“Bravo, Franconi.” As the crew began to serve his dish to the audience, Summer went up to give him a formal kiss on the cheek.

“Yes.” He kissed her back. “I was magnificent.”

“Where’s Juliet?”

“On the phone.” Carlo rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Dio, that woman spends more time on the phone than a new bride spends in bed.”

Summer checked her watch. She’d noted Carlo’s schedule herself. “I don’t imagine she’ll be long. I know you’re having a late breakfast at the hotel with reporters.”

“You promised to make crêpes,” he reminded her, thinking unapologetically of his own pleasure.

“So I did. In return, do you think you could find a small, quiet room for the two of us?”

He grinned and wiggled his brows. “My love, when Franconi can’t oblige a lady with a quiet room, the world stops.”

“My thoughts exactly.” She hooked her arm through his and let him lead her down a corridor and into what turned out to be a storage room with an overhead light. “You’ve never lacked class, caro.”

“So.” He made himself comfortable on a stack of boxes. “Since I know you don’t want my body, superb as it is, what’s on your mind?”

“You, of course, chérie.”

“Of course.”

“I love you, Carlo.”

Her abrupt seriousness made him smile and take her hands. “And I you, always.”

“You remember, not so long ago when you came through Philadelphia on tour for another book?”

“You were wondering how to take the job redoing the American’s kitchen when you were attracted to him and determined not to be.”

“In love with him and determined not to be,” she corrected. “You gave me some good advice here, and when I visited you in Rome. I want to return the favor.”

“Advice?”

“Grab the brass ring, Carlo, and hold on to it.”

“Summer—”

“Who knows you better?” she interrupted.

He moved his shoulders. “No one.”

“I saw you were in love with her the moment I stepped into the room, the moment you said her name. We understand each other too well to pretend.”

He sat a moment, saying nothing. He’d been skirting around the word, and its consequences, very carefully for days. “Juliet is special,” he said slowly. “I’ve thought perhaps what I feel for her is different.”

“Thought?”

He let out a small sound and gave up. “Known. But the kind of love we’re speaking of leads to commitment, marriage, children.”

Instinctively Summer touched a hand to her stomach. Carlo would understand that she still had small fears. She didn’t have to speak of them. “Yes. You told me once, when I asked you why you’d never married, that no woman had made your heart tremble. Do you remember what you told me you’d do if you met her?”