Winter Wedding For The Prince
Barbara Wallace
Crown Prince under the mistletoe…Crown Prince Armando’s belief in love died along with his wife, but duty dictates he must remarry! He enlists royal assistant Rosa Lamberti to help him find a suitable candidate, but a sizzling kiss under the mistletoe with Rosa awakens feelings Armando thought long buried…After a difficult divorce, Rosa had sworn off men, so she’s shocked to realize she yearns to be Armando’s bride! This Christmas, will Rosa get the best gift of all – a second chance at love, with Armando?Royal House of CorinthiaRoyally wed…by Christmas
Crown Prince under the mistletoe...
Crown Prince Armando’s belief in love died along with his wife, but duty dictates he must remarry! He enlists royal assistant Rosa Lamberti to help him find a suitable candidate, but a sizzling kiss under the mistletoe with Rosa awakens feelings Armando thought long buried...
After a difficult divorce, Rosa had sworn off men, so she’s shocked to realize she yearns to be Armando’s bride! This Christmas, will Rosa get the best gift of all—a second chance at love, with Armando?
Royal House of Corinthia
Royally wed...by Christmas!
This Christmas, Princess Arianna and Crown Prince Armando of Corinthia are facing the biggest challenges of their lives.
Pregnant Arianna flees to New York to find some privacy...only to find her very own Prince Charming!
Christmas Baby for the Princess
Available now
Crown Prince Armando needs a royal bride, so why can’t he stop thinking about his assistant, Rosa Lamberti?
Winter Wedding for the Prince
Available now
You won’t want to miss this delightfully emotional new duet from Barbara Wallace, brimming with Christmas magic!
Dear Reader (#u880f3130-f77b-5ec2-af1d-5e0d7e5a9283),
Welcome back to Corinthia!
Seems our tiny Mediterranean country has developed a case of wedding fever this holiday season. For starters, Princess Arianna will be marrying her American prince on Christmas Eve. That’s not all, however... Rumor has it Crown Prince Armando will be announcing his engagement to the sultan of Yelgiers’s daughter on New Year’s Day!
The marriage is more strategic alliance than romance, but Prince Armando doesn’t mind. He’s already married—and lost—the love of his life, and is positive he’ll never love again. An arranged marriage with his economic ally solves a multitude of problems, including producing an heir and protecting the country from potential scandal.
There’s only one small hitch to his plans: a mistletoe kiss he shared with his assistant, Rosa, has him unable to think of anything else. Could it be that the heart he thought was dead has returned to life at the worst possible time?
What’s a prince to do when he’s trapped between love and responsibility?
I had fun creating the Royal Family of Corinthia and helping them celebrate Christmas. So much so, in fact, that I’m considering a return next holiday season. If you’d like to see more of these characters, please drop me a line at Barbara@Barbarawallace.com and let me know.
Meanwhile, if you haven’t read Princess Arianna’s story, you can catch up with last month’s Christmas Baby for the Princess.
I hope every one of you has a wonderful holiday season. Merry Christmas and happy 2017!
Barbara Wallace
Winter Wedding for the Prince
Barbara Wallace
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BARBARA WALLACE can’t remember when she wasn’t dreaming up love stories in her head, so writing romances for Harlequin Romance is a dream come true. Happily married to her own Prince Charming, she lives in New England with a house full of empty-nest animals. Occasionally her son comes home, as well.
To stay up-to-date on Barbara’s news and releases, sign up for her newsletter at barbarawallace.com (http://www.barbarawallace.com).
For Second Lieutenant Andrew Wallace, who commissioned five days after I typed The End. Merry Christmas!
Contents
Cover (#u657f25cf-6d5e-58ff-85ac-1bb317cd4830)
Back Cover Text (#ua754168d-69fb-5257-9a7a-2a49bc10d6a9)
Introduction (#u995e445b-f33b-53b1-a366-4c13d956dcb0)
Dear Reader (#uec56c971-5d6b-5188-94e4-2ba4c1f46fbb)
Title Page (#uadbe2a83-5341-57d2-bbf6-87f6a8d2a78a)
About the Author (#ufa169ce4-cf46-54d6-96f3-a537c03be7cd)
Dedication (#ud8ce0dc9-874e-5d30-a514-487e2b09528d)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5613894c-25ea-5cdd-94aa-afc54f3488b0)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua7e0267c-8336-5839-8ec9-2dcd359ab4ba)
CHAPTER THREE (#uc9fb693e-8aa4-5404-93ae-390eb7e8b1d1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u880f3130-f77b-5ec2-af1d-5e0d7e5a9283)
“THEN, AFTER THE children finish their sing-along, Babbo Natale will arrive to distribute presents. We were lucky enough this year to get each child something from their wish lists, even the girl who asked for a dragon and one thousand chocolate cookies. The internet is a wonderful thing.” Rosa Lamberti looked up from her paperwork. “Are you even listening?” she asked the man in front of her.
