Winter Wedding for the Prince

by Barbara Wallace

  “It wouldn’t be fair,” he said. “To kiss you. Not when I don’t... That is...”

  “I understand.” There was no need for her to hear the words after all. She’d heard them often enough. His heart was buried with Christina. He was emotionally dead.

  He might as well marry a stranger and help Corinthia, because he would never love again.

  That’s what he meant by it not being fair. He might want her, but his feelings didn’t—couldn’t—go deeper.

  Then there was Mona. Even if he could care, there was Mona.

  At least he cared enough to worry about leading her on. She should take solace in that. Then, his sense of honor was one of the qualities that made him so special.

  The least she could do was let him off the hook. Inserting a lightheartedness she didn’t feel into her voice, she asked, “Aren’t you being a bit egotistical?”

  Armando stopped his pacing. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We were flirting under the mistletoe. You might be a good kisser, but that is still a big leap to go from a kiss to breaking my heart.”

  “So, you didn’t feel—”

  “I’m not dead,” she said, throwing his answer back at him. “You’re a wonderful kisser. But even I’m smart enough to know that one kiss does not a relationship make.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said, nodding. The note in his voice was embarrassed relief, Rosa told herself. It just sounded like disappointment.

  “Now,” she said, walking around and taking her seat, “if we are finished making needless apologies, would you like me to print out the notes for your meeting with Ambassador Wilson?”

  His smile was also tinged with embarrassed relief. “Please. I’ll be in my office. And, Rosa?” She looked up from her computer screen to find his eyes filled with silent communication. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She dropped her gaze back to her screen before he could see her moist-eyed response. It had been for the best, this conversation. Better to be reminded of reality than to make a fool of herself pining for something that couldn’t be.

  Like she told herself when she got on the elevator, there were worse things than unrequited feelings. She couldn’t think of any right now, but there were.

  * * *

  Didn’t he feel like the proper fool? Blast his decision to keep the office door open, since right now Armando wanted to slap the back of his desk chair with all his might. Dragging a hand through his curls, he glared at the snow falling outside his window. Egotistical was right. Here he’d been worrying about whether he had been leading Rosa on and all this time she hadn’t been the least concerned. From the sounds of it, she hadn’t given their moments under the mistletoe a second thought.

  Why the hell hadn’t she? Surely she had felt the same frightening intimacy he’d felt on the stairs? Why then weren’t her thoughts swirling with the same confusion and desire?

  Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, ’Mando. Regardless of what Rosa did or did not feel, the arguments for his apology still applied. Rosa’s lack of interest merely made closure that much easier. He should be relieved.

  Check that. He was relieved, and now that matter was settled, his and Rosa’s relationship could go back to the way it had always been.

  “Here are your notes.”

  Or maybe not. Just like it had when she entered the outer office, his insides clutched the second he looked at her. So sweet and soft, he literally ached to pull her close. Desire, it appeared, needed a little more than an apology to disappear.

  He gripped the back of his chair instead. “Thank you,” he said as she dropped the papers on his desk.

  Her eyes barely lifted in acknowledgment. “You’re welcome.”

  With his fingers gouging divots into the chair leather, he watched her walk to the door. “Making things easier,” he repeated with each sway of her shapeless jacket.

  Still, why the hell wasn’t she as affected as he was?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AMAZING HOW QUICKLY time went when you weren’t looking forward to something. If Rosa had been excited for Arianna’s rehearsal dinner, the days before the ceremony would have dragged on, but since she was dreading the event—as well as the wedding itself—time sped by in a flurry of activity.

  Before she realized, it was the night before Christmas Eve and she was standing by herself in the east dining room. While the wedding was small, it was by no means unelaborate. They would be dining tomorrow off three-hundred-year-old royal china bearing the Santoro crest. Tonight they were using the more modern state china with its fourteen-karat edging and matching tableware. The gold gleamed bright amid the red and white table linen. Arianna counted the forks. Six courses. Her cream-colored gown tightened at the thought.

  She made a point of arriving early, while the rest of the party was in the chapel. If anyone asked, her purpose was to help Arianna’s assistant. The real reason was because she couldn’t face any kind of wedding reference with Armando in the room. Actually, she was trying to avoid thinking of Armando in terms of weddings, period. New Year’s Day was only a week away. Each passing day left a tighter knot in the pit of her stomach. Nine days and Armando would be lost to her forever.

  Not that she’d ever had him, as he had stumblingly reminded her on Monday. No one other than Christina would ever have him. But the day he announced his engagement? That spelled the absolute end. The minute sliver of hope to which her heart continued to cling would cease to exist. One would think its demise would be a relief—that it would be better to have no hope than an improbable sliver—but in typical Rosa fashion, it wasn’t.

  And so, rather than sit in the chapel and face reminders of Armando’s pending engagement, she decided to spend a few moments alone in the dining room preparing herself.

