A Night with the Italian Doctor (Hot Italian Surgeons #1)

Chapter 1

Every maternal instinct Nat Davies owned roared to the surface at the downcast head and the dark curly hair.

There was something about the slump to the little boy’s shoulders and the less than enthusiastic way he was colouring in a rather dapper looking frog with a jaunty hat.

He seemed separate from the other children laughing and playing around him, and it roused her inner mother lion.

He was the only stationary object in a room full of movement. And he seemed so… forlorn.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked her boss, bumping the other woman’s hip to get her attention.

Sharyn, her long bright pink hair framing her face, stopped chopping fruit and followed Nat’s gaze. ‘Julian. It’s his second day. Four years old. Father is ooh-la-la handsome. Italian. Perfect English. Just moved from London. Widower. Recent, I think. Doesn’t smile much.’

Nat nodded, well used to Sharyn’s staccato style of speech. ‘Poor darling.’ No wonder he looked so bereft. ‘How awful to lose your mother at such a young age.’ Not that it mattered at any age really. She’d been eight when her father had left and it still hurt.

Sharyn nodded. ‘He’s very quiet. Very withdrawn.’

Nat’s heartstrings gave another tug. She’d always had a soft spot for loners. She knew how it felt to have your perfect world turned upside down while life continued around you. How alienating it could be. How it separated you from the bustle of life.

‘Well, let’s see if I can fix that,’ she murmured.

Nat made a beeline for the lonely little boy, stopping only to grab a copy of Possum Magic off the bookshelf. In her experience she found there was very little a book couldn’t fix, if only for a short while.

‘Juliano.’ Nat called his name softly as she approached, smiling gently.

The little boy looked up from his lacklustre attempt at colouring the frog.

His mouth dropped open and he stared at Nat with eyes that grew visibly rounder.

She suppressed the frown that was itching to crease her forehead at the unexpected response.

Surely he was used to hearing his name spoken in Italian?

He was looking at her with a mix of confusion and wonder, like he was trying to figure out if he should run into her arms or burst into tears.

She kept her smile in place. ‘Ciao, Juliano. Come sta?’

Nat had learned Italian at school and spent a year in Milan on a student exchange after completing year twelve. Given that she was now thirty-three, it had been a while since she’d spoken it but she had been reasonably fluent at one stage.

Julian’s grave little face eked out a tentative smile and Nat relaxed. ‘Posso sedermi?’ she asked.

Julian nodded at the request and moved over so Nat could share the bench seat with him.

‘Thanks, Juliano,’ she said with a smile. ‘My name’s Nat.’

The boy’s smile slipped a little. ‘Papa likes me to be called Julian,’ he said quietly.

The formality in his voice was heartbreaking and Nat wanted to reach out and give him a fierce hug. Four-year-olds shouldn’t be so buttoned up. If this hadn’t been the crèche for the children of staff at St Auburn’s Hospital, she might have wondered if Julian’s father had a military background.

Captain Von Trapp in need of a Maria.

‘Julian it is,’ she said, and held out her hand for a shake. He shook it like a good little soldier and the urge to tickle him until his giggles filled the room was almost overwhelming.

Battling uncharitable thoughts towards the boy’s father, Nat had to remind herself that the man had not long lost his wife and was no doubt grieving heavily.

But his son had also lost his mother. Surely he could see his son was miserable?

And so tightly wound he’d probably be the first four-year-old in history to develop an ulcer.

Just because Julian was a child, didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of profound grief.

‘Would you like me to read you a story?’ Nat pointed to the book. ‘It’s about a possum and has lots of wonderful Australian animals in it.’

Julian nodded. ‘I like animals.’

‘Have you got a pet?’

He shook his head forlornly. ‘I had a cat. Pinocchio. But we had to leave him behind. Papa promised me another one but… he’s been too busy…’

Nat ground her teeth. ‘I have a cat. Her name’s Flo. After Florence Nightingale. She loves fish and makes a noise like this.’

Nat mimicked the low rumbling of her five-year-old tortoiseshell, embellishing slightly. Julian giggled and it was such a beautiful sound she did it again. ‘She’s a purring machine.’ Nat laughed and repeated the noise, delighted to once again hear Julian’s giggle.

