Page 14 of Winter Wedding for the Prince

“No. It has to be her. She was the one standing with you.”

“Kiss her. Kiss her,” the other children started chanting. Didn’t they have parents to teach them how to behave?

“Babbo has to leave to go back to his workshop,” Rosa said. In the short time since he’d turned toward her, her expression had transformed from wanting to flee to sheer terror. Armando’s ego winced. Surely the idea of kissing him couldn’t be that terrible?

“Daniela is right, signora,” he said. “Tradition is tradition. You wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you?”

“I—I suppose not.” Her gaze dropped to her feet. She had very long lashes, he realized. Reminded him of tiny black fans.

“Good.” It was only one small kiss. The two of them could argue about its awkwardness tomorrow morning.

Still holding her hand, he slipped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close. It was, he realized, the first time he’d ever put his arms around her, and he discovered her body was as pleasantly soft and curvy as it looked. The swell of her behind rested just beneath his splayed fingers, and it seemed to dare him to slip his hand lower. Instead, he focused on her lips, which were apparently as dry as his mouth had suddenly become, because she was running her tongue across the lower one. Her lips looked pleasantly soft and full, too.

“Kiss her. Kiss her,” the children chanted.

He dipped his head.

The kiss lasted five seconds. When he stepped away, Rosa’s cheeks were bright pink, and he...

His lips were tingling.

He didn’t know what to say. “I—”

“Gelato,” Rosa cut in. “I—I mean, we need to check the gelato.” She turned and hurried toward the kitchen.

“Rosa, wait,” he called after her, but she disappeared behind closed doors without turning around. Apparently the moment hadn’t erased her desire to flee their discussion.

“Are you all right, Babbo?” Daniela asked. The little girl’s eyes were wide with concern.

“That’s a good question, Daniela.” Looking back to the kitchen door, Armando ran his tongue across his lip, which tasted faintly of espresso. Was he?

CHAPTER FOUR

BY TIMING HER comings and goings around Armando’s schedule, Rosa was able to avoid the man for much of the next week. She was being a coward, yes, but she needed the space considering the way she’d reacted to Armando’s kiss.

Hardly a kiss. A peck under the mistletoe. Yet here she was, reliving every detail from the way his lips tasted—like breath mints—to the sensation of his artificial beard against her skin. He was right—it scratched.

She was running her finger across her lips again. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Balling her fingers, she tried hammering her fist against the chair arm in time with her silent chant, only the rhythm was too similar to Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her. Before she could help herself, the chants had switched.

Apparently her increased awareness wasn’t going away any time soon.

It was all so awkward and weird, this sudden realization that Armando was a man. She could only assume his getting married caused her subconscious to wake up as far as dating was concerned. Why else would her chest be filled with a hollow, jealous ache whenever she thought about it? She wanted what Armando would have. Or so she was telling herself. She didn’t want to contemplate the other reason for her reactions.

As for Armando...the kiss obviously hadn’t fazed him. He’d left a note the other morning saying that Mona would be attending the Christina’s Home concert on Friday night. Escorting the woman to his late wife’s memorial concert would certainly let Corinthia know he was ready to move on.

Hammering her fist on the chair arm again, she sat back and took another look at the morning’s paper. In the upper left-hand corner ran Mona’s photo with a headline that read Our New Princess? A small story on the inside page reported on Armando’s growing closeness with the Yelgierian royal family as of late, and implied there would be a marriage announcement soon.

“We missed you last evening.” Princess Arianna strolled into the office without notice, knocking not being a royal requirement. She was dressed casually—for her, anyway—in a simple black skirt and flowing pink silk blouse. In deference to her pregnancy, the hem hung untucked. “At the tree lighting,” she added. “You didn’t attend.”

The tree lighting, when King Carlos lit the tree in the palace’s grand archway, marked the official start of Corinthia’s holiday season. Until last night, Rosa had attended almost every one. Next to the shelter festival, it was one of her favorite Christmas traditions.

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