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.”
“You had nothing to be ashamed about.”
Didn’t she? “Do you know how hard it is to admit you spent nearly a decade allowing someone to strip you of your self-respect because you thought you deserved it?” Even now, the regret choked her like bile when she thought of the power Fredo had held over her. Power she’d given him. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She moved to swipe the moisture away only to have Armando’s thumb pass across her skin first. When he was finished, his hand remained, his palm cupping her cheek. “No one ever deserves to be abused,” he said.
“I told you, Fredo never struck me.”
“You know as well as I do abuse doesn’t always come from a fist.”
So her counselor always told her. Words could cut deep, too.
Armando’s touch was warm and comforting, calling to her to lean in and absorb its promised strength. “Took me a long time to learn that,” she said. “I figured as long as I wasn’t sporting a black eye, I didn’t have a right to complain. Besides, when it was happening...” Her voice caught. How she hated talking about those years out loud. Admitting she thought she deserved everything Fredo did and said.
Armando’s fingers slid from her cheek to her jaw, lifting her face so their eyes would stay connected. The smile he gave her was gentle and understanding. It told her that he wouldn’t ask for details.
Knowing she had a choice gave her the strength to say more.
“It catches you by surprise, you know? At first, it’s subtle. Constructive criticism. An outburst over something you did that doesn’t seem worth fighting about, because, well, maybe you didn’t communicate well enough. Meanwhile, your parents are telling you how lucky you are that such a successful, handsome man wanted to be with you, and you start to think, he’s so charming and agreeable with everyone else—it has to be my fault. That you are the one letting him down by being inferior.”
Armando squeezed her knee. “You are not—”
“I am also not Christina,” she said, anticipating his protest.
The feel of his touch against her skin was too enticing, so she turned her face away. As his hand dropped, a chill rushed in to fill its absence. She stared at the Christmas lights. “Life is not always easy when your baby sister is a great beauty,” she told him. “Soon as she walked in the room, I ceased to exist.”
“That is not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She had to smile, weak as it was, at Armando’s protest. He, the man who fell in love with Christina the moment he laid eyes on her. “The day you met her, at the reception, did you know I was standing with her?”
He stiffened. “That was different.”
No, it wasn’t. “You were not the first person to lose their heart at first sight, ’Mando. Just the first one whose feelings she reciprocated.”
They fell silent again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Armando studying his hands, a scowl marring his profile. “Do not feel bad. It was just the way things were. Christina was extraordinary.” Whereas Rosa was merely average, a fact she was only now starting to realize was a perfectly fine thing to be. Not everyone could be Christina. To hold a grudge against her sister for being special would have been a waste of energy.
For some reason, talk of her sister’s superiority made her think of Mona, another winner in the beauty and character lotto. Someone else with whom Rosa couldn’t compete. Not that there was a competition.
Next to her, Armando shifted his weight on the stone step. “You really believed Fredo was the best you could do?”
“Silly, I know.” Shameful was more like it. That a bully like Fredo was able to chip away at her self-esteem the way he did. “But Fredo had me convinced I would be a lonely nothing without him. Not only was he doing me a favor by being my husband, but I had no other options. Everything I had—money, a home—were because of him. If I left, I would have nothing.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Strange as it sounds, it was Christina’s accident,” she told him. “I was sitting at her bedside, holding her hand, thinking how unfair it was that someone like her, whose life was wonderful, should die when there were so many like me who could go in her place, and suddenly, I heard her voice in my head. You know that voice she used when she got exasperated.”
Armando gave a soft chuckle. “I certainly do.”
“Well, that voice told me life was too short and unpredictable to waste time being miserable, so take back control. So I divorced Fredo as soon as I could.”
His hand found hers again. “I’m glad,” he whispered.
“Me, too.” Who knew where she would be if she had not? Certainly not sitting on the steps in a lace ball gown surrounded by an enchanted palace wonderland. Armando would be but a distant part of her life. Her insides started to ache. The idea of a life without Armando was...was...
Right around the corner. The thought struck her, hard. Mona would be taking him away forever.
Before she realized, there was moisture rimming her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, sniffing the tears back. “Here you are trying to end the evening on a happy note, and I go and spoil it by acting maudlin.”
“You didn’t spoil anything. I’m honored you trusted me enough to finally tell me.”
“Trust was never the issue, Armando. I told you, I was ashamed. And afraid,” she added in a small voice.
“Afraid? Of me?”
She closed to her eyes. “Of seeing pity in your eyes.” That last thing she wanted was Armando looking at her like a victim. She couldn’t bear it.
“Never in a million years,” she heard him say. A wonderful promise, but... She squeezed her eyes tighter.
“Rosa, look at me.” Rosa couldn’t. She didn’t want to know what she might see.
But Armando was persistent. Capturing her face in his hands, he forced her out of hiding. “Rosa, look at me,” he urged. “Look me in the eye. Do you see pity?”
Slowly, she lifted her lids. Armando was gazing at her with eyes blue and nonjudgmental. “I would sooner cut them out than look at you with anything less than admiration.”
“Little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Not in this case. What you did took courage, Rosa. Courage and strength. If anyone needs to fear judging, it’s me for not being worthy of your friendship.”
