Winter Wedding for the Prince

by Barbara Wallace

  Now he followed her line of sight, zooming in on Fredo Marriota immediately. Rosa’s former husband was looking up at her with an expression of surprise and disbelief. Armando watched as, despite having a date of his own, the man openly assessed Rosa’s appearance. It was clear seeing Rosa in the royal box irritated him. His stare was callous and sharp and made Armando’s jaw clench.

  At first, Rosa appeared to shrink under her ex’s scrutiny, reminding Armando of the conversation he’d overheard at the shelter. Her display of weakness lasted only for a moment, because the next thing he knew, she’d reached inside herself and found a backbone. Her shoulders straightened, and she met Fredo stare for haughty stare.

  Shooting Fredo a side glance of his own, Armando made a point of slipping his hand around Rosa’s waist and pulling her tight to his side. “Well played,” he whispered. From Fredo’s vantage point, it must have looked like he was nuzzling her neck, since the man immediately blanched. “I had no idea he would be here.”

  “Me neither. But then again, this is a large networking event, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “He doesn’t look very happy to see the two of us together.”

  “It has more to do with seeing me in a capable position,” Rosa replied. “What are you doing?”

  He’d leaned close again, so he could talk in her ear. “Playing with him.” The man could use a reminder of what he’d lost. “Every time I lean close, his eyes bulge like a frog’s, or haven’t you noticed?”

  “I noticed. So has everyone else in the theater, for that matter. How will you explain to Mona if your picture ends up in tomorrow’s paper?”

  Mona, whom he hadn’t thought about once since Rosa opened her front door. “She will understand,” he replied.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause trouble between you.”

  And Armando wanted to put Fredo in his place. She moved to break free; he held her tight.

  “I am positive,” he said. “I hardly think Mona’s the jealous type.” One of the reasons he’d selected her was her decidedly implacable nature. “Your ex-husband, however, looks as though someone stole his favorite toy.” Reaching up, he pretended to brush a stray hair from her cheek. To make Fredo seethe, he said to himself. Still, he felt an unfamiliar tightening at how her skin turned pink where his fingers touched.

  “Insulted, more likely. I’m sure in his mind, I attended with you on purpose just so I could make him look foolish.”

  “But that’s...”

  “Ridiculous? Not to him. Do you mind if we leave now? The car is probably waiting out front.” She turned in his grip so that her back faced the orchestra, essentially dismissing the man they’d been talking about. Trying to dismiss the topic altogether, Armando suspected.

  “Of course.” Casting one final look over her shoulder, he guided her from the box to the door where Vittorio and other members of the royal contingent waited patiently.

  “Will His Majesty be heading anywhere else this evening?” Vittorio asked as they passed.

  “Just home,” Rosa answered for them, forgetting she wasn’t his assistant tonight. “I mean, my apartment building first, and then His Highness will be heading home.”

  “Actually...” Armando took another look behind him before looking back at Rosa. Despite her proud stance, the standoff with Fredo had taken a toll. The glow she’d maintained all evening had faded. He hated seeing her evening end on such a sour note. “We will both be returning the palace.”

  “We will? Why?”

  He smiled. Was it a trick of the light or were Rosa’s eyes always this soft and brown? What would they look like lit by hundreds of Christmas lights? Would they sparkle like chocolate diamonds?

  He would find out soon enough.

  “Royal decree,” he teased in answer to her question.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means it is a surprise.”

  * * *

  Normally, Armando wasn’t one for surprises. It had been years since he did anything remotely spontaneous, and while in the scope of things, this surprise wasn’t anything dramatic, he still found himself energized by the idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been excited. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, rapid pulse excited. Yet here he was, wrapped in a haze of exhilaration.

  All over what was really something very silly. Didn’t matter. He still looked forward to his plan.

  Because he wanted to be sure Rosa’s evening ended on a positive note.

  It had nothing to do with wanting to see her eyes under Christmas lights.

  “Have I told you that I do not like surprises?” Rosa remarked when the car pulled into the underground entrance behind the palace.

  “Since when?” he replied. “I seem to recall you and your sister planning all sorts of surprises together before she and I got married.”

  “Correction, Christina planned surprises. I was there solely for support and labor. My life was unpredictable enough. The last thing I needed was more unpredictability.”

  He didn’t answer until the driver had opened the door and they stepped onto the pavement. “Unpredictable. You mean Fredo.” Her comments from earlier had stayed with him. They, along with the comments she’d made to Max at the shelter, were forming a very ugly picture.

  Her steps stuttered. “I don’t want to talk about Fredo right now,” she said, looking to her shoes.

  She never did, Armando wanted to say. That she continued to shut down the conversation when he asked hurt. Childish, he knew, but he needed her to open up to him. Why wouldn’t she? They were family, were they not?

  Except the appreciation running through him as he watched her walk ahead of him didn’t feel very familial. All women should move so fluidly.

