Winter Wedding for the Prince
highlight_author
Barbara Wallace
highlight_reads
18,4K
highlight_chapters
10
Chapter One
“THEN, AFTER THE children finish their sing-along, Babbo Natale will arrive to distribute presents. We were lucky enough this year to get each child something from their wish lists, even the girl who asked for a dragon and one thousand chocolate cookies. The internet is a wonderful thing.” Rosa Lamberti looked up from her paperwork. “Are you even listening?” she asked the man in front of her.
Armando Santoro, crown prince of Corinthia, paused midstep to give her a narrow-eyed look. “Of course I did. Babbo Natale. Dragons. Cookies. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you have been wearing a path in the carpet for the past thirty minutes.” Pacing like a caged panther was more like it. He had been crossing the hand-woven Oushak with long, heavy-footed strides that took advantage of his extra-tall frame. Between that and the scowl plastered on his face, she half expected him to start growling. “I have a feeling I could have announced a coup and you wouldn’t have heard me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his dark curls. “I’m a bit distracted this morning.”
Clearly. Setting her paperwork aside, Rosa helped herself to a fresh cup of coffee. On good days, being the prince’s personal assistant was a three-cup job. When he was distracted, the number increased to four or five.
“Don’t tell me you’re upset about your sister,” she said. Only that morning, Princess Arianna had announced her engagement to an American businessman named Max Brown whom she had met in New York City. The details of the courtship were sketchy. According to Armando, the princess had taken off for America without a word why. A few days after her return, Max Brown forced his way into the castle demanding to see her. The pair had been inseparable ever since.
“No,” he said. It was more a sigh than reply. “If Arianna is happy, then I am happy for her.”
Happy was too mild a term. Rosa would go with delirious or ecstatic. The princess had lit up like Corinthia City on San Paolo Day when Max burst through the door.
Rosa suppressed a sigh of her own. Wild, passionate declarations of love and sudden engagements. It was all quite romantic. She couldn’t remember the last time a man declared anything to her, unless you counted her ex-husband and his many declarations of disinterest.
Fredo had been very good at telling her she wasn’t worth his time.
She returned to the question at hand. “If it is not your sister, then what is it?” she asked over the rim of her coffee cup. “And don’t say nothing, because I know you.” One didn’t spend seven years of life attached to someone—four as a sister-in-law—without learning a person’s tics.
An olive-skinned hand reached over her shoulder and took the cup before her lips had a chance to make contact. “Hey!”
Turning, she saw Armando already drinking. “You forgot the sugar,” he said with a frown.
“I forgot nothing.” What little was left of the warm liquid splashed against the rim as she snatched the cup free. “I’m on a diet.”
“You’re always on a diet. A teaspoon or two of sugar will not kill you.”
Said the god of athleticism. He wasn’t in danger of finishing out the year a dress size larger. Even sitting perfectly straight, she swore she could feel the button on her waistband threatening to pop.
Sucking in her belly, she said, “Stop trying to change the subject. I asked you a question.”
“Did you just demand I answer you? I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you worked for me.”
“Yes, but I’m family. That gives me special privileges.”
“Like bossiness?”
“I’m not the one ruining a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old rug.” Reaching for the coffeepot, she poured him a fresh coffee of his own, making sure to add the two sugars before refilling her cup. “Seriously, Armando. What’s wrong?”
This sigh was the loudest of the three. Taking the coffee, he came around to the front of the love seat and sat down beside her. Rosa did her best to squeeze into the corner to accommodate him. She didn’t know if her brother-in-law kept forgetting she wasn’t as petite as his late wife or what, but he always insisted on invading her personal space rather than taking a seat across the way. As a result, they sat wedged together, their thighs pressed tight. Rosa gave a silent thank-you for long jackets. It provided another layer between their bodies.
Oblivious, as usual, to the close quarters, Armando stared at the coffee she’d handed him. “Arianna’s pregnant,” he said in a dull voice.
No wonder they were rushing the engagement. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your father finally has another heir to the throne.” It was no secret the king was eager to establish a third generation of Santoros to protect his family’s legacy.
“It would be,” Armando replied, “if Max Brown were the father.”
“What?” Rosa’s hand froze mid-sip. She would ask if he was joking, except this wasn’t something to joke about. “Who...?” It didn’t matter. “Does Max know?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t care.”
“He must love your sister very much.” Took a special kind of love to marry a woman carrying another man’s child. Certainly not the kind of love people like Rosa got to witness. People like her got a leftover kind of love. As Fredo had been so fond of telling her, she was flavorless and bland.
“Max’s devotion is wonderful for Arianna, but...”
But it didn’t erase the problems this pregnancy caused. “He or she can’t be the heir.”
Corinthian law stated that only the biological offspring of both parents could inherit the throne. Should anything happen to Armando and Arianna, then the title would skip to someone else, such as Arianna and Max’s child or one of the distant cousins. Either way opened a host of complications.
“Not to mention that if the truth were to come out, that child would spend the rest of his or her life hounded by gossip and innuendo. Max and Arianna, too. The whole house of Santoro, for that matter.”
