So he hadn’t felt quite ready to settle down that night. Primo had essentially forced the issue, but as it had turned out, once the idea of taking Octavia for himself had struck, it had stuck.
She had been pretty in an understated way with potential for genuine beauty. She’d also been collected and traditional and more than willing to accept the simple attachment of an arranged marriage over the more volatile love match his parents had had. She wanted children and wanted to devote herself to them. Given the demands of his work, he saw that as yet another way they were an immediate fit.
Best of all, the family wouldn’t lose a lucrative partner and he had the perfect excuse for Primo. Lady’s choice. He couldn’t help that Octavia had fallen for him. Women did. If he was taking advantage of her inexperience and surface infatuation, well, it was for the greater good.
His only moment of doubt had come when he’d taken her to the dance floor. He’d wanted to lend an air of romance to his proposal, but also foreshadow his move to his cousin. As he had pulled Octavia into his front, however, and smelled the sweet, nutmeg scent of her hair, desire had rung through him with unexpected force.
She had reacted, too. The sparkle of her attraction toward him had been beautiful. Incendiary. Fuel to his fire and bordering on dangerous. He hadn’t experienced such a rush of unbridled hunger in his life.
Given that he never allowed feelings to rule him, he’d thought for one brief moment of abandoning his plan—but no. Suddenly the idea of her marrying Primo, sleeping in his cousin’s bed, had been unthinkable.
He had proceeded with his proposal, convinced he could handle the attraction. He had taken Primo aside to explain that he and Octavia had a connection that had to be elevated above dispassionate business transactions. Alessandro knew for a fact that her father had asked her which man she preferred. She’d chosen Sandro and, since he was the better prospect, so had Mario.
Arranged marriages were strategic by definition, damn it. He didn’t understand why she was upset to learn his reasons now.
Because it came on the heels of Primo’s vindictive betrayal, he supposed. Her trust was shaken. She was looking for reassurance and not finding it in her husband. That bothered him. He prided himself on being completely reliable.
Tomorrow, he silently promised her. They would both be calmer and capable of talking rationally. She would come to Naples with him.
* * *
Lorenzo was over a week old when they released her. Despite cabin fever, Octavia was a little bit sorry to be discharged. The hospital had been a nice delay against worrying over how she and Alessandro would proceed. She hadn’t seen him much. He’d had meetings with police and conference calls with his grandfather and appointments with executives in the various offices. He called and texted often, but his absence had left her to explain to Sorcha and her Spaniard how the mix-up had occurred.
Cesar Montero did have a similar air of dynamic power to Alessandro’s. He had been quite intimidating, arriving on a high tide of energy, sweeping into the nursery with an unequivocal demand to see his son. He was perfectly polite to Octavia—barely noticed her really, which was fine by her—but the thick tension between him and Sorcha had been like a suffocating fog.
Octavia had apologized to Sorcha when they had a moment alone, saying, “I’m so sorry this awful situation happened, Sorcha. I feel terrible—”
“Oh, I don’t hold you responsible!” Sorcha reassured her, but admitted on a quivering whisper, “But Cesar didn’t know about Enrique. At all.” The stress of dealing with his discovery was visible in her pinched nostrils and white cheeks.
Octavia didn’t judge. She was far too preoccupied with her own problems and the sordid reason her husband had married her. Part of her wanted to spill it all to her new friend, but it was so personal, so lowering.
Before she left, Sorcha made a point of exchanging contact details so they could stay in touch. “I’ll be going to Spain,” Sorcha had said, a conflicted expression torturing her beautiful face. “I don’t expect it’ll be a warm welcome from his family. I’d appreciate having a friend, even if you’re in London.”
“I’ve been in London for medical care. I live in Naples,” Octavia had said, not bringing up her reservations about going back there. Alessandro hadn’t said another word about their plans, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about how ruthless and arrogant he’d been the other night. It hurt. She felt as if she was back in her childhood, expected to do as she was told.
And why not? She virtually always had.
“I’d like a friend, too,” Octavia said with a touch more vehemence than she meant to reveal. “I’m very attached to Enrique,” she added, reaching out to stroke Sorcha’s son’s tiny closed fist. “I’ll need regular updates. I’m going to miss him. He was almost mine.” It was true. She felt a strange connection to the boy.