  Good Lord, but his thoughts were all over the map this evening.

  At least he wasn’t the only one having appreciative thoughts, he said to himself as he caught the overnight guard stealing a glance in Rosa’s direction. Yet again, his mind went back to Fredo, and he wondered what was wrong with the man that he could find fault with a woman as likable and attractive as Rosa.

  Looking at her now, standing by the elevator with a bag clutched to her chest, her gaze contemplative and distant, something inside him lurched. She really was beautiful.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said. Thus far, the excursion wasn’t going as planned.

  “No, I’m the one who should apologize. Here you are trying to do something nice, and I’m being difficult.”

  Unlike at the concert hall when he’d pretended in front of Fredo, this time there was real hair clinging to her cheek. Armando brushed it free with the back of his hand. “You couldn’t be difficult if you tried.”

  “I hope you don’t expect me to say neither are you,” she replied, ducking her head.

  “Why not? It wouldn’t kill you to lie, would it?”

  “Possibly.”

  Normally, the banter diffused any tension that was between them, but this time, the air remained thick as they stepped on the elevator. Armando wasn’t completely surprised. A strange atmosphere had been swirling around them all evening.

  At nearly four hundred years old, the grand palace of Corinthia could be broken into two major sections—the original front section, which was open to the public, and the royal residence and offices, which resided in the more modern rear section. When the elevator doors opened, Rosa instinctively headed toward the offices. Chuckling, he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the original castle.

  “Okay, I admit I’m curious now,” she said. “Isn’t this section of the building closed this time of night?”

  “To the public. It is never closed to me. Come along.”

  In the center, a quartet of stairways came together in a large open area known as the
grand archway. Armando literally felt a thrill as he led her toward one of the staircases. Below them, the floor below the archway was pitched in blackness.

  “Now,” he said, pausing, “I need you to wait here and close your eyes.”

  “And then what? You will push me down the stairs?”

  “I might, if you don’t do what I say.”

  He waited until she obliged, then hurried down the darkened stairwell. Thankfully, years of childhood explorations left him with indelible memories of every nook and cranny. He located everything in a matter of minutes. When he finished, he positioned himself at the bottom of the stairs.

  “All right,” he called up. “Open your eyes.”

  Rosa’s gasp might have been the most beautiful noise he had heard in a very long time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE’D LIT THE Corinthian Christmas tree.

  Rosa had seen the official tree many times in her life, but this was the first time she’d ever seen the archway illuminated solely by Christmas lights. She gazed in marvel at the towering Italian spruce. The theme this year was red and gold, and somehow the decorator had managed to find golden Christmas lights. As a result, the entire archway was bathed in the softest yellow.

  From his spot at the bottom of the stairs, Armando smiled at her. “What do you think? Do you still not like surprises?” he asked.

  Rosa’s answer caught in her throat. Standing there in the golden glow of the trees, he looked a tuxedoed Christmas god, beautiful and breathtaking.

  “Amazing,” she whispered. She didn’t mean the lights.

  “You missed the ceremony the other night, so I thought I would treat you to a private one. I realize as surprises go, it’s a little underwhelming...”

  “No.” She hurried down to join him. “It’s perfect.”

  He’d lit more than the tree. The phalanx of smaller trees that stood guard around the main one sparkled with lights, too, as did the garlands hanging from the balustrade.

  “I had to skip the window candles,” he told her. “They’re too hard to light without a step stool.”

  “I’ll forgive you.”

  Unbelievable. She sank down on the bottom step to better study the room. This was the first time she’d seen this space so quiet. Because it was the palace hub, the archway was a continual stream of noise and people. Sitting here now, in the solitude, felt more like she was in an enchanted forest filled with thousands of golden stars. There was a feeling of timelessness in the air. Watching the shadows on the stone walls, it was easy to imagine the spirits of Armando’s ancestors floating back and forth among the trees. Generations of Santoros connected by tradition for eternity.

  And he’d created the moment for her. As if she were someone important. The notion left her breathless.

  “Why...” she started.

  “I didn’t want your encounter with Fredo to be how you ended your evening. So now, it can end with Christmas trees instead.”

  Rosa’s insides were suddenly too full for her body. She was being overly romantic, getting emotional over a simple kindness.

  But then, there’d been so many simple kindnesses tonight, hadn’t there.

  Armando wedged himself between her and the banister and stretched his legs out in front of him. “When my sister and I were children, we would sneak in here after everyone went to bed and light the trees,” he said. “When it came to Christmas, Arianna was out of control. She couldn’t get enough of the Christmas lights.”

  “Neither could you, it sounds like.”

  He shook his head. “You know Arianna. She acts first and thinks later. I had to go along if only to keep her from getting into trouble. Did you know she used to insist on sneaking into our parents’ salon to try and catch Babbo Natale every year? I spent every Christmas worried she was going to knock over the tree on herself or something.”

