It was cool. No one else was out here, but it was pretty. The boat lights were streaked like finger paint on the rippling water of the Golfo di Napoli and she was always most comfortable with her own company.
Yet oddly not annoyed when Alessandro intruded.
He brought her champagne, asking, “How long have you known Primo?”
She shivered again, this time less from the chilly air, and more from a preternatural wariness of such a dynamic man. They touched glass rims and murmured, “Salud.”
“I just met him tonight,” she replied.
He paused on the way to taking his first sip, gaze still locked to hers. “Talking to your father, it sounds like they’ve had several meetings already.” Grimness edged his tone.
She choked a little as the bubbles went the wrong way and burned her throat. It wasn’t that she was surprised. Not really. Her father had made it clear all her life that he expected her to marry the man he chose for her, but she would have thought she would be consulted earlier in the process.
“You didn’t know that,” he guessed.
“No,” she murmured. But since one of her father’s other expectations was that she not question his decisions, she kept her reaction to that one disturbed response.
She had felt Alessandro’s gaze on her profile and her heart had pounded as though she’d run up a thousand flights of stairs. This was just a test, she’d told herself. He was a rich and powerful man heading a very rich and powerful family. He wanted to know if she—if her family—was worthy of joining his. She needed to be her most pleasant and conciliatory, reassure him that she’d make a fine wife for his cousin, but her throat could barely work to swallow, let alone make conversation.
“You’re willing to go through with an arranged marriage?” he asked. “You wouldn’t prefer a love match?”
Did he think she was gold digging?
“An arranged marriage makes sense to me,” she said, reminding herself as she spoke, even though her voice wasn’t quite steady. Until tonight, she hadn’t met a man who attracted her enough to consider the alternative.
Not that she would really consider a love match. She didn’t think of herself as the sort men fell for. She’d also been raised under the attitude that her uterus was the center of her worth, and only then if it delivered a healthy heir who could grow up to take possession of her father’s fortune. She didn’t believe that, but given her mother’s struggle to produce her, Octavia couldn’t help feel a duty to make her sacrifice worthwhile. She had agreed to follow through with her parents’ plans and hopefully, finally, earn their appreciation.
“Most women I know want to marry a man who is well positioned, but they try to find them in bars and at parties. Men at parties want to hook up, not settle down.” Octavia had watched hearts get tossed to and fro as her female acquaintances tried to make these potential mates fall in love and propose. It hadn’t seemed worth the heartache when all she really wanted was children. “There’s a disconnect.”
She glanced at him, thinking she sounded as if she was showing off, using fancy words. It disconcerted her to see she had his full attention.
“I want to have a family so why shouldn’t I let my parents find a good prospect to father my children? One who could provide well for them?” she finished in a mumble into her glass.
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” he said.
She hadn’t wanted to do anything to jeopardize the negotiation, but she’d taken offense, challenging tartly, “It’s my future. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m not criticizing. Believe me, I’m impressed. I’d prefer an arranged marriage myself.”
Her heart had skipped under what sounded like a compliment. She searched his expression in the silvery moonlight, catching an impression of computation, as if he was realigning certain facts and developing a fresh strategy.
“Do you intend to run your father’s portfolio after you marry? Is that why you’re letting him choose your husband?”
As if her father would allow that! Mario had grudgingly yielded to her desire to finish school, disparaging her study of psychology and sociology, then had confined her work in his office to redecorating his lobby where he had consistently pulled rank on final decisions. She’d thought about striking out, taking a job elsewhere, but despite a dozen find-your-career quizzes she’d never identified anything that had sparked her enthusiasm enough to defy her father over it.
“My father has traditional views on a woman’s place,” she said dispassionately.
“Which doesn’t answer my question.”
“I thought I did,” she’d said truthfully. “Your own family’s fortune is managed by men, isn’t it?”
“Not entirely. I have three female cousins who head different departments. My sister runs an architecture firm I co-own with her and her husband, and my middle sister has a string of boutiques that I underwrote quite confidently. They’re all very successful, so I’m well aware that women make perfectly capable executives.”
His lack of sexism was refreshing, but if his remarks were meant to encourage her, they had had the opposite effect, making her think she wasn’t trying hard enough to reach her potential.
“If your cousin needed me to take on some of the management, of course I would be willing to learn,” she had assured him with manufactured confidence. “At least until children come along.” Octavia’s mother had been there, but she hadn’t been there. Octavia would do both. “But I’m sure my father will remain active in the role for a long time, so...”
She trailed off, heart snagged by a new look of intention in his gaze.
“What?” she prompted.
“I’ve had an idea.” A faint smile drifted across his lips—lips that were a sensual contrast against the rest of his starkly hewed features. His cheeks were hollow, his chin strong, his expression vaguely dismissive of what she’d just said. Reaching out, he’d stolen her champagne and set both glasses on the narrow rail. “Let’s dance, Octavia.”
He’d taken hold of her hand and tugged her back into the ballroom, his calm surety causing a wild chaos inside her. To this day, she could feel the way his hands had burned her through her gown, already taking on the possessive quality she had grown to revel in.
Across the room, where her parents stood with Primo, her mother was waiting to catch her eye to signal that Octavia should rejoin them.
“I think they want to talk to us,” she said.
Alessandro had continued dancing, saying almost casually, “What if my cousin was not your potential husband, Octavia? What if I was? Would you still rather be a full-time wife devoted to running our home life, which I’d prefer, I must admit, or would I have a part-time business partner whom I would sleep with, which I would settle for?”
“Are you serious?” She’d misstepped, forcing him to catch her close to keep her upright. The press of his body had flushed hers with sexual awareness—something that had never happened to her before. The heated glow had risen up and radiated outward from her center
