Winter Wedding for the Prince(13)

“All right,” he called up. “Open your eyes.”

Rosa’s gasp might have been the most beautiful noise he had heard in a very long time.





CHAPTER SIX

HE’D LIT THE Corinthian Christmas tree.

Rosa had seen the official tree many times in her life, but this was the first time she’d ever seen the archway illuminated solely by Christmas lights. She gazed in marvel at the towering Italian spruce. The theme this year was red and gold, and somehow the decorator had managed to find golden Christmas lights. As a result, the entire archway was bathed in the softest yellow.

From his spot at the bottom of the stairs, Armando smiled at her. “What do you think? Do you still not like surprises?” he asked.

Rosa’s answer caught in her throat. Standing there in the golden glow of the trees, he looked a tuxedoed Christmas god, beautiful and breathtaking.

“Amazing,” she whispered. She didn’t mean the lights.

“You missed the ceremony the other night, so I thought I would treat you to a private one. I realize as surprises go, it’s a little underwhelming...”

“No.” She hurried down to join him. “It’s perfect.”

He’d lit more than the tree. The phalanx of smaller trees that stood guard around the main one sparkled with lights, too, as did the garlands hanging from the balustrade.

“I had to skip the window candles,” he told her. “They’re too hard to light without a step stool.”

“I’ll forgive you.”

Unbelievable. She sank down on the bottom step to better study the room. This was the first time she’d seen this space so quiet. Because it was the palace hub, the archway was a continual stream of noise and people. Sitting here now, in the solitude, felt more like she was in an enchanted forest filled with thousands of golden stars. There was a feeling of timelessness in the air. Watching the shadows on the stone walls, it was easy to imagine the spirits of Armando’s ancestors floating back and forth among the trees. Generations of Santoros connected by tradition for eternity.

And he’d created the moment for her. As if she were someone important. The notion left her breathless.

“Why...” she started.

“I didn’t want your encounter with Fredo to be how you ended your evening. So now, it can end with Christmas trees instead.”

Rosa’s insides were suddenly too full for her body. She was being overly romantic, getting emotional over a simple kindness.

But then, there’d been so many simple kindnesses tonight, hadn’t there.

Armando wedged himself between her and the banister and stretched his legs out in front of him. “When my sister and I were children, we would sneak in here after everyone went to bed and light the trees,” he said. “When it came to Christmas, Arianna was out of control. She couldn’t get enough of the Christmas lights.”

“Neither could you, it sounds like.”

He shook his head. “You know Arianna. She acts first and thinks later. I had to go along if only to keep her from getting into trouble. Did you know she used to insist on sneaking into our parents’ salon to try and catch Babbo Natale every year? I spent every Christmas worried she was going to knock over the tree on herself or something.”

Rosa smiled. “Taking responsibility even then.”

His sigh was tinged with resignation. “Someone had to.”

The Melancholy Prince, thought Rosa. Told as a child he carried the responsibility for a nation. When, she wondered, was the last time he had done something purely because doing so made him happy? She already knew the answer: he’d married her sister. While Christina was alive, he had at least shown glimpses of a brighter, lighter self. Now that side of him only appeared when Rosa arm-twisted him into situations that required it. Like playing Babbo.

Until tonight. Even though at his age lighting the palace couldn’t be called mischievous, his face had a brightness she hadn’t seen in years. You could barely see the shadows in his blue eyes. The look especially suited him. If she could, Rosa would encourage him to play every night.

Again, he had done this for her.

“Thank you.” She put her hand on his knee and hoped he could feel the depth of her appreciation in her touch.

“You’re welcome.” Maybe he did know, because he covered her hand with his.

“Christina and I used to wait up for Babbo, too,” she said, looking up at the twinkling treetop. “Her idea, of course. I was always afraid he would be mad and switch us to the naughty list. I don’t know why, since Christina would have talked our way out of it.” No one could resist her sister, not even Santa Claus.

