The Consequence He Must Claim(51)

He was reserved for a reason, damn it. He couldn’t afford to be emotionally vulnerable.

So his mother’s approval of Sorcha’s party meant very little to him one way or another. Sorcha, however, felt things deeply. He knew that, which was what he’d been getting at earlier. She shouldn’t put so much of herself on the line for things like this party.

She was so invested in its success.

While he might not trust easily, he’d been more than confident she would pull off a stellar event. Could she see now that she was showcasing their home beautifully and everyone was enjoying themselves?

See? he wanted to say to his parents. Marrying Sorcha had made sense. She was smart, made a charming hostess, had sophisticated tastes...

She didn’t see all that she was, of course. She was the most humble person he’d ever encountered. While tuxedoes and evening gowns mingled in the sparkling lights of the garden, and everyone conversed happily in and out of the silent auction tent, his wife stood beside him holding her breath, pretending she wasn’t straining her ears, waiting for his mother to pronounce judgment.

Finally his mother nodded to indicate an Italian couple. “They seem interesting. His mother is marrying the Count of Valdavia. Did you know that, Cesar? He was very generous with his bids in the auction, too. You might break my record,” she added in a chiding tone aimed at Sorcha that nevertheless held a note of admiration.

If his mother was bested, it had better be in a way that put a larger plaque on a wall with their name in grander letters.

“I only had the chance to say hello when the Ferrantes arrived. Do you mind if I go speak to them now?” Sorcha asked him, loosening her grip on his arm.

“I’ll come,” he said, excusing them from his parents before his mother asked how Sorcha knew them. He had never mentioned how he’d come to learn Sorcha was in hospital with his baby and the hospital had kept a lid on the scandal as well.

Cesar might have refused to let Sorcha invite the Ferrantes given how they met, but he understood all too well how one could trust by mistake. Diega’s recent betrayal was still casting a shadow.

He wouldn’t have brought up the baby switch with Alessandro Ferrante, either, but the moment Sorcha left with Octavia to check on the boys, Ferrante apologized for his cousin’s perfidy. He wore such an air of self-recrimination, Cesar understood the man felt these sorts of failures as deeply as he did.

As furious as Cesar was that the man’s cousin had nearly stolen Enrique from him, he had read the reports. Ferrante wasn’t letting sentiment keep him from encouraging the law to do their job.

A shred of something he suspected was Sorcha’s influence, put a positive spin on it, prompting him to confide, “I wouldn’t know I had a son if it hadn’t happened. Don’t apologize. I’m grateful.”

Ferrante nodded, seeming to relax a little. It clearly wasn’t a surprise to him that Cesar hadn’t known about his son. That told him Sorcha had confided that detail to Octavia.

He suffered a moment of exposure, realizing his private life wasn’t as private as he had assumed. He took a fresh measure of Ferrante, thinking it might behoove him to know him better if their wives were gossiping.

“The ladies have plans to lounge by the pool tomorrow, but I’ll be spending the morning in our vineyard. I understand you have a private label as well? Would you like to join me? Our vintner would love to pick your brain on your methods.”

Ferrante took a moment to consider. “Sounds more interesting than working from my hotel room. What time?”

It turned into a more pleasant day than Cesar expected. Sandro Ferrante might not have his depth of scientific education, but he was very sharp, brought a knowledge of the process that was almost second nature and had an excellent palette. They wound up joining the women at the pool for the afternoon, sampling bottles from the existing stores, discussing improvements and debating modern versus traditional methods of winemaking.

Cesar even held the other man’s son when Sandro moved inside to return a call he couldn’t ignore. Octavia was in the pool and Lorenzo woke abruptly and started to cry.

Cesar couldn’t ignore him while his mother dried off and put on her wrap.

He picked up the tyke and the boy felt oddly similar to his own sturdy son, his little hand resting on Cesar’s shoulder in an endearing way.

He stopped crying and stared at Cesar, trying to decide what he thought of a stranger holding him. He didn’t even have tears on his cheeks. He wasn’t upset, just letting the world know he was awake.

Cesar couldn’t help grinning at that.

The boy returned a crooked smile so quick and beaming, it made Cesar chuckle.