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“No kidding. I almost lost Arianna because of it,” Max replied. “Wish me luck getting her to put her feet up.”
“Good luck,” She waited until he’d moved away before letting her smile fade. Talking about Fredo had taken the edge off her holiday cheer.
“Is it true?” a familiar voice asked.
Armando stood behind her, still in costume. His eyes were like bright blue glass amid all his fake white hair. “What you told Max about Fredo, is it true?”
Dammit. How much had he heard? Rosa wanted to look anywhere but at him and those eyes filled with questions and...and pity. Exactly what she didn’t want to see. God, looking her reflection in the eye was hard enough. How was she supposed to look at him every day if he saw her as some kind of...of...victim?
“I’m going to get some more cake,” she announced. She didn’t want to talk about Fredo right now, and cake never asked questions.
“Rosa, wait.” He chased after her, catching her hand just as she got to the serving table.
“Armando,” she whispered harshly, “the children.”
* * *
Armando looked around, saw several of the youngest ones watching their interaction, and released her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“Because...” She didn’t finish. The anguish in her eyes answered for her, and it nearly kicked the legs out from under him. “It’s in the past. What does it matter now?”
It mattered to him. If he had known, he might have done something. Stopped it somehow.
All those nights discussing the shelter... He’d thought Rosa’s passion lay in memorializing her sister, but he’d been wrong. While he had been waxing sympathetic about the women they were helping, Rosa never said a word. How long had she suffered? Why hadn’t he or Christina noticed? Were they so caught up in their own worlds they missed the signs? Or had Rosa been skilled at hiding them? His stomach ached for wondering. The strength it must have taken for her to walk away, the courage.
He took a good long look at the woman he’d been calling his right hand these last three years. She looked the same as always, and yet it was as though he was seeing her for the first time. What else didn’t he know about her?
Suddenly he wanted to be free of the party so the two of them could talk. He had so many questions. Before he realized, he was taking her hand again. The anguish flashed in her eyes again. “Armando...” she pleaded.
Fine. He wouldn’t push her right now. That didn’t mean the conversation was over. He had too many questions—was too angry and ashamed of himself—to let the subject drop. “Just tell me one thing,” he asked. “Did Christina know?”
She shook her head. “No.”
In a weird way, he found himself relieved. He wasn’t sure how he would feel if he’d discovered Christina had known, but apparently Rosa had suffered in silence. If only he’d known...
Someone tugged on his hem of his jacket. “Babbo, Babbo, Babbo!”
Damn this costume. Biting back a sigh, he instead turned to see what his visitor found so urgent.
A pair of blond pigtails and giant brown eyes looked up at him. Armando recognized the girl from earlier, a five-year-old named Daniela who had gotten a circus play set. In fact, she held one of the set’s plastic elephants in her hand. Quickly he cleared his voice. Wasn’t the child’s fault she’d interrupted an important moment. “Ho, ho, ho, Daniela. You’re not trying to get another early present out of me, are you?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded lighthearted.
The little girl shook her head. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.”
What? He looked up and saw the familiar sprig of white berries dangling from a ceiling panel. “And you want a kiss from Babbo, is that it?”
Again, Daniela shook her head. “You have to kiss her,” she said pointing behind him. Slowly, he turned to Rosa, whose hand he still held. Which was the only reason she was still standing there, if the look on her face was any indication.
His eyes dropped to her lips, causing his pulse to skip. He hadn’t kissed a woman since Christina’s death.
Meanwhile, some of the older children who had been standing near the refreshment table figured out what was happening and began chanting in a singsong chorus, “Babbo’s under the mistletoe. Babbo’s under the mistletoe.” The little devils. The lot of them were old enough to know his true identity, too. Probably thought it would be funny to make the prince kiss someone. He looked back at Daniela.
“Aren’t I supposed to kiss the person who caught me under the mistletoe?” he asked. A quick peck on the little girl’s cheek to quiet everyone.
