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He held out his free hand. ‘Max Fenton, emergency senior registrar.’

      She shook his hand and introduced herself. ‘Iris Rutherford, senior midwife. No doubt we’ll be working together at some point.’

      ‘Good to meet you outside of a crisis.’ Max gave her his most charming smile.

      ‘All right. You can have fifteen minutes,’ Iris said. ‘But you’d better make sure she rests and doesn’t move, or I’ll be forced to scalp you.’

      He laughed, enjoying her direct approach. ‘I will. Thank you, Iris.’

      Max followed her directions; Rosie was in a room on her own, flicking listlessly through a magazine and looking very fed up.

      ‘Psst. Open for visitors?’ he asked from the doorway.

      She looked at him, and then gave him a broad smile. ‘Max Fenton! What on earth are you doing here?’

      ‘Visiting you,’ he said, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

      Her eyes widened. ‘We’re not allowed visitors at lunchtime.’

      ‘I know.’ He laughed. ‘I begged.’

      ‘Charmed, more like. You always could melt women’s knees with that gorgeous smile of yours.’ She grinned and held her arms open. ‘Come and give me a hug, Max. It’s good to see you.’

      ‘And it’s good to see you, Rosie Petrelli.’ And even better to be hugged like that again. He’d missed the warmth of Marina’s family, and his own. Well…he’d always found his mother’s hugs stifling rather than warm. Though, now that everything was finally out in the open about his father, he could understand the way she behaved. Could sympathise, even.

      ‘I’m Rosie Brown nowadays.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to the wedding, Max. But, apart from the fact that you’d cut off all contact with us, it would’ve been a bit—’

      ‘Awkward, given who was probably your chief brides-maid,’ he finished wryly, sitting on the chair next to her bed. ‘You did the right thing. I would’ve brought you some flowers, but I gather they’ve been banned from the hospital for a while. I hope these will do.’ He placed the goodies on her lap.

      ‘My favourites; you remembered I love white chocolate.’ She beamed at him. ‘And you managed to find the only puzzle magazine I haven’t already gone through. Thank you. That’s so, so sweet of you, caro.’

      ‘My pleasure. So how long have you been in here?’

      ‘Nineteen days, and counting,’ Rosie said with a rueful smile, ‘thanks to my bossy little sister.’

      ‘Marina picked it up?’ Max looked at her, surprised.

      ‘She was on a day off, so she came to have lunch with me. I wasn’t feeling brilliant; I thought it was just a bit of indigestion and a headache. But when I told her where the pain was she wasn’t happy about it. She said it was rare to get pre-eclampsia with a second baby, but she wanted it checked out. She made me call the midwife and then drink loads of water.’

      Ready for a urine test, no doubt. Rosie wasn’t in the high-risk group, though: she was under thirty-five, her weight was average and it wasn’t her first pregnancy. As far as Max knew, there wasn’t a family history of pre-eclampsia, and Rosie wasn’t a diabetic. Plus, from what Marina had said, she was only expecting one baby, not twins or triplets. ‘So where was the pain? Just under your ribs?’

      Rosie rolled her eyes. ‘Spoken just like a doctor! Yes. And, yes, before you ask, there turned out to be a little bit of protein in my urine and my blood pressure was a bit on the high side.’

      Knowing Rosie, that was a major understatement.

      ‘So they’re keeping me in to monitor the baby and keep an eye on me,’ she finished.

      ‘How far are you?’

      ‘Thirty-three weeks—and it’s driving me insane, being stuck here.’ She shook herself. ‘And here’s me being ungrateful. Marina’s been absolutely brilliant. And, yes, I do know she probably saved my life.’

      If Rosie’s symptoms hadn’t been picked up so quickly, she could have been very ill—and there would’ve been a serious risk both to the baby and to Rosie herself. If Rosie’s condition had turned into eclampsia, both of them could have died.

      ‘She’s sorted out a place at the hospital crèche for Phoebe while I’m here, and she brings my baby in to see me every morning before her shift. She picks her up, too, if she’s on an early. Neil’s boss has been really good about him working more flexible hours, but it’s smack in the middle of the busy season.’

      ‘Busy season?’

      ‘It’s March—coming up to the end of the tax year. He’s an accountant,’ Rosie explained, ‘so normally he’d be working silly hours in the office, but because I’m stuck in here he’s having to bring work home and do it when Phoebe’s asleep. Mum and Dad have been brilliant, too. Dad’s painting the baby’s room and Mum’s keeping the house ticking over and making sure that there’s food in the fridge, so Neil can spend time here with me and Phoebe instead of worrying about housework and shopping and what have you.’

      Exactly what Max would expect from the Petrellis, being there to help with practical things in a crisis. Part of him wondered: had he and Marina lived in London instead of Bristol, would her family have rallied round them and kept them together, helped them to work things through?

      Too late for that now.

      ‘So when are they going to induce you?’ he asked.

      ‘It depends how things go. I know that it’s best to deliver the baby as late as possible, but the idea of being stuck here for another seven weeks, having injections and blood taken…’ She grimaced. ‘I tell you, if I was ever scared of needles, I’ve learned to overcome my phobia! Anyway, enough about me. We’re doing fine—aren’t we, Bambino?’ She rubbed the bump and smiled. ‘So, how are you doing?’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      She raised an eyebrow. ‘Right. And that’s why you’ve got dark shadows under your eyes and you’re too thin. Don’t try to bluff me, Max.’

      ‘New city, new job. It takes time to settle in,’ he said lightly.

      ‘Maybe.’ She gestured to his name-tag. ‘But you’re also working in the emergency department with my sister. That can’t be easy—for either of you.’

      He shrugged. ‘We’re professionals. Our patients won’t suffer.’

      ‘I’m not talking about the patients—I know you’re both professionals. I was talking about you two.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘I was really sorry when you and Marina broke up.’

      ‘Tell me about it. He forced himself to keep the words back. ‘Things happen,’ he said lightly.

      ‘So are you with someone now? What’s she like?’

      He’d forgotten the other thing about Marina’s family: they had no scruples about asking personal questions. For a moment, he considered making up a story, but Rosie would know he was lying. ‘There’s nobody,’ he admitted. And then, to stave off further questioning, he added, ‘I spent a few years working for Doctors Without Borders. There wasn’t time for anything other than work.’

      He wished he hadn’t said it when Rosie gave him a very perceptive look. ‘So that’s why we never got a Christmas card from you. Hmm. I happen to know someone else who throws herself into work. Someone who either finds excuses not to date, or makes it friends-only after just a couple of dates.’

      Rosie wasn’t even trying to be subtle and, although part of him was annoyed, part of him was also amused. The Petrellis were notorious fixers. They were the kind of people who made lemonade

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