by Dani Collins
Gian refused to be dazzled and reminded himself of the absolute diva she was. Ariana was the one who should be performing at Teatro dell’Opera tonight!
‘Gian,’ she purred, and gave him her signature red-lipped smile. It was the same smile that set the cameras flashing on the red carpets in Rome, but Gian remained steadfastly unimpressed—not that he showed it, for he was more than used to dealing with the most pampered guests.
‘Ariana.’ He pushed back his chair to stand and greet her. ‘You look amazing as always.’ He said all the right things, though could not help but add, ‘Very orange.’
* * *
‘Cinnamon, Gian,’ she wryly corrected as her heart did the oddest thing.
It stopped.
Gian should be familiar. After all, she had known him all her life, yet she was suddenly reminded of his height and the deep tone of his voice. He wore a subtly checked suit in grey with a waistcoat, though his height meant that he wore the check rather than the check wearing him.
Of course her heart had started again—had it not she would have dropped to the floor—but it was jumping around in some ungainly trot as he walked towards her.
Pure nerves, Ariana decided. After all, she did have a huge favour to ask!
‘I apologise for not coming out to greet you,’ Gian said as he came around the desk and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I was just finishing up some work.’
‘That’s fine. Luna took good care of me.’
Except she felt far from fine. Ariana rather wished that the nerves in her chest would abate, yet they fluttered like butterflies—or perhaps fireflies would be a more apt description because there was a flash of heat creeping up her neck and searing her cheeks, but then Gian was, to say the least, rather commanding.
Cold, people called him.
Especially back home in Luctano, where gossip and rumour abounded. The history of the De Lucas was often whispered about and discussed in her home town—at times even by her family. Though a child at the time, Ariana could well remember the shock and horror in the village as news of the fire aboard their luxury yacht had hit in the early hours of a Sunday morning. And, of course, she still remembered the funeral held in Luctano for the Duke, the Duchess and the heir apparent...
People whispered about the fact that Luca hadn’t attended the renewal of his parents’ vows, and his lack of visible emotion at the funeral.
Yet, as Ariana sometimes pointed out, the fact that he hadn’t attended had saved his life.
And, the villagers would add, happy to twist the truth, his brother’s death made him a duke. As if Gian had swum out into the ocean and torched the boat himself!
‘Basta!’ Ariana would tell them.
Enough!
Ariana actually liked his steely reserve.
Her own self was so volatile that when life spun too fast, it was to Gian she turned for his distant, measured ways.
While rumour had it he melted women in the bedroom and endeared both staff and guests with his calm assertiveness, it was the general consensus that behind his polished façade there was no heart or emotion, just a wall of solid black ice. Ariana needed that wall of black ice on side so she kept her smile bright. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’
‘Of course.’ Gian gestured for her to take a seat as he did the same. ‘Can I offer you some refreshments?’
‘No, thank you.’ Gosh, small talk was difficult when you had a huge favour to ask! ‘How was your Christmas?’
‘Busy,’ Gian responded, then politely enquired, ‘Yours?’
Ariana lifted her hand and made a wavering gesture, to show it had not been the best, though she did not bore Gian with the details, like how, in the manner of a tennis ball in an extended rally, she’d bounced between Florence and Rome. Gian already knew all about her parents’ divorce and her father’s subsequent marriage to the much younger Mia. After all the marriage had taken place here!
And he knew too that her father wasn’t at home in Luctano but in a private hospital in Florence and so she gave him a brief update. ‘Dante is hoping to have Papà moved here to Rome,’ Ariana said, but left out the hospice word. ‘That should make things a bit easier.’
‘Easier for whom?’ Gian enquired.
‘For his family,’ Ariana responded tartly, but then squirmed inwardly, for it was the very question she had been asking herself since her brothers had suggested the move. ‘His children are all here, his Rome office...’ Her voice trailed off. Though the impressive Romano Holdings offices were in the EUR business district of Rome, Dante had taken over the running of the company when their father had remarried.
Gian’s question was a pertinent one—and confirmed for Ariana that she needed to speak with her father and find out exactly what it was he wanted for the final months of his life. ‘It is not all decided,’ she admitted to Gian. ‘We are just testing ideas.’
‘Good,’ Gian said, and she blinked at the gentler edge to his tone. ‘I visited him yesterday.’
‘You visited him in Florence?’
‘Of course. You know I have a sister hotel opening there in May?’ Gian checked, and Ariana nodded. ‘I always try and drop in on Rafael when I am there.’
For some reason that brought the threat of tears to her eyes, but she hastily blinked them back. Ariana was not one for tears—well, not real ones; crocodile tears she excelled at—but at times Florence, where her father was in hospital, felt so far away. It was an hour or so by plane and she visited as much as she could. So did her brothers, and of course Mia was there and the family home in Luctano was nearby...but at night, when she couldn’t sleep, Ariana always thought of her father alone.
There was a break in the conversation that Gian did absolutely nothing to fill. A pregnant pause was something Ariana was incapable of. If there was a gap she felt duty-bound to speak. Any lull in proceedings and she felt it her place to perform. Gian, she felt, would let this silence stretch for ever and so of course it was she who ended it. ‘Gian, there is a reason I am here...’