Armando Santoro, crown prince of Corinthia, paused midstep to give her a narrow-eyed look. “Of course I did. Babbo Natale. Dragons. Cookies. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you have been wearing a path in the carpet for the past thirty minutes.” Pacing like a caged panther was more like it. He had been crossing the hand-woven Oushak with long, heavy-footed strides that took advantage of his extra-tall frame. Between that and the scowl plastered on his face, she half expected him to start growling. “I have a feeling I could have announced a coup and you wouldn’t have heard me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his dark curls. “I’m a bit distracted this morning.”
Clearly. Setting her paperwork aside, Rosa helped herself to a fresh cup of coffee. On good days, being the prince’s personal assistant was a three-cup job. When he was distracted, the number increased to four or five.
“Don’t tell me you’re upset about your sister,” she said. Only that morning, Princess Arianna had announced her engagement to an American businessman named Max Brown whom she had met in New York City. The details of the courtship were sketchy. According to Armando, the princess had taken off for America without a word why. A few days after her return, Max Brown forced his way into the castle demanding to see her. The pair had been inseparable ever since.
“No,” he said. It was more a sigh than reply. “If Arianna is happy, then I am happy for her.”
Happy was too mild a term. Rosa would go with delirious or ecstatic. The princess had lit up like Corinthia City on San Paolo Day when Max burst through the door.
Rosa suppressed a sigh of her own. Wild, passionate declarations of love and sudden engagements. It was all quite romantic. She couldn’t remember the last time a man declared anything to her, unless you counted her ex-husband and his many declarations of disinterest.
Fredo had been very good at telling her she wasn’t worth his time.
She returned to the question at hand. “If it is not your sister, then what is it?” she asked over the rim of her coffee cup. “And don’t say nothing, because I know you.” One didn’t spend seven years of life attached to someone—four as a sister-in-law—without learning a person’s tics.
An olive-skinned hand reached over her shoulder and took the cup before her lips had a chance to make contact. “Hey!”
Turning, she saw Armando already drinking. “You forgot the sugar,” he said with a frown.
“I forgot nothing.” What little was left of the warm liquid splashed against the rim as she snatched the cup free. “I’m on a diet.”
“You’re always on a diet. A teaspoon or two of sugar will not kill you.”
Said the god of athleticism. He wasn’t in danger of finishing out the year a dress size larger. Even sitting perfectly straight, she swore she could feel the button on her waistband threatening to pop.
Sucking in her belly, she said, “Stop trying to change the subject. I asked you a question.”
“Did you just demand I answer you? I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you worked for me.”
“Yes, but I’m family. That gives me special privileges.”
“Like bossiness?”
“I’m not the one ruining a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old rug.” Reaching for the coffeepot, she poured him a fresh coffee of his own, making sure to add the two sugars before refilling her cup. “Seriously, Armando. What’s wrong?”
This sigh was the loudest of the three. Taking the coffee, he came around to the front of the love seat and sat down beside her. Rosa did her best to squeeze into the corner to accommodate him. She didn’t know if her brother-in-law kept forgetting she wasn’t as petite as his late wife or what, but he always insisted on invading her personal space rather than taking a seat across the way. As a result, they sat wedged together, their thighs pressed tight. Rosa gave a silent thank-you for long jackets. It provided another layer between their bodies.
Oblivious, as usual, to the close quarters, Armando stared at the coffee she’d handed him. “Arianna’s pregnant,” he said in a dull voice.
No wonder they were rushing the engagement. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your father finally has another heir to the throne.” It was no secret the king was eager to establish a third generation of Santoros to protect his family’s legacy.
“It would be,” Armando replied, “if Max Brown were the father.”
“What?” Rosa’s hand froze mid-sip. She would ask if he was joking, except this wasn’t something to joke about. “Who...?” It didn’t matter. “Does Max know?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t care.”
