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“No. Just a velvet wrap for when we’re outside. Why?”
“No reason,” he replied quickly. “It’s...well, I’m not as big a fan of jackets as you are.”
“I wouldn’t be either, if I had your rock-hard abdomen.” Rosa squeezed her eyes shut. Please say she didn’t speak those words aloud.
Armando chuckled as he sauntered toward her. “You were looking at my abdomen, were you?”
“Not on purpose. It’s difficult to ignore a man’s torso when he’s standing in a bathing suit.”
“I see. Well, I’m glad you found my torso to your satisfaction.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?” He reached around her to lift her wrap from where it lay draped on the back of her chair. “What did you mean, then?”
“Simply that your midsection doesn’t need camouflaging.”
“Neither does yours,” he replied, laying the velvet across her shoulders. “You worry too much about your weight. Curves are to be celebrated. There’s a reason Botticelli didn’t paint stick figures, you know,” he added, low in her ear.
Rosa’s knees nearly buckled at the way his breath tickled her skin. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Please do. There’s nothing worse than listening to a beautiful woman denigrate herself.”
“Nothing?” Rosa asked, trying to react to the word beautiful. He’d handed her more compliments in the past five minutes than she’d had in the last decade.
His returning smile was devastating. “Well, maybe not as bad as reviewing the revised energy regulations or listening to Arianna complain about the arts endowment, but definitely bad.” He held out an arm. “Shall we?”
* * *
No matter how many times Rosa told herself that technically this evening was no different than any other, Armando and the evening kept proving her wrong. To begin with, there was a lot of difference between sitting in the rear of the royal box and sitting with the crown prince. In the past she would take her seat several minutes before the performance and patiently wait along with everyone else for Armando to take his seat. Tonight, she was the one hanging back while the audience assembled, the one receiving the applause as she entered the box at the Royal Opera House. Really it was Armando receiving the applause, but standing by his side, she couldn’t help but feel special, too.
Armando himself was contributing to the feeling as well. She couldn’t put her finger on how, but there was something about his behavior tonight. He was solicitous, charming. Flirtatious, even, peppering his conversation with subtle touches and low, lilting commentary. The skin behind her ear still tingled from their conversation in her apartment. Curves are to be celebrated.
She squeezed her knees together.
“Everything all right?” Armando asked, mistaking her shifting as discomfort.
“Just sitting up straight,” she replied. “I don’t want to get caught on camera slouching.”
“Fortunately, most of the time they stay focused on the orchestra, or so I’ve been told. I was afraid you might not be having a good time.”
“Why would you think that?” she asked, doing her best not to frown as she turned toward him.
“I don’t know, perhaps because you’ve been avoiding me all week. I wasn’t sure if you were still angry with me.”
“I was never angry with you. I had a lot to do, is all.”
“Then you weren’t annoyed that I asked about Fredo?”
He was kidding, right? What was it that drove him to introduce awkward conversations at the most inopportune times?
“I know,” he added when she opened her mouth, “you don’t want to talk about him right now.”
No, she did not, but now that the door was open, she figured she should at least give him a quick explanation. “Nothing personal. In my experience, anything to do with Fredo will only spoil a good time.” As far as she was concerned, her ex was an ugly cloud she’d rather forget.
She started as a hand settled atop her forearm. Looking up, she noticed Armando wore a pleased expression. “Does that mean you’re having a good time?”
“Very.”
“Good.” His hand squeezed her arm and then remained. “I’m glad. You deserve the best evening possible,” he added in a low voice. His whispered breath caressed her jaw, reminding her of gentle fingertips. Thankfully, the house lights had started to dim, hiding how her skin flushed from the inside out.
Onstage, the conductor emerged from behind a curtain, drawing another round of applause. After bowing to Armando, the man stepped on his dais and tapped his baton. Like a well-trained army, the musicians raised their instruments. A moment later, the room filled with the delicate hum of violins.
