Winter Wedding for the Prince(25)
Would she be proud, Armando wondered. Would she be happy to know her eldest son had let the woman he loved walk away?
He worked up the courage to turn around, only to find a portrait of marital bliss. Max stood behind Arianna, arms wrapped around her to rest his hands on her bump. His father stood a few feet away, beaming with paternal approval. He tried to imagine himself in the picture, his arms around a pregnant Mona. Imagine himself content.
All he could see was Rosa’s back as she walked away.
It wasn’t fair. Father had said last night, their family had seen its share of dark days. Armando had buried his wife, for God’s sake. He turned off a machine and watched her take her last breath! Did that moment truly mean he would never have love again? If that was the case, then why wake his heart up? Why torment him by having him fall in love with Rosa after he’d agreed to marry King Omar’s daughter? Wouldn’t it be better to keep his heart buried? Or was loving and losing another woman his punishment for some kind of cosmic crime?
“Armando!” Arianna was staring at him with wide eyes. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’re choking Santa Claus,” Max added.
He looked down and saw he had a white-knuckle grip on the statue. A more delicate piece would have snapped in two.
“I...” He dropped the figurine on the closest table like it was on fire. Babbo landed off balance and fell over, his wooden sack of toys hitting the table first with a soft thud.
Arianna appeared by his side, reaching past him to set the statue upright. “Are you all right?” she asked him. “You’ve been acting odd since late last night. Did something happen between you and Rosa?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you and she are usually joined at the hip, and the past few days...”
“I have a headache is all,” he snapped. The air in the gallery was feeling close. He needed space. “I’ve got to get some air.”
* * *
Of course he would end up sitting in the archway, under the mistletoe. Trying to put your head on straight always worked best in a room full of memories. Sinking down on the next to last step, he scrubbed his face with his hands, looking to erase the night of the concert from his brain. Instead, he saw Rosa, her face bathed in golden light.
What was he going to do? Leaning back, he stared up at the mistletoe sprig. “You have been nothing but trouble, do you know that?”
If the berries had a retort, they kept it to themselves. Bastards.
A flash of gold and green caught his eye. A few feet to his left, he noticed an angel perched near the top of the tree. Unlike the other ornaments, which were ornate almost to the point of ostentation, the angel was simple and made of felt with a mound of golden hair surrounding her face. He really must be losing his mind; the way the angel was hung, it looked like she was watching him. “What do you think I should do, angel? Do I do the honorable thing and keep my promise to Mona? Or do I go against everything I’ve ever been taught to run after Rosa?”
Nothing.
That’s what he thought. As if a Christmas ornament would know any more than a branch of mistletoe.
Why then did he feel as though the answer was right there, waiting for him to see it? “Why did Christina have to die in the first place?” he asked the angel. “Life would be so much easier if she had just taken the curve a little slower. I wouldn’t have needed to enter an agreement with King Omar because I wouldn’t need a wife.”
And Rosa would still be with Fredo. Unacceptable. As much as he had loved Christina, he would never bring her back if it meant leaving Rosa married and fearful. Christina wouldn’t want to come back under those circumstances.
But she would tell you to follow your heart. That life is too short to waste time feeling angry and unhappy. Not when happiness is within your reach. All you have to do is to be brave enough to take a chance. To sneak out after dark and turn on the Christmas lights.
To leave the abusive husband. If Rosa could be brave enough to walk away from Fredo, if the other women could walk away from worse, then surely he could summon up enough bravery to be happy.
“Armando! Are you here?”
Looked like he would be tested sooner than he thought. “In the archway, Father.”
“I should have known.” King Carlos appeared at the top of the opposite stairs. “I swear you are as bad as your sister regarding these lights,” he said as he navigated the steps.
“It’s too cold to go outside,” Armando told him. “This is the next best thing.”
“You are aware you are sitting under the mistletoe?”
“Believe me, I know. Damn plant is following me.”
His father chuckled. “You, my son, might be the first person I have ever heard complain about kissing traditions. Or is it a more specific problem?” he asked, settling himself on the step as well. “Your sister is right. You’ve been out of sorts for a few days now. Did something happen?”
“You could say that,” Armando replied. He stared at his palms. Maybe one of the lines had the words he needed to explain. “Did you mean what you said last night? About being proud of Arianna and me?”
Whatever his father had been expecting, that wasn’t it. He leaned back a little so he could see Armando’s face. “Of course I did. You make me immensely proud.”
Would he still feel that way once Armando finished—that was the question. “Even if I dishonored Corinthia?”
“Considering your sister married a man who is not the father of her child, it would be hypocritical of me, don’t you think? Besides, I doubt there’s anything you could do that would dishonor Corinthia too much.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
His father paused as what Armando said sank in. “What have you done?”
“More like what I can’t do,” Armando replied and looked up from his hand. He didn’t need a love or life line to tell him what needed to be said. “I can’t marry Mona.”
“I see.” There was another pause. “And why can’t you?”
“Because I’m in love with someone else.” He laid out the entire story, from why he contacted King Omar in the first place to his goodbye to Rosa a short time earlier. When he finished, he went back to studying his palms. “I know we’re responsible for every light in Corinthia. I know that backing out of this arrangement means dishonoring our reputation and making an enemy out an important economic ally, but I just can’t.
“It’s selfish, but I’m tired of being unhappy, Father,” he said, staring at the shadows flickering along the wall. “It’s been three years of not being among the living. I need to live again.”
By this point, he’d been expecting his father’s silence, so it was a surprise when his father responded immediately. “Every light in Corinthia? Sounds like someone spent time with his grandfather.”
He reached over and patted Armando’s knee, something he hadn’t done in Armando’s childhood. “My father was a good man, but some of his advice could be heavy-handed. If I had known he was putting such notions in your head when you were young... Apparently I’ve failed you as well.”
“No, you didn’t,” Armando said, shifting his weight to face him. “You have been an exemplary king...”
“And a mediocre father,” he replied. “I wallowed in my grief and, as a result, taught you by example. Of course you should be happy, Armando. You can’t lead a country if you’re angry and bitter. If Rosa is the woman who will make you happy, embrace her.”
Armando planned to. He took a deep breath. Perhaps his father had a point. Having made his decision, he no longer felt the pressing weight on his shoulders. Like on the night of the rehearsal dinner, the bits and pieces kicking around his head had solidified, making his thoughts clear. He could breathe.
“Omar is going to be furious,” he said. Mona, too. And deservedly so.
“Omar is also pragmatic. His main concern is helping his people. If we offer economic aid, I think he and Mona will be willing to swallow their hurt pride. Although I wouldn’t expect an invitation to stay at the Yelgierian palace any time soon.”
If that was the only fallout, Armando would live. “I would like to start an initiative as well to encourage Corinthian and other EU doctors to set up practice in Yelgiers. From what Mona says, a dearth of doctors is one of their most pressing concerns.”
“We’ll make it a priority,” his father replied. “Now, what are you doing sitting under a mistletoe with me? Don’t you have a future princess to collect?”
Yes, he did. With his cheek muscles aching from the grin on his face, Armando jumped to his feet.
“Armando!” his father called when he reached the door. “Merry Christmas.”
Impossibly, Armando’s grin grew even wider. “Merry Christmas, Father.”
* * *
Rosa was trying. She was serving food and reminding herself that her life could be a lot worse. She had her brain. She was strong and capable. Moreover, while she might be alone, Armando loved her. Wanted, needed and loved. She should take solace in the fact she was special enough to win the heart of the crown prince.
“I’d rather have Armando.”