“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.”
“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?