Lessons Learned by Nora Roberts Page B

something along the line of a box of chocolates.
    “Oh, I—” Words were her business, but she’d lost them. “Carlo, really, you can’t—”
    “Never say can’t to Franconi,” he murmured and began to fasten the pin to her lapel. He did so smoothly, with no fumbling. After all, he was a man accustomed to such feminine habits. “It’s very delicate, I thought, very elegant. So it suits you.” Narrowing his eyes, he stood back, then nodded. “Yes, I was sure it would.”
    It wasn’t possible to remember her crazed search for fresh basil when he was smiling at her in just that way. It was barely possible to remember how furious she was over the lackadaisical setup for the demonstration. Instinctively, she put up her hand and ran a finger over the pin. “It’s lovely.” Her lips curved, easily, sweetly, as he thought they didn’t do often enough. “Thank you.”
    He couldn’t count or even remember the number of presents he’d given, or the different styles of gratitude he’d received. Somehow, he was already sure this would be one he wouldn’t forget.
    “Prègo.”
    “Ah, Ms. Trent?”
    Juliet glanced over to see Elise watching her. Present or no present, it tightened her jaw. “Yes, Elise. You haven’t met Mr. Franconi yet.”
    “Elise directed me from the office to you when I answered the page,” Carlo said easily, more than appreciating Juliet’s aggravation.
    “Yes.” She flashed her touchdown smile. “I thought your cookbook looked just super, Mr. Franconi. Everyone’s dying towatch you cook something.” She opened a little pad of paper with daisies on the cover. “I thought you could spell what it is so I could tell them when I announce you.”
    “Elise, I have everything.” Juliet managed charm and diplomacy to cover a firm nudge out the door. “Why don’t I just announce Mr. Franconi?”
    “Great.” She beamed. Juliet could think of no other word for it. “That’ll be a lot easier.”
    “We’ll get started now, Carlo, if you’d just step over there behind those counters, I’ll go give the announcements.” Without waiting for an assent, she gathered up the basil, mortar and pestle and walked over to the area that she’d prepared. In the most natural of moves, she set everything down and turned to the audience. Three hundred, she judged. Maybe even over. Not bad for a rainy day in a department store.
    “Good afternoon.” Her voice was pleasant and well pitched. There’d be no need for a microphone in the relatively small space. Thank God, because Elise had botched that minor detail as well. “I want to thank you all for coming here today, and to thank Gallegher’s for providing such a lovely setting for the demonstration.”
    From a few feet away, Carlo leaned on a counter and watched her. She was, as he’d told the reporter, fantastic. No one would guess she’d been up and on her feet since dawn.
    “We all like to eat.” This drew the murmured laughter she’d expected. “But I’ve been told by an expert that eating is more than a basic necessity, it’s an experience. Not all of us like to cook, but the same expert told me that cooking is both art and magic. This afternoon, the expert, Carlo Franconi, will sharewith you the art, the magic and the experience with his own pasta con pesto. ”
    Juliet started the applause herself, but it was picked up instantly. As Carlo stepped out, she melted back. Center stage was his the moment he stepped on it.
    “It’s a fortunate man,” he began, “who has the opportunity to cook for so many beautiful women. Some of you have husbands?” At the question there was a smatter of chuckles and the lifting of hands. “Ah, well.” He gave a very European shrug. “Then I must be content to cook.”
    She knew Carlo had chosen that particular dish because it took little time in preparation. After the first five minutes, Juliet was certain not one member of the audience would have budged if he’d chosen something that took