The Marriage He Must Keep(46)

Beneath her defiance was a disturbing hint of loneliness. It twisted Sandro’s insides.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he assured her, moving across in a deliberate effort to close the distance. “I’m not ready to laugh about the baby swap,” he admitted darkly. “But I take your joking as a sign that you’re putting it in the past and I’m glad.” He rubbed her arms, admitting, “I was of the mind that we’d never have to face her again, which suited me. Those days at the hospital were not my finest hour. If I sounded disapproving, that’s where it was coming from.”

She regarded him solemnly before she said, “I can appreciate that, but I wouldn’t feel right cutting ties. I...had a friend at boarding school. We didn’t really have much in common except we were both going through a spell of defying our parents.”

He lifted his brows, curious about that, but she cut her gaze away and shrugged off providing details.

“She wound up expelled and her parents disowned her. I tried to help, brought her home for the holidays, but my parents strongly encouraged me to end that friendship if I wanted to continue enjoying the limited freedoms I had.” Her smile was bitter. “I still gave her money when she asked, but I know she wound up taking lovers just to have a bed at night. I’ve never felt right about not making more of an effort to help her.”

She lifted her thick lashes so her gaze came up while her chin stayed down, framing her abashed mink brown eyes.

He wanted to ask more about her own acts of defiance, but stayed on topic. “Sorcha needs your help?” he surmised.

She shrugged one bare shoulder. “I’m not sure. She hasn’t said much except that Cesar didn’t know about Enrique. It’s been quite hard for her, I think. Don’t be judgy,” she added swiftly.

“Of course not,” he murmured, dismissing the other woman from his mind as the one before him, the one that mattered, was confiding in a way that was deeply encouraging. He closed his hands on her waist and drew her against him. “I’m sorry you haven’t been sleeping. I’m here now to get up with him and you know Bree’s always happy to help. We’ll make your excuses as early as we can tonight, even though I’ll be sorry to let you go. You look beautiful.” He leaned to kiss her.

“Lipstick,” she said, averting her mouth from his. “Putting on my makeup took twice as long as it should have. Don’t make me start again.”

He picked up her hands, smiling through his disappointment while an odd sensation moved through him. Admiration and warmth at what a loyal person she was, but something deeper and brighter. He kissed her fingers, habitually trying to resist whatever that rush of emotion was simply because it was stronger than he liked to allow.

“Come,” he said with a tug of her hand toward the door. “I want to dance with my wife.”



Friends and neighbors and local dignitaries were here to help Ermanno celebrate, but it was more of a family reunion  . The bulk of the guests were Ferrantes. Aunts and uncles and cousins galore. All of Sandro’s sisters were here and even his mother had arrived in a gushing stir of effervescent excitement, making the crowd part and look. Ysabelle greeted Octavia like she hadn’t seen her in ages, then moved on to hug her daughters and would likely embrace every single person in the room before the night was over.

Octavia smiled. Sandro muttered something about needing a drink and excused himself, leaving Octavia with his eldest sister, Antonia, and her husband. Antonia was only a year younger than Sandro and had married at eighteen. Their fourth child was currently swelling the front of her gown.

“I’m curious,” Octavia admitted, taking advantage of this moment without Sandro’s listening ears. “Did you all get your father’s temperament? Your mother is so demonstrative, but you all seem so reserved by comparison.”

Antonia’s husband made a choking noise and gave his wife a look. “I’ll help Sandro with the drinks,” he said circumspectly and disappeared.

Antonia chuckled. “We tone ourselves down around Sandro. He hates it when we yell or cry or get excited. Actually, Papa was just as exuberant. He and Mamma had huge, passionate fights all the time.”

“And that scarred Sandro?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, no,” Antonia dismissed. “It didn’t bother any of us. We knew they loved each other. They would tell us, ‘I love him but he’s being stubborn’ or ‘I love her but she’s being unreasonable.’ And then doors would slam and they would yell some more and finally kiss and make up. No, it was the way Papa died that changed Sandro.” Her eyes glossed with old grief. “We were all heartbroken and Sandro felt terribly guilty. To be honest, he had the worst temper of all of us before that. Kept the highest standards, argued the most determinedly for whatever he thought was right. He feels things very, very deeply. That’s why Papa’s death nearly destroyed him. He still blames himself. He always will.”