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

by Carol Marinelli

  And he kissed her back to consciousness.

  ‘I loved my ice cream,’ she told him, and then stopped, because there was another thing that Ariana knew she loved too.

  Don’t say it, she told herself as he turned off the lights with a single bedside switch and Ariana curled into him, loving the feel of being utterly spent yet curiously awake in her lover’s arms.

  Ariana usually hated the dark and the night, but not this night. The thud-thud-thud of his heart and the sound of Gian collecting his breath brought Ariana a sense of contentment in the soft thrum of her body as she came down from the high he had taken her to.

  ‘Why are there no paintings or sketches of Violetta?’

  ‘There are a couple but they need to be restored.’

  ‘And why are there no photos of you?’ Ariana asked a question that could only be asked in the dark, in that black hole where gravity did not apply, where words floated and drifted in nonsensical patterns, before logic applied.

  ‘There are,’ he said. ‘There’s one in the gallery, taken during the royal visit to La Fiordelise—in the entrance hall.’

  ‘You mean the Employee of the Month photo?’ Ariana said, mocking his formal business photo. For some reason her words made them both laugh.

  But then the laughter faded.

  ‘Why are there no photos with your parents?’

  ‘I was not a part of their plans.’

  ‘What were their plans?’

  ‘To party,’ Gian said. ‘And a late baby nearly put paid to that.’

  ‘But it didn’t?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘They carried right on.’

  ‘With a baby?’

  ‘Without,’ Gian said. ‘A lot of nannies, a lot of time in Luctano... It’s better this way, though. It taught me independence, so by the time they were gone, there was nothing to miss. They were never a necessary part of my life, or I of theirs.’

  She could not imagine it.

  Sure, her father had pulled back, but that had been in her twenties, and her mother still called her every day.

  And even though she and Stefano were not as close now as they once had been, she would die if he pulled away so completely.

  Even Dante, always remote and distant, was still a vital part of her world.

  To have no one.

  To miss no one.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t believe you don’t miss them.’

  ‘Truth?’ Gian said, still floating in that void where there were no sides and no barriers hemming you in. ‘I have missed them from the day I was born.’

  ‘Gian?’ She lifted her head when he fell silent.

  ‘Go to sleep,’ he said, but she wanted to ask him how they were supposed to be with each other in the cold light of day.

  ‘What?’ he asked her, when her head stayed up and her eyes remained focused on him.

  Self-preservation struck—or was it sanity?—and Ariana, even with little experience in the bedroom, knew that pushing the issue with Gian would be something she would live to regret.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she said, though she had never felt safer or warmer.

  Ariana knew when, and how, to lie.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GIAN WOKE TO DISORDER.

  Not just the knot of limbs and the scent of sex, for that he was used to, but the exposure of thoughts and the deep intimacies of last night had brought disorder into his mind.

  He did not want to love her.

  Ariana awoke to a cold empty bed and the sound of the shower.

  She could almost feel the weight of his regret in the air.

  There was no sense of regret from her. In fact, she wanted to stretch like a cat and purr at the memory of their lovemaking.

  She had thought nothing could beat the first time, but again Gian had surprised her.

  In his arms, as he’d driven her to the very edge and then toppled them, it had felt as if they were one.

  Not now, though.

  She looked over to the bedside table and the cufflinks he had dropped last night; his tux was hanging over the suit holder.

  Order had been brought to the bedroom.

  Except for the hot mess that lay in his bed, Ariana thought.

  Yes, an utter hot mess, because despite assurances and promises, both to Gian and herself, she had completely fallen for him.

  Well, that was a given...

  No, this was bigger.

  This feeling was almost more than her head could contain.

  It was a cocktail of affection and craving and desire and hunger but she refused, even to herself, to call it love.

  It was lust, Ariana told herself.

  He had turned on her senses, introduced her to her body, and she must not allow herself to believe that the kisses and intimacies shared last night were exclusively known to her.

  Except it had felt as if they were.

  It had felt, last night, when she had been trapped in his gaze, being kissed, being held, as if this feeling had been new to them both.

  She heard the shower being turned off, and she imagined him in there naked, the mirrors all steamed up. She willed him to come out and face the woman who should not be in his bed and she hoped he wasn’t wondering how to get rid of her.

  Oh, God, this was going to be a million times harder than the first time. Then, it had felt like she had been party to the rules, but this time, naked in his bed, she had to find the armour to brazen out a smile and leave without revealing her heart.

  He came out of the bathroom with a distinct lack of conversation and a thick white towel wrapped around his lean hips.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ Ariana said, and looked at Gian with his black hair dripping and unshaven face.

  Unshaven, for Gian had barely been able to bring himself to look in the mirror.

  He had got too close, and what had felt like a balm last night now felt like an astringent. He couldn’t bear to let anyone in.

  More, he couldn’t bear that he was about to hurt her.

  ‘I’ll call for breakfast,’ he said in a voice that attempted normality but failed. She noted that he did not get back into bed.

  Ariana gave a half-laugh at his wooden response in comparison to the easy flow of words last night. ‘You sound like the butler.’

