Winter Wedding for the Prince Read online

  “No,” she replied after a pause. “I haven’t had the opportunity to...improve...anything. I’ve been busy.”

  “Why don’t we sit together, then?”

  Rosa nearly choked. “Together? As in sit with you in the front row of the royal box?”

  “Why not? Now that Mona isn’t attending, the seat next to me will be empty.”

  “Yes, but I always sit behind you at royal events.”

  A rule of her own making. Armando couldn’t care less about seating arrangements. In fact, it sometimes aggravated him the way Rosa would stick herself in the background, as though she were afraid to take up space. “Well, tonight I’d like you to sit in the front row with me.”

  “I—”

  “As you said, this concert is as important to you as it is me. Tonight will be the last concert I will host before I get married. This is our opportunity to pay homage to Christina together one last time.”

  A shadow darkened her features. Using Christina was a low blow, but her sister’s memory was the one thing Rosa couldn’t resist. “I suppose,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Good, it’s settled. We’ll attend together. I will pick you up at your apartment at seven.”

  “Fine. Seven o’clock,” she replied. “Is there anything else?”

  Yes, she could try to sound a little excited. “Feel free to take the afternoon off. I know how you women like to primp for these things.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. Armando wondered if she was grateful for the extra preparation time or the chance to avoid him a little longer. Just because she seemed to accept his apology didn’t mean she wasn’t still upset with him, as her reluctance to attend the concert together showed.

  He watched as she turned and continued to the door. Damn, but he hated those long blazers of hers. This one was charcoal gray and went to the hem of her skirt. If there was one thing he’d noticed over the years it was that Rosa had an unparalleled walk, as good as any of the runway models in Milan. Whenever she moved, she led with her pelvis, causing her hips to swivel from side to side. And, because unlike a runway model, she carried some actual meat on her bones, her bottom half undulated with a fluidity that was amazingly sensual. Reminded him of wine swirling in a glass.

  Except when she wore those blasted blazers. If she tried to wear one tonight, he would burn it.

  “Was that Rosa leaving?” Arianna asked when the door clicked shut.

  “I gave her the afternoon off,” he replied. “She’s attending the concert with me—that is, we’re going to cohost the event.” The other way made it sound like a date, which this wasn’t. No matter how his body had reacted when she said yes.

  “What a nice idea,” his sister said.

  “I thought we should since Mona is unable to come.” And it would be their last opportunity.

  Did his relief upon hearing Mona had canceled make him a horrible person? One would think he would want to spend time with his prospective bride. Wasn’t that why he’d invited her to the concert in the first place? So they could get to know each other?

  And then he could start fantasizing about her rather than about the kiss he’d shared with Rosa.

  He shoved that last thought to the back of his mind where it belonged. He was not fantasizing about Rosa. Not really. She was his sister-in-law, for crying out loud. His sex drive had reawakened, that was all. A man could only live as a monk for so long, and Rosa happened to be the woman who was there when his inner male returned.

  As for tonight, it was only fitting they cohost the event. To honor Christina.

  And if he wanted to make sure she had a proper time? Well, that was simply because she deserved an enjoyable evening and had nothing to do with wanting to make her feel special.

  Nothing at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHAT HAD SHE been thinking? Rosa smoothed her hands along her hips. When she tried it on, the saleswoman flattered her to Rome and back with a pitch about how this dress’s straight cut accentuated her figure rather than making her look large and hippy. Flush from the ego boost, Rosa had let herself be talked into going against her normal style. It wasn’t just the silhouette that was out of character; it was the bright red color and slightly bare shoulders, too. Live a little, she’d thought at the time. No one’s going to care what you wear.

  That was before she knew she would be sitting in the front row.

  Next to Armando.

  As his date.

  Not a date. Calling tonight a date made the evening sound like it was something special rather than two friends attending an event together. Which the two of them had done dozens of times before. The only thing different about tonight was the seating arrangement.

  And the fact he was picking her up.

  And that the concert would be broadcast across all of Corinthia. With her seated by Armando’s side, which would make her look like his date.

  Had he known that when he asked her?

  Her palms started to sweat. Moving to rub them on her skirt, she caught herself in time.

  Squaring her shoulders, she turned left, then right, looking for any unshapely bumps or bulges. The saleswoman had been right about one thing—the dress certainly emphasized her shape. Daily walking had made her legs firm and toned, while good old control-top undergarments had firmed up the rest. She looked, dare she say it, not that bad. If only the dress weren’t bright. So attention seeking.

  What makes you think anyone is going to be looking at you?

  Three years and Fredo’s voice was as loud as ever in her head, taking her confidence and crushing it into bits.

  You’re a cow. You’re an embarrassment.

  The last thing she wanted was to embarrass Armando.

  Maybe she had time to change. The black dress from last Christmas, he had liked that one, hadn’t he? Or the navy blue one she wore two years ago with the sequined bodice. Could she still fit into it?

  She never stressed like this over dresses before.

  Then again, she’d never been Armando’s date before. Not a date, she quickly amended.