“He must love your sister very much.” Took a special kind of love to marry a woman carrying another man’s child. Certainly not the kind of love people like Rosa got to witness. People like her got a leftover kind of love. As Fredo had been so fond of telling her, she was flavorless and bland.
“Max’s devotion is wonderful for Arianna, but...”
But it didn’t erase the problems this pregnancy caused. “He or she can’t be the heir.”
Corinthian law stated that only the biological offspring of both parents could inherit the throne. Should anything happen to Armando and Arianna, then the title would skip to someone else, such as Arianna and Max’s child or one of the distant cousins. Either way opened a host of complications.
“Not to mention that if the truth were to come out, that child would spend the rest of his or her life hounded by gossip and innuendo. Max and Arianna, too. The whole house of Santoro, for that matter.”
“Unless Arianna and Max lie.” Armando scowled at her suggestion. “What?” she asked. “You don’t think that’s happened before?” Not even the house of Santoro was that lily pure. In fact, someone trying to slip an illegitimate heir into the mix was probably the reason for the inane law to begin with.
“Whether it’s been done before or not isn’t the point,” he replied. “Other generations didn’t have tabloids or your wonderful internet.”
Good point. Today, secrets couldn’t last forever. Eventually the truth would come out, and when it did, there would be challenges. Corinthia would be plunged into a protracted legal battle that benefited no one.
“I take it you’ve already thought of trying to change the law,” she said.
“Of course, but again, this isn’t the old days, when the king could change the laws on a whim. The ministers would want to know the reason for the change.”
“All hail increased democracy,” Rosa muttered. There wasn’t much more that could be done, barring Armando remarrying and having children of his own, and a monk dated more than he did. The Melancholy Prince, the papers called him. The title fit. While Armando had always been serious, Christina’s death had added an extra layer. It was as though he was suspended in permanent mourning. He never attended anything that wasn’t an official event, and those he attended alone. Other than his sister, Rosa was the only woman in his life.
The prince had returned his attention to his coffee, studying the untouched contents from beneath thick lashes as if they contained the answer. Rosa couldn’t help but indulge in a moment of appreciation. If he decided to date again, Armando’s return to the dating world would be a welcome one. Even if he wasn’t the future king of Corinthia, he was a man worthy of desire. Granted, he wasn’t the most beautiful man in the country; his Roman features were a little too pronounced, although not so much that they looked out of proportion. Besides, she always thought a strong man should have strong features. Fredo, for all his self-importance, had had a weak chin.
The muscles in Armando’s chin twitched with tension.
“You know King El Halwani,” he started.
“That’s a silly question.” Of course she knew the man. The sultan of Yelgiers was a frequent visitor. Corinthia and the tiny principality had a long history of economic and political relations. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“His daughter, Mona, is of marrying age.”
“Is that so? I didn’t know.” Rosa’s insides ran cold. Surely, he wasn’t...
“A union between our two countries will be a tremendous alliance.”
Did he say will? The chill spread down her spine, ending in a shiver.
Apology darkened his eyes to near black. “I called him this morning and suggested we discuss an arrangement.”
“You—you did.” Rosa set down her cup. The coffee she’d been drinking threatened to rise back up her throat.
Armando, remarrying.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Royalty lived a different kind of life than commoners like her. Marriages were arranged for all kinds of reasons: trade relations, military alliances. Why not to secure an heir?
The news still made her queasy. It was too quick. Armando wasn’t the type to make rash decisions. For crying out loud, he’d waited a year before proposing to her sister, and they’d fallen in love at first sight. For him to wake up and decide he was going to marry a virtual stranger was completely out of character, looming scandal or no looming scandal. At the very least, he would have asked her what she thought.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t sought her opinion at all. So much for being his right hand. Apparently the familiarity she thought they had developed over the past three years had been in her head.
She forced a smile. Pretended she was excited for his news. “I’m sure the people of Corinthia will be thrilled. As will your father.”
“I’m not doing this for my father,” he replied.
“I know. You’re doing it to protect your sister.”
“No, I’m doing it for Corinthia.” His voice was sharp, the way it always was when his will was questioned. “I’m first in line. It is my responsibility to do whatever I can to ensure Corinthia has a long and peaceful future.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” If there was anything Armando took seriously, it was his duty to his country.
