Prognosis Baby Daddy - Amy Andrews Page 0,5

line of the house. Terracotta window boxes overflowed with red geraniums.

They walked up a short flight of stone steps. Pretty tiles inlaid along the tread of each stair were beautifully decorative. A large wooden door was an impressive barrier to the outside world.

Ben inserted his key into the lock and pushed the heavy door open, gesturing for Katya to precede him. She stepped in nervously, the white walls, towering ceilings and large blue floor tiles, the exact tone of the sea, dazzling to the eye.

‘Mamma,’ he called.

He strode through the house and Katya followed close behind, awed by the expensive-looking furniture, rugs and artwork that decorated the Medici villa. She had the urge to huddle into the broad strength of his back, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland. It was only her pride that kept her frame erect and her hands firmly by her sides.

They entered the kitchen, which smelt amazing. A blend of garlic, basil and onions tickled Katya’s nose and emphasised how long it had been since she had eaten.

‘Benedetto? Benedetto?’

One of the most elegant-looking women Katya had ever seen entered the room from stairs to their right. She was tall and regal, her silver hair swept back into a glamorous chignon. So much for round and soft with a mole on her chin! She threw her arms in the air and broke into enthusiastic Italian as she embraced her son.

Katya stood back and watched their easy affection. She felt a pang of envy as his mother grabbed his cheeks and planted an enthusiastic kiss on each. Their closeness was a stark contrast to the strained relationship she shared with her own mother and Katya felt even more out of her depth.

The similarities between the two were striking. He had his mother’s high cheekbones and her strong patrician nose. And as the older woman opened her eyes and smiled at her, Katya realised that this would be her baby’s grandmother. There was so much love in this room, in this homey Italian kitchen, that Katya felt tears well in her eyes.

She blinked them away quickly but not before she saw a faint narrowing of the older woman’s eyes. Ben’s mother had seen her tears.

‘Mamma, this is Katya Petrova,’ Ben said, pulling out of his mother’s embrace. ‘Katya, this is my mother, Contessa Lucia Medici.’

Katya held out her hand tentatively, not sure how to greet a Contessa. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Contessa,’ Katya said.

The Contessa smiled and came forward, her arm outstretched, too, firing rapid Italian.

‘English, Mamma,’ Ben broke in, reminding her gently.

‘Of course, I’m sorry.’ The Contessa smiled at Katya, slipping easily into near perfect English. ‘Forgive my manners. Please, call me Lucia.’

The Contessa swept Katya into a hug as enthusiastic as the one she’d given to her own flesh and blood. Katya felt awkward in her embrace, completely unused to displays of motherly affection. But the Lucia’s eyes were kind and again she felt absurdly close to tears.

‘Shall we adjourn outdoors?’ she suggested as she pulled away. ‘Benedetto.’ She turned to her son. ‘Bring the wine,’ she commanded.

Katya followed Lucia down the stairs from where she’d entered the kitchen earlier. It led to a magnificent terrace with one-hundred-and-eighty-degree uninterrupted views of the Mediterranean below and the majestic craggy coastline in both directions.

There was a round outdoor table with a striking ceramic top. It had been hand-painted with a typical Mediterranean lemon-grove scene. A bowl of the bright yellow fruit sat in the middle of the table and Katya could smell their magnificent tartness.

Ben joined them, glasses clinking. He placed them on the table and poured them each a generous measure. Katya placed a hand over her glass. Ben raised his eyebrows.

‘Wine gives me a headache,’ she said, saying the first thing that popped in to her head.

Ben gave her a disbelieving look. Since when? ‘This from a girl who could drink vodka for Russia.’

‘Benedetto,’ his mother scolded, ‘don’t be rude. Run up and get some water.’

‘Yes, Benedetto,’ Katya teased, unable to resist. ‘Run along.’

Too late Katya realised that Lucia might disapprove of her informality. What if she thought that Ben should be addressed as befitting a man of his stature? But the Contessa clapped her hands gleefully and her eyes twinkled with delight.

Katya breathed a sigh of relief.

Calling him by his title would be plain weird, given the things they had been through. The times they had stood side by side, their hands inside some stranger’s body, locked in a battle for their life.