How to accept his terms and conditions and somehow let him go with grace.
Gian lay there breathing in the scent of brewing coffee, trying to pinpoint the moment he had started wanting her.
On the day of her farcical interview, when he’d first noticed the true colour of her eyes? No, a more honest examination told him it had been before that, and even Ariana herself had voiced it: the night of the silver ball.
Or had it been when she’d swept into the planning meeting and said she wanted silver as a theme?
Instead of gritting his teeth, he had found himself smiling, at least on the inside, for Gian rarely showed how he truly felt.
But, no, while it might have started then, for Gian things had really changed the night she had worn silver. Rafael had not been there, and Gian had stood by Ariana’s side as she played host. He’d been in awe of how long she’d smiled with the guests and carried on with grace.
He’d wanted to take her aside and tell her that he knew how hard this was, and how proud of her he felt. Instead, they had danced their duty dance and he had held her back from him with rigid arms so she would not feel how turned on he was and how he had ached to drop a kiss on her mouth, on her bare shoulder.
And he was hard for her again.
‘Colazione!’ Ariana announced breakfast as she came into the room and blinked at his obvious arousal. ‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘I’m far too sore for that.’
‘Sore?’
She nodded. ‘Nicely sore, the best sore ever.’ Oh, God, she wanted him again, but then the ice cream would melt and her phone had already pinged in several messages. She had Nicki coming round and she had to do this without starting to cry. ‘Eat,’ she told him. ‘You can have the chocolate one.’
It sounded like she was making a concession, but Gian could tell when she was lying. ‘I want the other one.’
‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I’ll let you have the chocolate one.’
‘But I want the pistachio.’
‘And cardamom.’ Ariana sighed and handed the one she really wanted to him. ‘I put in extra when I made it.’
Gian, though used to breakfast in bed, was not used to this—just sitting in bed, eating and tasting food with a woman, and taking bites of each other’s.
Bites so big she nearly lost her fingers to his mouth, and they laughed as they fought over food. ‘You really made this?’ he checked.
‘Not the croissant, just the ice cream. I’m going to make salted roast chestnut next, and I shall get them from the same vendor. They were the best I’ve tasted...’
‘They’re just chestnuts.’
‘No,’ she said, and then she gave him the speech she had prepared in her kitchen. ‘They kept me warm. You kept me warm last night, Gian, even if you did not share my bed. You cared for me last night and then again this morning and I thank you.’
She had surprised him, and then she surprised him further when, with breakfast done, it was Ariana herself who suggested he leave. ‘You’d better go. Mamma might drop in.’
‘Doesn’t she call first?’ Gian asked.
‘No,’ Ariana said. ‘I always ask her to but then she reminds me that she’s my mother and shouldn’t need an appointment...’
‘I’ll get dressed then.’
‘Have a shower,’ she offered.
He declined, or he would be trailing a floral boutique all day if he used her scents. ‘I’ll have one back at the hotel.’
It was odd, Ariana thought as she lay watching him dress, that he did not call La Fiordelise home.
‘I like you unshaven,’ she admitted. ‘You’re always so...’ she fought to find the right word ‘...well-presented and groomed.’
‘It’s my job to be.’
‘Perhaps, but...’ She shrugged and his eyes narrowed, trying to interpret yet another of her actions, for those slender shoulders could say many things.
‘But what?’
‘Nothing.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘There are other sides to you, I’m sure. I guess I won’t find out now.’
‘You could. Why not tell the doorman to lie and say you’re out?’
‘He’s so lazy he’d forget,’ Ariana rolled her eyes and tried to sound casual, when in truth she wanted to cry and cling onto his leg and beg him to never leave.
Not a good look, that much she knew!
‘You really ought to go,’ she said as he buckled his belt, though she wanted to reach up and unbuckle it so she was only half listening as he spoke.
‘So how do you have a private life, with her dropping in and out? How do you have a...?’ And then his voice faded. After all, this morning had been her sex life to date. ‘You’ll be okay?’ he checked as he did up the buttons of his shirt and half tucked it in.
‘Yes.’
‘If you’re not...’
‘Gian,’ Ariana broke in. ‘I have my family and I have my friends.’ He hovered on the edge of both of her inner circles but was not fully in either. She felt the indent of the mattress as he sat down and bent over to do up his laces, and though she ached to reach out to him, Ariana told him of the practicalities of her day. ‘Also, Nicki is dropping by to tell me about her holiday...’
He sat up and looked right at her. ‘As opposed to coming by to see how you’re faring after the loss of your father?’
‘Of course she’s coming for that.’ Her eyes narrowed as she took in his sulking mouth; she knew he didn’t like Nicki. ‘It’s a bit early in the relationship for you to be dictating who I see. Oh, that’s right, it’s not a relationship, and even if it were...’ she gave him a tight smile ‘...that still wouldn’t give you a right to say who my friends are, Gian.’
‘Fine.’ He put up two hands to indicate he was dropping it.
And he was!
Ariana was right. It was not his place to call out her friends but, still, that Nicki got his goat.
All of Ariana’s hangers-on did.