“Unless Arianna and Max lie.” Armando scowled at her suggestion. “What?” she asked. “You don’t think that’s happened before?” Not even the house of Santoro was that lily pure. In fact, someone trying to slip an illegitimate heir into the mix was probably the reason for the inane law to begin with.
“Whether it’s been done before or not isn’t the point,” he replied. “Other generations didn’t have tabloids or your wonderful internet.”
Good point. Today, secrets couldn’t last forever. Eventually the truth would come out, and when it did, there would be challenges. Corinthia would be plunged into a protracted legal battle that benefited no one.
“I take it you’ve already thought of trying to change the law,” she said.
“Of course, but again, this isn’t the old days, when the king could change the laws on a whim. The ministers would want to know the reason for the change.”
“All hail increased democracy,” Rosa muttered. There wasn’t much more that could be done, barring Armando remarrying and having children of his own, and a monk dated more than he did. The Melancholy Prince, the papers called him. The title fit. While Armando had always been serious, Christina’s death had added an extra layer. It was as though he was suspended in permanent mourning. He never attended anything that wasn’t an official event, and those he attended alone. Other than his sister, Rosa was the only woman in his life.
The prince had returned his attention to his coffee, studying the untouched contents from beneath thick lashes as if they contained the answer. Rosa couldn’t help but indulge in a moment of appreciation. If he decided to date again, Armando’s return to the dating world would be a welcome one. Even if he wasn’t the future king of Corinthia, he was a man worthy of desire. Granted, he wasn’t the most beautiful man in the country; his Roman features were a little too pronounced, although not so much that they looked out of proportion. Besides, she always thought a strong man should have strong features. Fredo, for all his self-importance, had had a weak chin.
The muscles in Armando’s chin twitched with tension.
“You know King El Halwani,” he started.
“That’s a silly question.” Of course she knew the man. The sultan of Yelgiers was a frequent visitor. Corinthia and the tiny principality had a long history of economic and political relations. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“His daughter, Mona, is of marrying age.”
“Is that so? I didn’t know.” Rosa’s insides ran cold. Surely, he wasn’t...
“A union between our two countries will be a tremendous alliance.”
Did he say will? The chill spread down her spine, ending in a shiver.
Apology darkened his eyes to near black. “I called him this morning and suggested we discuss an arrangement.”
“You—you did.” Rosa set down her cup. The coffee she’d been drinking threatened to rise back up her throat.
Armando, remarrying.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Royalty lived a different kind of life than commoners like her. Marriages were arranged for all kinds of reasons: trade relations, military alliances. Why not to secure an heir?
The news still made her queasy. It was too quick. Armando wasn’t the type to make rash decisions. For crying out loud, he’d waited a year before proposing to her sister, and they’d fallen in love at first sight. For him to wake up and decide he was going to marry a virtual stranger was completely out of character, looming scandal or no looming scandal. At the very least, he would have asked her what she thought.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t sought her opinion at all. So much for being his right hand. Apparently the familiarity she thought they had developed over the past three years had been in her head.
She forced a smile. Pretended she was excited for his news. “I’m sure the people of Corinthia will be thrilled. As will your father.”
“I’m not doing this for my father,” he replied.
“I know. You’re doing it to protect your sister.”
“No, I’m doing it for Corinthia.” His voice was sharp, the way it always was when his will was questioned. “I’m first in line. It is my responsibility to do whatever I can to ensure Corinthia has a long and peaceful future.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” If there was anything Armando took seriously, it was his duty to his country.
Leaving Armando, she stood and walked toward the windows. The crown prince’s suite overlooked the south lawn. The famed topiary menagerie remained green, but the grass had gone brown from the winter, and the flowerbeds were empty. Across the street, a pair of business owners were filling their outside window boxes with fresh evergreen—a Corinthian Christmas tradition. When they finished, a single white candle would be placed in the center, another tradition. Greens for life, light for the blessings of the future.
Apparently, Armando’s future involved a bride.
What did that mean for her future then? For three years, it had been the two of them, prince and assistant, tied together as they both began lives without their spouses. Being there to help Armando had given her strength and purpose. She’d been able to rebuild the layers of self-esteem Fredo had destroyed.
What now? A new queen would mean new staff, new routines. Would she even have a place in Armando’s life anymore? The grip on her chest squeezed tighter.
She watched as a merli poked at the barren grass looking for seeds. Poor little creature wasn’t having much luck. She could identify. She felt a little like she’d been left wanting, too.
The thing was, she had always known there was the chance Armando would move on with his life. The news shouldn’t be this disconcerting.
Then again, he should have told her. They were supposed to be friends. Family. They’d held hands at her sister’s bedside and cried together. She let him drink her coffee, for God’s sake. Why hadn’t he told her?
“When are you making the announcement?” she asked. It would have to be soon if Armando wanted to draw attention from his sister. Depending upon how far along in her pregnancy Arianna had been when she met Max last month, there was a good chance the princess would start to show soon.
Behind her, she heard the soft clap of a cup against the coffee table, but she didn’t turn around.
“We’re making the formal announcement on New Year’s Day.”
