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.
Octavia had even invited her mother and Trista had agreed to come. She’d been a different woman since Octavia had cut ties with her father, most notably because Octavia had offered her baby bonus to her mother to buy herself an apartment and she’d accepted.
As much as Octavia was enjoying a new and warmer relationship with her mother, however, she kept wondering if she’d somehow wind up just like her after all. Their circumstances were different. Their husbands were different and Octavia had told herself from the very beginning that her marriage would be different.
But lack of love was lack of love.
And she kept thinking of something her mother had said when they were signing the final papers for the apartment. “He wasn’t always so bitter, you know. The first miscarriages were hard on him and I think he forced himself to stop caring after that.”
Octavia wasn’t in a mood to forgive her father, or even try to understand. She definitely didn’t want to compare Sandro to him.
But she couldn’t help thinking that if her parents had married for love rather than progeny, their relationship wouldn’t have been so empty when the babies failed to arrive.
Once that hard fact had occurred to Octavia, she hadn’t been able to shake it. She and Sandro had married to make a life together and they had a good one, so it wasn’t fair of her to change the rules midstream and expect love.
But she did. Because she loved him.
It wasn’t the nascent, immature infatuation of their first weeks of marriage, either. It was admiration for the man he was, joy at being near him, lust for his body and love, love, love of the rest of him. The emotion filled her up to overflowing, seeking expression.
She’d been working up the courage to tell him, but what she really needed courage for was hearing—maybe seeing—that he didn’t love her back.
Time, she kept telling herself. He would come to love her in time.
Meanwhile, she would enjoy the growing love that his family seemed to reciprocate. The day was glorious so she asked for the lunch to be served alfresco. Her mother wasn’t here yet, but Octavia had just finished feeding Lorenzo and left him with Bree to dress for his big day. She broke into Sandro’s Fortress of Maternal Avoidance and said, “We’re all on the front terrace. Will you come join us?”
He kept typing then moved the mouse, clicked and sat back in his chair. “Did I hear correctly that she’s ordered a cake? He doesn’t eat real food yet.”
“Oh, Sandro,” she said with exasperation, closing the door so his mother wouldn’t overhear, then marched forward to the front of his desk. “Yes, she’s gone over the top. But it’s a nice day. Come enjoy it with your family.”