Leaving Armando, she stood and walked toward the windows. The crown prince’s suite overlooked the south lawn. The famed topiary menagerie remained green, but the grass had gone brown from the winter, and the flowerbeds were empty. Across the street, a pair of business owners were filling their outside window boxes with fresh evergreen—a Corinthian Christmas tradition. When they finished, a single white candle would be placed in the center, another tradition. Greens for life, light for the blessings of the future.
Apparently, Armando’s future involved a bride.
What did that mean for her future then? For three years, it had been the two of them, prince and assistant, tied together as they both began lives without their spouses. Being there to help Armando had given her strength and purpose. She’d been able to rebuild the layers of self-esteem Fredo had destroyed.
What now? A new queen would mean new staff, new routines. Would she even have a place in Armando’s life anymore? The grip on her chest squeezed tighter.
She watched as a merli poked at the barren grass looking for seeds. Poor little creature wasn’t having much luck. She could identify. She felt a little like she’d been left wanting, too.
The thing was, she had always known there was the chance Armando would move on with his life. The news shouldn’t be this disconcerting.
Then again, he should have told her. They were supposed to be friends. Family. They’d held hands at her sister’s bedside and cried together. She let him drink her coffee, for God’s sake. Why hadn’t he told her?
“When are you making the announcement?” she asked. It would have to be soon if Armando wanted to draw attention from his sister. Depending upon how far along in her pregnancy Arianna had been when she met Max last month, there was a good chance the princess would start to show soon.
Behind her, she heard the soft clap of a cup against the coffee table, but she didn’t turn around.
“We’re making the formal announcement on New Year’s Day.”
What? When she thought soon, she didn’t mean that soon. No wonder she couldn’t breathe. In three and a half weeks, everything she’d come to know and rely on was going to change forever.
“Is everything all right?” she heard him ask.
“Of course,” she lied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It truly is the best solution.”
“I know.” He had no reason to defend himself any more than she had the right to be upset.
Clearly, that didn’t stop either of them from doing so anyway.
* * *
She was upset with him. Armando could tell because when she spoke, every third or fourth word had an upward inflection. Not that he was surprised. From the moment he made his decision, he’d worried she might see his remarrying as betraying her sister.
Staring at her back, he wished he knew what she was thinking. But then, she was good at hiding behind things. Her poker face was among the best.
“You know that if there was any other way...” he said.
“I know.”
Did she? Did she know he’d been up half the night weighing options, or that, given his druthers, he would never remarry? He’d had his chance at love. Four wonderful years with the girl of his dreams. If the price for those years was spending the rest of his life in solitude, he’d been prepared. He didn’t mind. After all, if he needed a companion, he had Rosa. She was better company than any consort might be.
Unfortunately, for men like him, what he wanted didn’t always matter. The mantle of responsibility outweighed personal desire every time.
Leaving his coffee behind, he joined her at the window. “Corinthia’s almost ready for the holiday,” he said, noting the men arranging greenery outside. “They’ll be lighting the candles tonight.”
Rosa didn’t answer. She stood with her hands clasped tightly behind her back, stiff and formal, like a proper royal servant, a pose she usually only struck in public. Armando didn’t like it. He preferred the relaxed, irreverent Rosa who kept him on his toes and saved him from drowning in his grief.
After Christina died, he’d wanted to die, too. What good was living if his heart lay six feet underground? Rosa had been the only one who had been able to break through the darkness that filled his soul. She needed him, she’d claimed, to help her rebuild following her divorce. It was a lie, of course—Rosa was one of the strongest women he knew—but he let her think he believed the excuse. Helping her find a lawyer and place to live gave him a reason to drag himself out of bed that first day. Then, when she became his assistant, there were meetings and charitable initiatives and other projects she insisted needed his attention, and so he continued dragging himself out of bed. Until the day came when getting up was no longer a trial.
She’d kept him tied to the land of the living, Rosa did. Without her, he would still be lost in his grief. Or rather, lost even deeper.
Which was why he needed her support now.
“You never met my grandfather, did you?”
“King Damian? No.” She wasn’t so annoyed that she couldn’t give him a side-eyed look. Of course she hadn’t met the man. Illness forced him off the throne before Armando was born.
“He came upstairs to my room one night, a few weeks before he died, and got me out of bed so I could see what it looked like with candles lit in every window. I must have been seven or eight at the time. Corinthia City wasn’t as developed as it is now. Anyway, he told me how all those candles represented Corinthians hoping for the future. ‘One day you will be responsible for those candles,’ he told me. ‘It will be up to you to keep them burning bright.’ I never forgot.” The words were the weight pressing on his shoulders every time he saw a candle flickering.
