The Marriage He Must Keep(55)

“I drank half his cellar,” he retorted. It wasn’t true. They hadn’t finished any bottles, but Cesar had generously opened several. “That man knows what he’s doing.” Not just in the vineyard either. As Sandro had suspected, Cesar was the sort of savvy businessman he most enjoyed working with. They’d already touched on several areas with potential for partnerships. He looked forward to exploring opportunities with him.

“Well, I’m glad you’re over your reservations about talking to them. I told you Sorcha didn’t blame us.”

“He said he wouldn’t have known about his son if the baby swap hadn’t happened. That he was grateful, if you can believe it. I thought I’d be squirming, but I enjoyed myself today. And since we came all this way so you could spend time with Sorcha, I thought we should do that. But I didn’t expect anything good to come out of such an aggressive act,” he admitted.

She stepped into tall sandals and straightened, much closer to eye level now and rather solemn.

“You and I are better because of it,” she said. “If I hadn’t been pushed so far by Primo and everything that happened, I don’t know if I ever would have stood up for myself. I wouldn’t be as happy as I am now if I still felt like you held all the power in our relationship.”

“Are you happy, cara?” He tucked the fall of her hair behind her ear, subtly holding his breath as he waited for her to answer.

She took her time, thoughtful for a moment before allowing, “I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” There was no subterfuge in her expression. The windows to her soul were completely unguarded, open, letting him see to the dark, reverberant, vulnerable depths inside her.

She had a way of looking at him sometimes. It wasn’t hero worship. He’d seen that along with avarice and possessiveness in other women’s faces. Octavia was good at disguising her feelings, but had never been motivated by anything so base. But sometimes, when she met his gaze like this, with her expression so defenseless, he had the strangest feeling she was asking something from him.

He understood now that she wanted a better life with him than she’d had as a child. He fiercely wanted to live up to whatever it was she was seeking. He’d thought he’d managed to at different times, giving her what he thought she wanted: marriage, orgasms, a baby. Spain to see her friend. Not spoiling, but meeting her needs.

At this moment, however, he wasn’t so sure she wanted any of those things. What she wanted, he suspected, was love.

His heart stuttered.

He had deliberately chosen an arranged marriage to keep their hearts out of traffic. Surely this, what they had, was the perfect balance of friendship and respect, loyalty and regard, physical gratification and warm affection and the shared adoration of their son?

Her lashes swept down, hiding her eyes, but her mouth seemed to soften with disillusion. “We should go down.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and enjoyed touching her as they walked to the elevator. He felt pride when men turned their heads to covet his beautiful wife as they moved through the restaurant and admired her beauty himself when she smiled brightly at Sorcha and Cesar as they arrived. He even felt a measure of relief, suspecting they’d nearly detonated a land mine of some kind upstairs, but managed to step over it.

But deep, deep down, as they bantered with the other couple, touched knees, stole from each other’s plates and finished each other’s sentences, he felt as though they were acting. He felt like a coward.



Time marched on and Spain became a dreamy weekend Octavia hoped to repeat soon while consistently turning from that disturbing moment at the hotel, when Sandro had asked her whether she was happy. She had chosen to be honest and in being honest, she’d realize how far short from happy she really was.

Which was stupid. Her life was incredibly blessed. Ermanno was sweet and encouraging. They laughed regularly as he gradually transferred running the estate onto her shoulders. She loved this new responsibility! She’d never found a career that appealed, but every day on the estate was different yet comfortingly routine, giving her a sense of purpose and the satisfaction of contributing to things that impacted her and her family directly.

Around her, the flowers were blooming and the weather was fine. Her son was healthy and more adorable every day. He was even sleeping better and sitting up, almost six months old already. Ysabelle flew in for the occasion, bringing her count and a suitcase of gifts for Octavia along with her usual dose of exuberant energy.

She had insisted a half year birthday party was required for her grandson and summoned Sandro’s sisters. They’d arrived with their children last night, surrounding Octavia in a warm, noisy way that she was beginning to cherish.