“True.” He nudged her shoulder. “Your arm-twisting skills aren’t half-bad, either. I bet you could have done some sweet talking, too.”

“No, I would have stuttered and fumbled my words. I would have been the one who fell down the stairs, too. I might still, if I’m not careful. Grace is not my middle name.”

Armando drew back with a frown. “Are you kidding? You’re one of the most graceful women I’ve ever met.”

“I—I am?”

“You should watch yourself walk out of a room sometime.”

“You do know, now that you’ve said something, I’ll never walk unconsciously again?”

“Sorry.”

“No, I am. Putting myself down is a bad habit. I’m getting better, but conditioning takes time to overcome. Hear something enough times, and it becomes a part of you.”

“Yes, it does,” he replied. Like Armando and responsibility.

Together, they sat in silence. Rosa could feel the firmness of Armando’s thigh against hers. Taking its cue from the hand resting atop hers, the contact marked her insides with warmth that was simultaneously thrilling and soothing. She selfishly wished Fredo would appear again so that she might feel Armando pull her tight in his arms, the way he had at the concert hall, and indulge in even more contact.

Instead, he did her one better.

“Fredo is an ass,” he muttered, and she stiffened, afraid he’d read her thoughts. “I know,” he said. “You don’t want to talk about him, but I have to say it. The guy is a class-A jerk.”

She could end the discussion right there by not saying a word, but the indignation in his voice on her behalf deserved some type of comment. “Yes, he is, although he can be charming when he needs to be.”

“They always are. Isn’t that what they told us at the shelter? It’s why a lot of very intelligent women who should know better find themselves trapped.”

A woman who should know better. That certainly described her. Rosa could feel Armando holding back his curiosity. Trying so hard to honor her request in spite of the questions running through his head.

From the very start of their friendship, he’d treated her with kindness and respect. More than any man she’d known. Most people—her parents, even—thought she was crazy to leave a wealthy, successful man like Fredo; they couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t be happy. But Armando had never judged her. Never asked what she thought she was doing. He trusted that she had a reason.

Perhaps it was time she offered him a little trust in return.

“I never told anyone. About Fredo,” she said softly.

“Not even Christina?”

She shook her head. “Although I think she knew I was unhappy. Thing is, for a long time I thought the problem was with me. That if I wasn’t such a fat, stupid fool, my marriage would be better.”

“What are you talking about? You’re none of those things.”

“Not according to Fredo. He never missed an opportunity to tell me I was second-rate.” Looking to her lap, she studied the patterns playing out in the lace. Tiny red squares that formed larger red squares, which then formed ever larger squares. She traced one of the holes with her index finger. “Didn’t help that Christina was everything that I wasn’t. I loved my sister, but she was so beautiful...”

“So are you.”

Armando’s answer made her breath catch. “You are,” he repeated when she looked at him. “Your face, your eyes, your figure. The way you walk...”

“Regardless,” she said, looking back to her lap. She wasn’t trying to fish for compliments, even if his comments did leave her insides warm and full enough to squeeze tears.

“The point is for a long time I believed him. Same way I believed him when he reminded me how fortunate I was that he was willing to take me off my father’s hands.”

“I’m going to shoot the bastard,” Armando muttered.

It was an extreme but flattering response. Rosa found herself fighting back a smile. “There’s no need. Your performance tonight wounded him more than enough.”

Armando shook his head. “He deserves worse. If I’d known—”

“Don’t,” she said, grasping his hands in hers. This time he wasn’t talking about her not sharing, but about his not stepping in to defend her. She wouldn’t have him feeling guilty because her shame kept her from speaking up. “I told you, I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“But why not? I could have helped you.”

“You and Christina were in the middle of this great romance—I didn’t want to ruin the mood with my problems. And then, after Christina died, you were grieving. It wasn’t the time. Besides...” Here was the true answer. “I was ashamed.”