He turned to look at his sister-in-law. “Father’s aging, Rosa. I could see it this past month when Arianna disappeared. He’s never truly gotten over Mama’s death...” He paused to let the irony of his words settle between them. The curse of the Santoro men: to live a lifetime of grieving. “And I think he would like to step down, but he’s afraid for the future. It’s important he know that as his successor, I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep those lights burning.”
“Including political marriage.”
He shrugged. “Ours won’t be the first royal marriage based on obligation rather than love.” If anything, a man in his position was lucky to have spent four years with a wife he did love. “It would be nice, however, to know I have my best friend’s support. Do I?”
The clock on the nearby mantel ticked off the seconds while he waited for her response. Unfortunately, her eyes were cast downward. They were the one feature that couldn’t mask her feelings. In that way, she was like her sister. Christina had also had expressive brown eyes. Beyond their eyes, however, the two were dramatically different. Christina had been all passion and energy, with a beauty that commanded attention. Rosa was softer. Whereas Christina was bright like a star, her sister was more the glow of a candle.
Finally, her shoulders relaxed. “Of course you have my blessing,” she said. “You know I can never say no to you.”
Armando’s shoulders relaxed in turn. “I know. It’s my charm.”
“No, it’s because you’re going to be king. I say no and you might have me thrown in the dungeon.”
“As one does.” He relaxed a little more. Rosa making jokes was always a good sign. “I’m serious, Rosa. Your support is important to me.” Just thinking he might not have it had left a tight knot in the center of his chest.
A hand brushed his arm. Initiating contact with a member of the royal family was considered a violation of protocol, but he and Rosa had been together too long for either of them to care about rules. There were times, in fact, when he found her touch comforting. Like now, the way her fingertips seemed to brush the tension from his muscles. “You have it. Seriously. I just wish...”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m being silly. You have my support, ’Mando.”
“Good.” Although he wondered what she had started to say. That she wished there didn’t have to be a wedding? If so, Armando agreed.
But there was going to be a wedding, and he was glad to have his best friend’s support.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t change her mind when she heard his next request.
CHAPTER TWO (#u880f3130-f77b-5ec2-af1d-5e0d7e5a9283)
“I CANNOT BELIEVE you want me to attend a meeting with you and your future father-in-law. How is that possibly in good form?”
She had been complaining since yesterday. When he’d said he’d called King Omar, Armando left off that the sultan was in Corinthia and that they were going to meet for lunch the next day.
“And how is it no one was told of his visit?” she asked as they rode the elevator down to the first floor. “He’s a visiting head of state. There are protocols to be followed.”
“Since when do you follow protocol?”
“I always follow protocol when other royalty is involved. Exactly how long has he been in Corinthia?”
“Since Wednesday. You might as well get used to it,” he added when she opened her mouth to speak. “Omar has decided to personally oversee the resort development.” Such was the major difference between the two small countries. The Yelgierian royal family insisted on maintaining control of everything, while Armando and his father preferred giving their subjects more freedom. “Between that and the upcoming...arrangement...” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word wedding. Not yet. “I suspect Omar will be going back and forth quite a bit.”
An odd looking shadow crossed her face. “With his daughter?”
“I—I don’t know.” Armando hadn’t given his bride-to-be much thought. “I imagine she will, considering all the preparations that need to take place.”
“Unless the wedding is in Yelgiers,” Rosa replied. She was studying her shoes as she spoke, so he almost didn’t hear her.
“True.” He hadn’t given much thought to logistics. Those kinds of details were usually up to the bride. “But it doesn’t matter to me where the wedding takes place.” Only that it did, and Corinthia’s future was secure.
The elevator opened, and they stepped out into the guarded enclave near the driveway. Rosa’s sedan had been brought around and sat running by the curb.
“I still don’t understand why you need me for this meeting,” she said as a guard stepped out to open the passenger door. “Surely, you can finalize your—” she glanced at the guard “—agreement without me.”
“I told you, this meeting isn’t about my ‘agreement,’” Armando replied. “I’m meeting with him to discuss the development project.” And perhaps finalize a few details regarding yesterday’s telephone conversation. Sometimes she was a little too astute for his liking. “You know I like to have you with me when I discuss business.”
