With a laugh, she put her hands on his shoulders. “I should be angry with you, caro. You do have my number, and my phone didn’t ring last night.”

“Ah.” He put his hands to her wrists, wondering just how to untangle himself. “You’ll have to forgive us, Lydia. The schedule is brutal. And there’s a…complication.” He winced, thinking how Juliet would take being labeled a complication.

“Carlo.” She edged closer. “You can’t tell me you haven’t got a few free hours for…an old friend. I’ve a tremendous recipe for vitèllo tonnato.” She murmured the words and made the dish sound like something to be eaten in the moonlight. “Who else should I cook it for but the best chef in Italy?”

“I’m honored.” He put his hands on her hips hoping to draw her away with the least amount of insult. It wouldn’t occur to him until later that he’d felt none, absolutely none, of the casual desire he should have. “I haven’t forgotten what a superb cook you are, Lydia.”

Her laugh was low and full of memories. “I hope you haven’t forgotten more than that.”

“No.” He let out a breath and opted to be blunt. “But you see I’m—”

Before he could finish being honest, the door opened again. With a cup of coffee in her hand, Juliet walked in, then came to a dead stop. She looked at the blonde wound around Carlo like an exotic vine. Her brow lifted as she took her gaze to Carlo’s face. If only she had a camera.

Her voice was as cool and dry as her eyes. “I see you’ve met.”

“Juliet, I—”

“I’ll give you a few moments for the…pre-interview,” she said blandly. “Try to wrap it up by eight-fifty, Carlo. You’ll want to check the kitchen set.” Without another word, she shut the door behind her.

Though her arms were still around Carlo’s neck, Lydia looked toward the closed door. “Oops,” she said lightly.

Carlo let out a long breath as they separated. “You couldn’t have put it better.”

At nine o’clock, Juliet had a comfortable seat midway back in the audience. When Lydia slipped into the seat beside her, she gave the reporter an easy nod, then looked back to the set. As far as she could tell, and she’d gone over every inch of it, it was perfect.

When Carlo was introduced to cheerful applause she began to relax, just a little. But when he began preparations on the chicken, moving like a surgeon and talking to his host, his studio and television audience like a seasoned performer, her relaxation was complete. He was going to be fantastic.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Lydia murmured during the first break.

“Something,” Juliet agreed.

“Carlo and I met the last time he was in Chicago.”