* * *
Of course there was!
Her slender hands twisted in her lap. She was nervous, Gian realised. This was most unlike Ariana, who was usually supremely confident—arrogant, in fact. It dawned on him then what this urgent appointment might be about. Did she want to bring her latest lover here, without it being billed to the Romano guest folio so as to avoid her father or brothers finding out?
It was often the case with family accounts, but if that was what Ariana was about to ask him...
No way!
There was no question he would facilitate her bringing her latest lover to stay here! ‘What is it you want?’ Gian asked, and she blinked at the edge to his tone.
‘I have decided that I want a career.’
‘A career?’ His features relaxed and there was even a shadow of a smile that he did not put down to relief that she wasn’t intending to bring her lover here. It was typical of Ariana to say she wanted a career, rather than a job. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve given it a great deal of thought.’
‘And your career of choice?’
‘I would like to be Guest Services Manager here at La Fiordelise. Or rather I would like to be Guest Services Manager for your VIPs.’
‘All of my guests are VIPs, Ariana.’
‘You know what I mean.’
He had to consciously resist rolling his eyes. ‘Why would I simply hand you such a position when you have no experience? Why would I let you near my VIPs?’
‘Because I am one!’ Ariana retorted, but then rather hurriedly checked herself. ‘What I am trying to say is that I know their ways. Please, Gian. I really want this.’
Gian knew very well that whatever Ariana wanted, Ariana got—until she grew bored and dismissed it. Ariana should have been put over her father’s knee man
y years ago and learned the meaning of the word ‘no’. There was no way on God’s earth that she was going to play careers at his hotel. So, rather than go through the motions, he shook his head. ‘Ariana, let me stop you right there. While I appreciate—’
‘Actually,’ she cut in swiftly, ‘I would like some refreshments after all. Perhaps, given the hour, some champagne is in order.’ Her pussycat smile was triumphant as she prevented him ending their conversation.
Ever the consummate host, Gian nodded politely. ‘Naturalmente.’ He pressed the intercom. ‘Luna, would you please bring in champagne for myself and Ariana.’
Ariana’s smile remained. No doubt, Gian assumed, she was thinking she had won, but what she did not quite understand was that Gian was always and absolutely one step ahead. Luna had worked at La Fiordelise even before his family had died and knew his nuances well. It was often what was not said that counted, and right at this moment Vincenzo, the bar manager, would be pouring two glasses of French champagne.
A bottle and ice bucket would not be arriving.
This was no tête-à-tête.
‘I have brought my résumé,’ Ariana said, digging in her suede designer cinnamon bag and producing a document, which she handed to him. He took it without a word and as he read through it, Gian found again that he fought an incredulous smile.
For someone who had practically never worked a day in her life, Ariana Romano had an impressive résumé indeed.
At least, it read well. She had studied hospitality and tourism management, although he knew that already. Naturally, she was on the Romano Board, and on the Romano Foundation Board too.
As well as that were listed all the luncheons, balls and functions which Ariana claimed to have planned and organised singlehandedly. Except—
‘Ariana, you do not “create, design and implement the theme for the annual Romano Foundation Ball,”’ Gian said, and used his fingers to quote directly from her résumé. ‘My staff do.’
‘Well, I have major input.’
‘No, Ariana, you don’t. In fact, you barely show up for the meetings.’
‘I always attend.’
‘I can have Luna retrieve the minutes of them if you like. You rarely show up and you don’t even bother to send an apology. The fact is you consistently let people down.’
‘Excuse me!’ Ariana reared, unused to him speaking so harshly, for, though cold, Gian was always polite.
Except here, today, they had entered unknown territory.
Usually when they discussed the Romano Ball, given the fact she was Rafael’s daughter, Ariana’s suggestions were tolerated, lauded even. Now, though, Gian refused to play the usual game of applauding her inaction, or nodding as she reeled off one of her less-than-well-thought-out ideas. He picked last year’s ball as an example. ‘You said you were thinking “along the lines of silver” and no doubt went off to plan your gown.’
He watched her lips press tightly together. Even clamped shut, Ariana had a very pretty mouth, but he quickly dragged his attention away from that thought and back to the point he was trying to make. ‘Following your suggestion, my staff created a silver world, whereas you did nothing more than turn up on the night...’ he held her angry gaze ‘...in a silver gown.’
‘How nice that you remember what I was wearing,’ Ariana retorted.
‘Call it an educated guess.’
* * *
Ouch!
Suddenly, under his withering gaze, in this private meeting she had demanded, Ariana felt as gauche and naive as the virgin she was, rather than the temptress she portrayed. ‘Well, I was the one who came up with a forest theme for this year,’ Ariana reminded him.
‘Tell me,’ Gian pushed, ‘what have you done to help implement the forest theme, apart from choose the fabric for your gown?’
Ariana opened her mouth to answer and then closed it. He watched her shoulders briefly slump in defeat, but then she rallied. ‘I suggested ivy around the pillars in the ballroom.’