“You’ll always be worthy,” she whispered. This time, it was she who reached across the space to touch his face. His cheeks were rough with the start of an early beard. For some reason, the sensation aroused her, as if the whiskers were scratching inside her and not her skin. She wondered if her touch had shifted something inside him as well, because the blue began to take on different shades. What had been light was slowly growing dark and hooded.
“You’re wrong.”
Focused on the shifting of his eyes, Rosa nearly missed his words. “Wrong?”
“Thinking you’re not special. You couldn’t be more wrong. You’re smart, strong. Beautiful.” It’d been too long since someone had said such lovely words to her, and the way Armando said them was so sincere that Rosa melted with pleasure.
“I wasn’t looking for compliments,” she said.
“Not compliments. Truth.”
Rosa nearly sighed aloud at his answer. The moment must going to her head, she decided. Why else would she think Armando’s gaze had dropped to her mouth? Or long for him to move closer?
“We—” She started to say that they should say good-night, but her mind was distracted by the way Armando’s lips curled into a smile. He whispered something. It sounded like Fredo was an idiot, but she couldn’t be sure. Next thing she knew, those beautiful curved lips were pressed against hers.
Rosa’s breath caught.
Her heart stopped.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and her hand slid to the curls at the back of his head. Sweet and lingering, it was a kiss worthy of a fairy tale. Only it was Armando whose lips were gently coaxing a response. Armando whose fingers trailed down her neck to caress the base of her throat.
A moment later, he pulled away, leaving her dazed and confused. What...?
“Mistletoe,” he said, pointing upward. “Be a shame to ignore tradition.”
Dazed and mute, Rosa simply nodded. Looking up, she saw nothing. If the mistletoe was there, it was hidden in shadows.
Armando lifted her hair off her shoulder, tucking it neatly to the base of her neck. His smile was enigmatic. There was emotion playing in the depths of his gaze, but what it was, Rosa couldn’t tell. She wasn’t used to seeing anything but sadness in his eyes, so perhaps it too was the shadows playing tricks.
In a way, she felt like the whole evening had been one giant illusion from the moment Armando knocked on her door. Everything had been too romantic, too close to perfect to be anything else. For five wonderful hours, he’d made her feel desirable and special. Like a princess. There was no way those feelings could last. As soon as she said good-night, reality would return.
The question was, would their relationship return to normal as well? Or would this newfound awareness continue to simmer inside her?
“It’s getting late,” Armando said. “We should get you home.”
And there it was—reality. Armando was already standing, a hand out to help her to her feet. Although she tried to fight it, desire pooled in the pit of Rosa’s stomach the moment his fingers closed around hers, answering her question.
“Are you all right?”
Naturally, he would notice and show concern. Her fantasy evening wouldn’t be complete otherwise.
“Everything’s perfect,” she replied. Except for one tiny problem, that was.
She’d just realized she was falling for him.
* * *
Armando called for the car to be brought around, then accompanied Rosa downstairs. Back in the bright light, he saw that the front of her hair had worked loose from its clip, the result of their kiss. The strands begged to be brushed away from her skin, and he had to clench his fists rather than give in to the temptation.
The driver was waiting when they stepped outside. Upon seeing them, he opened the door and snapped to attention. “Your Highness.” He sounded surprised.
“Just walking Rosa out,” Armando replied. For a second, he had the crazy idea of joining her on the ride, but steeled himself against that temptation as well. There was no telling what he might do pressed against her in the darkened backseat.
As it was, he had to go upstairs and make sure there really was mistletoe.
“I’ll see you Monday?” he asked instead.
“Of course.”
“And no more avoiding each other?”
You couldn’t blame him for asking. The last time, just mentioning her marriage had her dodging him for days. Who was to say what this last conversation might cause. Especially considering her expression—part dazed and part shadowed.
Mirrored how he felt inside.
They exchanged good-nights, then the driver closed the door. As Armando watched the rear lights disappear into the darkness, he kicked himself for not stealing another kiss.
What excuse would he give, though? There was definitely no mistletoe hanging above them this time, and “I want to be close to you” sounded too much like a line, even if it was true.
The kiss upstairs had been born from admiration. When they were establishing the shelter, he’d heard story after story of women who found the strength to walk away despite being told by their abusive husbands that they would never survive on their own. To leave and start over took real courage. But then, he’d always known Rosa was strong. Hell, he’d been drawing on her strength for three years.
She was wrong, too. Years of verbal debasement were abuse; she might not have had bruises, but she’d been hurt nonetheless. Fredo’s rising financial career had just ground to a halt. No way would Armando reward the man after what he did. Telling Rosa she was an embarrassment? Killing her self-esteem? If only he could throw people in the dungeon.
“Pardon me, Your Highness. Is something wrong? It’s just that you’ve been standing in the middle of the driveway for a while now,” his security guard added when Armando turned to look at him, “and I was—”
“Lost in thought,” Armando replied. First Daniela, now the guard. What was it about his kissing Rosa that required people to ask if he was all right?
On the other hand, both times had left him off balance. It felt like something was shifting inside him—something deeper than sexual attraction. There was a yearning inside him that hadn’t been there before, and, incredible as it sounded, Rosa was the trigger. If he didn’t know better, he would think he was developing feelings for her.
Impossible. He’d already had the love of his life. His heart was buried with her. He hadn’t felt anything for three years. Tonight was simply a product of traumatic confessions and Christmas lights. Nothing more. Turning on his heel, he headed back inside.
There had better be mistletoe hanging in that archway.