He knew if she had something to do, she’d stop worrying, even for a few moments. And she’d stop pacing up and down in front of him. “Juliet, no one with a heart would ask a man to drink that poison that’s been simmering since dawn.”

“Oh.” Without hesitation, she assumed the role of pamperer. “I’ll see about it.”

“Grazie.”

At the door, she hesitated. “The reporter for the Sun might drop back before the show.”

“Yes, you told me. I’ll be charming.”

Muttering to herself, she went to find a page.

Carlo leaned back and stretched his legs. He’d have to drink the coffee when she brought it back, though he didn’t want any. He didn’t want to board the plane for Detroit that afternoon, but such things were inevitable. In any case, he and Juliet would have the evening free in Detroit—what American state was that in?

They wouldn’t be there long enough to worry about it.

In any case, he would soon be in Philadelphia and there, see Summer. He needed to. Though he’d always had friends and was close to many of them, he’d never needed one as he felt he needed one now. He could talk to Summer and know what he said would be listened to carefully and not be repeated. Gossip had never bothered him in the past, but when it came to Juliet… When it came to Juliet, nothing was as it had been in the past.

None of his previous relationships with women had ever become a habit. Waking up in the morning beside a woman had always been pleasant, but never necessary. Every day, Juliet was changing that. He couldn’t imagine his bedroom back in Rome without her, yet she’d never been there. He’d long since stopped imagining other women in his bed.

Rising, he began to pace as Juliet had.

When the door opened, he turned, expecting her. The tall, willowy blonde who entered wasn’t Juliet, but she was familiar.

“Carlo! How wonderful to see you again.”

“Lydia.” He smiled, cursing himself for not putting the name of the Sun’s reporter with the face of the woman he’d spent two interesting days in Chicago with only eighteen months before. “You look lovely.”

Of course she did. Lydia Dickerson refused to look anything less. She was sharp, sexy and uninhibited. She was also, in his memory, an excellent cook and critic of gourmet foods.

“Carlo, I was just thrilled when I heard you were coming into town. We’ll do the interview after the show, but I just had to drop back and see you.” She swirled toward him with the scent of spring lilacs and the swish of a wide-flared skirt. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Smiling, he took her outstretched hand. “It’s always good to see an old friend.”