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CHAPTER THREE

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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...?

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.”

Caroline fought back the urge to glance over her shoulder and make certain he was really talking to her. She smiled hesitantly, ignored the outstretched hands, and stepped into Silvio’s office. It was sparsely furnished and grimy. A smudged window overlooked an alleyway. To the right, a partially opened door led to a connecting office.

He motioned her to a chair opposite his desk.

“Would you care for some coffee? No? Tea, then.” He gave a forced laugh. “I never remember which it is you American girls prefer, my dear, coffee or tea—or is it chocolate? I am certain my girl can—”

“No,” Caroline said quickly, “thank you, signore, but I don’t want anything.” She swallowed. “I just—I’d like to talk about this job offer.”

Silvio’s smile seemed to slip a notch. “Of course. I simply thought you might wish to make yourself comfortable before we did.”

“I appreciate that.” She drew her breath. “But—but I’m just so delighted about it, that—”

“You know of it, then?”

“Well, yes. Sure.” Caroline hesitated. “It was my idea, after all.”

His eyes widened. “Yours?”

She nodded. “Yes. I know we’re not supposed to solicit jobs for ourselves, but—”

Silvio laughed a shade too heartily. “No, no, that’s fine.” He leaned forward. “But must we use that word, solicit? Such a nasty word, don’t you think? As for worrying about my displeasure...” He spread his hands. “If our girls are enterprising enough to find unique positions for themselves, who are we to object?”

She nodded again, all thought of her overdue money forgotten in her excitement. “I hoped you’d see it that way, signore. When do I start?”

Grinning, he tilted his chair back on its legs and folded his hands across his ample paunch.

“I must say, Signorina Bishop, your—enthusiasm—surprises me. You are not known for having such a cooperative spirit.”

“I think I’ve been very cooperative,” Caroline said quickly. “No designer has ever complained about me.”

“Well, not the designers, no.” He gave an expressive shrug. “But some of the clients...”

Last night. That damned buyer with honey on his voice and whoring in his heart...Caroline shifted in her chair.

“If you’re referring to what happened at the Sala dell’Arte,” she said, “I’m sorry. I never intended to make a scene, but—”

“You need not explain, signorina.” Silvio’s chair hit the floor with a thud as he leaned forward again. “It has all worked out for the best, yes? The gentleman was most pleased. He has made an excellent offer to us, and—”

Caroline blinked. “I thought it was a woman who ran the House of Adorno.”

“Adorno? What has Adorno to do with this arrangement?”

“Why—why that’s the job, the one I went after.” She stared at his blank face. “Isn’t that what we’re discussing?”

Silvio threw a quick glance at the connecting door. “We are discussing the offer made us this morning by His Highness, the Prince. He has agreed to—”

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. “The Prince? Do you mean—Nicolo Sabatini?”

“Exactly. He had agreed to pay us more than our usual commission—well, I explained, of course, that we would need ample compensation to lend him one of our girls for such unusual services, and I must say—”

“Services?” Caroline leaped to her feet. “Services? Are you insane?” She slammed her hands on the desk and papers flew in every direction. “I don’t perform ‘services'!”

Signorina, please. You must calm yourself.” Silvio looked at the door again. “I only meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant, you pig!” Her voice shook with rage. “You and that—that slimy Prince, that—that—that—”

“Slimy?”

Caroline spun toward the connecting door. Nicolo Sabatini, dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and crimson silk tie, smiled at her.

“I am disappointed, Miss Bishop. I have seen enough American films to have expected something more colorful than that.”

“Yeah? Well, stick around, Prince,” she said, her tone making it clear that her deliberate misuse of the title was meant to insult him. “Give me a minute and I’ll come up with something that will turn your face the same color as your tie!”

Silvio rose to his feet. “Your Highness—”

“Get out, Silvio.”

“Excellency, I was just about to explain the details of your proposition to the signorina—”

“With all the subtlety at your command, no doubt.” Nicolo jerked his head toward the door that led out to the reception area. “You’ve done enough,” he said sharply. “Now, get out!”

Silvio’s chair scraped as he shoved it back. He rounded the desk quickly, made an apologetic bow of his head to Nicolo, frowned at Caroline, and scurried to the door. It opened, then swung shut.

Nicolo blew out his breath. “So much for leaving things to those who are the least capable,” he said. He walked slowly toward the desk. “Please, Miss Bishop, won’t you be seated?”

“No.” Caroline tossed her head. “There’s no point. If you think your—your wonderful offer is going to sound any better coming from you than from that—that pig—”

“He is not a pig at all.”

“No? Well, I suppose not, considering your part in this sleazy little scheme. But—”

“He is another animal entirely.” Nicolo scowled, leaned back against the desk, and crossed his arms over his chest. “The man is an ass.”

“I’m telling you, he’s—he’s...” She stared at him. “An ass?”

“Exactly so. And you, Miss Bishop, are a fool.”

