“Bah!” Pierre gave him a lowered brow look. “She’s but sixteen. If she were a day older I’d call my wife and tell her to lock the doors while Franconi is in town.”

Carlo grinned. “Such flattery, Pierre.” With his hands hooked in his back pockets, he looked around the room. “Very nice,” he mused. Lifting his head, he scented the air. “Duck. Is that duck I smell?”

Pierre preened. “The specialty. Canard au Pierre.”

“Fantastico.” Carlo swung an arm around Juliet as he led her closer to the scent. “No one, absolutely no one, does to duck what Pierre can do.”

The black eyes in the frying-pan face gleamed. “No, you flatter me, mon ami.”

“There’s no flattery in truth.” Carlo looked on while an assistant carved Pierre’s duck. With the ease of experience, he took a small sliver and popped it into Juliet’s mouth. It dissolved there, leaving behind an elusive flavor that begged for more. Carlo merely laid his tongue on his thumb to test. “Exquisite, as always. Do you remember, Pierre, when we prepared the Shah’s engagement feast? Five, six years ago.”

“Seven,” Pierre corrected and sighed.

“Your duck and my cannelloni.”

“Magnificent. Not so much paprika on that fish,” he boomed out. “We are not in Budapest. Those were the days,” he continued easily. “But…” The shrug was essentially Gallic. “When a man has his third child, he has to settle down, oui?”

Carlo gave another look at the kitchen, and with an expert’s eye approved. “You’ve picked an excellent spot. Perhaps you’d let me have a corner of it for a short time.”

“A corner?”

“A favor,” Carlo said with a smile that would have charmed the pearls from oysters. “I’ve promised my Juliet to teach her how to prepare linguini.”

“Linguini con vongole biance?” Pierre’s eyes glittered.

“Naturally. It is my specialty.”

“You can have a corner of my kitchen, mon ami, in exchange for a plate.”

Carlo laughed and patted Pierre’s stomach. “For you, amico, two plates.”

Pierre clasped him by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. “I feel my youth coming back to me. Tell me what you need.”

In no time at all, Juliet found herself covered in a white apron with her hair tucked into a chef’s hat. She might have felt ridiculous if she’d been given the chance.

“First you mince the clams.”

Juliet looked at Carlo, then down at the mess of clams on the cutting board. “Mince them?”

“Like so.” Carlo took the knife and with a few quick moves had half of the clams in small, perfect pieces. “Try.”

Feeling a bit like an executioner, Juliet brought the knife down. “They’re not…well, alive, are they?”