The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2)

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Saved it?’

  ‘Yes. It was practically empty of guests and running on a skeleton staff when my family died.’

  She looked up.

  ‘Papà gave you a loan?’

  ‘Not as such.’

  Ariana frowned.

  ‘I inherited a disaster,’ Gian said, ‘and, believe me, the banks agreed...’ He hesitated at how much to tell her and decided, for this part of Rafael’s life at least, there was no need for brevity and so as the main course was served he told her what had happened. ‘Your father suggested buying into the business.’

  ‘Really?’ Ariana hadn’t known that. ‘But he didn’t?’

  ‘No.’ Gian shook his head. ‘I refused his offer.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘I prefer to rise or fall alone,’ Gian said. ‘I did not see that the hotel could be saved. Still, not everyone was aware that it was on the brink of going under, and I told your father about a request to host some royalty on their trip to Rome. Top secret, of course...

  ‘I couldn’t consider it, but your father said it was a chance to turn things around. The Penthouse Suite was still incredible—my parents always kept the best for themselves—and the dining room was, of course, in good shape. And so word got around...’

  ‘How?’ Ariana frowned. ‘If it was top secret?’

  Gian smiled. ‘He told your mother.’ There was a tiny feeling of triumph to see Ariana laugh. ‘Before we knew it, the hotel was at full quota for a certain weekend in February.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The helicopter brought in the best produce from your father’s estate and the best wines. And my staff worked like they never had before. That’s why now I only hire staff who can work in all areas. I had the chief bartender making up suites. Luna herself got the Penthouse Suite ready...’

  ‘My goodness.’

  ‘It was the biggest charade and it went off superbly and La Fiordelise shuddered back to life.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Not just like that,’ Gian corrected. ‘Years of hard work.’

  The main course was just as delicious but when it came to dessert, Ariana could not choose from her father’s favourites, which were all being served.

  ‘I think we choose the two best, and of course ice cream,’ Gian said, ‘though not this.’ He frowned as his silver spoon sliced through a quenelle of ice cream from her menu and pulled a face as he tasted it. ‘Tutti-frutti?’

  ‘It was his favourite,’ Ariana said. ‘Every summer, in the evening, he would send me to the shop to get a cone for him.’

  ‘Really?’ Gian checked, and he watched a little flush of pink spread up her neck. ‘Because I seem to remember that you would go to the store for ice cream and when you came back with this flavour your papà always declined his cone.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You have it wrong.’

  ‘And Stefano would complain that he didn’t like tutti-frutti either, and so you would end up having to eat all three.’

  ‘You’re getting mixed up,’ Ariana said haughtily, and she dipped her spoon into the quenelle. He watched as she took a taste and closed her eyes in bliss, then opened them to him and looked right at him. ‘He loved that ice cream.’

  Rafael probably had, Gian conceded. Not so much the sickly-sweet candied ice cream, more the little games Ariana constantly played.

  ‘Well, it’s not going on the menu,’ Gian said. ‘It’s...’ He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘A simple affogato is a better way to round off the meal.’ He watched her pout. ‘Ariana, you are one of the few people in the world who like tutti-frutti ice cream. Trust me on that.’

  ‘I suppose you know best,’ she said in her best pained voice.

  ‘There is no suppose about it.’

  ‘It would mean so much to me, though...’

  Wearily he took another taste and, as he did so, Ariana did her sneaky best and pulled on all her inner resources so that crocodile tears pooled in her violet eyes.

  It did nothing to move that black heart, though.

  ‘No,’ Gian said, and put down his spoon and, as if to prove how awful her dessert of choice was, took a drink of water before speaking again. ‘Would you like some amaro or a cognac?’ Gian suggested, but Ariana shook her head.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Are you sulking?’ he asked.

  ‘A little bit,’ she admitted, and then smiled despite herself. ‘Of course not. I just ought to get home...’ She looked away then, because the reason she could not stay was surely there in her eyes.

  She wanted her cognac.

  But not here.

  Ariana wanted to curl up with him elsewhere, to talk, to kiss, but most dangerous of all she actually ached to know him better.

  And if she stayed she would cross a line. The business meeting had surely concluded and to keep it at that, she needed to leave. ‘Thank you for a lovely dinner.’

  ‘I’ll arrange a car—’

  ‘Gian,’ she cut in, ‘the concierge can do that.’

  ‘Then I’ll walk you out.’

  They stood at the entrance and tried to pretend that they had never tumbled naked into bed, had never been more than old friends.

  ‘Your ideas are excellent,’ Gian said as the doorman blew his whistle to summon a vehicle.

  ‘Except for dessert.’

  ‘Except for dessert,’ he agreed.

  ‘And you think it’s okay not to have a theme?’

  ‘I think it’s better.’ Gian nodded. ‘It’s going to be a tricky night...’

  ‘Yes,’ Ariana agreed.

  They had been over this already. The car pulled up and it was time to stay or leave.

  ‘Gian—’ she started, for she wanted so badly to ask why there was no possible hope for them.