  He said nothing to that and Ariana pulled herself up from the bed. ‘I’ll have a shower.’ It served two purposes: one, she refused to force a conversation on an unwilling participant and appear needy and pleading; and, two, she felt the sudden sting of tears and desperately wanted to hide it.

  ‘Sure.’ Gian said, fighting with himself not to dissuade her. He stepped back as she brushed past and he only breathed again when she closed the bathroom door.

  Why the hell was he like this?

  Gian generally fought introspection, but he sat on the bed and wrestled with his demons.

  The panicked part of Gian wanted the maids to come in and service the apartment so he could get back his cold black heart, instead of fighting the urge to go into the bathroom and join her in the shower before spending a lazy Sunday in bed.

  The buzz of his phone had him glancing at the bedside table. Luna calling at such an early hour on a Sunday morning would generally cause him to curse, yet now he leapt on the distraction and took the call.

  It was not good news, to say the least.

  Ariana, he knew, would freak.

  When he’d ended the call, he made a couple of his own and by then Ariana had come out.

  ‘Don’t worry about breakfast,’ Ariana said, her voice a little shaken, though she was clearly doing her best to control it and keep things light. She had given way to a moment of tears in the shower but she’d pulled herself together and let the hot jets of water flow over her. She would serve herself better to
wait until she got home so she could weep alone.

  ‘I’m not really hungry. I might head down to my own suite...’ She wouldn’t even bother putting on her gown. Wearing the robe and with wet hair, anyone who spotted her would assume she had been for a swim in the luxurious pool in the hotel spa. ‘If you could just send my things down to my suite, please...’

  ‘Ariana, wait.’

  As she headed for the door, she stiffened, fighting the surge of hope that he was calling her back to apologise for the shift in mood and the silent row that had taken place. Slowly she turned around.

  ‘It’s better that you hear this from me,’ Gian said, and his voice was deadly serious.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘There was a photo taken last night at the ball...’

  ‘There were many photos taken.’

  ‘I mean, there has been an image sold to the press. It hasn’t got out yet and my team are doing all they can to suppress it, but I fear it is just a matter of time.’

  ‘What sort of photo?’

  ‘One of Dante...’

  ‘Dante?’ Ariana frowned. ‘What has Dante got to do with anything?’ Dante’s behaviour had been impeccable last night. He had delivered a speech that had encapsulated the essence of their father and he had worked the room like the professional he was. Though Dante was rather well known for his rakish ways, that had all been put on hold last night.

  Or so she’d thought.

  ‘There is an image of Dante and Mia in the atrium.’

  ‘And?’ Ariana was instantly defensive. Dante was her brother after all. ‘He’s allowed to speak to her, for heaven’s sake. He told us himself to be polite. She’s my father’s widow...’ Her voice faded as Dante handed her his tablet and there, on an eleven-inch screen, was an image that washed away any further excuses.

  Her father’s very young widow was locked, groin to groin, with her elder brother, and raw, untamed desire blazed in both their eyes. Oh, she recognised that desire for what it was, because it was exactly what she had shared with Gian last night.

  But Dante and Mia?

  Her brother and her stepmother?

  ‘No!’ Her lungs and head shouted the denial, but the single word caught in her vocal cords and it came out a strained, husky bark. ‘He would never,’ she implored. ‘It’s been doctored, cropped...’

  ‘Ariana, the image is real. I called Dante just now and apologised that such an invasion of his privacy took place in my hotel. My legal team are onto it, as are my security team. We are doing all we can to stop the photo getting out and,’ he added darkly, ‘I shall discover the culprit.’

  But Ariana didn’t care who had taken the photo, only that this moment in time had ever existed.

  Oh, Papà!

  She wanted to weep at the insult to his memory. She wanted to hurl a thousand questions at her brother, who went through women like socks. Except surely this woman, the widow of his father, should have been out of bounds?

  ‘How long have they been together...?’ Her accusing eyes looked at Gian.

  ‘Ariana, you are asking the wrong person.’

  ‘I’m asking exactly the right person. You’re a who’s who of all the scandal in Rome!’ She wanted to claw the hair from her scalp. ‘Did. You. Know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He might as well have stabbed her for she put her hands to her chest and moaned exactly as if he had. ‘Traitor!’

  ‘Stop it.’ Dante pointed a warning finger and moved swiftly into damage control. But this time he was moving swiftly to protect not his hotel’s reputation but Ariana from the fallout that was surely to come. ‘Look at me,’ he said, and waited till finally she met his eyes. ‘It is not so terrible.’

  ‘But it is.’

  ‘Because you make it so! Remember how you accused me last night, how you said Mia and I were closer in age...?’

  She blinked as she replayed her own accusation.

  ‘Your brother is my age.’

  ‘She’s his stepmother...’

  ‘So will say the headlines, but that’s just click bait... Listen to me, Ariana.’ He could feel her calming just a touch. ‘Think of how Dante will be feeling right now.’

  She nodded, and looked down the barrel of recent weeks. ‘I knew something was wrong. I thought he was just missing Papà, not just...’

  ‘I know what you mean. Ariana, it must have been hell for him.’

