Seven years younger than him and not nearly so worldly. Hiding a lot. Why hadn’t she called and shared her worries? What had that been about her father not caring about her best interests? How much had he missed by not being here?
She started toward the dining room and he urged her to pause with a touch on her arm. “Octavia. I should tell you, in case it comes up in future. Your father did offer me a bonus for a live birth. I found it...distasteful, to be honest. Hardly something within my control and not something I wanted a financial reward hanging upon. I told him to pay it out to you if he felt so strongly about it.”
“He did,” she said in a flat voice he found difficult to interpret. “It went into my account the other day and it is distasteful, but at least it gives me options.”
CHAPTER SIX
ALESSANDRO WAS NEVER anything less than confident. Even when he’d been refusing to run the Ferrante corporate holdings there hadn’t been any doubt in him over whether he could do it, only a firm belief he didn’t deserve to. He certainly never backed down from a fight until he’d exhausted all his own options.
He wanted to leap on Octavia’s comment, but now wasn’t the time. She was emotionally exhausted and physically done in. He might not be as effusive as his mother, but they were both in agreement that Octavia needed rest and lots of it, so he didn’t ask her to come to Paris with him, even though he wanted to.
He hated to leave her for even a minute, now that he realized how badly they’d fallen apart, but work needed piecing back together as much as his marriage.
Still, her remark continued to turn over in his mind, aggravating him even when he returned to his mother’s house and found her napping. She was so different, so serious and perhaps even more reticent than when they’d first met.
By the end of their honeymoon, he’d been captivated by the woman he’d married. She’d been passionate as hell in bed, bright and funny yet thoughtful. There was no sign of that woman now and it was his fault.
He must have come across as smug in those early weeks, because Primo had said, “Lucky you,” with a sneer, and made a remark about how he would be happy to continue steering the ship if Alessandro wanted to go back to playing house.
Alessandro had seen the threat then, he acknowledged now, had even acted by sidelining his new wife in favor of asserting his position at work and within the family. He’d sent Primo to expand the London office and the confident woman who’d begun to blossom had soon been sent to the same cold climate where she’d been stepped on until she was completely closed against him.
He wanted their marriage back to where it had been last year, before he’d gotten her pregnant, when she’d been quick to come forward and kiss him in greeting, hands sliding around his waist as if she’d been waiting all day to touch him.
The way he had waited all day to hold her.
Instead, they were back to the very beginning. In the days leading up to their wedding, she had allowed his touch, but she’d been a lot like she was now: wary and unwilling to look him in the eye.
With a bittersweet smile, he recalled his gentle breaching of her defenses on their wedding night. She’d been apprehensive, but endearingly brave in her determination to overcome her qualms. He had enjoyed teasing her past her reservations one slow step at a time. Dancing to low, erotic music in their hotel room while she got used to the feel of his hands on her body. Undressing in the light of candle flame so her skin glowed as she blushed all over. He’d coaxed her to explore him and she’d reacted as though he was too hot to touch, hands drawn mothlike to his skin, then fluttering away.
He’d been the one to burn on contact. She’d been so responsive, moaning against his mouth and gasping as he circled her nipple with his thumb. When he’d pressed her to the bed and lightly explored her inner thighs, driving them both crazy with anticipation before he’d finally found what they were waiting for, she’d been wetly aroused, so slick and heated he nearly lost it just from exploring her.
“Do you do this to yourself? Show me what you like,” he’d said, petting, enjoying the way she shivered and tensed and made strangled noises in her throat.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” she’d choked, hand trembling over his as she tried to decide between the pleasure he was giving her and the bashfulness that was receding behind desire.
“You do,” he’d teased, then commanded, “Let me make it happen for you,” and had tongued her nipple, sucking as he fondled her into climaxing with her hands in his hair and soft cries escaping her lips.