  ‘I’ll say goodnight,’ Gian cut in, because if he didn’t he would break his own rules about separate lives and kiss her beneath the lights and take her to his private apartment where no lover had ever gone. And they would take things further than he’d ever dared, for no one was permitted a place in his closed-off heart.

  And so he kissed her on both cheeks, and as he did so a little pink petal that had been hanging temptingly from a strand of her jet-black hair, just waiting for him to pick it off, glided down to his lapel. Her eyes drifted down. ‘You’re wearing my blossom.’

  He glanced down. ‘Yes.’

  She would not be Svetlana, Ariana decided, and pick it off. Or one of the doubtless many others that had come before her and dared to demand more. She bunched her fist so hard that her nails dug into her palm, and smiled. ‘You’d better tidy yourself up then.’

  To her everlasting credit, Ariana got into the car and went home alone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BY AND BY, the Romano Ball drew closer.

  Gian had quickly forged a strictly business code.

  There were emails and phone calls and even a couple of face-to-face meetings, but there was no low-level flirting or alluding to them.

  For there was no them.

  If anything, it was all so professional that Ariana actually wondered if she’d completely misread the mood that night after dinner, if it really had all been just business to him.

  Sometimes she wondered what might have happened if she hadn’t asked him to leave her apartment that morning, because she’d been unable to grasp at the time that it really was to be the end of them.

  Sometimes she just stared into space for a whole afternoon, blinking as she realised it was getting dark, just wondering about him.

  A man who did not want love.

  Everyone breathed a private sigh of relief when Angela Romano, unable to bear Rome at the time of the Romano Ball, headed off on a cruise.

  Phew!

  Ariana l
ay in bed, so relieved not to have to do lunch and placate her mother as well as focus her attention on both Stefano and Eloa’s wedding, which she was now helping with a little, and organise the ball.

  Even when the final menu cards came, Ariana merely fired back a confirmation, saying that they looked wonderful and she was certain her father would approve.

  There was not as much as a breath of tutti-frutti between them.

  Or references to pink blossom.

  Or hints about a moonlit night and a deep kiss by the eternal flame.

  It was just:

  Gian, regarding the orchids, Roberto will bring them on the day...

  Blah, blah, blah...

  And in turn Gian, kept to his side of the deal. Or he tried to.

  Ariana, regarding the seating plan...

  But two days from the big day, he was finally so irritated that he picked up the phone and called her. ‘I don’t understand the problem with Nicki,’ Gian said. ‘We managed to find her a seat...’ He chose not to add that Nicki was being accommodated at the exclusion of a potential paying guest and this ball was a very high-end ticket indeed. ‘What is her issue?’

  ‘The table is near the back,’ Ariana explained, ‘and with Paulo not coming because you banned him—’

  ‘I will ban anyone who is abusive to my staff, which he was.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t know anyone she’s seated with. She was hoping to bring a friend.’

  ‘You’re her friend,’ Gian rather tersely pointed out. ‘Would you like me to move you to sit with her, because there simply isn’t room at the top table.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Ariana said. ‘Has Mia RSVP’d yet?’

  He knew, even before she asked, that Nicki must have asked her the same question ‘Because, if she doesn’t come then there’ll be a space.’

  ‘Ariana.’ It was the first time they had crossed to anything remotely personal. ‘I told both you and Dante that you are to leave Mia to me.’

  ‘Yes, but if she isn’t even coming...’

  ‘You cannot give Mia’s place to...’ to one of your freeloaders, he was tempted to add, but refrained and reminded himself that this was a business discussion. In truth, if the Romanos wanted a flock of geese seated at the head table then it was his job to accommodate it. He took a breath. Where Ariana was concerned, it was almost impossible to draw the line and differentiate between personal and professional. ‘However,’ Gian said, ‘if you want Nicki at the top table so desperately then she can have my seat.’

  ‘But where would you sit?’ Ariana asked, loathing the thought of him not being next to her. Gian was always seated by her side at the Romano Ball, but now it seemed like he was willing to break that tradition.

  ‘In the seat to which she is currently assigned. I’ll be working the room anyway. Nicki can have my seat, if that is what you want.’

  ‘No, no,’ Ariana rapidly broke in, blushing as she declined his cold and practical solution to salvage her seat beside Gian. ‘Just leave it as it is.’

  ‘Very well,’ Gian clipped. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Should there be?’

  ‘No.’ Gian was assured. ‘Everything is under control.’

  Except himself, but he was working on that, determined to erase that forbidden morning from his thoughts.

  He did not need the complication of Ariana Romano in his life, he insisted to himself. He just had to get past the ball.

  It wasn’t just Ariana that was worrying him, though.

  Trouble loomed in another Romano direction...

  ‘Dante!’ Gian shook his friend’s hand and invited him to take a seat when he arrived unannounced the day before the ball. ‘I just spoke with Ariana this morning...’

  ‘I hear it’s all under control.’

  ‘She’s done very well,’ Gian agreed. ‘I expect the ball to be a huge success. Your sister has an eye for detail—’

  ‘Has Mia responded?’ Dante cut in.

