Indiscretions by Elizabeth Adler Read Free Book Online Page A

university, the endless architectural training, the design courses, and the long haul to success. And he’d told her of his marriage to Marisa, which naturally had considerably eased that success.
    “Oh, but it’s truly all because of
you
,” she’d breathed admiringly. “Mother always said that money doesn’t bring success unless you have the talent.”
    “And how did your mother get to be so wise?” he’d asked with a wry smile.
    “She’s Jenny Haven,” India had said simply.
    “India.”
    “Fabrizio.” Her kisses were warm on his smoothly shaven cheeks.
    He smelled of Eau Sauvage and Disque Bleu cigarettes.
    “It’s a success,” she said happily.
    Fabrizio shrugged. “I suppose so. You look wonderful in scarlet. Did Jenny give you a break and send money?”
    India grinned. “Does it look expensive?”
    “It certainly does. You’d better remind me on Monday to give you a raise. Someone’s got to keep you in the style to which you obviously would like to be accustomed, and if not your mother, I’d better do what I can to help.”
    “I’ll hold you to that, Fabrizio. But what about this carpet—just look at it.”
    Her eyes, rounded with dismay, made him laugh. “I have a second one ready to be laid tomorrow. I knew this would be ruined tonight—that’s the way it is at parties. I’ll tell you what,” he said with sudden inspiration. “There may be a few cigarette burns, but the stains should come out with cleaning. It’ll be useless for the showroom. Why don’t you take it for your apartment?” He knew India’s apartment and its crumbling cold marble floors could surely use the luxury of his thick pastel woollen carpet, cigarette burns and all.
    “Fabrizio Paroli! Do you really mean it?”
    He wished Marisa had looked like that when he’d given her the Bulgari ruby necklace at Christmas. “Of course I do. You may have to cut it and patch it here and there, but it will look good in your place.”
    “Oh,” gasped India, “I do
love
you, Fabrizio.”
    He was aware of heads turning as her distinctive American-accented Italian rang across the room, and he smiled at her. “And I love you,” he said loudly. Let them talk, let them think what they wished. Sometimes he thought he really did love India Haven. She was probably the only truly
nice
female he had ever known in his life. And she was his friend as well as his occasional lover—not so often nowadays as he would have liked, but he was a busy man, and also Marisa was becoming suspicious of his every move. That India was also a little bit in love with him was good too; it stroked his ego to think of her when Marisa was sulking and complaining that he neglected her for the business. If it weren’t for the children he would be tempted to fall in love with India, and whenshe looked as adorable as she did tonight he was very definitely tempted. India was sexy and she was fun. But there were the children and he adored them, too, and he never wanted to lose them. Marisa’s family was powerful; he would never stand a chance in a dispute over custody.
    “Come on,” he said firmly, thrusting a glass of champagne into her hand. “You should be circulating and chatting up the cream of international society who are here ruining our carpets and pretending to admire the lines of my designs. Tell them a few prices and make them gasp; if it’s expensive enough they’ll have to have it.”
    India laughed. It wasn’t entirely true, but there was enough of a grain of truth from which to make a pearl. They were almost all of them people who had to be
told
what was good. “The public are like bad Hollywood agents,” her mother had said bitterly. “They’re basically people of undefined taste who have to be told by others that something is good before they believe it. When they read it in the trades or in the dailies, then they’ll claim they always knew it was good and use it as a model for new and aspiring artists. Be like that, they’ll