“But why not? I could have helped you.”
“You and Christina were in the middle of this great romance—I didn’t want to ruin the mood with my problems. And then, after Christina died, you were grieving. It wasn’t the time. Besides...” Here was the true answer. “I was ashamed.”
“You had nothing to be ashamed about.”
Didn’t she? “Do you know how hard it is to admit you spent nearly a decade allowing someone to strip you of your self-respect because you thought you deserved it?” Even now, the regret choked her like bile when she thought of the power Fredo had held over her. Power she’d given him. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She moved to swipe the moisture away only to have Armando’s thumb pass across her skin first. When he was finished, his hand remained, his palm cupping her cheek. “No one ever deserves to be abused,” he said.
“I told you, Fredo never struck me.”
“You know as well as I do abuse doesn’t always come from a fist.”
So her counselor always told her. Words could cut deep, too.
Armando’s touch was warm and comforting, calling to her to lean in and absorb its promised strength. “Took me a long time to learn that,” she said. “I figured as long as I wasn’t sporting a black eye, I didn’t have a right to complain. Besides, when it was happening...” Her voice caught. How she hated talking about those years out loud. Admitting she thought she deserved everything Fredo did and said.
Armando’s fingers slid from her cheek to her jaw, lifting her face so their eyes would stay connected. The smile he gave her was gentle and understanding. It told her that he wouldn’t ask for details.
Knowing she had a choice gave her the strength to say more.
“It catches you by surprise, you know? At first, it’s subtle. Constructive criticism. An outburst over something you did that doesn’t seem worth fighting about, because, well, maybe you didn’t communicate well enough. Meanwhile, your parents are telling you how lucky you are that such a successful, handsome man wanted to be with you, and you start to think, he’s so charming and agreeable with everyone else—it has to be my fault. That you are the one letting him down by being inferior.”
Armando squeezed her knee. “You are not—”
“I am also not Christina,” she said, anticipating his protest.
The feel of his touch against her skin was too enticing, so she turned her face away. As his hand dropped, a chill rushed in to fill its absence. She stared at the Christmas lights. “Life is not always easy when your baby sister is a great beauty,” she told him. “Soon as she walked in the room, I ceased to exist.”
“That is not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She had to smile, weak as it was, at Armando’s protest. He, the man who fell in love with Christina the moment he laid eyes on her. “The day you met her, at the reception, did you know I was standing with her?”
He stiffened. “That was different.”
No, it wasn’t. “You were not the first person to lose their heart at first sight, ’Mando. Just the first one whose feelings she reciprocated.”
They fell silent again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Armando studying his hands, a scowl marring his profile. “Do not feel bad. It was just the way things were. Christina was extraordinary.” Whereas Rosa was merely average, a fact she was only now starting to realize was a perfectly fine thing to be. Not everyone could be Christina. To hold a grudge against her sister for being special would have been a waste of energy.
For some reason, talk of her sister’s superiority made her think of Mona, another winner in the beauty and character lotto. Someone else with whom Rosa couldn’t compete. Not that there was a competition.
Next to her, Armando shifted his weight on the stone step. “You really believed Fredo was the best you could do?”
“Silly, I know.” Shameful was more like it. That a bully like Fredo was able to chip away at her self-esteem the way he did. “But Fredo had me convinced I would be a lonely nothing without him. Not only was he doing me a favor by being my husband, but I had no other options. Everything I had—money, a home—were because of him. If I left, I would have nothing.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Strange as it sounds, it was Christina’s accident,” she told him. “I was sitting at her bedside, holding her hand, thinking how unfair it was that someone like her, whose life was wonderful, should die when there were so many like me who could go in her place, and suddenly, I heard her voice in my head. You know that voice she used when she got exasperated.”
Armando gave a soft chuckle. “I certainly do.”
“Well, that voice told me life was too short and unpredictable to waste time being miserable, so take back control. So I divorced Fredo as soon as I could.”
His hand found hers again. “I’m glad,” he whispered.
“Me, too.” Who knew where she would be if she had not? Certainly not sitting on the steps in a lace ball gown surrounded by an enchanted palace wonderland. Armando would be but a distant part of her life. Her insides started to ache. The idea of a life without Armando was...was...
Right around the corner. The thought struck her, hard. Mona would be taking him away forever.
Before she realized, there was moisture rimming her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, sniffing the tears back. “Here you are trying to end the evening on a happy note, and I go and spoil it by acting maudlin.”
“You didn’t spoil anything. I’m honored you trusted me enough to finally tell me.”
“Trust was never the issue, Armando. I told you, I was ashamed. And afraid,” she added in a small voice.
“Afraid? Of me?”
She closed to her eyes. “Of seeing pity in your eyes.” That last thing she wanted was Armando looking at her like a victim. She couldn’t bear it.
“Never in a million years,” she heard him say. A wonderful promise, but... She squeezed her eyes tighter.