  ‘I need to speak to him.’ Though still frantic, he could feel her calm beneath his touch. ‘Both of them...’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but without accusation. He and Mia have taken off to Luctano...’

  ‘You’ve spoken to him.’

  ‘Just now,’ Gian said.

  ‘Can you take me there?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll have Luna arrange the pilot. Go down to your suite and get dressed and I’ll meet you there.’

  She took the elevator down to the spa floor and then stepped out and took the guest elevator back up to her own. There she pulled on some underwear and a pretty dress. Gian’s calm manner was somehow infectious, for she even dried and styled her hair.

  But then her phone rang and she saw it was her mother, just back from her cruise.

  ‘How much more can I be shamed?’ her mamma shouted.

  ‘Mamma, please,’ Ariana attempted. ‘Maybe there is some explanation.’

  ‘Mia and Dante. My son!’

  ‘Mamma, you should surely hear what Dante has to say. They are closer in age...’ Ariana pleaded, repeating Gian’s words, but nothing would placate her.

  ‘That woman!’ she sobbed. ‘She has killed my family, my joy, my life. She takes and she takes and she leaves me with nothing.’

  ‘You have me,’ Ariana pleaded. ‘Mamma...’ But she had run out of excuses for Mia and Dante. ‘I’m going now to speak with him.’

  ‘Well, you know what to say from me.’

  If Ariana didn’t know, she was specifically told.

  ‘Okay?’ Gian checked as they headed up to the rooftop, except she barely heard him. All she could hear was her mamma’s acidic, angry words.

  ‘I wanted the ball to be perfect for Papà.’

  It was all Ariana said.

  Sitting in his helicopter, Gian looked from her pale face down to the rolling hills and the familiar lace of vines. Now they were deep into spring and the poppy fields were a blaze of red, and there was foliage on the once bare vines.

  He turned back to Ariana, who sat staring ahead with her headphones on, her leg bobbing up and down. He didn’t doubt that she was nervous to be facing her brother.

  Gian was sure that it would soon be sorted out. He knew how close the Romano siblings were. At least, they had been growing up. And surely even Ariana could understand that grief and comfort were a heady cocktail. Hell, she’d sought comfort herself on the night of the funeral after all.

  He spotted the lake and soon they were coming in to land. Only then did Gian wonder how it might look that he was arriving with Ariana.

  Would it be obvious they had spent the night together?

  Did it announce them as a couple?

  Gian was nowhere near ready for that. If anything, a couple of hours ago he’d been ready to end things, as was his usual way.

  But, as it turned out, Ariana wasn’t expecting anything from Gian, other than the equivalent of a rather luxurious taxi ride.

  ‘Wait there,’ she said, as she took her headphones off. ‘I shan’t be long.’

  ‘What?’ Gian checked, unsure what she meant.

  She was more than used to entering and exiting a helicopter, and the second it was safe to do so, the door opened and the steps lowered and Ariana ran down.

  ‘Wait...’ he called, and then looked in the direction she ran.

  Dante, even from this distance, looked se
edy and was striding towards her, no doubt surprised by her unannounced arrival.

  If Gian had thought for a moment that Ariana Romano had finally grown up, he was about to be proven wrong, for she was back to the spoiled, selfish brat of old. Only, instead of being placed over her father’s knee, it was Ariana delivering the slaps.

  He watched her land a vicious hit on her brother’s cheek and then raise her other hand to do the same, but Dante caught it.

  The scene carried echoes of another world, one Gian had loathed—champagne bottles on the floor, fights, chaos, all he had sought to erase, and the scars on his psyche felt inflamed.

  Ariana heightened his senses. Gian was more than aware he had let down his steely guard in bed last night and it had shaken him. For a moment he had glimpsed how it felt to need another person, to rely on someone else, and that could never be.

  Right now, though, her actions plunged him straight back into a world that had spun out of control—the chaos and fights between his parents, finding his older brother unconscious on the floor and shouting frantically for help, and their smiles and the making up that came after, the promises made that were never, ever kept.

  Always they had taken things too far, and it was everything that he now lived to avoid.

  ‘Hey.’ He was speaking to the pilot, about to tell him to take off, for he wanted no part in this. Yet some odd sense of duty told him not to leave Ariana stranded, and so he sat, grim-faced, as a tearful Ariana ran her leggy way back to the helicopter and climbed in.

  ‘We can go now,’ Ariana said once her headphones and microphone were on. ‘I’m done.’

  And so too was he.

  And he told her so the minute they stood alone back on the roof of La Fiordelise.

  ‘You never cease to disappoint me, Ariana.’

  He watched her tear-streaked, defiant face lift and her angry eyes met his as he gave her a well-deserved telling-off. ‘I thought you were going there to speak with your brother, to find out how he was...’

  ‘He shamed my mother!’ Ariana shouted. ‘She went on a cruise to get away from the ball and had to return to this!’

  ‘Ah, so it was your mother talking.’ He shook his head as he looked down at her, realising now what had happened between her leaving his suite and boarding the helicopter. ‘And there was me thinking you had a mind of your own. How dare you put me in the middle of this? I would never have offered to take you if I’d known your plan was to behave this way.’