He waited until the guard shut her door and they once again had privacy. “Not to mention you are my favorite driver.” The way Rosa handled a car made him feel comfortable. For a long time, just the thought of being on the road filled him with dread. He would hear the sound of an engine, and images of twisted steel filled his brain. But, just like she coaxed him back to the land of the living, Rosa had eased him onto the road.
Sometimes he wondered what his life would be like without her.
“So now I’m your driver,” she replied. “If that’s the case, maybe I should get a cap to wear.”
“And have me listen to you complain about the hat ruining your hair? No, thank you. What you’re wearing will suffice.”
For a meeting she didn’t want to attend, she was dressed rather nicely. As usual, her brown hair was pulled up in one of those twisty, formal styles she seemed to prefer, but unlike her usual skirt and blouse, she had on a brocade dress with matching jacket. A long one that seemed designed to hide a woman’s shape. She wore those a lot—long, bulky jackets, that was. He wasn’t a fan. It was as though she was trying to discourage attention.
“When’s the last time you had a date?” he asked her.
For the first time he could remember, she stripped the car gears. Turning her head, she squinted at him. “Excuse me?”
The question did sound like it came out of nowhere. It was just that looking at her, and thinking about how she continually hid her assets, had him curious. “I was wondering when was the last time you had been on a date.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“No particular reason. Only that it dawned on me that I can’t remember the last time you mentioned one.”
This time she downshifted smoothly. “My being silent doesn’t have to mean I’m not dating. How do you know I’m not simply being discreet?”
“Are you? Being discreet, that is.” The thought that she might be seeing someone and had not said anything irritated him. At the same time, he found it hard to believe a woman as attractive as Rosa didn’t have offers.
“Isn’t that a bit personal?” she asked him. “It’s called a private life for a reason.”
“Yes, but you can tell me—we’re friends.”
His comment earned him a sharp laugh. “You mean like you told me about your plans to get married?”
“I did tell you.”
“After the fact.”
What was she talking about? “You were the first person I told.”
The car slowed as she looked at him again. “I was?”
“Of course.” He thought she knew that. “I told you how much your support meant to me.”
“I know, but I didn’t think...” Was that pink creeping into her cheeks? It was hard to tell, the driver’s side being in shadow. “I’m sorry I snapped.”
“I am sorry for prying. It was rude of me.” He still would like to know, however. It was protectiveness as much as curiosity. To make sure she chose better this time around. While he didn’t know much about her marriage, beyond the fact it had ended badly, he did know her ex enough to dislike him. Back when Christina was alive, Fredo and Rosa had attended a handful of state dinners. Armando found the man to be a narcissistic bore. He’d decided the man had to be a closet romantic or something, because how else could he have won a woman as soft and gentle as Rosa?
Then again, maybe Armando’s first impression was right, since she’d divorced him. That Rosa, for her part, refused to talk about the man said as much.
“The answer is no,” Rosa said, shaking him from his thoughts. “I’m not dating.”
“At all?” He wasn’t sure why he felt relieved at her answer. Perhaps because he feared a serious relationship might cause her to leave her job. “Surely you’ve had offers, though.”
Again, she gave a strange laugh, although this one had less bite than the other. “Not as many as you would think. In case you didn’t realize, my job eats up most of my time.”
Was that truly the reason? The undercurrent in her laugh made him wonder. “Is that your way of hinting you need time off?” he asked. If so, it would be the first. Usually she had no trouble speaking up.
Another reason to question the excuse.
Rosa shook her head. “Not at all. At least not right now.”
They’d reached the point in the highway where they had to choose whether to take the mountain pass or the longer, more circuitous route. Armando gave a slight smile as she turned onto the longer route. By mutual agreement, they hadn’t driven the mountain road in three years. Feeling a warmth spreading across his chest, he reached over and gave her hand a grateful squeeze. Her eyes widened a little, but she smiled nonetheless.
“The truth is,” she said, after he’d lifted his hand, “I haven’t had a lot of interest in dating. I’m still working on getting to know myself again.”
What an odd thing to say. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd. Certainly he wasn’t the same man following Christina’s death, the hole caused by her absence impossible to repair. No doubt, Rosa’s divorce left a similar wound.
She’d also lost a sibling. Sometimes, in his selfishness, he forgot that Rosa had suffered as much loss as he had. The idea that she might have been hurting as bad as he made his conscience sting that much more.
