‘First, explain to me why you stole,’ Gian had persisted. ‘You have the money to pay.’
‘Stefano dared me to,’ Ariana had admitted. ‘I haven’t eaten it, though. The chocolate is still under my bed, but I feel ill when I try to say my prayers...’
Gian had taken her in to the store and Ariana had duly apologised and paid for the chocolate, and, no, he had not told Dante or Rafael. Instead he’d had a quiet word with Stefano. ‘You want to steal,’ he had said to the young boy, ‘then at least have the guts to do it yourself.’
Another time, some years later, Stefano had been caught smoking and Ariana had arrived here in Gian’s office and begged him to impersonate her father when the school inevitably rang.
‘Why would they ring here?’ Gian had frowned.
‘Because I told Stefano to say that Papà is here at La Fiordelise on business.’
Ariana was a minx and far too skilled at lying. Gian had of course declined to cover for Stefano, and had spoken to Rafael himself.
There was always drama surrounding Ariana, though it was not always of her own making—just two years ago, in the midst of her parents’ scandalous divorce, she had found out that her father was ill and Ariana had sat in Gian’s office, being fed tissues but not false promises.
Yes, he had kept his door open to her, but—
‘If I hire you,’ Gian said, very carefully, ‘all that stops.’
And suddenly, if the safety net of Gian was going to be removed, Ariana didn’t know if she wanted her career any more—not that he seemed to notice her dilemma.
‘Who the hell orders champagne at a job interview?’ Gian mused.
‘It was my first ever interview,’ Ariana admitted. ‘I sensed your irritation and was trying to drag things out.’
‘Well done, you, then,’ Gian said, and then sighed because he did not need Ariana under his precious roof, and the drama that would undoubtedly entail. ‘Why here, Ariana? Why La Fiordelise, Rome?’
‘Because I love it,’ she admitted. She looked up at the high ceilings and the gilded mirrors and the beauty that never failed to capture her heart. There was a sense of peace and calm that Gian had created, a haven that somehow made her feel safe. ‘I am sure your other hotels are stunning—in fact, I have stayed in the London one several times—it is just...’ She tried her best to explain it. ‘There is so much history here, so much...’ She faltered and then pushed on. ‘It was your great-great-grandfather’s?’ she checked.
‘You will learn the history in your induction.’
‘Can you at least give me the condensed version?’ Ariana asked, running a hand along a marble column and frowning at an indentation, a mar in perfection.
‘That is a bullet hole,’ Gian told her, ‘from when the hotel became a fortress in the Second World War.’
She breathed in, shivering at the history and aching, actually aching, to know more. But Gian was glancing beyond her shoulder now, and Ariana sensed she was running out of her allotted time. ‘Can I see the penthouse suite? The original one?’
‘No.’
‘Please.’
God, Gian thought, she was incessant. ‘There might be guests.’
‘I’m sure you would know.’
He sighed. ‘You are most persistent.’ He took out his phone and though he knew there were no guests due in the most expensive suite until tomorrow, he double-checked just to be sure, and almost sighed when he saw that indeed it was vacant. ‘Very well, but only briefly.’
As they took the elevator up, Ariana had a question. ‘Is your apartment on the penthouse floor?’
‘No, though it is where I grew up,’ Gian told her, ‘but when I took over La Fiordelise, I decided I could not afford the luxury of misappropriating the hotel’s most valuable asset.’
As well as that, the penthouse floor had been the loneliest place in the world for Gian. He would sometimes glimpse his parents drifting off to some event, or hear first the laughter and merriment of parties, and then lie drenched in dread as the gathering flared and got out of hand.
But as dark as his memories were, the penthouse floor was an asset indeed. This was confirmed by her gasp as she stepped into the main suite.
Rome was spread out before them and from this vantage she looked down at the square and across to Palazzo Pamphili, where her brother’s wedding would be held, but that was not all that held her gaze. She wandered the vast space, taking in the ornaments and oil paintings that surely belonged behind a rope in a gallery and yet they were there for the luckiest guests to take in at their leisure.
‘This corridor can be closed off,’ Gian explained as she peered into the spare bedrooms, each as exquisite as the next; there was even a gorgeous library that had a huge fire, just waiting to be lit.
And then he showed her the master suite and it felt as if she wasn’t just in Rome but was at the very centre of it. The bed was draped in gold, the intricately painted ceilings a masterpiece of their own, and it was as if the walls had their own pulse. Ariana was rich, but there was, of course, a pecking order, and the Penthouse Suite was not Ariana’s domain. ‘Is this where my parents would stay for the Romano Ball?’
Her question went unanswered, for Gian never commented on the sleeping arrangements of his guests and anyway, her eyes would fall out if he told her the truth.
‘And now Dante?’ she persisted.
Still he said nothing, and it was Ariana who filled the gap. ‘I could live here for ever,’ she sighed, sinking onto a plump lounge and kicking off her stilettoes.
‘Believe me...’ Gian started, but did not finish.
