direction would have connected lips to lips. But she stayed still, her eyes blinking closed as she breathed him in.

      ‘Shall we go for lunch, Mrs Herrera?’

      Right on cue, her stomach gave a low grumble and she nodded slowly. ‘That sounds like a fine idea.’

      * * *

      Just a little way from the Parque del Retiro, down a small side street with brightly coloured buildings on either side, lined with large trees and small colourful shrubs, was a restaurant so exclusive there was no visible name. Just a black door—easily missed unless you knew where you were going—showed the entrance.

      Antonio pressed a hand in the small of Amelia’s back, the touch purely civil—it was a gesture that wouldn’t have been out of place between colleagues, yet it was like a match being sparked low in her abdomen, and tiny flames burned in every single nerve ending. He pressed a button and a minute later a waiter appeared, wearing jeans and a white shirt, with a butcher’s apron tied around his waist. He addressed them in rapid-fire Spanish, so Antonio responded in English.

      ‘For two, on the terrace.’

      ‘Immediately,’ the waiter said, switching effortlessly to Amelia’s native language.

      The small door opened into a huge room, so light and airy it was like being in the countryside. Windows that should have looked out onto the street had been screened with green, creating the illusion of being in a garden paradise, and the ceilings were at least three storeys high.

      There was a lift at the back and the waiter pressed a button, waiting beside them for it to arrive. Once the doors had opened, he held the doors then reached inside to press a button, before nodding and spinning on his heel.

      The lift ascended swiftly—it took only seconds—and then they were on a terrace that exceeded all of Amelia’s expectations. It overlooked the park, showing verdant rolling hills in one direction, and large trees grew in huge pots, jasmine scrambled over a pergola and the tables were placed haphazardly—scattered at random, so that no one table was near another.

      It was perfect—private, intimate and clearly exclusive without being off-putting.

      ‘Ah, Mr Herrera.’ Another waiter appeared, this one a little older, with his dark hair thinning at the temples, his eyes holding Antonio’s before transferring to Amelia. ‘Lovely of you to join us again.’

      Amelia ignored the instant surge of jealousy at that—because of course Antonio had frequented this restaurant before, and presumably not alone. It was the perfect place to bring a date—hadn’t she just been thinking so? She straightened her spine, telling herself she didn’t—couldn’t, shouldn’t—care.

      ‘This way, please.’ The waiter smiled at Amelia and then guided them to a table right at the edge of the terrace. Here, the fragrance of jasmine was exquisite and a nearby citrus tree in a pot was in blossom, so there was a faint humming of feeding bees, their pollen collectors glistening yellow in the afternoon light. The sun was high in the sky yet it wasn’t unbearably warm. Amelia took the seat Antonio had held out for her, letting her gaze СКАЧАТЬ