“Aren’t we a pair,” he mused out loud. “Three years removed, and we’re still struggling to move forward without our spouses. What do you think that says about us?”
“Well, in your case, I’d say it’s because you have a singular heart.”
“I would think the same could be said for you.”
“Hardly,” she replied with a bark. “Do not insult my sister by even mentioning our marriages in the same breath. Fredo isn’t fit to carry Christina’s water.”
On that they agreed, but to hear her say so with such forcefulness surprised him nevertheless. Usually when the topic of her former husband came up, she pretended the man didn’t exist.
“What did he do to you? Fredo,” he asked. Had he been unfaithful? Armando couldn’t believe anyone married to Rosa would want to stray, but Fredo was a boor.
She shot him a look before changing lanes. “Who says Fredo did anything?”
The defensiveness in her tone. “Did he?”
“Water under the bridge,” was her only reply. “My marriage is over, and I’m better off for it. Let’s just leave things at that.”
“Fine.” Today wasn’t the day to press for details and start an argument. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still curious, however, or that he wouldn’t try again another time.
* * *
Rosa kept one eye on the rearview mirror as she moved from lane to lane. What had she been thinking bringing Fredo’s name into the mix in the first place? Her marriage—or rather, her role in it—was her greatest shame; she would rather pretend it never happened than admit her own pathetic behavior. Especially to Armando, whose pain and loss far outweighed hers. To hear him now, trying to equate the two...
At least he’d agreed to change the subject. Hopefully telling him she was working on herself satisfied enough of his curiosity. After all, it wasn’t as though she was lying. She was rediscovering herself. Learning, little by little, that there was a capable woman inside her chubby shell. As her therapist one reminded, her value went beyond being her husband’s verbal whipping post. And, while she was still a work in progress, she had begun to like herself again.
There were days, of course, when Fredo’s insults haunted her, but his voice, once so prominent in her ear, was growing softer. If she learned anything from Christina’s death, it was that life was too short to settle for anything, or anyone. She’d stupidly let herself believe she had no choice when Fredo proposed. Never again. She realized now that she deserved nothing less than unconditional love. Next time, if there was a next time, she wouldn’t settle for anything less. There would be no settling the next time around. She wanted someone who loved her body and soul. Who made her heart flutter whenever she heard his voice, and whose heart fluttered in return.
She wanted what Armando had with Christina.
What he would eventually have with his bride-to-be. Sure, Armando’s marriage might begin for political reasons, but time had a way of warming a person’s heart, especially if the person deserved to be loved. Rosa had done some internet searching last night, and discovered Mona El Halwani was a caramel-skinned beauty whose statuesque body weighed at least forty pounds less than Rosa’s. She was exquisite. A walking, talking advertisement for perfection.
How could Armando’s heart not warm to perfection?
They left the city behind. The landscape around them began to change revealing more and more of Corinthia’s old-world. Stone farmhouses lined the streets, their window boxes stuffed with fresh greens.
Seeing the candles in the windows, Rosa couldn’t help but think of what Armando had said about being responsible for every light in every window. Such a heavy weight to grow up bearing—the future of your country on your shoulders. She suddenly wanted to pull over, wrap him in a hug and let him know he didn’t have to bear the burden alone.
As if those words coming from her would mean anything. Providing solace was his future wife’s job. Not hers. She might as well get used to the new hierarchy right now and just do her job.
* * *
An hour later, they arrived at the Cerulean Towers, the luxury high-rise that housed Yelgiers’s development concern. It was as unheralded an arrival as King Omar’s, with only the doorman to greet them.
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 (#u880f3130-f77b-5ec2-af1d-5e0d7e5a9283)
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, the 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.
“They are,” she told Armando, “but you know children’s attention spans. Especially children who have been gorging on cake and gelato.”
“The Christmas cake was delicious, was it not?”
“Mouthwatering,” she replied, hoping he didn’t notice the catch in her voice. Truth was, she had been more transfixed by the way Armando licked the frosting from his fork.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the future Prince Max. “I have been asked when Santa might be arriving,” he said. “We’re running out of Christmas songs. If he doesn’t arrive soon, I may have to break out the 1940s standards.”
“Please no, not that,” Rosa replied. She leaned back to look behind the screen only to find herself inches away from Armando’s bearded face.
