“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.