  She was standing by the fireplace warming her toes when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, Armando entered at the far end of the room. Upon seeing her, he stopped short. “I wondered where you might be,” he said. “I noticed you weren’t in the chapel during the rehearsal.”

  Did that mean he had been looking for her? Rosa’s pulse skipped in spite of herself. She needed to stop trying to read things into his comments. “I thought Louise might need help. She’s had her hands full this week, what with the gifts and the preparations.”

  “You would think the wedding was ten times the size considering the number of people who have sent their regards. My sister will never want for silver ice tongs again.”

  “Nor soup tureens,” Rosa replied. “At last count, she’d received three.”

  “I know, I saw the display in the other room.” As per tradition, the gifts were lined up for guests to see. “I shudder to think what it would have looked like if the wedding was a major affair.”

  He’d know soon enough. His upcoming engagement hung between them, unmentioned. The conversation was reminiscent of others they’d had this week. Friendly, but with unspoken tension beneath the surface. Even their silences, normally comfortable, had an awkwardness about them.

  Watching him watch the fire, she noted the black tie hanging loose around his neck. “Do you need assistance?” she asked. “With the tie?”

  He glanced down. “Please,” he said. “Damn thing keeps coming out crooked when I try.” Rosa had to smile. “Arianna said she would help after rehearsal, but I have a feeling she will be distracted, and since you are here...”

  “It’s not as though I haven’t done it a couple dozen times before,” Rosa replied. Stepping close, she took hold of the ends and tugged them into place. The cloth was cold from being outside. His skin, however, emanated warmth. The heat buffeted her fingers, making them feel clumsy. “One of these days you’re going to have to learn to do this yourself,” she murmured.

  “Why, when I have you to do it for m
e?”

  “Who says I’m always going to be around?” In the middle of looping one end over another, she heard the portent in her words and fumbled. “I would think your bride would prefer she do this for you.”

  She felt his muscles tense. “Perhaps,” he answered, rather distractedly. “But will she be as good as you?”

  “Oh, I think most people are. It isn’t as hard as you think.”

  “Or as easy,” he replied.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Nothing.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I imagine you’ll be glad to be free of the duty. Taking care of me must get tiring after a while.”

  That was an odd choice of words. Rosa pulled the bow tight. “I’ve never minded doing things for you,” she told him. In fact, it was one of the best parts of her job. She’d found a certain kind of symbiosis in taking care of him while he grieved. The more she did, the more she remembered how strong and capable she could be. Taking care of Armando had brought back part of the woman Fredo nearly erased.

  She pulled the ends of the tie, then smoothed the front of his jacket. The planes of his chest were firm and broad beneath her fingers. “There,” she said. “Perfect as always.”

  “So are you,” he replied with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

  “My dress is too tight.

  “Stop channeling Fredo. You look perfect. You always look perfect.”

  The sliver of hope throbbed inside her heart. He needed to stop making her feel special.

  “Armando...”

  “Rosa...”

  They spoke at the same time, Armando reaching for her hand as she attempted to back away.

  “I—” Whatever he was going to say was halted by a pair of deep voices. She managed to slip from his grip just as Max and another man strolled in.

  “And you’re telling me this is only one of the dining rooms?” the stranger was asking.

  “One of three,” Max replied.

  “Damn. This place makes the Fox Club look like a fast food joint. Hello, who’s this?” He smiled at Rosa. “You weren’t at the rehearsal, were you? I would have remembered.”

  “Dial it back, cowboy. I don’t need a scandal.” Max clasped the man on the shoulder. “Rosa Lamberti, may I present to you my best friend, Darius Abbott. He just arrived from New York.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Rosa replied, recognizing the name. “You’re Max’s best man, right?”

  The African-American was slightly shorter than Max, but had a muscular build, the kind you might expect from a rugby player. The shoulders of his rented tux pulled tight as he lifted her hand to his lips. “They don’t make them better,” he replied, winking over her fingers. Rosa giggled at his outrageousness. Max’s friend was a first-class flirt.

  “Rosa is Prince Armando’s assistant,” Max told him. “She’s been a huge help this week, too. Without her and Louisa, I’m pretty sure Arianna would have lost it.”

  “I didn’t do that much,” Rosa replied. “A little organizing is all.”

  “As usual, Rosa is underselling herself,” Armando chimed in.

  “Didn’t I warn you, dude?” said Darius. Eyes sparkling, he leaned in toward her as though to divulge a dark secret. “I told him something about weddings make women crazy. Even good ones like Arianna.”

  “My sister didn’t go crazy,” Armando replied.

  “Much,” Rosa said. “Her nerves got to her at the end. But overall, she was pretty good,” she added, looking over to Armando.

  “Probably because she got such good help,” Darius said. “I know I’m feeling calmer.”

  “What can I say, I have a gift.”

  “You certainly do.”

