* * *
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.