What? When she thought soon, she didn’t mean that soon. No wonder she couldn’t breathe. In three and a half weeks, everything she’d come to know and rely on was going to change forever.
“Is everything all right?” she heard him ask.
“Of course,” she lied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It truly is the best solution.”
“I know.” He had no reason to defend himself any more than she had the right to be upset.
Clearly, that didn’t stop either of them from doing so anyway.
* * *
She was upset with him. Armando could tell because when she spoke, every third or fourth word had an upward inflection. Not that he was surprised. From the moment he made his decision, he’d worried she might see his remarrying as betraying her sister.
Staring at her back, he wished he knew what she was thinking. But then, she was good at hiding behind things. Her poker face was among the best.
“You know that if there was any other way...” he said.
“I know.”
Did she? Did she know he’d been up half the night weighing options, or that, given his druthers, he would never remarry? He’d had his chance at love. Four wonderful years with the girl of his dreams. If the price for those years was spending the rest of his life in solitude, he’d been prepared. He didn’t mind. After all, if he needed a companion, he had Rosa. She was better company than any consort might be.
Unfortunately, for men like him, what he wanted didn’t always matter. The mantle of responsibility outweighed personal desire every time.
Leaving his coffee behind, he joined her at the window. “Corinthia’s almost ready for the holiday,” he said, noting the men arranging greenery outside. “They’ll be lighting the candles tonight.”
Rosa didn’t answer. She stood with her hands clasped tightly behind her back, stiff and formal, like a proper royal servant, a pose she usually only struck in public. Armando didn’t like it. He preferred the relaxed, irreverent Rosa who kept him on his toes and saved him from drowning in his grief.
After Christina died, he’d wanted to die, too. What good was living if his heart lay six feet underground? Rosa had been the only one who had been able to break through the darkness that filled his soul. She needed him, she’d claimed, to help her rebuild following her divorce. It was a lie, of course—Rosa was one of the strongest women he knew—but he let her think he believed the excuse. Helping her find a lawyer and place to live gave him a reason to drag himself out of bed that first day. Then, when she became his assistant, there were meetings and charitable initiatives and other projects she insisted needed his attention, and so he continued dragging himself out of bed. Until the day came when getting up was no longer a trial.
She’d kept him tied to the land of the living, Rosa did. Without her, he would still be lost in his grief. Or rather, lost even deeper.
Which was why he needed her support now.
“You never met my grandfather, did you?”
“King Damian? No.” She wasn’t so annoyed that she couldn’t give him a side-eyed look. Of course she hadn’t met the man. Illness forced him off the throne before Armando was born.
“He came upstairs to my room one night, a few weeks before he died, and got me out of bed so I could see what it looked like with candles lit in every window. I must have been seven or eight at the time. Corinthia City wasn’t as developed as it is now. Anyway, he told me how all those candles represented Corinthians hoping for the future. ‘One day you will be responsible for those candles,’ he told me. ‘It will be up to you to keep them burning bright.’ I never forgot.” The words were the weight pressing on his shoulders every time he saw a candle flickering.
He turned to look at his sister-in-law. “Father’s aging, Rosa. I could see it this past month when Arianna disappeared. He’s never truly gotten over Mama’s death...” He paused to let the irony of his words settle between them. The curse of the Santoro men: to live a lifetime of grieving. “And I think he would like to step down, but he’s afraid for the future. It’s important he know that as his successor, I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep those lights burning.”
“Including political marriage.”
He shrugged. “Ours won’t be the first royal marriage based on obligation rather than love.” If anything, a man in his position was lucky to have spent four years with a wife he did love. “It would be nice, however, to know I have my best friend’s support. Do I?”
The clock on the nearby mantel ticked off the seconds while he waited for her response. Unfortunately, her eyes were cast downward. They were the one feature that couldn’t mask her feelings. In that way, she was like her sister. Christina had also had expressive brown eyes. Beyond their eyes, however, the two were dramatically different. Christina had been all passion and energy, with a beauty that commanded attention. Rosa was softer. Whereas Christina was bright like a star, her sister was more the glow of a candle.
Finally, her shoulders relaxed. “Of course you have my blessing,” she said. “You know I can never say no to you.”
Armando’s shoulders relaxed in turn. “I know. It’s my charm.”
“No, it’s because you’re going to be king. I say no and you might have me thrown in the dungeon.”
“As one does.” He relaxed a little more. Rosa making jokes was always a good sign. “I’m serious, Rosa. Your support is important to me.” Just thinking he might not have it had left a tight knot in the center of his chest.
A hand brushed his arm. Initiating contact with a member of the royal family was considered a violation of protocol, but he and Rosa had been together too long for either of them to care about rules. There were times, in fact, when he found her touch comforting. Like now, the way her fingertips seemed to brush the tension from his muscles. “You have it. Seriously. I just wish...”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m being silly. You have my support, ’Mando.”
“Good.” Although he wondered what she had started to say. That she wished there didn’t have to be a wedding? If so, Armando agreed.
But there was going to be a wedding, and he was glad to have his best friend’s support.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t change her mind when she heard his next request.