‘Look,’ he said, and Ariana could feel him weighing things up before he spoke. ‘I think you were right about working. I do think you’d be an asset for the hotel and if we can both...’ He reached over and toyed with a thick coil of her black hair that sat on her collarbone as he spoke, but she pushed his hand away and her response was sudden.
‘No!’
She could not work for him; far too much had changed.
‘I can’t work for you, Gian,’ she said, and used another inevitable truth to disguise the real reason. ‘Mamma’s going to need me now more than ever.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
HER MOTHER DID indeed need her more than ever.
In the tumultuous weeks following her father’s death, Ariana’s mother’s demands were relentless.
It was still by appointment only—Angela Romano liked her make-up, jewellery and the day’s carefully chosen wig perfectly arranged before even her daughter dropped around.
Yet the lunches were endless.
As she sat there, twirling a shred of prosciutto on a fork, Ariana fought to quell a surge of anger as her mother called over the sommelier to tell him that the champagne was a little flat. She wondered how someone so supposedly bereft with grief would even notice, let alone have the energy to complain!
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Ariana said, placing a hand over her glass. ‘I really do need to get going, Mamma,’ she said, reaching for her bag. ‘I’m meeting Dante.’
‘Oh, he can wait.’
‘Mamma, please, I said I’d be there at three.’ She tried to temper her irritation. ‘I really do have to go...’ Her voice trailed off because she didn’t want to worry her mother, but Dante’s mood of late was pretty grim and nothing seemed to be getting done for the Romano Ball—the invitations hadn’t even gone out and it was just a few weeks away. ‘Would you like me to come over this evening?’
‘No, no.’ Angela shook her head. �
��I have the priest coming over tonight.’
‘Well, take care.’ Ariana kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I shall see you soon.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Angela checked. ‘Here? Or perhaps we could go shopping...’ She ran a disapproving eye over Ariana’s navy shift dress and espadrilles. ‘We could get you something a little less last year.’
Ariana had never felt more stifled and wished not for the first time that there was more purpose and structure to her day. She took a taxi to Romano Holdings in the EUR district, craning her neck as they passed La Fiordelise. She wished she was working there.
And then she flushed with sheer pleasure when she recalled the very reason she now could not.
It was her favourite memory, a harbour in troubled times she could return to, yet there was confusion there too—how, from the very moment they had kissed, Gian had started the countdown to the end.
She had stopped having drinks there on a Friday. Well, Paulo had been banned and Nicki said they should no longer go in solidarity with their friend.
Except Ariana had loved going there...
‘Signorina?’
The voice of the driver startled her and Ariana realised they had arrived. Time tended to run away whenever she thought of Gian, and so she determinedly put him out of her mind as she walked into the plush office building.
Sarah, Dante’s PA, gave her a smile. ‘Go through,’ she said and then added, ‘Good luck.’
‘Do I need it?’ Ariana joked, but then all joking faded when she saw him. ‘Dante!’ She could not keep the surprise from her voice when she saw her older brother, looking less than his put-together self, for his complexion was grey and his shirt was crumpled and there was just such a heavy air to him. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked as she went over and kissed his cheeks and gave him a hug. ‘I’ve barely seen you. Mamma is saying the same.’
‘Well, work has been busy.’
‘I’m sure it has.’ She nodded. ‘What’s happening about the ball?’
‘It’s all under control. I’m meeting with Gian at five to finalise the details...’ His voice trailed off. There was a strange atmosphere in the office, and for an appalling moment she wondered if Dante had found out about their one illicit night, or rather illicit morning.
‘And?’ she asked with a nervous laugh. ‘What are the final details?’
Dante said nothing.
‘How are we addressing Papà’s passing?’ Ariana pushed.
‘I’m sure Gian will take care of that.’
‘But in the will Papà asked that his children take care of the ball,’ Ariana said, but then stopped and sat chewing the edge of her thumbnail. She was worried about Dante. Though not as close to him as she had always been to Stefano, she knew there was something wrong. He was grieving for their father, but she couldn’t help but think there was more to it than that. ‘Is everything okay, Dante?’ she ventured.
‘Of course.’
‘You can talk to me. I might just understand.’ He closed his eyes, as if she couldn’t possibly. ‘Look, why don’t I meet with Gian?’ There was genuinely no ulterior motive, just a need to get the ball right for their father. ‘I can take over the ball...’
‘Would you?’ Dante’s relief was evident.
‘Of course.’ Ariana nodded.
It was only then that her nerves caught up!
Ariana walked by the laghetto for a full hour. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom and the park looked stunning, and if there was a little trepidation about coming face to face with Gian it was soon displaced as something else took hold. Excitement. It felt like for ever since her brain had been put to work.
Sitting on a bench, looking at the blossom swirl and float like pink snow, it was the perfect place for her imagination to wander. Scrabbling in her bag, she took out a journal and started to make notes.
It was exhilarating, cathartic, and there were tears in her eyes as memories danced while words formed on the page. It was right that she take over the ball, Ariana knew, for she knew how best to celebrate her father.
Ariana wasn’t even nervous about facing Gian.
She had so much to tell him.
