of the paparazzi were there with camera flashbulbs snapping the rich and famous, and the not too discreet journalists rapidly recording names as they matched who was with whom.
Voices filled the room, vying with background music which fought to be heard above snatches of Italian, French and English.
The people, the fashions, the sheer ambience … It was, in a word, amazing.
‘Darling, you look absolutely stunning,’ a light feminine voice offered in gushing tones. ‘Who are you wearing?’
‘A British designer who’s making quite a name for herself.’
‘Really. Who?’
The name was lost as another voice intruded, male, this time.
‘Alessandro. Sophia.’ Dark eyes settled on Lily. ‘And this is?’
‘Francesco,’ Sophia acknowledged with polite charm. ‘Allow me to introduce my niece, Lily. Francesco Alverro.’
A tall man, whose practiced smile appeared exactly that—practiced—as Lily took the hand he extended. And ignored the silent invitation in the intimate press of his thumb against her palm.
‘We must get together.’
Not going to happen, she silently declined as she freed her hand.
‘We have a number of social engagements planned over the next few weeks,’ Sophia relayed with seeming regret.
‘At a few of which we’re bound to meet again.’
Lily felt the light touch of Alessandro’s hand at her waist, and managed not to freeze into immobility. What was he doing?
‘Perhaps,’ Alessandro conceded smoothly. ‘If you’ll excuse us?’
Francesco inclined his head, eyes gleaming with wicked recognition for an instant before he stepped aside.
‘I’m quite capable of judging men for myself,’ Lily intoned quietly minutes later as a guest engaged Sophia in conversation.
‘Of course you are,’ he agreed with the barest hint of cynicism, and she wanted to hit him for alluding to her disastrous relationship with James.
‘That was uncalled for.’
‘You would do well to steer clear. Francesco has a history of enjoying the chase, the capture, only to walk away.’
She met his dark gaze fearlessly. ‘Don’t most men?’
‘Not always.’
‘You, of course, are the exception,’ she dismissed in droll tones. ‘Which would explain why you’ve managed to avoid any commitment?’
His husky chuckle curled round her nerve-ends and tugged a little. ‘Maybe I have yet to meet the one woman I would choose to share my life?’
‘Someone sufficiently brave not to pander to your ego?’
‘How … refreshing.’
‘You think?’ she offered with a faux smile, only to blink at a sudden flashbulb.
‘A new conquest, Signor del Marco?’ a feminine voice demanded, and thrust a small recording device close to him.
‘A friend,’ he responded with pseudo politeness, only to gain a knowing smile.
‘Are you going to divulge the lady’s name?’
Alessandro’s silence earned a light laugh in response. ‘I have my sources. Enjoy the party.’
‘Interesting,’ Lily declared with a tinge of humour when the woman had moved out of earshot. ‘Is it your celebrity or notoriety that draws attention?’
He subjected her to a steady appraisal. ‘You possess a sassy mouth.’
A swift shaft of sensation arrowed deep within, and for a timeless second she felt the breath hitch in her throat, then she recovered.
‘I believe it is a defence mechanism against men like you.’
‘You have no knowledge of what manner of man I am.’
Believe me, I don’t want to know.
So why this inclination to indulge in a tangle of words with him when instinct warned against it?
‘Should I dare to offer a homespun psychological assessment?’
She caught a glimpse of wry humour in his dark eyes, then it was gone. ‘You could try.’
Lily pretended to contemplate the challenge. ‘I’ll attempt a comparative balance,’ she managed solemnly. ‘In your favour, there is Sophia … for whom you would do almost anything. Even gifting time and support to her niece, which earns you several brownie points.’ She held up a hand and figuratively ticked off one finger. ‘I assume you’re kind to young children and animals?’ She barely paused as she counted off another finger. ‘Of course you are. So let’s move along. You’re presentable, dress well, and possess a credible work ethic.’ More than credible, but she chose not to linger.
‘However, you have a certain—’ Lily trailed deliberately. ‘—reputation. Which may be part fiction.’ She pretended to contemplate the issue. ‘Let’s concede the jury is still out on that one.’
‘Generous of you.’
She offered him a stunning smile. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
There was a certain satisfaction to being in control, even temporarily. Yet she had the uncanny sensation it was he who held the strings.
Sophia rejoined them, and it was interesting to observe the guests shift singly and in small groups as the evening progressed.
In turn it was exciting to be part of it all, to simply observe the guests whose mission it was to be seen and impress; those who attended the various fashion weeks in other European capital cities and for whom designer after-parties were de rigueur.
Lily overheard voices raised in conflicting opinion over one particular designer’s offerings on the runway.
‘Cara, fashion is an art form, presented for visual appreciation of the designers’ skilled technique with cloth and thread.’
‘But, darling, who would consider wearing it?’
‘A designer original speaks for itself.’
‘And that is its attraction.’
‘Exactement.’
Of course, Lily agreed silently as she scanned the room with interest, pausing when she sighted Sophia in deep conversation with a very attractive man.
Her aunt led a very full life with her involvement in a few select
