Not quite. He was still too contained, but they were closer than they’d been.
CHAPTER NINE
SANDRO COULDN’T RECALL having spent any real time with Octavia’s parents. His dealings with her father, Mario Benevento, had left him with an impression of a shrewd businessman. They’d hammered out the marriage contracts as objectively as any other business deal would be negotiated.
As for her mother, Trista, he recalled her coming to dinner with Mario at the castello only the once. Sandro’s mother and grandfather had been there with Giacomo and his wife. Primo had been there, too, along with a handful of others. If Trista had said more than a few words, he couldn’t recall what they were.
He’d spoken to his in-laws at the wedding, of course, even danced with his mother-in-law. Once he and Octavia settled into the town house, he recalled mentioning that they should have her parents to dinner. Octavia had said something about asking when they might be available.
They must not have been, Sandro now realized, because he had never sat at a table with just the two of them. He would have remembered an evening this painful.
It didn’t help that his respect for Mario had fallen into the gutter weeks ago, after Octavia had opened up and called the man a cheat, then plummeted further when she confided they’d forced her to end a friendship. Sandro had already thought Mario a chauvinist, but he now saw the man was an outright sexist without any sensitivity genes at all. He monopolized the conversation with politics and business, not asking his daughter how she was recovering from Lorenzo’s birth and not giving his wife opportunities to address personal topics, either. He loved his wine and had taken little notice of his grandson.
Thankfully dinner was almost over. Dessert had arrived. The baked half pear was stuffed with walnuts and honey. A ball of gelato next to it held a sprig of mint. All the food had been excellent. Sandro might have enjoyed himself if it had just been a date with his wife, but he had to tolerate this.
“Did you bring a copy of the DNA report? I want one for my files before we officiate the hand off,” Mario said as the summary of his latest and greatest executive decisions came to an end.
Across from him, Octavia paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth.
“I had some notarized copies made,” Sandro said smoothly. “But we can discuss all of that at the office sometime next week. I’ll have my PA call yours to set it up.”
“That’s not why you’re here tonight?” Mario said with a degree of incredulity.
“No, this is a social call,” Sandro said. He looked across at Octavia, unsure why that wouldn’t be clear. “Octavia wanted to visit and introduce you to your grandson.”
Which wasn’t quite true. He had suggested it and she had made the arrangements with a mutter about inevitability and her mother not being happy. Now her dark gaze met his, black-coffee eyes turbulent in her otherwise expressionless face. In the past few days, she’d been quick to smile and reach out to him, but tonight she was the pretty mannequin again.
Mario snorted. “There was no need to rush that. Boy won’t speak for years.”
Octavia’s fingers tightened around her spoon.
Sandro was offended on their son’s behalf, too. And Octavia’s. This was a stark glimpse at the sort of disconnected childhood she had hinted at. He had to catch himself from turning on Mario with a few home truths.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to react. Octavia blurted, “Even longer before he’s allowed to.”
A moment of stunned silence, then Mario said, “What did you say?” in a tone infused with ominous warning.
“Octavia,” her mother scolded in a murmur.
“No, I’m going to say it,” Octavia said on a burst of suppressed wrath. “He put you through all those miscarriages, insisted he wanted a boy, I finally deliver one and he can’t even be bothered to hold him. I don’t understand you.” Her voice rose as she leveled the last at her father.
“Cara,” Sandro said gently, trying to keep this from becoming a scene.
“An heir and a spare, Octavia. That’s what I need.” Mario turned his red face to Sandro. “And so do you if you want to finalize the merger. Control your wife.”
Sandro took issue. Very strong issue, but Octavia went off enough for both of them.
“Really?” she cried, rising to toss her napkin over her dessert. “All this time and you still don’t understand how biology works? What if I don’t have another boy? What if I don’t want to go through another pregnancy? What happens to the merger then?”
“The inheritance moves through regular channels,” Sandro interjected, taking satisfaction from throwing the reminder in his father-in-law’s face. “It will go to your mother, you, then any children we have. Stopping with Lorenzo would only delay my takeover, not prevent it. And we should get him home to bed,” he added, rising to move to the door of the dining room where he requested their car be brought around and that Bree put the baby into it.