  Just then her living room clock chimed seven. Barely had the last clang sounded when the doorbell rang. Rosa jumped. What the—Three years of having to hustle him out the door, and the one night he had to get ready without her, he was on time?

  She opened the door to find him with one shoulder propped against the door frame. Naturally, he looked amazing, the stiff white collar gleaming against his darker skin. In a flash, Rosa’s mind peeled off the clothing to picture the man she saw swimming this morning. All six feet three inches of carved muscle.

  “Hi.” The greeting came out a breathy whisper, far too intimate sounding for the circumstances. She cringed inwardly.

  Armando eyes widened. “You look...”

  She knew it. The dress was too bright.

  “Gorgeous,” he finished. “I mean it, that dress is...”

  “Thank you. The woman at the boutique talked me into trying something different.”

  “Good for her. You should wear red more often. The color suits you.”

  Rosa hoped so, because now her cheeks were the same color as her dress, a combination of modesty and embarrassment over her reaction. This wasn’t the first time Armando had ever paid her a compliment, yet awareness ghosted across her skin like it was. Made her feel more feminine and beautiful than she had in years. “You look nice, too,” she told him, looking up through her lashes. “Very...regal.”

  “Damn. I was going for dashing.”

  Mission definitely accomplished. Almost. “One little thing,” she said. His tie was crooked. “You never can get your tie proper,” she said, reaching up.

  “That’s because you weren’t there to help me,” he replied, lifting his chin. “Arianna had to tie it for me.”r />
  “Well, that explains why it’s better than usual.”

  Rosa felt his warm breath on the top of her head as she adjusted the tie. Despite having done this dozens of times, she’d never noticed the distinctness of his aftershave until now. Reminded her of a wood after summer rain, earthy and cool. The kind of scent that made a person want to run barefoot through the moss.

  Or comb their fingers through their hair.

  “There.” Smoothing his collar, she stepped back before her thoughts could embarrass her again. “Much better.”

  He gave her a smile. “Whatever would I do without you?”

  “Spend eternity with a crooked tie, for one thing.” Once again, her body reacted as though he weren’t making a comment he’d made before. This was ridiculous. Tonight was really no different from any other night. Why, then, was she acting as though it was? Surely she wasn’t so desperate for male validation that her subconscious needed to assign deeper meaning to everything Armando said and did. “I just need to get my wrap and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “You’re not...”

  “What?” She’d not gotten more than a few feet before he spoke. Turning around, she caught the hint of a blush crawling down his cheekbones.

  “You’re not going to put on some jacket and wear it all night, are you?”

  “No. Just a velvet wrap for when we’re outside. Why?”

  “No reason,” he replied quickly. “It’s...well, I’m not as big a fan of jackets as you are.”

  “I wouldn’t be either, if I had your rock-hard abdomen.” Rosa squeezed her eyes shut. Please say she didn’t speak those words aloud.

  Armando chuckled as he sauntered toward her. “You were looking at my abdomen, were you?”

  “Not on purpose. It’s difficult to ignore a man’s torso when he’s standing in a bathing suit.”

  “I see. Well, I’m glad you found my torso to your satisfaction.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh?” He reached around her to lift her wrap from where it lay draped on the back of her chair. “What did you mean, then?”

  “Simply that your midsection doesn’t need camouflaging.”

  “Neither does yours,” he replied, laying the velvet across her shoulders. “You worry too much about your weight. Curves are to be celebrated. There’s a reason Botticelli didn’t paint stick figures, you know,” he added, low in her ear.

  Rosa’s knees nearly buckled at the way his breath tickled her skin. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Please do. There’s nothing worse than listening to a beautiful woman denigrate herself.”

  “Nothing?” Rosa asked, trying to react to the word beautiful. He’d handed her more compliments in the past five minutes than she’d had in the last decade.

  His returning smile was devastating. “Well, maybe not as bad as reviewing the revised energy regulations or listening to Arianna complain about the arts endowment, but definitely bad.” He held out an arm. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  No matter how many times Rosa told herself that technically this evening was no different than any other, Armando and the evening kept proving her wrong. To begin with, there was a lot of difference between sitting in the rear of the royal box and sitting with the crown prince. In the past she would take her seat several minutes before the performance and patiently wait along with everyone else for Armando to take his seat. Tonight, she was the one hanging back while the audience assembled, the one receiving the applause as she entered the box at the Royal Opera House. Really it was Armando receiving the applause, but standing by his side, she couldn’t help but feel special, too.

  Armando himself was contributing to the feeling as well. She couldn’t put her finger on how, but there was something about his behavior tonight. He was solicitous, charming. Flirtatious, even, peppering his conversation with subtle touches and low, lilting commentary. The skin behind her ear still tingled from their conversation in her apartment. Curves are to be celebrated.

  She squeezed her knees together.

  “Everything all right?” Armando asked, mistaking her shifting as discomfort.

  “Just sitting up straight,” she replied. “I don’t want to get caught on camera slouching.”