Certainly, he would not be sharing with Ariana that he loathed coming up here. There were just too many memories that resided here. Instead, he pointed out another of its disadvantages. ‘It takes for ever to clean, which you might soon find out,’ Gian said with a wry edge, and he watched as she tucked her slender legs under her. ‘A full two days to service properly.’
‘Let me dream for a moment,’ she sighed. ‘So this was built for the Duke’s mistress?’
‘Incorrect.’
‘Correct me then,’ Ariana said, her voice dropping to huskiness as, for the first time in her life, she officially flirted. Not that Gian even noticed, for he proceeded to give her a history lesson.
‘It was officially built for the Duke and the Duchess,’ Gian told her. ‘It was actually first called La Duchessa,’ Gian said, ‘well, officially, but the locals all called it La Fiordelise...’
She watched as he pulled back some ornate panelling to reveal a heavy door and in it a silver key. ‘Fiordelise lived through here.’
He turned the key and pushed open the door to reveal another completely separate penthouse suite, in feminine reds and with a view of the square and a personality of its own. Yet he was somewhat surprised when the rather nosy Ariana did not untangle her long legs and pad over to look at the sumptuous boudoir. Instead she screwed up her nose. ‘The poor Duchess.’ Her sloe eyes narrowed. ‘How awful to live with just a wall between you and your husband’s mistress.’
‘You don’t find the story of La Fiordelise romantic?’
‘History makes it appear romantic.’ Ariana shrugged. ‘I find it offensive.’
Of course, given her father’s supposed affair with Mia, he guessed that infidelity would be one of her hot buttons, but he sensed that her thoughts had been formed long ago. There was a side to Ariana he had never seen: a free thinker was in there, though somewhat suppressed.
‘Why do you find it so offensive?’ Gian asked. ‘Things were very different back then.’
‘I doubt feelings were different,’ Ariana said. ‘And I hate it that the Duchess had to vie for his attention. You would hope, once married, all that would stop.’
‘All what?’
‘Being shut out. It should have been the Duchess on his
mind, not Fiordelise.’
Gian looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You have a very idealistic view of marriage.’
‘Absolutely I do,’ Ariana agreed. She stood and padded over to where Fiordelise had once resided and, standing in the doorway with him, peered into the opulent, sensual, feminine suite. Yet she did not set as much as a foot inside, just faced him in the doorway. ‘And that is why I am still single.’
His eyes never left her face as she continued to speak. ‘My mother has spent the last quarter of a century planning my wedding—any old billionaire will do—but I shall only marry for love.’ She smiled at him then and teased him a little. ‘Do you even know what that word means, Gian?’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘and I don’t care to find out.’
‘As is your prerogative, but it is mine to feel sad for the Duchess. What was her name?’
‘Violetta,’ Gian answered, ‘like...’ He hesitated, for he had been about to compare the name to Ariana’s eyes. For several reasons, that would not be a sensible thing to do. Neither was the way he was looking into them right now.
Yes, he had noticed the huskiness of her voice and the earlier batting of her eyelashes. There was a friction in the Ariana-scented air, and his hand wanted to know for itself the softness of her cheek—so much so that Gian had to focus on not lifting his hand and cupping her face.
Gian, despite his formidable reputation, had scruples, and to kiss her, as he now desired to, while still involved with Svetlana was not something he would do.
And, aside from that, this was Ariana Romano.
The daughter of a man he respected and the little sister of his lifelong friend. And soon to be an employee. A casual affair she could never be, and that was all Gian wanted or knew.
Ariana Romano was completely off limits.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘VIOLETTA.’ ARIANA REPEATED the name of the forgotten Duchess while gazing into his eyes. ‘That’s beautiful.’
She practically handed him a response—and so are you—except Gian refused to rise to the bait.
Or rather he fought not to rise.
They stood facing each other in the doorway, their bodies almost as close as when they danced their one duty dance each year at the Romano Foundation Ball.
And he was as turned on as he had been while holding her in that dress of silver.
Of course it had been more than an educated guess, for she had looked utterly stunning that night.
Gian was well aware of his past with women.
And he was decided on his future too.
Casual, temporary, fleeting, there were many ways to describe the nature of his relationships, except entering into any of the above with Ariana was an impossible concept. If they were seen out more than a couple of times the press would soon get hold of it and her mother would too. As much as Angela resented Gian for holding Rafael’s second wedding here, she would forgive him in an instant to have a title in the family.
No, there could be no kisses, though certainly the moment was ripe for one...
‘What?’ Ariana said. She could feel a sudden charge in the air, a slight frisson that had her on her guard. She assumed he was displeased and wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have brought up the Duchess’s name, or been so derisive of Fiordelise.
Ariana could not read men.
Well, not real men, which Gian undoubtedly was.
She could read fake men, who wanted to be seen with her just for appearances’ sake. And though she tried to convince herself they cared, she could never bring herself to take it beyond anything other than a tasteless kiss.
Despite popular gossip, Ariana was completely untouched.
Her flirting was all for the cameras.
No, she could not read this man, who stared into her eyes and gritted his jaw and, in the absence of experience, she assumed he was displeased. ‘I’ve offended you,’ Ariana said. Completely misreading the tension, she shrugged, not caring in the least if she had upset him by refusing to rave about the mistress, Fiordelise.
