She knew what he was doing with all these seemingly absent caresses; he’d done the same thing in the weeks leading up to their wedding night. It was a type of calculated seduction and she wished she didn’t respond to it, but she did. He was gorgeous in a three-piece suit and tie, while she felt dowdy in a wrap dress and low heels, her makeup applied hastily on the plane to try to disguise the circles under her eyes.
“Things will be calmer now we’re home,” he promised.
Except they weren’t home. They were staying here at the castello, through his grandfather’s birthday, before they would finally return to the town house in a week or so to properly start their life afresh.
She wished she had as much confidence in their marriage now as she’d had going into it nearly a year ago. Ignorance was bliss, she supposed, because today she held a lot of trepidation for the gauntlet that had to be endured here and the return to the life she’d failed to master the first time around.
But Alessandro meant that being away from his mother would be more peaceful.
Octavia missed her already and hadn’t wanted to leave London, but Ysabelle had been leaving to see her count anyway. Besides, every time Octavia had decided she didn’t want to come to Italy with Alessandro, he’d done something considerate like take Lorenzo when he was fussing or brought her something to eat or drink when she sat down to nurse. It had been a lot easier to resent him when they’d been apart. When he was near, handsome and attentive, dropping little kisses and caresses on her, she slipped back into blind adoration.
More important, even though he happily handed off diaper duty to the nanny, she had observed him showing a sincere attachment to their son. This morning she’d overheard their man-to-man chat about world markets and which investments to avoid for the next year. It amused her all over again thinking of it. He’d sounded so serious, asking Lorenzo for his opinion on the matter.
So there was one fact she couldn’t deny in all of this: Lorenzo deserved to have his father in his life.
Which meant she had to find her place in Alessandro’s.
No matter how daunting the prospect.
She drew a long, subtle breath as the maggiordomo came out the open doors of the castello and down the stairs. He greeted her with one of his polite nods. “The family is eager to meet the new arrival, Signora. They’re waiting in the front parlor.”
Wonderful. Octavia found a smile.
Alessandro came around the car with Lorenzo bundled in one arm. He held out his free hand to her, sparing a moment to offer her a steady look. Gratitude? Pride? She wasn’t sure how to interpret it.
She swallowed, unsteady as they climbed the stairs and entered together.
The first time they’d come here, fresh off their honeymoon, Primo’s sister had taunted Alessandro for not carrying her over the threshold. Alessandro had dismissed the remark, stating it was his grandfather’s house and not appropriate.
Octavia hadn’t said anything, but Alessandro hadn’t performed the whimsical ceremony at the town house, either, and his overlooking of the gesture had felt like a put-down. It had been the first hard landing into reality after the giddy spell of lovemaking and basking in his attention. She’d never been able to walk through this door without thinking of his dismissive tone and how harshly it reminded her that their marriage was a business transaction, not something based on sentiment or affection.
And here she was again. Not Octavia, the woman he loved and carried into his family home, but the consigned wife he’d pressured to accompany him. If that wasn’t lukewarm enough, she nearly caught frostbite from the group that greeted them. She nervously scanned the faces, so many of them Primo’s closest relations, including Primo’s parents.
Was it paranoid, now that Primo’s subterfuges were exposed, to see all this occupancy of the castello in a new light? She took a half step closer to her husband, disturbed.
One of Alessandro’s spinster aunts, a flighty wisp of a woman who preferred her paints over just about anything else and usually took no interest in enigmatic things like children, was the first to speak.
“Handsome. Like his father,” she pronounced after a brief look at Lorenzo.
Primo’s eldest sister, Donna, who had moved in with her teenage son last year said, “Don’t be too sure, Zia. Perhaps this baby mix-up was an attempt to hide the fact neither of the infants are Ferrantes. Did you think of that, Sandro?”
Barely a minute in and the claws were out. Of course, it was to be expected that Primo’s parents and sisters would defend their kin, but Octavia was struck by the open enmity in her remark. She and Donna might not have been friends, but they hadn’t been adversaries. She pressed even closer to her husband and felt his grip on her hand tighten.