Caroline’s brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t I make myself clear last night? Then let me do so this morning. I am not interested in buying your services.”

“Oh, please! I’ve just sat through the most incredible proposition, and now you expect me to believe—”

“A business proposition. I do not buy my women,” Nicolo said coldly.

“No?” Her smile was thin. “What do you do, then? Shower them with expensive gifts to keep the lie alive? Is that what Silvio was going to explain to me next, that you’d agreed to pay the agency a commission but that you were going to give me—what? Jewels? A diamond ring? A fur coat? After you’d enjoyed my services, of course.”

A cool smile curved across his lips. “I see you put a high value on yourself, Miss Bishop.”

Caroline’s head came up. “Believe me,” she said quietly, “you could never afford me, Your Highness.”

The smile came again, quicker and somehow more knowing than last time.

“I would not have to,” he said softly.

“Listen here—”

“Because, if I wanted you, you would come to my bed eagerly, carina.”

“That’s it,” she said, flushing with anger. She turned away. “Don’t think it hasn’t been interesting.”

He stepped away from the desk and moved toward her. His hands closed on her shoulders.

“Let me go,” she said.

“Why do you deny it?” A muscle moved in his cheek. “What is between us is—”

She twisted angrily against his grasp. “Is intense dislike!”

Nicolo laughed softly. “I agree.” His hands slid up her throat and cupped her face. “But what has that to do with desire?”

“My God, how you flatter yourself! I don’t desire you, Prince Sabatini. In fact—”

His fingers brushed lightly across her lips, tracing a path of flame that she felt even in the midst of her anger.

“I have heard that you play this game,” he said softly.

“It’s not a game, damn you! If you don’t stop this—”

“On the contrary. And it is most effective. It gives a man the feeling that you must be won.” He smiled as his thumbs skimmed lightly across her cheekbones. “Or taken. It cannot be a simple illusion for you to maintain, when you know you’ve given yourself many times before.”

Caroline caught his wrists. “You bastard! What gives you the right to talk to me this way? Is it because I’ve hurt that insufferable ego of yours? Was I supposed to fall in a heap when the great Prince Nicolo Sabatini made a pass at me?”

A deep furrow appeared between his dark brows. “You delude yourself, Caroline. I made no pass.”

“Liar!”

His nostrils flared. “I don’t lie. Ever.”

“Well, you’re lying now.”

His hands fell away from her. “If you were a man,” he said furiously, “I would—”

“Yes. That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” She showed her teeth in a taunting smile. “I’m not a man, and you can’t deal with the fact that I’m just not interested.”

“The only reason I so much as spoke to you last night,” he said through his teeth, “was because of my grandmother.”

“Really? Well, where’s your grandmother today? Or are you going to tell me you made Silvio this—this proposition on her behalf, too?”

“Yes. I did.” His voice changed; she could hear the sudden edge to it, the tone of imperious command. “La Principessa wants to see you.”

“My God, that’s pathetic! You’re hiding behind an old woman who’s not here to defend herself!”

“It is, unfortunately, the truth. I would prefer it otherwise, but she has asked for you.”

Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that’s nice. But I’m afraid you’ll have to tell her that the days when Rome ruled the world are over. I’m busy.”

Nicolo’s nostrils flared with distaste. “I am sure that you are. But her wish is important to me. I have promised to bring you to her.”

“How unfortunate for you.” She turned and started for the door. “Look, tell her that you tried, okay? Tell her you did your best, but—”

“She is ill.”

The words were delivered with a flatness that stopped her with her hand on the door.

“Ill?” she said slowly, as she turned toward him.

“Yes.”

There was only the one word, but something in the way he looked made her hesitate.

“She was fine last night.”

Nicolo laughed hollowly. “How fine can a woman be at La Principessa’s age?” He thrust his hands into his pants pockets, stalked to the grimy window, and peered out into the alley. “It is as much my fault as hers. I should not have let her attend that ridiculous affair, but she insisted.”

Caroline touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “She’s probably just overtired.”

He sighed. “That is what I hope. A day or two of rest, some clear broth...” He turned and looked at her. “And a visit from you, Caroline. It would do much for her, I think.”

Caroline stared at him. Was he telling her the truth? Was his grandmother really ill, or was this only a ploy?

No matter what undercurrents had passed between them last night, it had been true enough that it was la Principessa who’d sent her grandson to collect her at the Sala dell’Arte. And even she had to admit that what she’d seen the Prince show the old woman had seemed to be genuine respect and affection—

“It is as Silvio, that fool, told you. But not as he made it sound. I will pay the agency’s usual commission for your services, plus a bonus for any inconvenience this causes them in their scheduling. And I will pay you your regular hourly fee plus fifty per cent. If you think there is a more equitable arrangement to be made, you have only to say so.”

“All this, if I’ll agree to visit your grandmother.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I can see why Silvio was so happy. It’s a generous offer.”

