Winter Wedding for the Prince Page 9

  “No, not at all. In a weird way, telling you was liberating. I never realized how much the secret was weighing on me.” Or rather, the shame of it. “Thank you, by the way, for not thinking me a complete failure.”

  “You’re not a failure, period. Your taste in men could be a little better...I mean, I could have told you Fredo was a poor choice. For starters, the man eats far too much garlic.”

  “Yes, he does,” Rosa laughed. “And too much dairy. What was I thinking?” Her smile faded. “Sometimes I could kick myself for being so stupid,” she said.

  “Not stupid. Naive, maybe, but never stupid.” When he said it, she believed him. Maybe last night’s magic hadn’t completely dissipated after all.

  The sounds of footsteps floated up from below. Beneath them, security guards were readying the archway for the public. Armando leaned his forearms on the stone railing. Rosa joined him, cradling her coffee and watching the activity on the first floor.

  “Clearly there is only one solution,” he said after a moment.

  “Solution?”

  “Regarding your terrible taste. From now on, you’ll have to run all your potential dates by me, and I will decide if they are worthy of you.”

  “Is that so?” He was joking, but Rosa’s spirits sagged slightly nonetheless. A tiny part of her had been hoping last night’s kiss...

  “Absolutely,” he continued. “You’re going to need my discerning eye. We don’t want you falling for any old line. Just the ones I like.” The sparkle in his eyes belied his seriousness. “I have to warn you, though. I have exceedingly high standards. In fact...” He pressed his shoulder against hers, and the wave of warmth that passed through her almost made her drop her coffee. “There is a very good chance I won’t find anyone suitable at all.”

  “Is that so?”

  “No. Very few men will measure up, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “None at all?” she asked.

  His gaze aligned with hers. Between the shadows and his pupils, Rosa could barely make out the blue. “Maybe one or two,” he replied.

  She suddenly had trouble swallowing, the air from her lungs having stopped midway in her throat. “One would be enough,” she managed to say. Had his pupils gotten even larger? The blue had been completely obliterated.

  “One, then,” he replied. “One very qualified candidate.”

  “Very qualified?”

  “The best.” Rosa didn’t know a few inches could be so far away until Armando leaned in toward her. They were in their own private space. “We’re standing underneath the mistletoe again,” he whispered. “You know what that means...”

  Most definitely. What’s more, this time, there was no crowd or midnight confession to spur the moment forward. Just them. She parted her lips.

  Armando’s phone rang.

  “You should answer,” Rosa replied when he groaned. “It could be your father.”

  “If it is, he has horrible timing.”

  Still, no one in Corinthia ignored a phone call from the king, not even his son, so he reached into his breast pocket. One look at his expression told Rosa the caller wasn’t King Carlos.

  “It’s Mona,” Armando replied. There wasn’t enough room in his eyes to hold their apology. “I’m sorry.”

  Rosa wasn’t. As far as she was concerned, Mona’s timing couldn’t be more perfect. It saved her from making a very foolish mistake. So foolish, she almost laughed out loud.

  With the walls of the archway closing in, she turned and hurried down the stairs. Once outside, she kept hurrying, through the front gate and down the block, stopping only when she reached the same coffee shop where she began.

  Collapsing against the brick facade, she closed her eyes and told herself her heart was racing from exertion and not from the feelings swirling around inside her.

  We’re standing underneath the mistletoe again...

  Heaven help her, she wanted to go back. Didn’t matter if it was foolish or if Armando was making a joke, she wanted to go back, stand beneath that mistletoe and wait for Armando to take her in his arms.

  She wanted him.

  How? When did everything change? When did he stop being Armando, the man who married her sister, and become simply Armando the man? Last night amid the Christmas lights? Or earlier? Thinking back, Armando had always been one of two measures by which she rated others—Fredo at the low end and Armando at the top—and she’d told herself that when she decided she was ready to date, she would shoot for someone in the middle. After all, while she might not be the lump of clay Fredo thought her to be, she knew better than to put herself at Armando’s level, either. So what did she do? Fall for Armando anyway. Could she be a bigger idiot?

  Banging her head against the brick, she let out a loud sigh. Armando had just said she had terrible taste in men.

  If only he knew.

  * * *

  Armando tried his best to focus on the voice talking on the other end of the line and not on the red-coated figure heading down the stairs.

  “I wanted to apologize for missing the concert,” Mona was saying. “I thought I would be well enough to travel, but I still have a fever. The doctor is afraid I might be contagious.”

  “Then it was definitely a good idea to stay home,” Armando replied.

  “Perhaps, but I am still sorry. I know how important this event is to you.”

  “There is no need to apologize. You can’t control what your body is going to do.” Sometimes your body wanted you to kiss a woman senseless. Confessions and Christmas lights, huh? What was his excuse this morning? Because he wanted to kiss her as badly as ever.

  More than kiss her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and not let go.

  Below him, he saw Rosa crossing the tile, and his body clutched in frustration. He wanted to call for her to stop, but Mona was still talking.

