Winter Wedding for the Prince

by Barbara Wallace

  The sultan was waiting for them in his penthouse suite. Tall and exceptionally handsome, he greeted Armando with the very type of embrace Rosa had considered earlier. “I have been awaiting this moment since yesterday’s phone conversation,” he said, clapping Armando on the back. “That our families will be forever joined warms my heart.”

  Rosa stifled a giggle as she watched Armando, clearly caught off guard by the effusiveness, awkwardly pat the man in return. His cheeks were crimson. “You honor me, Omar.”

  “On the contrary, it is you who honor my family by taking Mona as your bride. Your union marks the beginning of a long and fruitful alliance between our countries.”

  “Your enthusiasm humbles me,” Armando replied as he disentangled himself. “My father sends his regards, by the way, and his welcome.”

  “Please send my regards in return. Tell him I look forward to the day he and I toast the birth of our grandson.”

  Rosa choked on the cough rising in her throat. All the effusiveness was making her insides cringe.

  Armando arched his brow at the sound. “You remember my assistant, Rosa Lamberti,” he said, motioning to her.

  She started to bow only to have her hands swept up in the sultan’s large bronze grasp. Apparently, his enthusiasm didn’t only apply to Armando. “Of course. A man would never forget a beautiful woman. Especially one whose face makes the flowers weep.” As the sultan pressed a kiss to her knuckles, Rosa heard Armando give a cough of his own. She waited until King Omar turned and flashed him a smirk.

  He led them inside and to the penthouse dining room. The table, Rosa noticed, had been set with a combination of Yelgierian and Corinthian colors, including a large centerpiece of greens, jasmine and dianthus, the official Yelgierian and Corinthian flowers. Meant to be a tribute to their merging families, the red and gold looked unexpectedly festive as well. There was wine chilling and a trio of uniformed waiters standing at the ready next to the sideboard.

  “A working lunch,” King Omar explained. “I thought it would be more efficient.”

  That depended upon your definition of efficient, Rosa thought, counting the silverware. Chances were she would be eating salads for the next week to make up for the excess.

  “I am sorry Mona couldn’t be here to join us,” the king said as the waiters wheeled out the first course, a rich, spicy-smelling soup that had Rosa amending her plans to two weeks of salad. “I called and requested that she fly here this morning, but sadly, she told me she wasn’t feeling up to traveling.”

  “She’s not well?” Concern marked Armando’s face. Rosa knew what he was thinking. If she was sickly, Mona might not have the stamina to meet the demands that came with being queen.

  “The flu,” King Omar replied. “Caught during one of her visits to our local children’s hospital.”

  “One of?” Rosa asked.

  “She spends a great deal of time there. Children’s charities are among her passions. In fact, she recently completed her degree in children’s psychology.”

  “Impressive,” Armando replied.

  “Public service is a duty our family takes quite seriously. We understand the responsibility that comes with power. Although of all my children, I have to say that Mona takes her responsibility the most seriously.”

  Smart, charitable and, guessing from King Omar’s looks, beautiful. Rosa reached for her water to cool the heartburn stuck behind her breastbone. Call her a cynic, but Rosa thought the woman sounded too good to be true. If the glint in Armando’s eyes was any indication, however, he was impressed.

  “That is good to hear,” he said, “as our family is extremely interested in social reform. Sadly, as beautiful as Corinthia is, the country is not without its blemishes. We are as susceptible to the problems of the world as every country. Disease. Drugs. Violence. We’re currently working quite hard to stem the problems of domestic abuse.”

  “Interesting,” King Omar replied. “How so?”

  “Being an island country can be detrimental,” Armando replied. “If women in trouble cannot afford airfare for themselves and their children, they often feel trapped. It’s hard to start over when you’re looking over your shoulder.”

  Omar replied, “Are there not laws in place to protect them?”

  “Yes, but laws on the books aren’t always enough,” Rosa said. She could tell from the widening of the king’s eyes he hadn’t expected her to speak up over Armando, but as always happened when the subject came up, she couldn’t contain herself.

  “Many of our villages are small and contain generations of connected families,” Armando explained. “Women often fear going to the authorities because of their husbands’ connections.”

  “I see,” Omar replied. “You said you are working to change this? How?” Rosa wondered if he was thinking about his own small country with its tribal population.

  “We’ve created a number of programs over the past couple years, but the one we’re most proud of is called Christina’s Home, which gives women who don’t have the resources a place where they can escape.”

  King Omar frowned. “Are you saying you built a safe house?”

  “Yes, although we prefer the term transitional home. We provide education, legal services and such to help them start over. Right now, we have one home, but our hope is to eventually have a network of two or three Christina’s Homes that can address a variety of transitional needs.”

  During his explanation, the waiters replaced the soup with a plate of flaky fried pastries and salad of greens and roasted peppers that had Rosa extending her salad fast until after the new year. The sultan picked up one of the pastries and took a healthy bite. “Interesting name, Christina’s Homes,” he said when he finished chewing. “Named after your late wife?”

