Free Indiscretions by Elizabeth Adler

spilled champagne on him.”
    “Don’t worry about it, my dear.” Marisa watched as India glossed red lipstick over her mouth. “Nothing could ruin that suit. I doubt that it could stand anotherday at the cleaners. Of course the poor boy can’t afford little luxuries like good clothes. The family is desperately hard up. Aldo is their only ticket to salvation. Of course he’ll have to marry money, and with his looks and title it won’t be too difficult. There’s
so much
money about.” Marisa shrugged her almost overly slender shoulders deprecatingly. “Of course you know who he is, my dear, don’t you? The Conte di Montefiore, one of Italy’s oldest titles. He has that vast place in Venice that’s crumbling into the canal. I think you once painted it and gave it to Fabrizio. And then there’s the Palazzo Montefiore on the coast. Magnificent but doomed—unless he suddenly makes a lot of money. He got on so well with my cousin Renata, didn’t you think?” Marisa picked up her bag and snapped it shut with a firm click. “We all have our responsibilities,” she announced with a final slow smile over her shoulder as she drifted from the room.
    India was fuming. Anger burned her cheeks red. How dare Marisa warn her off as though she were some servant girl chasing after the lord of the manor? Nineteenth-century nonsense! She wasn’t the least bit interested in Aldo Montefiore anyway. The Conte di Montefiore. Her brown eyes gazed back at her from the mirror and she remembered Aldo’s smiling voice as he’d said, “Snap.” Well, not
that
interested anyway. But he was attractive, and nice.…
    India stood up abruptly. She was tired. It was time to go home. She’d find Fabrizio, say good-bye, and leave.
    The evening was still young. A pianist lazed over the keys of the white grand piano in the hall, singing Cole Porter. Guests were gathering in groups or lounging on the vast sofas, gossiping. White-gloved waiters were serving coffee and tiny delicious chocolates from silver trays. India searched the room for Fabrizio and found him leaning over the piano, absorbed in Cole Porter’s magical lyrics that lost nothing with the passage of time.
    “I must leave now, Fabrizio. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
    “India? So soon?” His warm hands encompassed hers, and she thrilled at the light touch. Odd how Marisa was warning her off Aldo, who was obviously earmarked for the wealthy cousin Renata, and not her own husband.
    “I’m tired,” she said lamely. “It’s been a long day and I must be up early to check that the plumbers showed up at the Mondini apartment.”
    Fabrizio felt a pang of guilt. Sometimes he thought he worked her too hard. He could easily have sent someone else to oversee the workmen at the penthouse they were redoing, but this was the first time she had been allowed to follow a project through from beginning to end, and if she wanted to learn, then she must understand the basics as well as the gloss. Functional plumbing was as important as the color of the tiles in a bathroom.
    “Take care, then,
cara
,” he said, bending his head and kissing her tenderly on each cheek. “Ciao. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He watched her walk away from him. “India.”
    She half turned. “Yes?”
    “I’ll have the carpet delivered tomorrow afternoon.”
    Her delighted laugh quite made his evening.
    India surveyed the Rolls-Royces, Mercedes, Ferraris, and Porsches parked in the courtyard with remembered dismay. Of course—she had no car! She hovered uncertainly on the steps while the parking valet waited for her to hand him the key.
    “The black VW Rabbit, please.”
    Aldo smiled at her. “He can’t mistake it. It must be the only VW in this pope’s ransom of automobiles.”
    “Oh, but shouldn’t you be at the party?” India was pleased despite herself and she smiled back at him.
    “I always take home the girl I came with,” he repliedwith a twinkle, “and besides, how would you get home if I