“You’re so sure love and marriage would hurt?” He put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded them lightly. “When you look so hard at the what-if’s in life, cara mia, you miss much living. You have someone who loves you, and though you won’t say the words, I think you love him back. Why do you deny yourself?”

“Marriage, Carlo.” She turned, her eyes earnest. “It’s not for people like us, is it?”

“People like us?”

“We’re so wrapped up in what it is we do. We’re used to coming and going as we please, when we please. We have no one to answer to, no one to consider but ourselves. Isn’t that why you’ve never married?”

“I could say I’m a generous man, and feel it would be too selfish to limit my gifts to only one woman.” She smiled, fully, the way he’d wanted to see her smile. Gently, he brushed the hair away from her face. “But to you, the truth is I’ve never found anyone who could make my heart tremble. I’ve looked. If I found her, I’d run for a license and a priest quickly.”

With a sigh, she turned back to the window. The flowers were a tapestry of color in the strong sun. “Marriage is a fairy tale, Carlo, full of princes and peasants and toads. I’ve seen too many of those fairy tales fade.”

“We write our own stories, Summer. A woman like you knows that because you’ve always done so.”

“Maybe. But this time I just don’t know if I have the courage to turn the next page.”

“Take your time. There’s no better place to think about life and love than Roma. No better man to think about them with than Franconi. Tonight, I cook for you. Linguini—” he kissed the tips of his fingers “—to die for. You can make me one of your babas—just like when we were students, sì?”

Turning back to him, Summer wrapped her arms around his neck. “You know, Carlo, if I were the marrying kind, I’d take you, for your pasta alone.”

He grinned. “Carissima, even my pasta is nothing compared to my—”

“I’m sure,” she interrupted dryly. “Why don’t you get dressed and take me shopping? I need to buy something fantastic while I’m in Rome. I haven’t given my mother a wedding present yet.”

How could he have been so stupid? Blake flicked on his lighter and watched the flame cut through the darkness. It wouldn’t be dawn for an hour yet, but he’d given up on sleep. He’d given up on trying to imagine what Summer was doing in Rome while he sat wakeful in an empty suite of rooms and thought of her. If he went to Rome…

No, he’d promised himself he’d give her some room, especially since he’d handled everything so badly. He’d given them both some room.

More strategy, he thought derisively and drew hard on the cigarette. Was that what the whole thing was about? He’d always enjoyed challenges, problems. Summer was certainly both. Was that the reason he wanted her? If she’d agreed to marry him, he could have congratulated himself on a plan well thought out and perfectly executed. Another Cocharan acquisition. Damn it.