‘I have Ariana Romano in Reception to see you,’ Luna informed him.
‘Ariana?’ Gian frowned. ‘But I thought I was meeting with Dante...’
‘Well, Ariana is here instead.’
‘Fine.’ Gian did his level best to act as if it were of no consequence that it was Ariana who had just arrived. It was an informal meeting, but also a very necessary meeting. One that Gian had pushed for, given Dante seemed to have—both figuratively and literally—dropped the ball. ‘Send her through.’
Damn.
Gian usually had no qualms about facing an ex-lover, but with Ariana it felt different indeed.
It was because they were family friends, he told himself, steadfastly refusing to examine his feelings further than that.
It had been weeks since the funeral and to his quiet surprise he had heard nothing from Ariana. He had expected the demanding, rather clingy Ariana to drape herself like bindweed around one of the columns in Reception, or at the very least find an accidental reason for her to drop by.
And now she was here.
He was curious as to her mood, and very determined to get things back on a more regular footing, as if they had never made love.
As if they had not sat eating ice cream naked in her bed.
She stepped into his office, and brought with her an Italian spring. He had to consciously remind himself to greet her the same way he would have before...
‘Ariana...’ He stood and went round his desk and of course kissed her cheeks. There were dots of pink blossom in her hair and he had to resist lifting his hand and carefully picking them out. ‘This is unexpected...’
‘I know.’ She gave him an apologetic smile and an eye-roll as she took her seat but she was too excited to be awkward around him. ‘Dante and I agreed that I will take over the final preparations for the ball. Believe me, I did not engineer it...’
He knew she spoke the truth.
For Ariana with a secret agenda would be immaculate, rather than bare-legged and a little tousled. Plus, she was more animated than he had ever seen her and dived straight in.
‘Firstly, I don’t want to go with the forest theme...’
‘Thank God,’ Gian said. ‘What theme do you have in mind?’
‘None,’ Ariana said. ‘I want the ballroom to speak for itself, and I want gardenias on each table. He loved them.’
‘Yes.’
‘And orchids...’ she said, but Gian reacted with a wavering gesture with his hand.
‘Not together,’ he said.
‘Perhaps by his photo?’
Gian nodded.
‘And I want to change the menu.’ She handed him a sheet of paper she had torn from a pad.
He said nothing as he read through it, for Ariana did all the talking. ‘These were my father’s favourites,’ she said. ‘I thought we could use some produce from his estate...’
‘One moment,’ Gian said. She sat tapping her feet as, suddenly in the midst of this most important meeting, he simply got up and walked out. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said a moment later when he returned. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘I don’t think it should be a solemn night, but if we can acknowledge him in the food and wine...’
She spoke for almost two hours. There was no champagne brought in, just sparkling water, which she took grateful sips of between pouring out ideas. There was no flirting, no reference to what had happened, no alluding to it, just a determination to get this important night right.
‘What about the wording for the invitations?’ Gian said. ‘Mia is technically the host...’
‘No!’ Only then did she flare. ‘We don’t even know if she’s coming.’
‘I’ll work on the wording,’ Gian agreed. ‘Leave Mia to me. I think your ideas are excellent. There’s a lot to do but I agree it has to be perfect. Why don’t we try the dinner menu now?’
‘Now?’ she frowned.
‘I asked Luna to give your menu to my head chef. He is preparing a sample menu...’
She had her dinner invitation.
He never took dates to the hotel’s restaurant, but Ariana wasn’t his date. It was business, Gian told himself as they were shown to his table. It looked out onto the restaurant but was private enough for conversation to take place.
‘I wish I was better dressed,’ Ariana admitted as a huge napkin was placed in her lap. Her clothes were better suited for lunch, or even a gentle lakeside walk, certainly not fine dining in La Fiordelise.
‘You look...’ He hesitated, for he did not tell his business dates they looked stunning or beautiful. ‘Completely fine.’ Gian settled for that, yet it felt as flat as the iced water that was being poured, and as shallow as the bowl in which a waterlily floated. ‘You look stunning,’ Gian admitted. ‘Especially with pink blossom in your hair.’
Ariana laughed and raked a hand through her mane. ‘I was walking by the office; the blossom is out and it’s so beautiful.’
‘And so fleeting.’
Like us, she wanted to say as she dropped a few petals from her hair into the water lily bowl between them. ‘Yes, so fleeting,’ Ariana agreed, ‘but worth it.’
It was the briefest, and the only reference to what they had shared.
The starter was ravioli stuffed with pecorino with a creamy white truffle sauce and it brought a smile to her lips as it was placed on the table and she signalled the waiter to rain pepper upon it.
‘Taste it first,’ he told her.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘If it is cooked to my father’s taste then to my mind it needs more pepper and a little less salt.’ She signalled to the waiter for even more.
‘You love your pepper.’
‘I do! And he loved this pasta so much.’
‘I know,’ Gian told her. ‘It was served on the night La Fiordelise came back to life.’ He put down his fork and though he had never told another living soul the details, if ever there was a time to, it was now. ‘Your father saved La Fiordelise.’
The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Page 9