  Good Lord, but he was over-the-top. Rosa couldn’t remember the last time a man—other than Armando—complimented her so audaciously. She would be lying if she didn’t say she found his behavior immensely flattering.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Armando watching them with narrowed, disapproving eyes. Immediately she dialed back her behavior so he wouldn’t be upset.

  What was she doing? Max’s friend was a charming, handsome man. If she wanted to flirt with him, that was her business. A little ego stroking was exactly what she could use right now.

  It was definitely better than pining for Armando, who didn’t—couldn’t—want her.

  Feeling audacious, she offered up her best charming smile. “Have you found where you’re sitting yet, Darius?” she asked. “If you’d like, I can help you find your place setting. We don’t assign places the same way as they do for American head tables.”

  “That’d be great.” Darius’s perfect teeth gleamed white as he grinned back. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll be sitting near me.”

  “You know what? I think that could be arranged.” Hooking her hand through his crook in his elbow, she proceeded to lead him away from the group, patting herself on the back every step of the way. She didn’t once turn back and look in Armando’s direction. Even if he was boring holes in the back of her head.

  * * *

  Armando hated the American. Why did Max have to insist on his being the best man? So what if they were childhood friends? He could have been a peripheral guest; he didn’t need to be front and center, grinning his perfect white teeth at everything Rosa said. And kissing her hand hello. Americans didn’t kiss hands. He kept waiting for Rosa to shoot him a look over the man’s outlandish behavior. Instead, she giggled and offered to find the man’s seat. He was pretty certain they’d swapped placards as well, because there she was, four seats down next to him rather than by Armando’s elbow, where she belonged.

  “Do you plan to eat your soup or simply stir it all night?” his father asked.

  Armando set his spoon down. “My apologies, Father. I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite this evening.” How could he with such completely inappropriate behavior going on?

  “I’m just saying, it’s weird to segregate one little fork. Put it on the left with all the others,” he heard Darius remark.

  Why was Rosa laughing? It wasn’t that funny. Head tipped back, notes like the trill of a thrush...he thought that was the laugh she reserved for him.

  “It is a shame Mona was unable to attend this evening,” Father was saying.

  “Yes, it is. I don’t think she expected the weather to be as bad as it is in Yelgiers.” On the inside, he was far less disappointed. Despite the fact the days were ticking closer to New Year’s, he found himself fighting to stir interest in his future bride. He figured it was because they hadn’t spent time together. After much persuasion, he had convinced her to chat by video the other evening. A perfectly nice talk during which she supported many—no, all—of his views and left him feeling strangely flat.

  “She will be here in time for the ceremony tomorrow,” he said.

  “I look forward to seeing her as well as her father,” King Carlos said. Down at the far end of the table, the sultan was happily engrossed in conversation with Armando’s second cousin, who also happened to be the deputy defense minister. “I imagine you’re eager to begin your formal courtship as well.”

  “Definitely,” Armando replied. Perhaps when they met in person, there would be more of a spark.

  Although if there wasn’t one, he could hardly blame Mona, could he? Not when the reason for an arranged marriage was his inability to become emotionally involved. Funny that he should be worried about a spark all of sudden.

  Soup became salad. He opted for wine. On the other side of Father, Arianna and Max were ignoring their guests in favor of gazing into each other’s eyes. They’d been like that since Max stormed into the palace and declared his feelings. Eyes only for each other. His heart twisted with envy. He remembered what it was like to be that deeply in l
ove, so everything around you faded when you were with that other person. To never feel lonely because you knew there was someone in this world who understood you, who recognized your flaws and cared anyway, about whom you felt the same.

  Dammit, Rosa was laughing again. What was it about the American she found so amusing? Armando kissed her, and she told him he was reacting egotistically. This... Darius made a silly comment about oyster forks and she laughed as though it were the wittiest thing she ever heard.

  “Poor tomato.”

  Arianna’s maid of honor, Lady Tessa Greenwich, pointed to the salad. “I don’t know what the vegetable did to upset you, but I’m glad you’re mad at it and not me.”

  He looked down at the cherry tomato skewered on his fork. “That’s what it gets for being the easiest to spear,” he said.

  “Here I thought you were angry with it.”

  “Angry? No,” he replied. Just extremely irritated with people’s lack of decorum. “Would you excuse me a moment?” He left the napkin next to his plate and stood up. “I’ll be back a moment.”

  “Everything all right?” Lady Greenwich asked.

  “It will be.” Soon as he had a word with his assistant. As he walked by Rosa and Darius, he leaned in to her ear. “May I see you in the corridor?” he whispered. “Now?”

  Naturally, she was smiling when he spoke. She turned the smile in his direction, which only fed his agitation. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  Rather than answer, he continued walking, knowing she would follow. Once in the corridor, he led her past two additional entrances. They ended up in the gallery next to the grand arch.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked once he was certain they couldn’t be overheard.

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  Dear God, but she looked beautiful tonight. Her silk gown looked like cream poured over her body. Even as irritated as he was, he wanted to run his hands along every curve and sensual swell.