The Marriage He Must Keep (14 page)

“She told me not to expect you to fight my battles and I said fine. She was right. That I have no right to interfere in your business decisions, but that she can’t expect to enjoy the hospitality of someone she is insulting. I said that if she needed help packing, she should let me know since I’d be more than happy to arrange assistance from
my
staff.”

She ended with a press of her lips and a sheepish look up at him.

He folded his arms, looking so much sexier than she felt. His chest was gorgeous, his shoulders a sculptor’s curved line that begged to be traced with fingertips and lips. He dropped his hands to his hips, framing his perfect torso with his neatly muscled arms.

“No, I didn’t bring you here to warm you up, but I did wonder if something was bothering you. I also wanted to take us out of the house for a few hours. Primo has been in touch with Nonno. He’s trying to go over my head and my grandfather has told him he can’t. Nonno is drawing up a settlement that will help Primo pay his legal bills, but he will forfeit any claim to the estate. Primo has accepted and that puts an end to any aspirations his side of the clan has. I expect they’ll be gone by the time we get home today. It’s the final nail in the coffin, if you will.”

He scowled into the middle distance and she could almost hear his thoughts. He’d caused the death of his own father and hadn’t been disinherited, but Primo was losing virtually everything over what he’d done.

But Sandro’s mistake had been a youthful accident, Primo’s a deliberate act with intent to harm.

She stood without thinking and moved to wrap her arms around her husband’s waist. He closed his arms across her back, hand smoothing over her bare skin, fingers going under the wide band of her shoulder strap.

A second later, she felt a stirring of his flesh just below the line of the water. He set her back a step, expression wry. “Swimming was a bad idea. I was only thinking about the view...” He roamed his gaze down her bare upper chest and arms. The wet swimsuit plastered against her breasts revealed a
lot
more than it hid. “I didn’t consider the effect it would have on me.”

She fell back, sending her hands forward to splash water into his face.

* * *

The rest of the week was less stressful and by the end of it, Alessandro hung back in the city just long enough for a fresh haircut and a barber’s shave before he put on his tuxedo and left the town house for good. And without regret. As difficult as these recent weeks had been, as much as he was still ironing out wrinkles across the organization, he had never felt as sure in his role. Any lingering misgivings he’d had about controlling the Ferrante fortune were gone.

He was its caretaker for the future and held the entire organization in a firm, unapologetic grasp.

Now he was entering the home that was his. His grandfather would live with them until late spring. Octavia had encouraged Ermanno to stay in the main house as long as possible, to help her learn the running of things. Ermanno was in his element as a mentor so Alessandro expected great things to come from their budding relationship.

Tonight marked the launch of their new life together.

He entered their suite in high spirits and two things happened. First, he was knocked breathless by the sight of her.

He’d told her stylist, Michaela, to bring jewel tones. He always preferred stronger colors on his wife than the pastels she gravitated toward. The gown she’d chosen was black velvet with a skirt of sapphire blue. The top clung lovingly to her ample breasts and tied behind her neck, leaving her back and shoulders covered only by the loose curls of her long, dark hair. The fall of blue draped in flattering lines over her round hips. Tall heels gave her the ultrafeminine sexiness that every man enjoyed. He wanted to tumble her to the bed and forget the guests arriving downstairs.

But it wasn’t just her beauty that struck him. It was her. He was glad to see her. He’d missed her. He waited for her to come across like in the old days and slide her arms around him. They had come that far, hadn’t they?

“I just fed Lorenzo. Almost ready,” she said with barely a glance at him, head bent and attention on her phone as she tapped out a message.

Apparently, they hadn’t.

He frowned, wondering who she could possibly be texting so feverishly. She made a final strike and it whooshed, but at the same time released a ringtone chime.

Octavia read it and let out a delighted laugh.

Alessandro was taken aback. That rich sound was something he hadn’t heard in... He didn’t know how long. Far too long. It was like birdsong in spring, promising and filling him with hope.

Her smile, so genuine, took her look of aloof sophistication to a level of sparkling beauty that did more than knock him breathless. It kicked him in the heart. He hadn’t seen her happy like this since before she had gone to London.