  Some of the light faded from Armando’s eyes. “Yes. One of the qualities that made her so special was the way she cared for the welfare of our people. By naming the shelter program after her, we’re honoring her memory twofold. In name and in deed. It was Rosa’s idea,” he added. “She shares her sister’s passion for helping people.”

  She had heard Armando make the same compliment dozens of times without reaction. Today, however, her stomach fluttered. She felt awkward and exposed.

  “My sister always believed in taking action,” Rosa said. Whereas she’d needed her sister’s death before she found the courage to do anything. Reaching for her glass, Rosa hid her shame behind a long drink of water.

  On the other side of the table, she could feel the sultan studying her. “This sounds exactly like the type of work my daughter would want to be involved with. How many families have you helped?” he asked.

  “Too many to count,” Armando replied. “Some only stay for a night or two while they make arrangements in another part of Europe, while others stay longer. This time of year is among our busiest, as we like to make sure circumstances don’t prevent the children from enjoying the magic of the holidays. Every year we host a Christmas party for current and past residents, complete with traditional foods and presents.”

  “It’s also when we host our largest fund-raiser,” Rosa added. “The Concert for Christina’s Home is broadcast nationwide and is fast becoming a tradition.” Even though she felt ashamed about her own behavior, she was spectacularly proud of how her sister’s legacy had taken hold. All those late nights she and Armando worked, neither of them willing to go home and face their sad empty lives. That the program thrived proved amazing things could come out of even the most profound sadness. It was almost as much of a legacy to their triumph over grief as it was a tribute to Christina.

  “The program sounds exactly like the kind of work Mona would want to see continued.” Rosa jerked from her thoughts just in time to hear King Omar mention his daughter’s involvement. “I have no doubt she would be honored if you allowed her to help expand the work
being done in your first wife’s name.”

  Armando would never allow it, she thought as possessiveness took hold. Christina’s Home was too sacred to let a stranger—even one he planned to marry—become involved. She looked across the table, expecting to find him giving her a reassuring look. Instead, she found him taking an unusually long drink of water.

  “The people of Corinthia would appreciate that,” he said finally. He looked to her, eyes filled with silent apology.

  Rosa lost her appetite.

  * * *

  “He backed me into a corner,” Armando said when they were on the elevator and heading back downstairs. “It would have been insulting to say anything other than yes.”

  Rosa didn’t reply. Mainly because she didn’t want to admit Armando was right. The king had practically forced his daughter’s involvement on Armando. That didn’t make it sting any less.

  Christina’s Home had been her idea as a way of honoring her sister. She’d been the one poring over the budget with Armando and massaging corporate donors. What made King Omar think his daughter could waltz in and become Armando’s partner?

  Because Mona was to be his wife, that’s what. Next year at this time, it would be Mona helping Armando. Mona going over party plans in his dimly lit office while he shed his jacket and tie. Letting him drink her coffee when he grew punchy. For a man who could dominate a room of leaders, Armando managed to look like a sleepy cat when tired. So adorably rumpled. She’d bet Mona wouldn’t be able to resist running a hand through his curls when she saw him.

  Oh, for crying out loud, you’d think she was jealous, worrying what Mona did with Armando’s hair. What mattered was maintaining control over a charity she’d helped create.

  “Clearly, he thought playing up his daughter’s generous nature would impress me,” Armando replied. Busy adjusting his jacket, he thankfully missed Rosa’s scowl. The man certainly had been eager to paint his daughter in a good light.

  “Did it work?” she asked.

  “Did what work? Singing his daughter’s praises?” He gave his cuff a tug. “I suppose. It’s good to know the future queen has a keen understanding of her responsibilities. Although right now King Omar is going out of his way to paint her in the most positive light possible. He’s quite a salesman in that regard.”

  “You think he’s exaggerating?” She was ashamed at the thrill she felt over the possibility of a problem.

  The shake of Armando’s head quickly squelched the notion. “Oh, no, the El Halwani dedication to social causes has been well documented. They are considered among the most progressive ruling families in the region.”

  Of course they were. No doubt the mythical Mona would be extremely dedicated to bettering Corinthian society, including helping Christina’s Home. Next year, she would be the one working by Armando’s side. While he left Rosa behind.

  She pressed a fist to her midsection. Lunch truly wasn’t agreeing with her. What started as a burning sensation had grown to a full-blown knot that stretched from her breast to her throat.

  “Do you feel all right?” Armando asked. “You’ve been pale since lunch.”

  “Too much spicy food. My stomach wasn’t expecting such an exotic lunch.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?” he asked, turning in her direction.

  Rosa hated when he studied her like that, like he could read her mind. She could almost feel his blue eyes reaching through her outer layers and into her thoughts. “I—”

  The elevator doors opened, saving her from trying to tap-dance in close quarters. Quickly, she stepped out into the lobby. “Why would there be something else?” she asked once she was safely a step or two ahead. “Can’t a woman have a problem digesting spices?”

