Winter Wedding for the Prince(24)

There was only one answer.





CHAPTER TEN

“ALL ARE ONE...” The last words of the Corinthian national anthem rose from the crowd gathered below the balcony. Arianna and Max had been officially presented as a royal couple.

Leaving Father and the happy couple to greet their well wishers, Armando stepped back inside. There was only so much joy a man could take, and he had met his limit.

He was happy for his sister, truly he was, but if he had to watch her and Max gaze into each other’s eyes a second longer, he would scream.

A few moments alone in the empty gallery would clear his head. Then he would be ready to tackle the rest of Christmas Day. Mona and her father were joining the celebration. Another day being reminded of the hole he’d dug himself into. At least he’d apologized to Rosa, taking that guilt off his shoulders. Somewhat. He doubted he would ever be completely guilt-free.

Because part of him would never regret kissing her.

To his surprise, Rosa was in the gallery when he entered, studying one of the china cabinets. One look and his energy returned, even if she was wearing one of those ridiculous long blazers he hated. He hadn’t expected to see her for a few days. He’d wanted to—oh, Lord, had he wanted to—but common sense had made a rare appearance and suggested otherwise. If he went to her apartment, he would be tempted to pull her into his arms. Much like he was tempted right now.

When she saw him, she smiled. “Merry Christmas,” she greeted.

Something wasn’t right. He could tell by the sound of her voice. “The crowd sounds thrilled with their princess’s new husband” she said.

“So it would seem. If I were a gambling man, I would bet Max embraces his royal role very quickly.”

“That would be good for Corinthia.”

“Yes.” That was what mattered, wasn’t it? The best for Corinthia? “What are you doing here?” he asked. The question came out more accusatory than he meant. “I thought you were helping out at the shelter this afternoon.”

“I wanted to come by and give you your Christmas present.” She pointed to a wrapped box on the seat of a nearby chair.

Armando walked over and fingered the cheerful silver bow. He didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry, it’s not booby-trapped, I promise,” she said. A halfhearted attempt to shake off the awkward atmosphere.

It wasn’t booby trapping that had him off balance—it was wondering whether he deserved the kindness.

“My gift for you is under the tree upstairs,” he said. A gold charm bracelet marking moments from their friendship.

“You can give it to me later. I can’t stay long, and I want to see you open yours. Go ahead,” she urged.

He peeled back the gift wrap. It was an antique wood statue of Babbo Natale. The colors were fading, but the carving itself was flawless.

“I found it in a shop outside the city. The owner thought he was handmade around the turn of the century. Silly, I know, but what else do you get the guy who has everything? You’ve already got plenty of ties,” she added with a self-conscious laugh.

“Don’t apologize,” Armando told her. “It’s beautiful. Truly handcrafted pieces are hard to find.”

“When I saw him, I thought he looked a little like you do when you’re wearing the costume. Around the eyes.”

He turned the statue over in his hands. “I’ll take your word for it.” It didn’t matter if the statue resembled him or the queen of England. She could have given him a paper doll and he would have treasured the piece. Because it came from her.

He longed to pull her into a hug. “Thank you. I love it.” And you.

“I...” All of a sudden, she stopped talking and pivoted abruptly so she stood with her back turned to him. Something was definitely wrong, he thought, his shoulders stiffening. “I thought it would make a good memory to share with your child,” she continued. “About those times you played Santa Claus at the shelter.”

“You talk as if I won’t be there anymore.” That was never going to happen. The shelter and its mission were too important to him. More so now that he knew her story.

“Not you,” Rosa replied, her back still turned. “Me.”

Her? Armando’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

When she didn’t reply right away, he reached for her shoulder. To hell with not touching her. “What do you mean, you?”

“I-I’m leaving.”

No. She couldn’t be. Armando’s hand fell away short of its goal. “You’re not going to be my assistant anymore?”

“I can’t.” Finally, she turned around. When he saw her face, Armando almost wished he hadn’t. Her eyes were damp and shining. “I can’t come to work every day and see you. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t understand.” His mind was too stuck on her resignation to make sense of anything else. “Dangerous for whom?”

“Me,” she replied.

She started to pace. Rosa being the one to mark paths on the carpeting for a change would be amusing if the circumstances were different. “I thought about what you said last night, about my deserving better,” she said.

“You do. You deserve—”

She cut him off. “I know. Surprisingly. Fredo convinced me I would never deserve better than dirt, and for a long time I believed it.”

He watched as a tear dripped down her cheek. “Then you said you loved me. Loved. And I started thinking, if a man like you thinks he loves me...”

“I do love you,” he said, rushing toward her.

“Don’t.” With her hands in front of her chest, she shook her head. “This is why I have to quit.”

“You don’t want to be near me.”

“Don’t you understand? I want to be near you too much. You’re marrying someone else, ’Mando.

“And I get it,” she said when he opened his mouth to tell her she was—she would always be—his first choice. “I understand the responsibility you feel toward your country, and why you need to keep your word. I love your sense of honor.

“But if I stay, I’ll be tempted to be with you no matter what the circumstances, and I can’t be the woman you love on the side. I worked too hard on being myself again.”

She was shaking by the time she finished. With tears staining her cheeks. It killed him to stand there when every fiber of his being wanted to steal her away to a place where they could be together. It killed him, but he knew it was what Rosa wanted. Just as he knew he couldn’t fight her leaving.

“What will I do without you?” he asked instead.

“You survived without me for years, ’Mando. I’m sure you’ll survive again.” Armando hated to think the last smile he’d see on her face would be this sad facsimile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Where will you go? What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet. Right now, I’m going to focus on celebrating Christmas. I’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

“You survived once, you’ll survive again,” he repeated softly.

“Exactly.” Her fingers were shaking as she wiped her cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Your Highness. Happy New Year, too.”

Not without her in it.

With Babbo Natale cradled in his arms, he stood alone in the gallery and listened to the sound of the elevator doors closing. “Don’t go,” he whispered.

But like her sister had three years before, Rosa left anyway.

“Was that Rosa I saw getting on the elevator?” Arianna asked. She strolled in with Max and Father trailing behind. Her face pink from the cold, she shrugged off her coat and draped it over the arm of a chair. “I wish I’d known she was coming by. I have a Christmas present for her. Is that what Rosa gave you?” she asked, noting the wood carving. “It’s lovely.”

“What’s lovely?” Max asked.

“The carving Rosa gave Max,” Arianna replied.

“I’m not surprised,” Father said. “She’s always had impeccable taste.” He went on to tell Max a story about an ornament Armando’s mother bought the year Arianna was born. Armando continued to watch the doorway in case Rosa decided to return.

“She was determined to find the perfect ornament to mark Arianna’s first Christmas. We must have gone to every shop, craftsman and artist in Corinthia, and nothing was good enough. If I’d thought I could learn fast enough, I would have taken up glassblowing myself so she could design her own. It has to be perfect for our baby, she kept saying.”

Armando had already heard the ending. How his mother finally found the ornament in a gift shop in Florence, and it turned out to have been made by a Corinthian expatriate who insisted on giving the ornament as a gift for the new princess. The reverence in his father’s voice as he spoke was at near worship proportions. His words practically dripped with love.

Armando’s head started to hurt.

“I know she would be thrilled to look down and see the ornament on your tree, for your child.”

“I’m only sorry she isn’t here,” he heard Arianna say with a sniff.

“We can only hope she is watching right now, happy and proud of both of you.”