Читать книгу Unwrapping Her Italian Doc - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

ANTON WAS RARELY uncomfortable with women.

Even the most beautiful ones.

He and Saffarella went back a long way, in a very loose way. They had met through his sister a couple of years ago and saw each other now and then. He had known that she would be in London over Christmas and Saffarella had, in fact, been the date he had planned to take to the maternity Christmas evening.

‘Where are we going?’ Saffarella frowned, because she clearly thought they were going back to his apartment but instead they had turned the opposite way.

‘I thought I might take you back to the hotel,’ Anton said.

‘And are you coming in?’ Saffarella asked, and gave a slightly derisive snort at Anton’s lack of response. ‘I guess that means, no, you’re not.’

‘It’s been a long day …’ Anton attempted, but Saffarella knew very well the terms of their friendship and it was this part of the night that she had been most looking forward to and she argued her case in loud Italian.

‘Don’t give me that, Anton. Since when have you ever been too tired? I saw you looking at that blonde tart …’

‘Hey!’ Anton warned, but his instant defence of Louise, combined with the fact that they both knew just who he was referring to, confirmed that Anton’s mind had been elsewhere tonight. Saffarella chose to twist the knife as they pulled into the hotel. ‘I doubt that she’s being dropped off home by that Rory. They couldn’t even wait for the night to finish to get out of the place.’ When the doorman opened the door for her Saffarella got out of the car. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again.’ She didn’t wait for the doorman, instead slamming the door closed.

Anton copped it because he knew that he deserved it.

His intention had never been to use Saffarella, they were actually good together. Or had been. Occasionally.

Anton had never, till now, properly considered just how attracted he really was to Louise. Oh, she was the reason he had called Saffarella and asked if she was free tonight, and Saffarella had certainly used him in the same way at times.

But it wasn’t just the ache of his physical attraction to Louise that was the problem. He liked her. A lot. He liked her humour, her flirting, the way she just openly declared whatever was on her mind, not that he’d ever tell her that.

But knowing she was on with Rory, knowing he had taken her home, meant that Anton just wanted to be alone tonight to sulk.

It’s your own fault, Anton, he said to himself as he drove home.

He should have asked Louise out months ago but then he reminded himself of the reason he hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t be getting involved with anyone from work ever again.

Approaching four years ago, Christmas Day had suddenly turned into a living nightmare. Telling parents on Christmas Day that their newborn baby was going to die was hell at the best of times.

But at the worst of times, telling parents, while knowing that the death could have been avoided, was a hell which Anton could not yet escape from and he returned to the nightmare time and again.

The shouts and the accusations from Alberto’s father, Anton could still hear some nights before going to sleep.

The coroner’s report had pointed to a string of communication errors but found that it had been no one person’s fault in particular. Anton could recite it off by heart, because he had gone over and over and over it, trying to see what he could have done differently.

But the year in the between the death and the coroner’s report had been one Anton could rarely stand to recall.