Amy Ruttan – His Pregnant Royal Bride (страница 7)

A clear warning.

“Why not? I like chatting while I work.” He didn’t, but he liked getting under her skin the way she got under his.

She snorted. “You didn’t seem very receptive to talking before.”

“It depends what the subject is,” he teased.

“Well, I can say in no uncertain terms the subject you want to discuss, Dr. Affini, is off-limits.”

He chuckled but didn’t say anything further to her as he completed the splenectomy and stabilized the patient. Once he was done, Shay walked away from him and he could see her on the operating theatre’s phone, obviously paging Dr. Prescarrie about Mr. Sanders’s spinal injuries.

Not only was he impressed by her skill in a surgical situation, but he admired her strength. Women in his circles usually would balk under interrogation. Of course, women in his circles, women like Olivia, wouldn’t even be in an operating theatre, getting their hands dirty.

“What you do is noble, Dante. It’s just that I don’t want to hear about it. Can’t you just keep that to yourself?”

“And what am I supposed to talk about, Olivia? Fashion, cars?”

“The vineyards and, yes, it wouldn’t hurt you to immerse yourself in the world of privilege you were born into.”

Dante snorted as he pulled off his gloves and gown, disposing of them.

Olivia had hated that he was a trauma surgeon, working in a public hospital rather than in a private clinic. And his choice of surgery. Why couldn’t he do something like plastic surgery?

In her mind, a prince who was a surgeon needed to do something glamorous that dealt with the glitterati, not just anybody who stumbled in through the doors.

Only that wasn’t him. That was his father’s world and he loathed it.

Dante might be a prince, poised to inherit a large vineyard in Tuscany and his villa on the Lido di Venezia, as well as a hefty sum of money, but Prince was just a title. It wasn’t as if he were a member of the British royal family set to inherit the throne.

Being a prince was just a status in Italy. Nothing more.

His work as a surgeon meant so much more to him.

Working with his hands, doing something important whether it was tending the vines as his grandfather so lovingly had or saving a life.

That was what mattered to him.

Just like the baby that Shay was carrying inside her.

If it’s yours.

Even though there was no long-term future for Shay and him, he was determined to be a good father if she would just let him.

“Dr. Prescarrie should be down soon,” Shay remarked, coming into the scrub room. “He insisted on his own scrub nurse, though.”

“As well he should,” Dante said as he washed his hands. “You’re on my service.”

Shay rolled her neck and winced.

“Are you well?” he asked, concerned, seeing the discomfort etched on her face.

“Yes, just tired. I’m still getting used to the time change. A bit jet-lagged still.”

“Why don’t you go home and rest?”

She frowned. “I’m fine. I can still work and my shift isn’t over yet.”

“Shay, you need to take care of yourself. You’re possibly carrying my baby.”

There was a gasp behind them and they both spun around to see another nurse standing there, her brown eyes wide with shock as she looked between them.

“Sì?” Dante asked in exasperation and frustration. He had no doubt that the nurse had overheard.

“Siamo spiacenti, il Principe, non volevo interromperla.” She was apologizing for interrupting them, but Mrs. Sanders was being treated for a broken wrist and was inquiring after her husband. The patient was worried. Dante told the nurse that he would be there shortly to speak to her.

The nurse nodded and left.

Shay was standing there just as stunned. “She just called you il Principe. Why did she refer to you as the Prince?”

Dante sighed. This was what he’d wanted to avoid.

It was a title and a burden to him.

He was Dante and nothing more.

“Because I am,” Dante said.

“You’re a prince? A real prince?”

“Sì...” Dante sighed. “I am, so your child will also inherit my title if the child is mine. You may be carrying a royal baby.”

* * *

“Shay!”

Shay just shook her head and kept walking. She was trying to process what Dante had said to her: that her child was going to have a royal title. Only if the baby was his and that annoyed her even more. He was so suspicious of her. She hadn’t known that he was a prince, so he couldn’t accuse her of fortune hunting.

But maybe that’s why he’s so suspicious of paternity?

This was all just too surreal.

Of course, it was only fitting that he drop a bombshell on her, just as she’d done to him.

“Shay!”

She stopped and sighed. She couldn’t act like this. This was not professional and she’d promised herself that she would be above all professional when dealing with Dante. She was an adult and this was their child.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” she said. “I guess it was a bit of a shock to find out who you are.”

“It doesn’t change who I am, though,” he said gently.

“How would I know that? I barely know you.” She shook her head. “We’re strangers.”

He sighed at that. “This is true. One week at a conference means nothing.”

“I do realize we have to get to know each other if we’re both going to be involved in this child’s life.”

“Sì, I agree. Which is why you will marry me if the test is positive.”

Shay rolled her eyes. “Not this again. I’m not marrying you, Dante. I’m not going to marry someone I don’t love.”

“I’m not talking about a marriage of love,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m talking about a marriage of convenience. Just for a year. You live under my roof and we pretend to be man and wife in public.”

“Dante, I’m only here for twelve weeks.”

“So? You’re going on maternity leave when you get back to the United States, sì?”

“Yes, but...I have to go back to the States. My work visa is only good for twelve weeks.”

“If we marry, then you won’t need a visa. You say it’s my child, so why not have our child here, in my country?”

“I...I can’t—I won’t—give up my life, Dante.”

“After a year is over, then you can walk away. With our child, as long as I have parental rights. I will continue to financially support the child.”

“What do you gain from this?” she asked, confused. It all seemed too easy.

“An heir.” He dragged his hand through his dark hair. “I will support the child either way, but while you’re here in Italy, under my roof, I can protect you. Care for you.”