  “I swear I am normally very healthy. The doctor says this is one of the worst strains of flu he’s ever seen,” Mona was saying. “But I am definitely on the upswing, and will be one hundred percent as soon as possible. You have my word.”

  You have my word. Mona’s statement was the perfect antidote to the spell that had gripped him as well as a reminder that Armando had made a promise of his own. “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied, gripping the phone a little tighter. Rosa, meanwhile, had disappeared through the exit, leaving the archway cold and quiet. Just as well. “I also should be the one apologizing.” For many things. “I didn’t realize you were as sick as you are.”

  “I downplayed the situation when we spoke. I had the idea that if I told myself I was healthy, I would get healthy. Unfortunately...” She paused to cough. When she spoke again, her voice was raspy. “Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

  She certainly sounded terrible, Armando thought guiltily. “Why don’t I fly in and visit? I promise to stay out of germ range. It would give us a chance to spend time together.” Not to mention putting some distance between him and Rosa. Hypocritical, considering he’d admonished Rosa about avoiding him not five minutes ago.

  His suggestion was met with a pause. “That is very nice of you, but I am afraid I would not be very good company. I wouldn’t be able to show you around. Plus I look a sight.”

  “People with the flu often do,” Armando noted.

  “I know, but I would spend the entire visit feeling self-conscious. I hate whenever anyone sees me not looking my best.”

  Dear God, they were going to be man and wife. Did she think a fever and messy hair might send him running?

  Armando thought of all the states he and Rosa had seen each other in, including one very embarrassing incident right after she started work when she vomited in his office waste receptacle. She’d been mortified. Spent the entire time apologizing and choking back feverish tears. Now that he remembered,
she’d said she didn’t want him seeing her in such a state, too. He’d ignored her. Instead, he sat by her side, rubbed circles on her back, passed her tissues and told her he was right where he belonged. “We’re a team,” he’d told her. “What’s a little flu bug between partners?” Then he’d bundled her down the hall to one of the guest rooms, and they’d watched a movie until she fell asleep. Oddly enough, it was one of his fondest memories of their friendship.

  He tried to picture rubbing Mona’s back only to imagine being told to stay away.

  “I would hate to think my company was causing you stress,” he said, partly to the image in his head.

  On the other end of the line, he heard a relieved sigh. “Thank you for understanding. We will enjoy our visit much better when I’m back to myself. Perhaps next week?”

  “At the wedding?”

  “That would be nice. I will let you know in a few days if I think I’ll be feeling well enough so we can make arrangements.”

  “Sounds good.” It struck him how formal and businesslike their conversation sounded. This was what he wanted, though, wasn’t it? A business arrangement? A week ago he couldn’t imagine thinking about anything more. His heart wasn’t looking for more.

  His eyes looked up at the mistletoe.

  He squeezed them shut. Even if his heart was looking for more, he couldn’t. He’d made a promise, and Corinthia’s reputation rested on his honoring it.

  He talked to Mona for a few more minutes, about the concert and what few details he knew about Arianna’s wedding, then agreed to talk later in the week. He had just disconnected when he spied his father strolling the corridor. “There you are,” Carlos said. “Your sister ordered me to find you.”

  “Funny,” he replied. “I thought you were the one in charge.”

  “Of Corinthia, maybe. Of the bride...” He paused. “Is any father of the bride ever in charge?”

  “In other words, my sister has you wrapped around her little finger.” No surprise there.

  “What can I say? She is my baby girl. I want her to be happy.”

  It might be early, but King Carlos was dressed as dapperly as always. He’d once told Armando a king needed to be on any time he stepped outside his private quarters. “The people expect their king to act like a king,” he’d said. As his father drew closer, Armando noticed the older man’s jacket hung looser than it used to. Seemed as if every week, he grew a little older. The weight of pending responsibility that rested perpetually on Armando’s shoulders grew a little heavier.

  “Surely you didn’t think you could escape unscathed,” his father remarked.

  “I’d hoped.”

  “You might as well get used to it. This is only a small ceremony. Yours and Mona’s will be far more elaborate.”

  “Must it? We are talking about my second marriage.”

  “Regardless, you are the crown prince,” his father replied. “The people will want to celebrate.”

  Right, the people. Those thousands of candles relying on him to stay lit. The universe was certainly intent on reminding him of his duties today, wasn’t it?

  His father clapped him on the shoulder, breaking his thoughts. “I know what you are thinking, son.”

  “You do?” How, when he wasn’t sure himself? A week ago yes, but now? Not so much.

  “But of course,” the king replied. “I know better than anyone how difficult it is to move forward when what you really want is to bring back the past. I know how much you loved Christina.” Armando felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t been thinking of Christina last night—or this morning. Only of Rosa.

  “When your mother died, it was all I could do to hold myself together, I missed her that much.”

  “I know,” Armando replied. All too well he remembered the sight of his father with his face buried in his hands.

  “I still miss her. Every day.” He gave a soft laugh. “We Santoros love hard.”

