Roman Spring - Sandra Marton

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chat for a while.” Sighing, she sank into her seat. “I spent much time in the States when I was a girl. New York. Wash-ington. Florida...”

      The old woman’s voice trailed off. Caroline hesitated, then took a step toward the fireplace, but Nicolo Sabatini swung toward her.

      “She will want to talk forever, longer than is good for her,” he said, very softly. “You will not let her.”

      “No. Of course not. But I don’t understand why—”

      “What an expressive face you have, cara.” He smiled coolly. “Of course you don’t. And it disturbs you to realize that I did not come after you for the reasons you thought, doesn’t it?”

      Caroline’s blush deepened. “Your Excellency—”

      “I am sorry to have disappointed you. It must be a rare occasion when you meet a man who does not want you in his bed.”

      Her face stung as if he’d slapped it, but her eyes held defiantly to his.

      “Not as rare as it is for you to meet a woman who wants to be there.”

      “Basta!” His hands shot out and caught hold of her shoulders, and in that same instant, his grandmother’s voice called his name.

      “Nicolo? Are you still there? Be a good boy and get us something to drink, will you, carino?” The old woman peered around and smiled. “I am sure Miss Bishop and I would both like some champagne.”

      Caroline took a deep breath. What she wanted was to slap Nicolo Sabatini’s face, to stalk out of the Sala dell’Arte and never look back.

      But the Princess Sabatini was no more responsible for her egotistical grandson than she was for tonight’s overblown charity event. She was merely an old woman who wanted to spend a few minutes in nostalgic memory of long-ago visits to America.

      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

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