Rosa slipped off Carlo’s lap and, staring all the way, came to Juliet. “Good morning, Signorina Trent.” Pleased with her English, she turned to her mother with a spate of Italian.

With a laugh, Angelina picked her up. “She says you have green eyes like the princess Carlo told her of. Carlo, aren’t you going to ask Miss Trent to sit down?” With a sigh, Angelina indicated a chair. “Please, be comfortable. You must forgive my brother, Miss Trent. Sometimes he loses himself in the stories he tells Rosa.”

Brother? Juliet looked at Angelina and saw Carlo’s warm, dark eyes. Over the quick elation, she wondered how many different ways you could feel like a fool.

“We must be on our way.” Angelina walked over to kiss her still silent brother’s cheek. As she did, she was already planning to drop by her mother’s shop and relate the story of the American who’d made Carlo lose his voice. “I hope we meet again while you’re in Rome, Miss Trent.”

“Thank you.” Juliet took her hand and met the smile, and all its implications, with an acknowledging nod. “I’m sure we will.”

“We’ll let ourselves out, Carlo. Ciao.”

He was still silent as Juliet began to wander around the room, stopping here to admire this, there to study that. Art of every culture was represented at its most opulent. It should’ve been overwhelming, museumlike. Instead it was friendly and lighthearted, just a bit vain and utterly suited to him.

“You told me I’d like your home,” she said at length. “I do.”

He managed to rise but not to go to her. He’d left part of himself back in New York, but he still had his pride. “You said you wouldn’t come.”

She moved one shoulder and decided it was best not to throw herself at his feet as she’d intended. “You know women, Franconi. They change their minds. You know me.” She turned then and managed to face him. “I like to keep business in order.”

“Business?”

Grateful she’d had the foresight, Juliet reached in her purse and drew out the Dallas clipping. “This is something you’ll want to look over.”

When she came no farther, he was forced to go over and take it from her. Her scent was there, as always. It reminded him of too much, too quickly. His voice was flat and brisk as he looked at her. “You came to Rome to bring me a piece of paper?”

“Perhaps you’d better look at it before we discuss anything else.”

He kept his eyes on hers for a long, silent minute before he lowered them to the paper. “So, more clippings,” he began, then stopped. “What’s this?”

She felt her lips curve at the change of tone. “What I thought you’d want to see.”