As the other children careened around them, immersed in their own worlds, she opened the book and began to read aloud, her heart warmed by Julian’s instant immersion into its world.

Page after page of exquisite illustrations of Australian bush animals swept them both away and by the end of the tale Julian was begging her to read it again, his little hand tucked into hers.

‘I see you’ve made a friend there,’ Sharyn said a few minutes later, plonking a tray of cut-up fruit on the table in front of them and calling for the children to wash up for afternoon tea.

Julian followed the rest of the kids into the bathroom, looking behind him frequently to check Nat was still there.

‘I hope so,’ Nat replied.

If anyone needed a friend, it was Julian.

An hour later the chatter and chaos that was usually the room for kindy aged kids was filled only with the beautiful sounds of silence as the busy bunch of three- to five-year-olds slumbered through the afternoon rest period.

Nat wandered down the lines of little canvas beds, checking on her charges, pulling up kicked-off sheets and picking up the odd teddy bear that had been displaced.

She stopped at Julian’s bed and looked down at his dear little face. His soft curls framed his cheeks and forehead. His olive complexion was flawless in the way of children the world over but, unlike every other child in the room, he slept alone, no cuddly toy clutched to his chest.

With the serious lines of his face smoothed in slumber he looked like any other carefree four-year-old. Except he wasn’t. He was a motherless little boy who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

More like forty than four.

He whimpered slightly and his brow puckered.

Nat reached out to soothe it but he turned on his side before she could touch down, his thumb finding its way into his mouth.

He sucked subconsciously and her heart ached for him.

He seemed so alone, even in sleep. It was wrong that a boy who had just lost his mother should have nothing other than a thumb for comfort.

She made a mental note to talk to his father at pick-up. Ask him if Julian would like to bring along a toy, something familiar from home. Maybe she could even broach the subject of counselling for Julian. Something had to be done for the sad little darling. Someone had to try.

It may as well be her.

It was early evening when Nat found herself curled up in a bean bag with Julian in Book Corner, reading Possum Magic for the third time.

The room was once again quiet, most of the children having gone home, their parents’ shifts long since finished.

The few remaining kids had eaten their night-time meals and were occupied in quiet play.

Despite her best efforts to engage him with other children, Julian had steadfastly refused to join in, shadowing her instead. Nat knew she should be firmer but in a short space of time she’d developed a real soft spot for the lost little poppet.

His despondent face clawed at her insides and she didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He looked like he was crying out to be loved and Nat knew how that felt. How could she deny a grieving child some affection?

She didn’t notice as she turned the pages that Julian’s thumb had found its way into his mouth or that one little hand had worked its way into her hair, rhythmically stroking the blonde strands.

All she was really aware of was Julian’s warm body pressed into her side and his belly laugh as she mimicked Grandma Poss and Hush on their quest to find the magic food.

As ways to end the day went, it wasn’t too bad at all.

Dr Alessandro Lombardi strode into the crèche.

He was tired. Dog tired. Emotional upheaval, months of no sleep, moving to the other side of the planet and starting a new job as a senior registrar in St Auburn’s emergency department had really taken their toll.

He wanted to go home, get into bed and sleep for a year.

If only.

He pulled up short in the doorway as the sound of his son’s laughter drifted towards him. It had been months since he’d heard it and he’d almost forgotten the thrill of it. After an arduous day it was a surprising pick-me-up.

His dark gaze followed the chortling notes, his eyes widening to take in the picture before him – Julian cuddled up next to a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes exactly like Camilla’s.

His son’s fingers absently stroked her hair while he sucked his thumb, just as he used to do with Camilla, and Alessandro’s welcoming smile froze before it had even made a dent into the uncompromising planes of his face.

Crossing the room in quick strides he called to his son. ‘Julian!’

Startled, Julian looked up, his thumb falling from his mouth, his fingers snatched back from the blonde hair as if it had suddenly caught fire.

‘Julian,’ he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the strange woman who was eerily familiar. From the way she folded her pale legs under her to the blonde ponytail that brushed her shoulders and the fringe that flicked back from her face, she was just like Camilla.