Her gown was a simple, strapless black with a ruched waist that gathered on her hip, disguising those last few pounds she was still fighting to lose. A scalloped, off-the-shoulder lace overlay of three-quarter sleeves would lend it a Spanish flair and her hair was pulled to one side in a rope of straight gold that had fallen behind her left shoulder.
Cesar’s warm fingertips smoothed her hair to the front, baring her back to him, making her shiver.
“Like that?” he murmured, stroking her exposed spine down the length of the open zipper. “I can’t stop thinking about your mouth around me the other night.”
“Cesar,” she gasped, clutching at where her heart almost leaped out of her chest. “Why do you always talk about it?”
“Because it turns you on,” he said, tone heavy with smug amusement. He continued to caress her nape and set a kiss where her neck met her shoulder. “Doesn’t it?” he demanded against her skin.
She was blushing, flushed with pleasure at knowing he enjoyed their lovemaking as much as she did.
He lifted his head and something cool and smooth and surprisingly heavy slid across her upper chest.
He clipped the necklace into place, then zipped her dress before touching her shoulder to turn her.
“Oh! I didn’t know I’d be wearing it.” She moved so she could see herself in the mirror. The pendant on the thick platinum chain was a teardrop-shaped blue sapphire set in a splash of platinum rays accented with glittering diamonds. Cesar had arranged with the jeweler to have it included as part of her silent auction fund-raiser. “It’s so beautiful.”
“On you, very,” he agreed, appearing behind her and smoothing her hair back behind her shoulder again. “And that clinches it.”
“Clinches what?” She met his gaze in the mirror.
“I’ll make the final bid. There are earrings to match.” He nodded at the open velvet box on the side table.
She was only touching the edges of the stone, not wanting so much as a fingerprint to dull its sparkle, but she looked up at him with a kind of admonishment.
“I don’t expect this, you know.” She’d already picked up on the great pride his mother took in showing off things her husband purchased for her, but Sorcha didn’t see how Javiero’s buying a red convertible for his wife translated into anything but a conversation starter over lunch.
“The part where you married me and come home to us is the part that matters,” Sorcha told Cesar.
“I know,” he said, something like tenderness softening his hard features. His caress on her jaw was light and sweet. “I’ve never understood that about you.”
“That I would value a person over a thing?”
“That you don’t expect anything for the amount of yourself that you give up,” he explained.
“What does that mean? That if I could afford the right item, I could have more of you?” She kept her tone a light tease, reminding herself that his world had never been like hers, where all she and her family had had was love, but his remark made it sound as if he would never love her. That shook her.
“What more do you need?” he asked with a light frown, as if he couldn’t imagine what he was failing to provide.
Oh, Cesar.
She was glad to have the distraction of the party to take her mind off the fact he couldn’t see she wanted his heart.
* * *
Cesar’s world had always been one where status mattered. He didn’t buy in to it the way his mother did, but he still felt his youthful failure as more than just a financial disaster. It was his greatest embarrassment that he’d let personal feelings get the better of him, lowered his guard and left himself open to becoming a mark.
His parents’ disappointment had been nothing compared to his disgust with himself.
Sleeping with Sorcha, getting her pregnant, crashing and calling off his wedding... That was more weak, mortal behavior where he’d allowed passion and other emotions to govern him. Even his conversation with her earlier, over the necklace, was niggling at him, making him discontent.
He was reserved for a reason, damn it. He couldn’t afford to be emotionally vulnerable.
So his mother’s approval of Sorcha’s party meant very little to him one way or another. Sorcha, however, felt things deeply. He knew that, which was what he’d been getting at earlier. She shouldn’t put so much of herself on the line for things like this party.
She was so invested in its success.
While he might not trust easily, he’d been more than confident she would pull off a stellar event. Could she see now that she was showcasing their home beautifully and everyone was enjoying themselves?
See? he wanted to say to his parents. Marrying Sorcha had made sense. She was smart, made a charming hostess, had sophisticated tastes...
She didn’t see all that she was, of course. She was the most humble person he’d ever encountered. While tuxedoes and evening gowns mingled in the sparkling lights of the garden, and everyone conversed happily in and out of the silent auction tent, his wife stood beside him holding her breath, pretending she wasn’t straining her ears, waiting for his mother to pronounce judgment.
Finally his mother nodded to indicate an Italian couple. “They seem interesting. His mother is marrying the Count of Valdavia. Did you know that, Cesar? He was very generous with his bids in the auction, too. You might break my record,” she added in a chiding tone aimed at Sorcha that nevertheless held a note of admiration.
If his mother was bested, it had better be in a way that put a larger plaque on a wall with their name in grander letters.
“I only had the chance to say hello when the Ferrantes arrived. Do you mind if I go speak to them now?” Sorcha asked him, loosening her grip on his arm.
“I’ll come,” he said, excusing them from his parents before his mother asked how Sorcha knew them. He had never mentioned how he’d come to learn Sorcha was in hospital with his baby and the hospital had kept a lid on the scandal as well.
Cesar might have refused to let Sorcha invite the Ferrantes given how they met, but he understood all too well how one could trust by mistake. Diega’s recent betrayal was still casting a shadow.
He wouldn’t have brought up the baby switch with Alessandro Ferrante, either, but the moment Sorcha left with Octavia to check on the boys, Ferrante apologized for his cousin’s perfidy. He wore such an air of self-recrimination, Cesar understood the man felt these sorts of failures as deeply as he did.
As furious as Cesar was that the man’s cousin had nearly stolen Enrique from him, he had read the reports. Ferrante wasn’t letting sentiment keep him from encouraging the law to do their job.
A shred of something he suspected was Sorcha’s influence, put a positive spin on it, prompting him to confide, “I wouldn’t know I had a son if it hadn’t happened. Don’t apologize. I’m grateful.”
Ferrante nodded, seeming to relax a little. It clearly wasn’t a surprise to him that Cesar hadn’t known about his son. That told him Sorcha had confided that detail to Octavia.
He suffered a moment of exposure, realizing his private life wasn’t as private as he had assumed. He took a fresh measure of Ferrante, thinking it might behoove him to know him better if their wives were gossiping.
“The ladies have plans to lounge by the pool tomorrow, but I’ll be spending the morning in our vineyard. I understand you have a private label as well? Would you like to join me? Our vintner would love to pick your brain on your methods.”
Ferrante took a moment to consider. “Sounds more interesting