The Rules in Rome Read Online Free PDF Page A

Michael was the only person who’d ever made her feel beautiful, and she missed him. She blinked away a tear as she rearranged her hair. The last thing she needed was to get all weepy and give Ley or the other men the impression that she’d been upstairs crying.
    She pulled on her least favorite outfit, deciding she might as well get used to it. If Ley thought she looked too wholesome to date a Nazi, the dress’s neckline would prove him wrong. It’s not that low, she told herself as she glanced in the mirror. But she still wished the OSS officer in charge of her wardrobe hadn’t laughed at her when she’d suggested altering it.
    Ambrose and Ley were talking about the weather forecast as she came down the stairs. She almost laughed that they were discussing such a trivial subject until she realized how relevant it was.
    “If you can’t get us in by air, which looks like the case, we’ll have to take the train,” Ley said. “I’d prefer to travel at night.”
    “Why?” Vaughn-Harris asked.
    Ley jerked his head toward Gracie, who was descending the final half of the stairs. “She’s not exactly nondescript, is she? Tall, gorgeous, dynamite legs, and a birthmark that looks like a thumbprint on her right check? There can’t be many women who meet that description, and I don’t want someone reporting her departure from Switzerland and linking it to her arrival in Rome.”
    Gracie paused, one foot on the bottom step. She would have been flattered by Ley’s description if his tone hadn’t been so condescending. When he said dynamite legs , he probably meant tubular and shaped like a stick of TNT.
    “Do you ski, Miss Begni?” Ley asked.
    Gracie returned to her spot on the sofa before answering. “Not as well as you do, I imagine. I’ve done some downhill skiing but not much cross- country.” She straightened the neckline of her dress but pulled the fabric in so it wouldn’t slip off her shoulders and hang lower in the front. She hated the dress and was beginning to regret wearing it just to prove a point to Ley.
    “That leaves us with the train or a car. Or a combination.”
    “I’m sure you’ll figure out something by tomorrow evening,” Ambrose said.
    Ley frowned but didn’t disagree.
    The men all seemed more relaxed now—Gracie wondered if the alcohol had done the trick, but Ley’s glass still looked untouched. She adjusted her dress again.
    “Miss Begni, may I give you a few tips?” Ley asked.
    Gracie nodded.
    “More lipstick and more fabric.”
    Gracie wasn’t sure what Ley meant, but Vaughn-Harris asked for clarification before she had to. “What’s wrong with her dress? Have conditions in Italy improved so dramatically over the past few months? Do all the women have new clothes now?”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the dress or its well-worn appearance. The problem is her in that dress. She hasn’t stopped fiddling with the neckline since she sat down. It’s obviously cut lower than she’s comfortable with, and if I can tell, a Gestapo agent would notice too. Get her some different clothes. Have her smear on an extra layer of makeup if you want her to look the part.”
    Gracie felt a strange mix of gratitude that she might not have to wear such skimpy clothing and embarrassment that her discomfort had been so obvious.
    “Or better yet, I can go back alone. She may be smart, but I don’t think she’s up to playing the role.”
    The gratitude vanished. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, her hands flying up in her anger. “You need help, and I’m willing to help you, and you’re acting like I’m some ball and chain instead of an asset. Those men on the beach need information, and I can make sure that information is delivered accurately.” She forced her hands back to her lap, even though she really wanted to adjust her neckline again.
    Ley leaned forward. “Miss Begni, I am reluctant to bring you with me because despite your talk of assets, you still seem more of a