Double Standards by Judith McNaught Page A

the boys positively drooled over her."
    "Did she try to steal your boyfriends?"
    Lauren's eyes kindled with humor as she gazed at him across the narrow table. "I didn't have many boyfriends for her to steal—at least, not until I was seventeen."
    One dark brow lifted in disbelief as his gaze moved over the classic perfection of her features, over her eyes like shining turquoise satin beneath their heavy fringe of curly lashes, to linger on her thick, honey-colored hair. Sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window beside their table bathed her face in a soft glow. "I find that very hard to believe," he said finally.
    "I promise you, it's true," Lauren averred, dismissing his compliment with a smile. She remembered with great clarity the homely little girl she had been, and while the memories were not particularly painful, she really couldn't place much importance now on anything as unreliable as surface beauty.
    Tony put two plates down on the red-checked tablecloth, each containing a crusty loaf of French bread that had been sliced lengthwise and piled high with wafer-thin rare roast beef. Beside each plate, he placed a little bowl of beef juice. "It's delicious—try it," he urged.
    Lauren tasted hers and agreed. "It's wonderful," she told him.
    "Good," he said, his round, mustachioed face beaming paternally at her. "Then you let Nick pay for it! He has more money than you. Nick's grandfather loaned me the money to start this place," he confided before bustling off to chastise a clumsy busboy.
    They ate their meal in companionable silence interspersed with Lauren's questions about the restaurant and its owner. From what little she could gather from Nick's brief answers, his family and Tony's had been friends for three generations. At one point Nick's father had actually worked for Tony's father, yet somehow the financial situation must have reversed itself for Nick's grandfather later had enough money to lend to Tony.
    The moment they were finished Tony appeared at their table to whisk away their plates. The service in the place was much too good, Lauren thought with dismay. They had only been here for thirty-five minutes, and she'd hoped to have at least an hour with Nick.
    "Now, how about some dessert," Tony said, his friendly dark eyes on Lauren. "For you I have
canoli—
or some of my special spumoni. My spumoni is not what you find in stores," he told her proudly. "It is the real thing. It is ice cream of several flavors and colors, arranged in layers. Then into it I put—"
    "Bits of fruit and lots of nuts," Lauren finished, smiling warmly at him. "The way my mother used to make it."
    Tony's mouth dropped open, then he minutely scrutinized her face. After a long moment he nodded decisively. "You are Italian," he proclaimed with a broad smile.
    "Only half Italian," Lauren corrected. "The other half is Irish."
    In ten seconds Tony had pried her full name out of her, the name of her mother's family and had discovered that she was moving to Detroit where she knew no one. Lauren felt a little guilty for not mentioning Philip Whitworth, but since Nick knew people at Sinco she didn't think she should risk mentioning her connection with Philip in front of him.
    She listened to Tony with a glow of happiness. It had been so long since she had lived in Chicago and visited with her Italian cousins, and it felt so good to hear that quaint familiar accent again.
    "You need anything, Lauren, you come to me," Tony told her, patting her shoulder as he had Nick's. "A beautiful young woman alone in the big city needs some family she can turn to when she needs help. Here there will always be a meal for you—a good
Italian
meal," he clarified. "Now how about my great spumoni?"
    Lauren glanced at Nick and then at Tony's expectant face. "I'd love some spumoni," she announced, ignoring the groaning protest of her full stomach in the interest of prolonging their lunch.
    Tony beamed, and Nick winked conspiratorially at him. "Lauren is