“Rosa, look at me.” Rosa couldn’t. She didn’t want to know what she might see.
But Armando was persistent. Capturing her face in his hands, he forced her out of hiding. “Rosa, look at me,” he urged. “Look me in the eye. Do you see pity?”
Slowly, she lifted her lids. Armando was gazing at her with eyes blue and nonjudgmental. “I would sooner cut them out than look at you with anything less than admiration.”
“Little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Not in this case. What you did took courage, Rosa. Courage and strength. If anyone needs to fear judging, it’s me for not being worthy of your friendship.”
“You’ll always be worthy,” she whispered. This time, it was she who reached across the space to touch his face. His cheeks were rough with the start of an early beard. For some reason, the sensation aroused her, as if the whiskers were scratching inside her and not her skin. She wondered if her touch had shifted something inside him as well, because the blue began to take on different shades. What had been light was slowly growing dark and hooded.
“You’re wrong.”
Focused on the shifting of his eyes, Rosa nearly missed his words. “Wrong?”
“Thinking you’re not special. You couldn’t be more wrong. You’re smart, strong. Beautiful.” It’d been too long since someone had said such lovely words to her, and the way Armando said them was so sincere that Rosa melted with pleasure.
“I wasn’t looking for compliments,” she said.
“Not compliments. Truth.”
Rosa nearly sighed aloud at his answer. The moment must going to her head, she decided. Why else would she think Armando’s gaze had dropped to her mouth? Or long for him to move closer?
“We—” She started to say that they should say good-night, but her mind was distracted by the way Armando’s lips curled into a smile. He whi
spered something. It sounded like Fredo was an idiot, but she couldn’t be sure. Next thing she knew, those beautiful curved lips were pressed against hers.
Rosa’s breath caught.
Her heart stopped.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and her hand slid to the curls at the back of his head. Sweet and lingering, it was a kiss worthy of a fairy tale. Only it was Armando whose lips were gently coaxing a response. Armando whose fingers trailed down her neck to caress the base of her throat.
A moment later, he pulled away, leaving her dazed and confused. What...?
“Mistletoe,” he said, pointing upward. “Be a shame to ignore tradition.”
Dazed and mute, Rosa simply nodded. Looking up, she saw nothing. If the mistletoe was there, it was hidden in shadows.
Armando lifted her hair off her shoulder, tucking it neatly to the base of her neck. His smile was enigmatic. There was emotion playing in the depths of his gaze, but what it was, Rosa couldn’t tell. She wasn’t used to seeing anything but sadness in his eyes, so perhaps it too was the shadows playing tricks.
In a way, she felt like the whole evening had been one giant illusion from the moment Armando knocked on her door. Everything had been too romantic, too close to perfect to be anything else. For five wonderful hours, he’d made her feel desirable and special. Like a princess. There was no way those feelings could last. As soon as she said good-night, reality would return.
The question was, would their relationship return to normal as well? Or would this newfound awareness continue to simmer inside her?
“It’s getting late,” Armando said. “We should get you home.”
And there it was—reality. Armando was already standing, a hand out to help her to her feet. Although she tried to fight it, desire pooled in the pit of Rosa’s stomach the moment his fingers closed around hers, answering her question.
“Are you all right?”
Naturally, he would notice and show concern. Her fantasy evening wouldn’t be complete otherwise.
“Everything’s perfect,” she replied. Except for one tiny problem, that was.
She’d just realized she was falling for him.
* * *
Armando called for the car to be brought around, then accompanied Rosa downstairs. Back in the bright light, he saw that the front of her hair had worked loose from its clip, the result of their kiss. The strands begged to be brushed away from her skin, and he had to clench his fists rather than give in to the temptation.
The driver was waiting when they stepped outside. Upon seeing them, he opened the door and snapped to attention. “Your Highness.” He sounded surprised.
“Just walking Rosa out,” Armando replied. For a second, he had the crazy idea of joining her on the ride, but steeled himself against that temptation as well. There was no telling what he might do pressed against her in the darkened backseat.
As it was, he had to go upstairs and make sure there really was mistletoe.
“I’ll see you Monday?” he asked instead.
“Of course.”
“And no more avoiding each other?”
You couldn’t blame him for asking. The last time, just mentioning her marriage had her dodging him for days. Who was to say what this last conversation might cause. Especially considering her expression—part dazed and part shadowed.
Mirrored how he felt inside.
They exchanged good-nights, then the driver closed the door. As Armando watched the rear lights disappear into the darkness, he kicked himself for not stealing another kiss.
What excuse would he give, though? There was definitely no mistletoe hanging above them this time, and “I want to be close to you” sounded too much like a line, even if it was true.
The kiss upstairs had been born from admiration. When they were establishing the shelter, he’d heard story after story of women who found the strength to walk away despite being told by their abusive husbands that they would never survive on their own. To leave and start over took real courage. But then, he’d always known Rosa was strong. Hell, he’d been drawing on her strength for three years.