  ‘Not as yet,’ Gian said. ‘As I said to Ariana, even if she arrives unannounced, she will be greeted as if she had always been expected and made to feel most welcome.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, could you ensure she gets this gift just before she heads down to the ball?’ He handed Gian a black velvet box and envelope. ‘I thought it better to take care of the hostess gift myself, rather than leave it to Ariana.’ He gave a black laugh. ‘Or it would be a doll full of pins...’

  Dante was his close friend, yet Gian found himself smiling his on-duty smile. ‘Of course. I’ll see to it personally.’

  ‘And perhaps it would be best not to upset Ariana with such details...’

  ‘Naturalmente,’ Gian said.

  Damn, he thought.

  By and by, the Romano Ball loomed ever closer.

  Gian wanted the ball over and done with; he wanted Ariana gone, instead of her voice, her emails, her thoughts all dancing in his mind.

  He wanted his life back to neat order, with sex when he required it and no silent demands for a future.

  Gian could feel how much she wanted him, which was usually a turn-off.

  He found, though, that he liked it that she craved him and yet kept herself under control. He did his best to ignore it as another damned message pinged into his box, with an attachment.

  And there, smiling at him, was his friend Rafael.

  It was a slight shock.

  Unexpected.

  He stared back at Rafael and silently swore that he would stay the hell away from hurting his daughter.

  Ariana. Yes, the photo you found of Rafael on Ponte Vecchio was most suitable. Kind regards, Gian

  Ariana scoured in between the lines for even the slightest sign, the tiniest clue, that he might linger there in the memory of them, but there was not a single needle she could glean in the haystack.

  There were no veiled clues or promises.

  His briefly open heart had, it would seem, ever so politely, closed.

  By and by, a silver car pulled up outside La Fiordelise in the late afternoon on the day of the Romano Foundation Ball.

  And trouble loomed large.

  ‘Ariana Romano is here,’ Luna informed him. ‘You wanted to see her when she arrived.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shall I send her through?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Gian!’

  She smiled her red-lipped smile and for someone running later than the Mad Hatter, she still looked pretty incredible in a loose top that showed one shoulder and a skirt that showed a lot of leg.

  Gian, though, did not look his usual self.

  ‘You look...’ she started, but then stopped. It was none of her business that the immaculate Gian was unshaven and that his tie was pulled loose. No doubt he was saving his shave for the evening, but the unrufflable Gian looked, well, ruffled.

  She wanted to hold him, to climb onto his knee and kiss that tense face, but instead she stood stock still.

  ‘Ariana...’ He got up and they did the kiss-kiss thing.

  ‘Careful,’ she warned, so he didn’t crush the orchids. ‘Damn things,’ she added as he re-took his seat but Ariana did not sit down. ‘Who knew flowers could cause so much trouble. Roberto is sick and can’t come,’ Ariana explained, nerves making her mouth run away. ‘And these were the orchids he was supposed to bring...’ She held up her free hand in an exasperated gesture. ‘I’ve been standing on a platform at Roma Termini, waiting for a courier to deliver them.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He tried not to want her; he tried to treat her as he once would have. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘I don’t have time for a drink,’ Ariana pointed out. ‘I have to be greeting guests in a couple of hours. What did you want to see me about?’

  He was silent for a moment as he pou
red his own drink while wondering how best to broach things. ‘Mia is here.’

  ‘So?’ Ariana shrugged and turned to go. ‘What do I care? There was no need to drag me to your office. You could have told me that in a text.’

  ‘Yes.’ He watched the tension in her jaw and the press of her lips and knew she was struggling to process the news. Aside from that, there was also a whole lot more she didn’t know.

  Dante and Mia had the adjoining presidential suites.

  And Dante had the key.

  Yes, Gian De Luca was the keeper of many secrets and at times it was hell. ‘I want to speak to you,’ he said. ‘About tonight.’

  ‘You’re going to tell me to behave and be nice. Don’t worry. I’ve already had the lecture from Dante. Poor Mia is struggling to face us all tonight. Poor Mia—’

  ‘Ariana!’ He spoke more harshly then, but that was like holding up a red rag to a bull, Gian knew, for nothing tamed her. ‘Do you remember how you felt at your father’s funeral, as if everything might get out of hand? Well, Mia is surely feeling that way...’

  ‘Poor Mia, you mean.’ She looked at him then, really looked, and she could see the fan of lines beside his eyes and feel his tension. She assumed he was concerned about Mia; it never entered her head that his concern might be for her. ‘Why do you always take her side?’ Ariana asked, jealousy rearing its ugly head. ‘Don’t tell me you have a thing for her too...’ She simply could not bear it if that was the case, and spite got the better of her. ‘Well, I guess at least she’s closer to your age than Papà’s.’

  ‘Enough!’ Gian cut in. ‘Why do you have to be so petty and cruel whenever you speak about her?’

  ‘Because I hate her.’ Ariana shrugged. ‘And I hate it that my parents divorced. I’ll never forgive her.’

  ‘You forgave your father when it was he who had the affair. Mia, at the time, was single.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Ariana said, loathing his logic. ‘And please stop telling me what to think and how to feel. We slept with each other once—that doesn’t give you licence to police my friends and now how I interact with my family.’