“Certainly it is.” A smile twisted across his lips. “You do not often spend your time with the elderly, do you?”

Caroline felt her cheeks flame. Damn the man! He was doing it again, saying one thing but making it sound like quite another. But then, he was a man used to buying whatever he wanted, a man used to having his own way.

“Well? Are we in agreement?”

“No.” The word slipped from her lips. “No,” she said more forcefully, “we are not. I’m afraid I’m not for sale, Your Highness. I’m sorry your grandmother’s not feeling well, but it has nothing to do with me.”

His eyes went dark. “I see.”

“Give her my best, please, but explain that I’m very busy, that I can’t possibly—”

“Oh, I know what to tell her,” Nicolo said sharply. “It’s what I should have told her last night, when she sent me after you.” He strode toward her, his shoulder brushing hard against hers as he headed for the door. “I shall explain that you’ve no time in your life for such nonsense. What is an old woman’s heart when compared to the joys of dancing half naked down a catwalk while the world watches?”

“That’s insane. I don’t dance half...” Caroline swung around and looked after him. “What do you mean, her heart? What’s wrong with her heart?”

“Nothing, except that you have somehow touched it. But then, I have never subscribed to the myth that wisdom accompanies old age.” His hand closed around the doorknob. “Good morning, Miss Bishop.”

“Wait.” She took a deep breath. “Did she really ask for me?”

A look of distaste fluttered across Nicolo’s face. “Why else would I be here?”

She hesitated. “I did like your grandmother. She was very sweet and kind, and...” Caroline took another breath. “All right. I’ll go see her.”

She saw the look of surprise on Sabatini’s face but then, he couldn’t have been any more surprised than she was. She had certainly not planned on saying that, it was just that there was no reason to hate an old woman just because you hated her insufferable grandson, especially when she reminded you, in some indefinable way, of your own grandmother—but why should she explain any of that to this man? She could see that he was at a loss for words—which was reason enough for her to be pleased with her impetuous decision.

He nodded, then shifted from one foot to the other. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should say thank you.”

“And graciously, I’m sure,” Caroline said dryly. “But you needn’t bother.” She smiled tightly. “I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for your grandmother. Besides, I don’t want anything from you, Your Highness. Not a thing.”

Nicolo stiffened. “I could not have said it better myself,” he said coldly. “Now, let me get Silvio in here with a contract—”

“You misunderstood me,” she said sharply. “You can sign whatever papers you like with the agency. You’re quite right, they will lose money on me today.” Her eyes met his. “But I won’t take a penny from you for visiting the Princess.”

Nicolo’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

“It’s really quite simple. I don’t want to be paid for going with you to see your grandmother. It’s a visit, not a business deal. Do you understand?”

He stared at her while the seconds flew past, and then he shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly, “I do not.”

Caroline smiled slightly. “I didn’t think you would. But that’s the deal, Your Highness. Take it or leave it.”

He frowned, and his gaze moved slowly over her face. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders.

“Very well. If that is how you wish it—”

“It’s the only way.”

Nicolo nodded and pulled the door open. Silvio, crouched just outside, all but tumbled into the room.

“Oh,” she said sweetly, “be careful, signore. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Silvio nodded nervously, his eyes darting like black ants from her to Nicolo.

Grazie, signorina. I appreciate your concern.”

“The lady is quite right, Silvio.” Nicolo smiled tightly. “If you’re going to get your neck broken, I want the pleasure of doing it.”

Signore, please—”

“Come on, man, get moving! Where’s the contract? And where do I sign it?”

The agency chief almost groaned with happiness. “Right there, sir,” he said, whipping a document from the desk. He beamed at Nicolo. “The signorina is going with you, then?”

Nicolo’s eyes met Caroline’s. “Yes,” he said shortly, “she is.”

Scowling, he scanned the page, then scrawled his name at the bottom.

“Signorina?” Silvio said, pushing the paper toward her. Nicolo’s scowl deepened.

“She is not signing it,” he said.

“Not...? But—”

Nicolo brushed past Silvio and clasped Caroline’s arm. “Let’s get going,” he said brusquely.

She nodded. “Absolutely. The sooner I’ve seen your grandmother, the sooner I can say goodbye to you for the last time. And what a relief that will be!”

She had meant to put him in his place. He looked down at her, at her outthrust chin and flashing eyes, and, to her surprise, he laughed, really laughed, in a way he had not done before.

“Do you always speak your mind, signorina?”

“Yes,” she said. “Always.”

His eyes darkened just a little. “It is an interesting quality in a woman,” he said, “one I have not encountered before.”

“Well then,” she said as she swept past him out the door, “you’re in for a bumpy ride.”

“Yes,” he said, and he laughed again in that same, easy way.

For the very first time, Caroline wondered if she had let her instincts mislead her. But by then Nicolo was hurrying her down the steps, out of the building, and into a black Mercedes limousine.

It was too late to wonder about anything.

Roman Spring

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