Winter Wedding For The Prince. Barbara Wallace
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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