“Do you intend to run your father’s portfolio after you marry? Is that why you’re letting him choose your husband?”
As if her father would allow that! Mario had grudgingly yielded to her desire to finish school, disparaging her study of psychology and sociology, then had confined her work in his office to redecorating his lobby where he had consistently pulled rank on final decisions. She’d thought about striking out, taking a job elsewhere, but despite a dozen find-your-career quizzes she’d never identified anything that had sparked her enthusiasm enough to defy her father over it.
“My father has traditional views on a woman’s place,” she said dispassionately.
“Which doesn’t answer my question.”
“I thought I did,” she’d said truthfully. “Your own family’s fortune is managed by men, isn’t it?”
“Not entirely. I have three female cousins who head different departments. My sister runs an architecture firm I co-own with her and her husband, and my middle sister has a string of boutiques that I underwrote quite confidently. They’re all very successful, so I’m well aware that women make perfectly capable executives.”
His lack of sexism was refreshing, but if his remarks were meant to encourage her, they had had the opposite effect, making her think she wasn’t trying hard enough to reach her potential.
“If your cousin needed me to take on some of the management, of course I would be willing to learn,” she had assured him with manufactured confidence. “At least until children come along.” Octavia’s mother had been there, but she hadn’t been there. Octavia would do both. “But I’m sure my father will remain active in the role for a long time, so...”
She trailed off, heart snagged by a new look of intention in his gaze.
“What?” she prompted.
“I’ve had an idea.” A faint smile drifted across his lips—lips that were a sensual contrast against the rest of his starkly hewed features. His cheeks were hollow, his chin strong, his expression vaguely dismissive of what she’d just said. Reaching out, he’d stolen her champagne and set both glasses on the narrow rail. “Let’s dance, Octavia.”
He’d taken hold of her hand and tugged her back into the ballroom, his calm surety causing a wild chaos inside her. To this day, she could feel the way his hands had burned her through her gown, already taking on the possessive quality she had grown to revel in.
Across the room, where her parents stood with Primo, her mother was waiting to catch her eye to signal that Octavia should rejoin them.
“I think they want to talk to us,” she said.
Alessandro had continued dancing, saying almost casually, “What if my cousin was not your potential husband, Octavia? What if I was? Would you still rather be a full-time wife devoted to running our home life, which I’d prefer, I must admit, or would I have a part-time business partner whom I would sleep with, which I would settle for?”
“Are you serious?” She’d misstepped, forcing him to catch her close to keep her upright. The press of his body had flushed hers with sexual awareness—something that had never happened to her before. The heated glow had risen up and radiated outward from her center like an aura, sensitizing her skin, warming her cheeks, encasing her in a blush of excitement.
Something happened to him in the same instant. He flashed a look of reassessment at her, brows crashing together as though he’d been taken completely by surprise. For a moment, his hands tightened on her and a muscle ticked in his cheek. A question hung in the balance, but she didn’t know what that question was.
Only that his mouth tightened with resolve as he made up his mind.
“Wh-why would you want to marry me?” she asked.
“As I said, I’d prefer a practical arrangement myself. I’ll need an heir and your father’s assets are a good mix for ours. Did you respond like this when you danced with Primo?” His thumb had traced a circle against her rib cage, the caress tiny and mind-blowing at the same time as he kept her pinned to his front.
“What? No!” Heat like she’d never known had flamed upward, burning her throat and stinging her cheeks. It was both embarrassment that they were talking so bluntly and reaction, pure animal attraction.
For the first time, she saw he was capable of humor as he flashed a grin of amused satisfaction.
“Good,” he said with a heavy-lidded look that put a funny knot in her belly. “And I’m glad you respond to me. It will make the making of those babies you want more fun for both of us.”
Lying in her hospital bed, Octavia threw her arm over her eyes, flooded with the same painful excitement and callow embarrassment now as had overwhelmed her then. What had he ever seen in her but naivety and willingness to be bedded?