Carlo closed his eyes and opted for a nap. If he was going to teach two amateurs the secrets of linguini within twelve hours, he’d need his strength. “Wake me when you’ve finished,” he told her. “We have to inspect the kitchen of the hotel.”

It took her the best part of two hours, and when she hung up for the last time, Juliet’s neck was stiff and her fingers numb. But she had what she wanted. Hal told her she was a genius and O’Hara said it sounded like fun. Arrangements were already in the works.

This time Juliet grinned at the stubborn fog swirling outside the window. Neither rain nor storm nor dark of night, she thought, pleased with herself. Nothing was going to stop Juliet Trent.

Then she looked over at Carlo. Something tilted inside her that had both her confidence and self-satisfaction wavering. Emotion, she reflected. It was something she hadn’t written into the itinerary.

Well, maybe there was one catastrophe that wasn’t in the books. Maybe it was one she couldn’t work her way through with a creative idea and hustle. She simply had to take her feelings for Carlo one step at a time.

Four more days, she mused, and the ride would be over. The music would stop and it would be time to get off the carousel.

It wasn’t any use trying to see beyond that yet; it was all blank pages. She had to hold on to the belief that life was built one day at a time. Carlo would go, then she would pick up the pieces and begin her life again from that point.

She wasn’t fool enough to tell herself she wouldn’t cry. Tears would be shed over him, but they’d be shed quietly and privately. Schedule in a day for mourning, she thought then tossed her pad away.

It wasn’t healthy to think of it now. There were only four days left. For a moment, she looked down at her empty hands and wondered if she’d have taken the steps she’d taken if she’d known where they would lead her. Then she looked over at him and simply watched him sleep.

Even with his eyes closed and that irrepressible inner life he had on hold, he could draw her. It wasn’t simply a matter of his looks, she realized. She wasn’t a woman who’d turn her life sideways for simple physical attraction. It was a matter of style. Smiling, she rose and walked closer to him as he slept. No matter how practical she was, how much common sense she possessed, she couldn’t have resisted his style.