Caroline gave Nicolo a final cold glare as she wrenched free of him.
“Champagne would be lovely,” she said, and she made her way to the Princess’s side.
CHAPTER THREE
TRISH YAWNED as she came padding into the kitchen the next morning. She headed straight for the coffeepot.
“Mmmf,” she said, wincing at the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
Caroline, who was seated at the table trying to make sense of at least the headlines in Osservatore Milano, looked up.
“And a cheery good morning to you, too,” she said mildly.
Trish made a face as she poured herself coffee. “There is no such thing as a good morning,” she grumped, burying her face in the fragrant steam rising from the cup. She took several gulping swallows before finally lifting her head. “Not until after I’ve had my first sip of coffee,” she said. “You should know that by now.”
Caroline grinned. “I do—but it doesn’t keep me from hoping that some morning you’ll come bouncing into the kitchen with a smile on your face—”
“And a song in my heart.” Trish shuddered as she collapsed onto the chair opposite Caroline’s. “Not unless you believe in miracles, I won’t.” She sipped at her coffee again, then put down the cup and propped her head on her hand. “Well?”
Caroline looked up from the paper again. “Well, what?”
“What do you mean, ‘Well, what?’ You know what I’m asking. What’s happening?”
Caroline searched the other girl’s face and saw the question there. A faint wash of color rose under her skin as she rose from the table and walked to the counter.
“The usual,” Caroline said, deliberately choosing to misunderstand the question. “Suzie and Giulia haven’t showed up yet.”
“It’s only 8:00 a.m.” Trish made a face. “They’re probably still partying. I meant, what’s happening with you?”
“With me?” Caroline hesitated. “Well, I don’t have anything scheduled until this afternoon, so I thought I’d try getting in to see Signor Silvio and see if I can pry my money free of his sticky grasp.” She filled her cup with fresh coffee. “Honestly, how they get away with such stuff—it’s bad enough they take a large commission, but to sit on the money as long as they do…”
“I didn’t mean that, and you know it.”
Caroline turned slowly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—”
“Come on, this is me, remember? I was at that party last night, the same as you.”
“So?”
“So,” Trish said patiently, “we left the Sala dell’Arte together, we bought gelati and gained a billion calories eating it, we came home, scrubbed the goo off our faces and plopped into our beds—and in all that time, you never said a word worth hearing.”
Caroline frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You know what it means. Everyone saw that gorgeous prince carry you off—”
“Oh, come on!”
“Well, he did! He saved you from the clutches of the greasy little man by carrying you off to that back room—”
“It was an anteroom.”
“—and closing the door. And—”
“It didn’t even have a door! Dammit, Trish—”
“And you didn’t come out again for an hour,” the other girl said triumphantly. “And when you did, you didn’t say a word about what had happened in there to anybody!”
Caroline’s brows lifted. “Nobody asked,” she said wryly.
“Well, I’m asking now. You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word.”
“All right,” she said, after a moment. Her eyes met Trish’s. “I had a chat with the Prince’s grandmother.”
The other girl stared. “You did what with who?”
Caroline grinned. “I met his grandmother, the Princess Sabatini.” She took a sip of coffee. “And we talked for a while.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Want some more coffee?”
“What did you talk about?” Trish demanded, her expression a mixture of bemusement and incredulity.
“This and that. The States, what I’ve managed to see of Italy… Actually, I think I reminded her of someone. She kept saying I look like Adrianna. Or Arianna.” Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. It was pleasant—and it was harmless. In fact, it was fun.”
“Fun,” the other girl echoed.
“Yeah. She sort of reminded me of my own grandmother, back in Vermont.” Caroline smiled slightly. “It was nice. Really. She’s a sweet old lady.”
Trish leaned back in her chair and grinned. “Well, that’s a novel way to get to a man’s heart. Some girls show a guy they’re terrific cooks—and my roommate shows him she can make friends with his granny! Interesting approach, kid. Did it work?”
Caroline grimaced. “What do you mean, did it work? I told you, it had nothing to do with Nicolo Sabatini. Once he’d introduced me to the Princess, he never said another word.” She looked at Trish across the rim of her cup. “As for finding his heart—the only way I’d want to do that is with an ice pick.”
Her roommate giggled. “I take it you weren’t swept off your feet by the guy.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Still, he was interested in you. Come on, come on, don’t try and deny it. Giulia told me he was looking at you the way a starving man looks at a plate of pasta.”
“An apt description if I ever heard one. Trust me, Trish. You’ve met the type before. He sees women as a movable feast—and himself as first in line at the table.”
Trish nodded. “He made a pass, huh?”
Caroline remembered that moment when she had thought Nicolo was going to take her in his arms. She remembered the heat in his eyes, the promise…
“Right?”
Shrugging, she turned away from Trish’s bright look of inquiry. “More or less.”
“And you, being you, set him straight.” Trish grinned. “I wish I’d been there to hear it. What’d you say? ‘Prince, I’m not interested?’”
“You don’t address him that way.”
“What way?”
“You don’t call him ‘Prince.’”
“No?”
“No.” The girls’ eyes met. “Now that I think about it, back home Prince is either the name of a rock singer—or a dog,” Caroline said slowly. “You know—’here, Prince. Stay, Prince. Sit, Prince.’”
“‘Down, Prince,’” Trish added helpfully.
They smiled, giggled, and all at once they were whooping with laughter. Caroline collapsed into a chair.
“Thank you,” she gasped.
“For what?” Trish said, holding her sides.
For putting last night into perspective, Caroline thought. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she smiled.
“For putting me in the right frame of mind for facing that rat Silvio. After all, asking him why my pay’s late is always good for a laugh.”
* * *
IT WAS ALWAYS difficult—sometimes impossible—to get an appointment with the head of the agency’s Milan office, or, at least, it was like that if you were one of the agency’s models. Silvio’s receptionist was always terribly sorry, but il signore was busy.
But not today. To Caroline’s surprise, the woman actually sounded pleased to hear her name.
“Signorina Bishop,” she said, “I was about to call you. Signor Silvio wishes to see you.”
Caroline stared at the telephone in her hand. “He does?”
“He has a job he wishes to discuss with you. Will ten o’clock be convenient?”
Caroline said that it would, then hung up. Silvio never discussed jobs, he simply assigned them. Her pulse gave a thud. She’d heard of an opening for a showroom model at one of the better fashion houses on the Via Montenapoleone; despite the agency’s insistence on scouting all jobs itself, she had gone around to the house and applied for the position herself, listing International Models as representing her. Could it be…?
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It was too much to hope for. Still, as she made her way up the narrow staircase to the agency office at five minutes to ten, it was hard to contain her excitement. Modeling at Adorno’s would be steady work; it would pay well and, even after the agency took its cut, she’d have money left over. And the designers at Adorno’s had an eye for fashion. There’d be so much to learn about fabric, about draping…
The receptionist looked up as Caroline pushed the door open.
“Ah, Signorina Bishop. You are right on time.”
Caroline nodded. “Yes. Is Signor Silvio—”
“He is waiting for you.” The woman leaned across her typewriter and flashed a smile so chummy it was almost a grin. “There is nothing like an excellent opportunity to make a girl prompt, eh, signorina?”
An excellent opportunity. Caroline’s heart thudded again. She was right, then. Adorno’s had telephoned the agency. They wanted her. Oh, Lord, they wanted—
One of the doors swung open and Silvio emerged, both hands held out to her, his round face beaming.
“My dear,” he said. “Please, do not stand outside. Come in, come in, and sit down.”