  Rosa smiled. “Taking responsibility even then.”

  His sigh was tinged with resignation. “Someone had to.”

  The Melancholy Prince, thought Rosa. Told as a child he carried the responsibility for a nation. When, she wondered, was the last time he had done something purely because doing so made him happy? She already knew the answer: he’d married her sister. While Christina was alive, he had at least shown glimpses of a brighter, lighter self. Now that side of him only appeared when Rosa arm-twisted him into situations that required it. Like playing Babbo.

  Until tonight. Even though at his age lighting the palace couldn’t be called mischievous, his face had a brightness she hadn’t seen in years. You could barely see the shadows in his blue eyes. The look especially suited him. If she could, Rosa would encourage him to play every night.

  Again, he had done this for her.

  “Thank you.” She put her hand on his knee and hoped he could feel the depth of her appreciation in her touch.

  “You’re welcome.” Maybe he did know, because he covered her hand with his.

  “Christina and I used to wait up for Babbo, too,” she said, looking up at the twinkling treetop. “Her idea, of course. I was always afraid he would be mad and switch us to the naughty list. I don’t know why, since Christina would have talked our way out of it.” No one could resist her sister, not even Santa Claus.

  “True.” He nudged her shoulder. “Your arm-twisting skills aren’t half-bad, either. I bet you could have done some sweet talking, too.”

  “No, I would have stuttered and fumbled my words. I would have been the one who fell down the stairs, too. I might still, if I’m not careful. Grace is not my middle name.”

  Armando drew back with a frown. “Are you kidding? You’re one of the most graceful women I’ve ever met.”

  “I—I am?”

  “You should watch yourself walk out of a room sometime.”

  “You do know, now that you’ve said something, I’ll never walk unconsciously again?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I am. Putting myself down is a bad habit. I’m getting better, but conditioning takes time to overcome. Hear something enough times, and it becomes a part of you.”

  “Yes, it does,” he replied. Like Armando and responsibility.

  Together, they sat in silence. Rosa could feel the firmness of Armando’s thigh against hers. Taking its cue from the hand resting atop hers, the contact marked her insides with warmth that was simultaneously thrilling and soothing. She selfishly wished Fredo would appear again so that she might feel Armando pull her tight in his arms, the way he had at the concert hall, and indulge in even more contact.

  Instead, he did her one better.

  “Fredo is an ass,” he muttered, and she stiffened, afraid he’d read her thoughts. “I know,” he said. “You don’t want to talk about him, but I have to say it. The guy is a class-A jerk.”

  She could end the discussion right there by not saying a word, but the indignation in his voice on her behalf deserved some type of comment. “Yes, he is, although he can be charming when he needs to be.”

  “They always are. Isn’t that what they told us at the shelter? It’s why a lot of very intelligent women who should know better find themselves trapped.”

  A woman who should know better. That certainly described her. Rosa could feel Armando holding back his curiosity. Trying so hard to honor her request in spite of the questions running through his head.

  From the very start of their friendship, he’d treated her with kindness and respect. More than any man she’d known. Most people—her parents, even—thought she was crazy to leave a wealthy, successful man like Fredo; they couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t be happy. But Armando had never judged her. Never asked what she thought she was doing. He trusted that she had a reason.

  Perhaps it was time she offered him a little trust in return.

  “I never told any
one. About Fredo,” she said softly.

  “Not even Christina?”

  She shook her head. “Although I think she knew I was unhappy. Thing is, for a long time I thought the problem was with me. That if I wasn’t such a fat, stupid fool, my marriage would be better.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re none of those things.”

  “Not according to Fredo. He never missed an opportunity to tell me I was second-rate.” Looking to her lap, she studied the patterns playing out in the lace. Tiny red squares that formed larger red squares, which then formed ever larger squares. She traced one of the holes with her index finger. “Didn’t help that Christina was everything that I wasn’t. I loved my sister, but she was so beautiful...”

  “So are you.”

  Armando’s answer made her breath catch. “You are,” he repeated when she looked at him. “Your face, your eyes, your figure. The way you walk...”

  “Regardless,” she said, looking back to her lap. She wasn’t trying to fish for compliments, even if his comments did leave her insides warm and full enough to squeeze tears.

  “The point is for a long time I believed him. Same way I believed him when he reminded me how fortunate I was that he was willing to take me off my father’s hands.”

  “I’m going to shoot the bastard,” Armando muttered.

  It was an extreme but flattering response. Rosa found herself fighting back a smile. “There’s no need. Your performance tonight wounded him more than enough.”

  Armando shook his head. “He deserves worse. If I’d known—”

  “Don’t,” she said, grasping his hands in hers. This time he wasn’t talking about her not sharing, but about his not stepping in to defend her. She wouldn’t have him feeling guilty because her shame kept her from speaking up. “I told you, I didn’t want anyone to know.”