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“No, you didn’t,” Armando said, shifting his weight to face him. “You have been an exemplary king...”
“And a mediocre father,” he replied. “I wallowed in my grief and, as a result, taught you by example. Of course you should be happy, Armando. You can’t lead a country if you’re angry and bitter. If Rosa is the woman who will make you happy, embrace her.”
Armando planned to. He took a deep breath. Perhaps his father had a point. Having made his decision, he no longer felt the pressing weight on his shoulders. Like on the night of the rehearsal dinner, the bits and pieces kicking around his head had solidified, making his thoughts clear. He could breathe.
“Omar is going to be furious,” he said. Mona, too. And deservedly so.
“Omar is also pragmatic. His main concern is helping his people. If we offer economic aid, I think he and Mona will be willing to swallow their hurt pride. Although I wouldn’t expect an invitation to stay at the Yelgierian palace any time soon.”
If that was the only fallout, Armando would live. “I would like to start an initiative as well to encourage Corinthian and other EU doctors to set up practice in Yelgiers. From what Mona says, a dearth of doctors is one of their most pressing concerns.”
“We’ll make it a priority,” his father replied. “Now, what are you doing sitting under a mistletoe with me? Don’t you have a future princess to collect?”
Yes, he did. With his cheek muscles aching from the grin on his face, Armando jumped to his feet.
“Armando!” his father called when he reached the door. “Merry Christmas.”
Impossibly, Armando’s grin grew even wider. “Merry Christmas, Father.”
* * *
Rosa was trying. She was serving food and reminding herself that her life could be a lot worse. She had her brain. She was strong and capable. Moreover, while she might be alone, Armando loved her. Wanted, needed and loved. She should take solace in the fact she was special enough to win the heart of the crown prince.
“I’d rather have Armando.”
“Are you talking to your imaginary friend, Miss Rosa?”
Daniela, she who started everything by spotting the first mistletoe, yanked on her blazer. “I have an imaginary friend, too,” she said. “His name is Boco. He’s a talking elephant. Is your friend an elephant, too?”
“No,” said Rosa, embarrassed to be asked about her imaginary friend. “She’s an angel named Christina.”
“Like the name of this place?”
“That’s right. She’s been helping me make sense of a very confusing problem.”
“Is it helping?” Daniela asked.
“Not yet,” Rosa replied. “But we’ll keep trying.” Broken hearts were never solved in one day. And when the person you loved had also been the center of your life...she suspected she’d be trying to sort things out for a very long time.
“Maybe cake would help,” Daniela said. “When my mama needs to think, she always eats cake. And ice cream.”
“Your mother is a very smart woman.” Though in this case, cake would only make matters worse. She’d already eaten her weight in Christmas cookies.
Sending the little girl back to play with the other children, Rosa stole a couple more cookies and made her way to the rear picture window. In the distance, Mount Cornier’s snow-covered peak had been swallowed by clouds. She bit a cookie and imagined her sister’s spirit sitting on a fluffy white cushion, watching over her legacy.
Holidays and heartache made her overly poetic.
If Christina was watching, the least she could do was tell her what to do next, since Rosa didn’t know. In some ways, she was worse off than when she left Fredo. Then, she’d had Armando. This time she would have to lean on herself. Maybe she would go to the continent and find a job there. Or America. She didn’t care so long as she could start fresh.
And someday forget Armando.
Maybe.
If she didn’t—couldn’t—forget him, she knew she would still survive. She wasn’t the same woman who had scurried away from Fredo thinking she was a fat, ugly lump of clay. Oh, she still had days...but there were also days when she felt good about herself. The fact she made the choice to walk away from Armando said she was stronger.
In time, she would be all right. Sad. Lonely. But all right.
“If only you could make my heart stop feeling like it was tearing in two,” she whispered to the glass.
“Ho, ho, ho! Buon Natale!”
The entire shelter burst into high-pitched squeals. “Babbo!”
It couldn’t be. They must have hired a professional impersonator for the day, as a surprise for the kids.
