Winter Wedding For The Prince

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.