‘You haven’t offended me,’ Gian said, snapping back into business mode. ‘I’m just telling you the history of the place—as you asked.’
‘Well, I’ve enjoyed hearing it.’
It was nice to be here with Gian.
Nice to have a conversation that was about more than the latest fashion or who was sleeping with whom.
It was, quite simply, nice.
‘Tell me more,’ Ariana said, walking back through to the master bedroom and resuming her place on the lounge. Bending over, she pulled on one of her suede stilettoes.
‘There’s not much more to tell.’
‘Liar.’ She smiled and caught his eye. ‘Go on,’ she persisted, ‘tell me something that no one else knows.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ she asked, peering up at him through her eyelashes as she wedged the other shoe on.
Usually, Gian could not wait to get out of the Penthouse Suite, yet Ariana was so curious and the company so pleasing that he decided the world could surely wait and he told her a titbit that very few knew. ‘The Duke had a ring made for Fiordelise.’
‘A ring?’ That got her interest and Gian watched as her pupils dilated at the speed of a cat’s. ‘What was it like?’
‘It is the insignia of the hotel,’ Gian told her. ‘The Duke would only ever let her look at it, though; she never once put it on. He held onto it on the promise that one day he would marry her.’
‘I’m liking the Duke less and less,’ Ariana said, smiling.
‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that when the Duchess died and he offered Fiordelise the ring, she declined it.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. By then she had fallen in love with a servant. The old Duke was too tired to be angry, and too embarrassed by her rejection to ever admit the truth. Fiordelise saw out her days in her boudoir with her manservant tending to her needs...’
‘Good for her.’ Ariana smirked.
‘Don’t tell the guests, though.’
She laughed, and it sounded like a chandelier had caught the wind.
Right there, in the presidential suite of his signature hotel, something shifted for Gian.
Ariana was more than beautiful.
And she was more complex than he had known.
More, he admired her for the mutinous act of trying to shed her pampered existence—with conditions of course. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to keep the reluctance from his tone as they left the vast and luxurious cocoon of the suite.
‘What’s down there?’ Ariana asked as they came out into the corridor and she saw that there was a door on the other side. ‘Is there another penthouse suite?’
‘No, there’s a butler’s room and kitchen and some storage space...’ His expression was grim as she wandered off to explore. What was now the butler’s room had been home for his many nannies. ‘What’s this one for?’ she asked, and peered into a dour windowless room, unaware it was where Gian had slept as a child. There were shelves holding spare laptops, computer screens, chargers, adaptors, magnifying mirrors, straightening irons, and anything else a guest might have forgotten or need. ‘Miscellaneous items.’ Ariana concluded.
‘Precisely.’
Oh, that frisson was back, only it felt different this time, and Ariana was quite sure that this time he really was displeased so she closed the door on the windowless room.
They were soon in the elevator. That clinging scent she wore was reaching him again, and he turned rather harshly towards her. ‘If you do commence work at La Fiordelise you should know that perfume is banned for staff. It is not pleasant for the guests as some have allergies.’
‘You wear cologne,’ Ariana rather belligerently pointed out, for those citrus and bergamot notes had long been the signature of h
is greeting and the scent she breathed once a year when they danced.
‘Yes, but I am not servicing the rooms. Please remember not to wear perfume for work.’
‘I don’t wear perfume.’
‘Oh, please.’
‘But I don’t.’ Ariana frowned. ‘My skin is too sensitive.’
He wanted to debate it, to point out that the small elevator smelt of sunshine and rain and an undernote that he could not define, but the doors opened and he stepped out to the relative neutrality of Reception. He would have a word with Vanda, Gian decided. She could talk to her about perfume and such, because policing Ariana would no doubt be a full-time job! ‘Are you sure you aren’t just coveting the suit and pearls that my guest services managers wear?’ Gian checked, as Bianca, one of his senior staff, smiled a greeting as she passed.
‘Of course, not.’ Ariana shook her head and flushed at her own lie, because the gorgeous blush tartan outfits were divine. ‘I’m not that shallow. I really want this, Gian.’
‘Well, I mean it, Ariana. If you blow this, I shall not be giving you another chance. You are to be here at seven on Monday morning,’ Gian said. ‘If you’re late, if you’re ill, if your arm is hanging off, I still don’t want to hear it. Any problems, any issues, any excuses are no longer my concern. Vanda shall deal with you.’
And no doubt Vanda would soon fire her. ‘I will say goodbye to you here,’ he said.
‘I need to collect my bag from your office.’
Of course she did!
He tried not to notice the feeling of the sun stepping into his office again as they walked in. ‘Thank you for the tour.’ Ariana smiled, ‘I absolutely loved hearing about the Duke and Duchess, and Fiordelise, even if I do not approve. I’m glad she never got to wear the ring.’
He should conclude the meeting. They were already running over her unallotted time and Svetlana was waiting impatiently in the Pianoforte Bar, yet such was her enthusiasm, so unexpected the brightness of her company that instead of dismissing her Gian headed to the safe hidden in his wall.
The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Page 4