And someone else had made it happen.

The jealousy that blindsided him in that moment was as shocking as it was severe. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh when he said, “Who is that?” but he must have because she sobered quickly, face going into that neutral mask that tucked all her thoughts and feelings away.

“Sorcha,” she replied, spine stiffening defensively. “Why?”

“Sorcha? The woman from the hospital?” He subtly recoiled. His shame over how his cousin’s subterfuge had affected the stranger was only eclipsed by his remorse over the damage done to his wife and marriage.

“We’ve stayed in touch,” Octavia said with a cool click of the button to blacken her screen, setting the phone facedown on a side table.

“Why?” He couldn’t see any sense in it.

“Because she’s a new mother like me. I can ask her about rash creams and growth spurts, things no one else wants to talk about.”

“Bree knows about those things. Ask her.”

“She doesn’t have a baby. It’s different. And I like hearing how Enrique is doing,” Octavia stated, setting her chin stubbornly. “Why do you disapprove?”

He heard the frost in her tone and realized he had to tread carefully. “I didn’t say I don’t approve, only that I don’t understand,” he prevaricated.

“Exactly. She does. We’re in the same boat. I was telling her that I had this party to go to, but that I was tired because it was another rough night with Lorenzo. She’s supposed to be organizing a gala, but isn’t up to starting because she’s tired, too.”

“And you were laughing about that?”

“Not exactly. I asked her if it was too late for her to take Lorenzo so I could get a good night’s sleep. She texted at the same time, wondering if I still wanted Enrique because he’s been so colicky. Perhaps it’s bad taste to make jokes about what happened, but...” She sighed and flipped her hair. “It’s nice to have a friend with a baby the same age. I’m not going to stop talking to her. She needs me as much as I need her.”

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.”

Antonia’s lips trembled.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Octavia’s heart ached for Sandro. She thought of all those times he’d said to a wound-up Primo,
“Relax. Come into my office and let’s talk about it
.
”
She’d always felt shut out of their important discussions, but he’d really been calming his cousin from doing something rash.

Understanding didn’t reduce her concern, however. It just made her realize how thoroughly he’d locked away his deepest feelings.

“It’s fine,” Antonia murmured. “I just try not to show how sad I still am if Sandro is around. He takes it so hard. And it’s not that he became controlling after Papa died, but he became very controlled and expected us to be the same. If he overheard an argument, he moved in to defuse it. He would lecture us to think first. Bad things can happen if you don’t, you know? Mamma dealt with her grief the other way, by letting every thought and feeling out. She married the viscount, trying to find what she’d had with Papa and even though the viscount loved her right up until the day he died, he never really knew how to deal with her. Not many men know how to match that much heartfelt expression.”

Octavia watched Ysabelle snuggling up to her Spanish count as she introduced him to Ermanno. “It must have felt like two extremes,” she mused.

“It was, and it was comforting to have Sandro’s steady counterbalance while she was going through all those highs and lows.” Antonia cast an affectionate look across the room to where Sandro was speaking to an elderly couple. “He made sure we all learned to control ourselves, and we still do around him. He has no idea how passionately we fight with our husbands,” she confided cheekily, nodding toward her own. “That’s why mine nearly swallowed his tongue when you said I was reserved. I have a terrible temper. But it feels so good to let it out.” She patted her round belly and grinned. “And the makeup sex is always fun, too.”

Octavia blushed, glimpsing Ysabelle in her daughter as Antonia overshared, but it was nice, too. It made her feel closer to her sister-in-law.

She was still thinking about makeup sex when she slid back into bed next to Sandro after feeding Lorenzo at dawn. Sandro was fast asleep, having come to bed only a few hours ago, waiting until the last guest had gone. He was on his stomach, sheet at his waist, sculpted shoulders and back bare to the stripes of rosy light coming through the blinds.

She longed to touch him, longed to make up with him properly. She wanted to kiss better all the hurts and misunderstandings and lack of communication. Maybe lovemaking wasn’t love, but it was connection and caring and the opposite of fighting. She wanted harmony.