  “Fortunately, most of the time they stay focused on the orchestra, or so I’ve been told. I was afraid you might not be having a good time.”

  “Why would you think that?” she asked, doing her best not to frown as she turned toward him.

  “I don’t know, perhaps because you’ve been avoiding me all week. I wasn’t sure if you were still angry with me.”

  “I was never angry with you. I had a lot to do, is all.”

  “Then you weren’t annoyed that I asked about Fredo?”

  He was kidding, right? What was it that drove him to introduce awkward conversations at the most inopportune times?

  “I know,” he added when she opened her mouth, “you don’t want to talk about him right now.”

  No, she did not, but now that the door was open, she figured she should at least give him a quick explanation. “Nothing personal. In my experience, anything to do with Fredo will only spoil a good time.” As far as she was concerned, her ex was an ugly cloud she’d rather forget.

  She started as a hand settled atop her forearm. Looking up, she noticed Armando wore a pleased expression. “Does that mean you’re having a good time?”

  “Very.”

  “Good.” His hand squeezed her arm and then remained. “I’m glad. You deserve the best evening possible,” he added in a low voice. His whispered breath caressed her jaw, reminding her of gentle fingertips. Thankfully, the house lights had started to dim, hiding how her skin flushed from the inside out.

  Onstage, the conductor emerged from behind a curtain, drawing another round of applause. After bowing to Armando, the man stepped on his dais and tapped his baton. Like a well-trained army, the musicians raised their instruments. A moment later, the room filled with the delicate hum of violins.

  “Don’t tell my family,” Armando whispered in her ear. Between the dark and the hand on her arm, the innocent comment sent a trail of goose bumps down her spine. “But I do not like classical music.”

  “Since when?” Considering the way his sister and late mother had revered music, the confession wasn’t just shocking, it was almost treasonous.

  “Since ever,” he replied. “Why do you think Arianna is the only one who still plays the piano? As soon as I could, I stopped lessons and haven’t touched a keyboard since.”

  “I didn’t realize.” Both that he disliked classical music and that he played piano. Keeping her eyes forward, she leaned her shoulder closer to his. There was something naughty about whispering together in the dark. “How long did you have to take lessons?”

  “Twelve very long years.”

  That long? “Why didn’t you stop sooner?”

  “Because it was expected I would become a master.”

  Expected. Sadly his answer didn’t surprise her. So much of what he did stemmed from expectations or tradition. Even this concert, in a way. Made her wonder how long it had been since he did anything purely for fun.

  She settled back against her seat as the music crescendoed over them. “Does this mean I’ll need to poke you in the ribs to keep you from nodding off?” she whispered.

  “Don’t be silly. I never fall asleep.”

  “Never?”

  “Okay, not since I was twelve. I have a secret trick.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Behind them, Vittorio Mastella, the head of security, gave a sharp cough, and Rosa bit her lip. Because it was the crown prince doing the whispering, no one was going to say anything directly, but apparently the security chief had no problem delivering a s
ubtle hint. Armando smiled and winked. “I’ll tell you after the concert,” he whispered.

  They spent the rest of the concert in silence. Unlike Armando, Rosa did enjoy classical music, although purely as an amateur. She hadn’t had many opportunities to enjoy it when she was married, since Fredo would only attend a concert if there was business involved. The few times they did attend, however, were some of the best memories of her marriage. She would sit in the dark and let the music send her to a world far away, to a place where she was beautiful and happy. Like the Rosa she used to be.

  As the music washed over her tonight, she realized she already felt beautiful and happy. Whether it was the dress or Armando’s appreciative words or the two combined, she was content with herself for the first time in a long time. More than content—it was as though she’d woken up from a long sleep and remembered she was a woman. Her body was suddenly aware of even the lightest of touches. Armando shifted in his seat, and the brush of his pant leg against her ankle left her insides aching. It did not help that he shifted in his seat a lot. Nor the fact that his hand lingered on her forearm till midway through the concert, his long fingers absently tapping a melody against the lace. The more he tapped, the more she couldn’t stop remembering how he looked climbing out of the pool. Did he know what he was doing to her? The thoughts he was putting into her head? She had no business thinking of Armando this way, like a strong, desirable man. He was... Armando. Her boss. Her brother-in-law. Her future king.

  And yet, his fingers kept toying with her lace sleeve, and she kept feeling beautiful, and the fantasies played in her head until the concert ended.

  Until the lights in the hall brightened and she looked down at the orchestra seats only to find herself looking into the eyes of the one man capable of washing all her confidence away.

  Fredo.

  * * *

  Armando noticed the moment the smile disappeared from Rosa’s face. It was inevitable, seeing how he couldn’t stop stealing glances at her all night long. He’d always considered her attractive, but tonight was different. With her hair clipped loosely at her neck, and that dress... She had to stop wearing those damn blazers and sweater sets. A body like hers, all soft curves made for a man to run his hands down, should never be hidden. Of course, he’d always known she had a good figure. What surprised him was that he was thinking about hands and curves. Apparently he wasn’t as sexually dead as he thought.