He looked as unimpressed with her suggestion as he had at the board meeting, Ariana thought. But, then, Gian considered decorations and themes and such somewhat vulgar.
‘And berries,’ Ariana hurriedly. ‘I suggested a berry dessert. Fruits of the forest...’
Gian did not so much as blink; he just stared at her pretty, empty head.
Only...that wasn’t right, and he knew it.
Ariana, when she so chose, was perceptive and clever, but he refused to relent. ‘What about last month, December, the hotel’s busiest time, and you reserved the Pianoforte Bar for yourself and your friends’ exclusive use, yet forgot to let Reservations know that it was no longer required.’
‘You were paid,’ Ariana interrupted. ‘My father—’
‘Precisely.’ It was Gian who now interrupted. ‘Your father took care of things. It is so very typical of you, Ariana. If something better comes along, then that is where your attention goes.’
‘No!’ Ariana shook her head, angrily at first but then in sudden bewilderment because he was usually so polite. ‘Why are you speaking to me like this, Gian?’
‘So that you understand completely why my answer to your request is no.’
It sounded as if he meant it, and Ariana wasn’t particularly used to that so she tried another tack. ‘I studied hospitality and—’
‘I know you did.’ Again, Gian cut her off. ‘You might remember that it was necessary for you to do three months’ work experience to pass your course and so I spoke to your father and offered for you to do your placement here.’ His eyes never left her face. ‘You failed to show up on your starting day.’
Ariana flushed. ‘Because I decided to do my placement at the family hotel in Luctano.’
‘And you didn’t even think to let me know?’
‘I thought my father’s staff had contacted you.’
But Gian shook his head. ‘The fact is, Ariana, you chose the easier option.’
‘I wanted to work here, Gian,’ Ariana insisted. ‘But my parents wanted me at the family hotel.’
‘No.’ Gian shook his head, refusing to accept her twisted truth. ‘You declined when I explained that your placement would consist of working in all areas of the hotel. You were to spend a week in the kitchen, a week as a chambermaid, a week—’
It was Ariana who interrupted now, her voice fighting not to rise as she cut in. ‘I felt I would get more experience in Luctano.’
‘Really?’ Gian checked. ‘You thought you would get more experience at a small boutique resort in the Tuscan hills than at an award-winning, five-star hotel in the heart of Rome?’
‘Yes,’ she attempted. ‘Well, perhaps not as extensive as I would have had here but...’ Her voice trailed off because her excuse was as pathetic as it sounded, but there was another reason entirely that his offer to work at La Fiordelise had been declined all those years ago. ‘That wasn’t the only reason I said no, Gian. The fact is, my mother didn’t want me working here.’
‘Why ever not?’
Even as she opened her mouth to speak, even as the words tumbled out, Ariana knew she should never be saying them. ‘Because of your reputation with women.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘PARDON?’
Gian was supremely polite as he asked her to repeat her accusation, but far from backtracking or apologising, Ariana clarified her words.
‘My mother didn’t want me working here because of your reputation with women.’ She didn’t even blush as she said it. If anything, she was defiant.
Still, such was the sudden tension that it was a relief when there was a knock on the door and soon Luna was placing down little white coasters decorated with La Fiordelise’s swirling rose gold insignia and two long, pale flutes of champagne, as well as a little silver dish of nibbles.
The dish in itself was beautiful, heavy silver w
ith three little heart-shaped trays, individually filled with nuts, slivers of fruit and chocolates.
It was easier to focus on incidentals because, despite her cool demeanour, Ariana could feel the crackle in the air that denoted thunder, and as the door closed on Luna, she stared at the pretty dish as she re-crossed her legs at the ankles.
‘Ariana.’ Gian’s voice was seemingly smooth but there was a barbed edge to his tone that tempted her to retrieve her bag and simply run. Gian carried on, ‘Before we continue this conversation, can I make one thing supremely clear?’
‘Of course,’ Ariana said. Unable to look at him any longer, she reached for a glass.
‘Your mother had no right to imply or suggest that I would be anything other than professional with the work experience girl—or, in fact, any of my staff!’
‘Well, you do have a formidable reputation...’ Ariana started and raised the glass to her lips.
‘With women,’ Gian interrupted and then tartly added, ‘Not teenage girls, which you were back then.’
Ariana nodded, the glass still hovering by her mouth. Even as he told her off, even as he scolded her for going too far, there was something else that had been said there—that she was different now compared to then.
She was a woman.
And Gian De Luca was a very good-looking man.
She had known that, of course. His undoubtedly handsome looks had always been there—something she had registered, but only at a surface level. Yet today it had felt as if she’d been handed a pair of magical eyeglasses and she wanted to weep as she saw colour for the first time.
He was beautiful.
Exquisitely so.
His jet-black hair framed a haughty face, and his mouth, though unsmiling, was plump in contrast to the razor-sharp cheekbones and straight nose.
She could not be in lust with Gian and work for him—that would never ever do!
She wanted to pull off those imaginary glasses, to be plunged back into a monotone world, where Gian De Luca was just, well...