Prognosis Baby Daddy - Amy Andrews Page 0,9

another confirmation that he could provide for their baby so much better than her. But strangely his wealth, which had always bothered her, seemed to bother her twice as much. His boat was a big flashy status symbol — an aquatic Ferrari. And he’d asked her to join him. How many other women had he had on that boat? How many women would he parade in front of their child?

She’d grown up seeing a procession of partners through her mother’s life. And how screwed up was she today? Her mother had been seduced into neglecting her children and Katya had been wise in the ways of the world way before her time. Is that what Ben would do? Neglect their child in favour of his lifestyle?

He was a thirty-five-year-old playboy bachelor. An Italian count. Aristocracy, for God’s sake. Was it even possible to give that lifestyle away?

They made it to Ravello by quarter past eight and Ben drove the Alfa through an arch in a vine-covered wall. They entered a large cobblestoned courtyard dominated in the centre by a spectacular fountain. There was ample room for several cars and Ben angled his into a reserved space.

‘Welcome to the Lucia Clinic,’ he said. ‘Otherwise known as the palace for hedonistic rich people.’

Katya turned and gave him a withering smile. ‘If you can’t stand the heat, Count, get out of the kitchen.’ And she opened the door and climbed out, his laughter following her.

The building was impressive. It was a U-shaped structure built around the courtyard. The wall they had just driven through towered behind her as high as the other buildings and gave the courtyard and the clinic a private feel, protecting it from view. The rendered walls were painted a pale orange, their aged, weather-beaten appearance giving the clinic a timeless quality.

Ben opened the boot and removed their bags. ‘The main wing, in front of you,’ he said, indicating the longest section of the clinic, ‘is the patient’s suites. We have twenty beds. Twelve suites and four twin share rooms. The west wing holds the operating theatres and X-ray facilities, the east wing is the kitchens and staff accommodation.’

‘You have a lot of staff that live on site?’ she asked following him as he moved towards the entrance.

‘There are twenty rooms, but only half are used permanently as most of our staff live locally and commute. The others are used casually. I bunk down here during the week and, of course, one of these rooms will be yours.’

Katya could feel his gaze on her and refused to look at him. The mere thought of him sleeping nearby did funny things to her breathing. It had been the same during their time at MedSurg. Communal staff facilities had seen to it that too often he had been the last person she had seen before going to bed and the first one she’d seen on waking.

‘Come on, I’ll introduce you around. Everyone is very friendly here and most speak English.’

Katya followed him through the magnificent arched entrance and almost gasped at the cool elegance of the reception area. It was luxurious. No expense had been spared, from the artwork on the walls to the marble on the floor to the stylish chandelier hanging above the sweeping stone staircase dominating the entrance hall.

Ben showed her to her quarters first. Katya put her bag on the bed as Ben stood in the hallway. She looked around at cool decorative tiles underfoot and the mirror edged with pretty ceramic tiles inlaid into an arched recess in the wall. It was beautiful but she was more conscious of him breathing and his bulky presence against the doorjamb and what had happened last time he had stood in her doorway. She wondered where he slept and then halted her thoughts.

His quarters were of no concern to her.

‘Come,’ Ben said, ‘meet some of the staff.’

Katya didn’t have to be asked twice.

Ben introduced her to so many people her head spun and she knew it would take her a few days to remember everyone. He gave her a tour of all the medical facilities, including the two operating rooms.

‘Is this the theatre list?’ she asked, looking at the typed list stuck to Theatre Two’s main door.

He nodded. ‘For this theatre, yes.’

Katya scanned the scheduled operations, thankful to find it was written in Italian and English. Abdominoplasty. Rhinoplasty. Augmentation mamoplasty. She felt her heart sink. Tummy tuck. Nose job. Boob job.

She had known the Lucia Clinic was an exclusive plastic