But he hadn’t wanted to come here. Not really. “Sorcha needs moral support. It’s her first formal party,” Octavia had explained when they were straightening their clothes.
Alessandro looked around. The event was as polished and successful as any he’d seen. The house and grounds were ideal, the necessary elements of band and bar in place. Octavia led them out to a tent that held the silent auction items Sorcha had solicited to raise money for the excellent cause that Octavia had mentioned and now slipped his mind.
Sandro was always willing to write a check for sick children or cardiac wings, but he hated like hell to face down his own failure. He and Octavia had managed to distance themselves from the conflict of London and Primo and the baby swap. They were in a good place. His desire to revisit reminders of it was well below zero.
But he had agreed to accompany her and she, well, she’d been glowing like Christmas was coming ever since.
And her wedding rings were back in place.
Watching her as they moved through the gardens after the auction tent, he admired the way the pinprick lights in the trees made her hair and gown and eyes sparkle. The light breeze pressed the silk of her amethyst skirt against her thighs and he liked the look of it, but when she shivered in the salt-scented breeze, it was a good excuse to tuck her closer to his side.
He couldn’t regret being here when he was so intensely proud to be with her no matter where they were. Pausing, he turned her, thinking a kiss in the moonlight was in order.
“Octavia,” Sorcha called, interrupting. She crossed toward them with her husband. “Let’s sneak away for five minutes to check the boys.”
Octavia nodded enthusiastically, then glanced up at him. “Do you want to come?”
She looked very sincere, which almost made him laugh. “I have three sisters, cara. I know what girl talk is and when I’m likely to be in the way of it.” He kissed her temple and let her go.
Then turned to face his host, a man of his own height who wore his tuxedo and old-world surroundings as comfortably as Sandro did. He suspected that, if things had been different, he might have liked Cesar Montero.
“Thank you for coming,” Cesar said and canted his head toward the tent where Sandro had left a number of exorbitant bids. “And for your generosity. My wife invited you because she was anxious to see Octavia, not so we’d break records for our fundraising.”
“Penance,” Sandro dismissed with a shrug, accepting a glass of sangria from a passing waiter.
“Penance?” Cesar repeated with a frown. His face cleared as understanding dawned. “For the mix-up at the hospital? It was your cousin who caused it. I’ve read the full report from the hospital and police.”
“I still feel I owe you an apology,” Sandro said, hiding his discomfort behind a flat smile. “I’m very sorry your wife and son were affected.”
“I wouldn’t know I had a son if it hadn’t happened,” Cesar said bluntly. “Don’t apologize. I’m grateful.”
It was straight talk without sentimentality, exactly the kind that appealed most to Sandro. He nodded, trying to take in that his habit of self-blame wasn’t required here.
“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 head vintner would love to pick your brain on your methods.”
Sandro had planned to work out of their hotel room, but it was the weekend and he found himself agreeing.
An educational morning—Cesar was a chemist with an experimental nature—was followed by a lazy few hours beside the pool, sampling from Cesar’s cellar. The infants had splashed and gummed whichever finger was offered and slept side by side on a blanket in the shade. It was relaxing and very pleasant.
Later, they brought Lorenzo back to the hotel for siesta, and, once the nannies came back from their day of shopping, the Monteros would be joining them for a late dinner.
“You’re spoiling me,” Octavia said as she shrugged into her dress, having just fed Lorenzo and tucked him in. The sea-foam-green of her dress was paler than Sandro would have chosen for her, but the silvery shimmer made her fresh tan glow. The flouncy skirt was cute as hell, too, showing off her toned legs.
He realized she was looking at him as she put earrings in her ears, waiting for him to respond.
Spoiled? He was the one who’d just woken from an afternoon delight that had knocked him out cold.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“You didn’t want to come to Spain at all, but you invited them for dinner.”