She was wrong, too. Years of verbal debasement were abuse; she might not have had bruises, but she’d been hurt nonetheless. Fredo’s rising financial career had just ground to a halt. No way would Armando reward the man after what he did. Telling Rosa she was an embarrassment? Killing her self-esteem? If only he could throw people in the dungeon.
“Pardon me, Your Highness. Is something wrong? It’s just that you’ve been standing in the middle of the driveway for a while now,” his security guard added when Armando turned to look at him, “and I was—”
“Lost in thought,” Armando replied. First Daniela, now the guard. What was it about his kissing Rosa that required people to ask if he was all right?
On the other hand, both times had left him off balance. It felt like something was shifting inside him—something deeper than sexual attraction. There was a yearning inside him that hadn’t been there before, and, incredible as it sounded, Rosa was the trigger. If he didn’t know better, he would think he was developing feelings for her.
Impossible. He’d already had the love of his life. His heart was buried with her. He hadn’t felt anything for three years. Tonight was simply a product of traumatic confessions and Christmas lights. Nothing more. Turning on his heel, he headed back inside.
There had better be mistletoe hanging in that archway.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, instead of Christmas shopping like she planned, Rosa left her local coffee shop and headed for the palace. She needed a bit of grounding. After Armando had walked her to the car, she’d spent the entire ride home, not to mention most of the early hours, trying not to relive their kiss. No matter how hard she focused on other things, the memory of Armando’s lips pressed to hers kept forcing its way to the front. For crying out loud, she even tasted him in her dreams.
Wasn’t it just her luck? Three years of longing for someone to awaken the woman inside her, and it was Armando, the one man in Corinthia miles beyond her reach. If she didn’t have interest in dating before, how would she ever now, having experienced the gold standard of kisses?
Which was why she needed a second shot of reality, to hammer home the fact that last night was nothing but a fantasy.
Despite the early hour, the lights in the grand archway were already lit in preparation for the day’s tours. Or maybe Armando never turned them off. Either way, the arrival of day had washed away last night’s magic. Whatever spirits had been dancing along the walls were back in hiding as well, giving Armando and the rest of the royal family a rest from their presence.
The sight of plain gray walls put Rosa on firmer mental ground. Gripping the balustrade, she peered upward to find a sprig of green and berries hanging from the chandelier.
Did she really think there wouldn’t be?
“Rosa?”
So much for grounded. One word from the familiar voice and her stomach erupted in a swarm of butterflies. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Armando walking toward her. Seemed impossible, but he looked more handsome than he did last night. His faded jeans and black turtleneck sweater were a far cry from the tuxedo, but he wore them as with the same elegance. Casual was a look he did well. Pity his subjects didn’t get to see him like this—women would be storming the gate.
The closer he got, the faster the butterflies flapped. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you took the weekend off to finish your Christmas shopping.”
“I left my list in my office,” she lied. “Can’t very well shop without one. Well, I could, but I might forget someone. Or something. What about you?” she asked, quickly changing subjects before her babbling got out of control. “What has you wandering the halls this early in the morning?”
“Oh,
you know,” he said with a shrug. “Paperwork, royal proclamations. Not to mention Arianna and her wedding planners have taken over the royal residence.”
“In other words, you are hiding out.”
“Precisely. If I stay, I’m liable to be asked my opinion on embossed napkins. My future brother-in-law can deal with that stress on his own.
“It’s not the same during the day, is it?” he said, helping himself to the coffee cup in her hand. “The tree loses something when the lights are on.”
Right. The tree. For a moment, she’d been distracted by the way his lips curled around the foam. If he kissed her now, she would taste the coffee on them. “Definitely. But then, most things aren’t.” She wondered if the rule applied to kisses, too. If Armando were to lean in right now, would she feel the same swirl of desire? Considering the way her insides buckled over watching him drink coffee, she was pretty sure the answer was yes.
Armando’s lips glistened with liquid. “I’ll tell you what’s not the same,” he said with a frown. “Coffee without sugar. I thought you were going to stop this diet nonsense.”
“There’s nothing wrong with watching your weight.”
“Drinking bad coffee is not weight watching, it’s torture. I forbid you from doing it anymore.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Drink your own coffee,” she said, snatching back her cup. The banter felt good. She’d been afraid last night might taint their friendship.
At least it felt good until she went to take a sip and realized her lips were touching the same spot as his. Instantly, the butterflies returned.
“By the way, I—I had a great time last night,” she said.
“So you said last night.”
She knew that, but talking seemed a far better alternative to her other impulse, which was running her tongue along the cup rim.
“I just wanted to make sure you know how much,” she said.
“I had a good time, too.” To her surprise, pink inched along his cheekbones. “I was afraid you might regret opening old wounds...”
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