  “So I’ve been told.” At least his father did. Armando didn’t know what he was doing anymore.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I know what you are doing is difficult. You’re putting your sister’s happiness—not to mention the welfare of this country—ahead of your own needs.” His hand still lay on Armando’s shoulder, and so he gave a squeeze. “I hope you know how grateful I am. Grateful and proud. When I step down, Corinthia will be in wonderful hands.”

  For an aging man, he had an amazing grip. The pressure brought moisture to Armando’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  “No, son, thank you. Now...” Lifting his hand, his father slapped him between the shoulder blades. “Let us go see what duties your sister has assigned to us, shall we?”

  “I’ll be right there. I just have to make a quick phone call.”

  “Don’t dally too long. I don’t want to go looking for you again.”

  Armando chuckled. “Five minutes.”

  “I will hold you to that,” his father replied, waggling a finger. “I love my daughter, but I refuse to deal with her bridal preparations by myself.”

  “Coward.”

  “Absolutely. One day you will have a daughter, and you will understand.”

  He was probably right. “Don’t worry, you have my word.” And Armando always kept his promises.

  His eyes flickered to the mistletoe. Unfortunately.

  * * *

  Instead of going shopping like she said, Rosa ended up spending the weekend at Christina’s Home, helping the residents with their Christmas baking. Working with the other women helped ground her, reminded her there were worse things in life than unrequited feelings. Seriously, what did it matter if Armando didn’t return her attraction? It wasn’t as if it was a surprise. She was a chubby, average personal assistant. And that wasn’t her insecurity talking. Those were simply the facts. She also had a job and a place to call home, which made her better off than a lot of people. To quote Fredo, which she hated doing even when he was right, she had it pretty damn good.

  She’d get over her crush or whatever it was.

  By the time she returned to work on Monday, she was in a much better place. In fact, she thought as she stepped into the elevator, she’d even go so far as to say her feelings were shifting back to normal. Why not? They crept up on her overnight—who’s to say they couldn’t disappear just as quickly? Right?

  Right?

  Armando was sitting at her desk when she walked in. Wearing one of his dark suits, his tie and pocket square a perfect Corinthian red, he was busy reading her computer screen and didn’t see her. Rosa’s insides turned end over end anyway. “Isn’t that desk a little small for you?” she asked. She was not trying to sound flirtatious; his long, lean figure dwarfed the writing table.

  Nor did the way his eyes brightened when Armando looked mean anything. “I was looking for the notes on last week’s meeting with the American ambassador. He’s coming by this afternoon, and I deleted the copy you sent me.”

  “You do that a lot.”

  “What can I say? I don’t like a crowded inbox.”

  “Thank goodness you have me, then.” She turned to hang up her coat on the coatrack in the corner.

  “I know.”

  Rosa paused. It was the same banter they’d exchanged dozens of times, only this time, the words sounded different. There was a note of melancholy attached to the gratitude that unnerved her. Slowly she draped her coat onto its brass hook. “It’s snowing outside,” she said. “I heard one of the guards say we might even see accumulation on the ground. Might be the first time in years Corinthia could have a white Christmas.”

  Armando was looking at her now, not the computer. She could tell because her spine felt his attention and had begun to prickle. Still afraid to turn around, she made a show out of brushing the droplets of water from the blue wool. “Is something wro
ng?” she asked.

  “I wanted...”

  Hearing his exasperated sigh, Rosa stopped fussing with her coat and turned around. It wasn’t like Armando to sound this uncertain. It made her uneasy.

  The contrite look on his face didn’t help. “I wanted to apologize...”

  Oh, Lord, he was going to tell her he was sorry for kissing her. “It’s all right,” she cut in. “There is no need to apologize. It’s a silly holiday tradition.”

  “Maybe, but my behavior the other morning crossed the line. I was inappropriate, and I apologize.”

  In other words, he was sorry he’d made the suggestion. “That’s what happens during the holidays,” she said, forcing a smile. “All the celebrating makes people say things they don’t mean. Don’t worry, I didn’t take offense.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t mean it, I just...”

  Just what? Rosa knew she should ask, but she was too stuck on the first part of his sentence to say the words. Was he saying he wanted to kiss her again?

  Pushing himself to his feet, he moved around to the front of the desk. “You’re a beautiful woman, Rosa. What man wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

  “You would be surprised,” she murmured.

  “That is Fredo talking. Believe me, any man with half a brain would kiss you in a heartbeat.”

  She would have smiled at his calling Fredo stupid if he weren’t filling her personal space. Rejection would be so much easier with a desk between them. Or breathing room. Anything besides the scent of his skin teasing her nostrils. “There’s no need to oversell your point,” she told him.

  “I mean every word.”

  She risked looking him in the eye. “But?” There had to be a but. After all, for all his sweet words, he was apologizing, not taking her in his arms.

  Shaking his head, Armando stepped away. “I’m not dead,” he said. “I see a beautiful woman, I am going to feel desire. It’s only natural.”

  He started pacing, a sign that he was thinking out loud. Trying hard to move past his finding her desirable, Rosa leaned back and waited for him to work out the rest of the explanation. The part that would pour cold water over the rest of his words.