  “Of course. She can also be hurt.”

  How was she supposed to respond to that? What could she say that didn’t sound jealous and possessive? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “I think you do.” His fingers caught her wrist, stopping her from going farther.

  In the center of the lobby stood an indoor fountain, ruled over by a small marble cherub. Maintaining his grasp, Armando tugged her toward the fountain edge, where he took a seat on the marble wall. “I think we should talk,” he said, pulling her down next to him. “I know why you’re upset, and I understand.”

  “You do?” Rosa doubted his did. How could he, when she wasn’t 100 percent sure why she was reacting so strongly herself.

  What she did notice was how the marble beneath them made her more aware of their close position than usual. She could feel Armando’s body warmth radiating against her leg, even though the only parts of them touching were his wrist on her hand. And, she realized, looking down, that was no longer true.

  Looking up again, she came eye to eye with Armando’s gentle expression.

  “Christina’s Home,” he said. “You’re worried what will happen if Mona gets involved with the program.”

  Perhaps he understood after all. “It’s just that you and I worked so hard to build something together...”

  “Which is why I want you to know that I understand, and I promise—” Rosa gasped as he reached up to cradle her face between his hands “—I will never let anything, or anybody, take away your sister’s legacy.”

  Christina, of course. What had she been thinking? She gave him a smile anyway, since his reassurance was well intentioned.

  When he smiled back, an odd squiggling sensation passed through her.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad, because you know how much I would hate for you to be upset.”

  Smile softening even more, he fanned his thumbs across her cheekbones. “I would be lost without you, you know.”

  He held her cheeks a beat longer before getting to his feet. “Now that we’ve settled that, do you feel up to driving?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” she replied.

  As soon as Armando started toward the front door, however, she pressed her hand to her stomach to quell the odd quivering sensation that had sprung up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN ROSA AND ARMANDO first conceived of Christina’s Home, they wanted to build a place that the late princess would have built herself. Therefore, the home was a sprawling stone villa set at the end of a gated access road. State-of-the-art security assured residents the privacy and safety they needed to rebuild their lives, while acres of grass and gardens gave their children the chance to be children.

  For this year’s Christmas party, thanks to local businesses and designers eager to earn a royal blessing, the central dining room had been transformed into a winter wonderland. In addition to the traditional Corinthian red and green window boxes, there were “snow”-covered evergreens lining the walls and animated snowmen with motion detectors that brought them to life. There was even an indoor jungle gym modeled after the ice castle from a famous children’s movie. All afternoon long, kids had been laughing as they hurled themselves down the indoor “ice” slide into a pile of fake snow.

  Rosa stood at the back of the room, near the partition that blocked the corridor and kept the chaos contained to the single room. Near to her, a giant window looked out on snow-covered mountains, including Mount Cornier, whose winding roads had been Christina’s final destination. During his dedication speech, Armando said that the view guaranteed the princess would be forever looking down on her legacy.

  Rosa wondered what Christina would think if she knew her older sister had spent the last several days fighting a disturbing awareness when it came to Armando. All of a sudden, it seemed, someone had flipped a switch and she was noticing things about him she’d never noticed before, such as how elegant his fingers looked when gripping a pen or the how the bow in his upper lip made a perfect V. What’s worse, each detail came with an intense collection of flutters deep inside her, th
e source of which was a place long dormant. Why, after all this time, she would suddenly and inexplicably be attracted to the man, she didn’t know, but there it was. Nature’s way of ensuring her self-esteem didn’t get too strong, probably. No worries there. Not with Fredo’s voice renting space.

  “Next year, we are hiring an actor.” The object of her thoughts poked his head around the barricade. Rosa tried not to notice he was clad only in a white T-shirt. “I am making it a royal decree.”

  “You realize you said the same thing last year,” she replied.

  “Yes, but this year I mean it.”

  “You said that last year as well.” Along with the year before that, when the official shelter was still being built and they housed families at the Corinthian Arms hotel. “You love playing Babbo Natale and you know it.” Interacting with the children under the Christmas tree was one of the few times she saw him truly relax. Not to mention it kept them both from feeling maudlin on a day that was supposed to be joyful.

  Armando mumbled something unintelligible. “What?” she whispered.

  “I said, then at least get me a better beard next year. This one makes my skin itch.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Be careful. Mock me and Babbo will put you on the naughty list.”

  “Oh, goody. Naughty girls get all the good gifts.”

  “How would you know? Is there something you’re not telling me, Signora Rosa?”

  “I’ll never tell.” Rosa immediately clamped her jaw shut. She didn’t know what horrified her more, the flutters that took flight at his question or her flirty response. To cover, she made a point of studying her watch dial. “Are you almost ready? I think the natives are getting restless.”

  “I thought Arianna and Max had them under control.” The party was serving as the couple’s first official appearance. Currently, the princess was playing carols on the shelter piano while her fiancé led the crowd in a sing-along. He was already proving a people’s favorite with his movie-idol looks and exuberant off-key singing.