“Never fear, Babbo Natale is here.” He grinned. “Ready to see who has been naughty or nice. Should I start with you, Signora Rosa, since you seem to think the naughty list is the place to be?”
Too bad she wasn’t wearing a beard, if only to hide her warm cheeks. She had to settle for looking down and adjusting the hem of her white sweater. “I’m sure there’s much more interesting people on that list than me,” she said. “Besides, you don’t want to keep the children waiting for their presents much longer or we could have a riot on our hands.”
Proving her point, one of the youngsters spotted his red hat poking out from behind the screen. “It’s Babbo!” he yelled out. “He’s here!” Half a second later, the rest of the children started cheering his arrival as well. The mothers had to corral their children to keep them from rushing the cloth screen.
“Looks like I’m on,” Armando whispered. He stepped out, and in the blink of an eye, every trace of reluctance disappeared as the prince threw himself into his performance. “Ho, ho, ho!” he called out. “Buon Natale! One of my helpers told me I might find some good boys and girls here. Is that true?”
“Yes,” the kids screeched at the top of their lungs.
“Wonderful. Because I happen to have a sack full of toys that I brought especially for them.”
Someone dragged over a folding chair from one of the tables, and he perched on it as regally as if it were an actual throne, despite the fact his athletic frame dwarfed the chair. “Let me see,” he said, reaching into the velvet sack he had brought with him, “who is going to be first?”
At the chorus of “Me!” that rang through the room, Armando let out a deep rumbling laugh worthy of the Babbo himself.
Rosa’s heart warmed at the sight. She had known from the very beginning that playing Santa would be a balm for Armando’s grief, but it never ceased to amaze her how good he was at the job. He made sure every child got special one-on-one time with Babbo, he treated them as miniature adults, going along with the pretense for the children’s sake. He was going to make a wonderful father.
When he had children with Mona. Beautiful, royal children. A wave of envy, fierce and cold, sent her spirits plummeting.
Max, who she didn’t realize had disappeared, returned carrying a pair of paper coffee cups. “All this time I’ve been thinking Babbo Natale was some old-world European tradition and it turns out he’s a more athletic version of Santa Claus,” he said, tilting his head to where Armando was teasing a young girl with a stuffed rabbit. “I feel cheated.”
“If it makes you feel better, there are Corinthians who embrace Befana.”
“What’s that?”
“An Italian witch who arrives on Epiphany.”
The American’s lips turned downward. “A witch on Christmas?”
“More like a crone. She brings treats.”
“In that case, yes, I do feel better.” He handed her one of the paper cups. “Turns out marrying the princess comes with some benefits. I mentioned wanting an espresso and the caterer made me two. You look like you could use a cup.”
“Thank you.” Caffeine sounded like just what she needed to perk her sagging mood. “Speaking of Arianna, where is she?”
“Putting up her feet in the back room,” he replied. “Sitting on the piano stool for so long was hard on her back.”
“She should have said something.”
“Are you kidding? You know what Arianna’s like when it comes to pianos. She was having way too much fun.” From the center of the room, a child let out a high-pitched squeal. “Sounds like they’re having fun, too,” he noted.
“Who? The children or Prince Armando?”
“Both. I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen Arianna’s brother smile. Granted, I’ve only known him about a week, so I might be misjudging...”
“No, you’re not,” Rosa replied, thinking of the media’s nickname. “Prince Armando isn’t known for his jovial side in public. This is definitely one of the few events where he truly lets himself relax and enjoy the moment.”
“Hard not to enjoy yourself when you’re around children,” she added, as out on the floor Armando scooped up another toddler. “Although some people can’t shake their mean streaks no matter what. If they could, we wouldn’t need a place like Christina’s Home.” Wives wouldn’t be made to feel like second-class citizens simply because they weren’t perfect or, heaven forbid, carried a few extra pounds.
“Tell me about it,” Max said. The bitterness in his voice surprised her. “Only thing that made my old man happy was a bottle. Or smacking my mom.”
Rosa winced. “Some people need to mistreat their loved ones to feel better about themselves.”
“That sounds like personal knowledge.”
“A little.”
He paused to look at her over his cup. “Your father was an A-hole, too? Pardon the language.”
“No, my ex-husband.” Normally, she avoided talking about Fredo, especially here at the shelter where there were women who had suffered far worse than she, but it was hard to brush off a kindred spirit. “And the word you used is a very apt description.”
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